Surprised to see me? You should be. In my previous column I announced that the reign of “Bad Newz, Mike” had finally come to an end. It was no publicity stunt—I totally believed that my time with Spectator was over. I was saddened (sort of), but I also knew that all great things must witness the final curtain, much like the greatest musical Broadway has ever seen, Cats. I had to move on and find the next thing, much like the Rum Tum Tugger must find the Magical Mister Mistoffelees, whose magical powers bring back Old Deuteronomy in Act II.
Point being, I knew it was time to abandon Bad Newz and move on. I had taken up the columnist position, done my thing, revolutionized the sports page, and turned everything you thought you knew about “journalistic integrity” on its head. It was time for me to pack my bags and hit the old dusty trail—before I overstayed my welcome.
This much seemed obvious to me, but the unanimous, widespread, and, at times, violent reactions to my farewell column forced me to reconsider. My many fans made it very clear that they wanted me to keep writing, nearly 2,000 of whom threatened a general strike of life if I did not return for an encore.
Now, I am a pretty willful individual. Just like the Rum Tum Tugger, I will do as I do-do and there’s no doing anything about it. At the same time, I am also extremely suggestible and will basically just do whatever a large group of people tell me to (it’s this internal contradiction that makes my writing so alluring to you). So, here I am for my final bow. THIS is my last column...
So how about those Columbia sports, huh? I mean, come on. I have too much to worry about elsewhere in sports to really concern myself with what’s going on in the M-side. Heights, that is. So, baseball is on a three-game losing streak? Women’s lacrosse still hasn’t won against another Ivy? Men’s tennis is pretty good? There, I’m all caught up.
Nah, instead I have been paying attention to my teams from back home. Just announced yesterday, the Redskins got as good a schedule next season as an NFC East team could hope for, though they’ll probably figure out a way to ruin the season and spend a load of money in the process. The Capitals are playing the Rangers in the first round of the Stanley Cup playoffs tonight. My roommate looked into getting us tickets to the game, but at $150 a seat, I figured my money was better spent at a bar. Ideally, I can find one that plays sports on the television. The Nationals are the worst team in baseball after seven games, so I’ve decided to lean towards my Maryland roots and root for the Orioles, who are coincidentally off to a great start. Beat the Yankees. Twice.
Let me tell you a story. I was walking around Carroll Gardens in Brooklyn the other day, going out to get a sandwich for my boss (which is I—nobody bosses around the Bad Newz), and I came across a group of local children playing Fungo. For the uninitiated, Fungo is an established variant on the game of stickball, itself a variation of baseball that supplants the traditional grassy ballfield with the surrounding urban environment. It’s a pick-up game of baseball, if you will.
Fungo is usually played out of necessity, like when there aren’t enough kids to have a designated pitcher. Instead, the batter pitches the ball to himself by tossing it in the air and swinging at it as it returns to the earth because of the force of gravity.
So these kids in Carroll Gardens were playing Fungo, and the little boy was pitching to himself when I decided to taunt him and call, “No pitcher, no pitcher here!” The game was paused as all the kids turned and stared at me. So then I was like, “We want a pitcher, not a belly-itcher!”, and that kid was all, like, throwing the ball at me. It hit me and it hurt, but I thought the taunts were clever, and I stand by that.
Michael Shannon is a Columbia College senior majoring in sociology. Sports@columbiaspectator.com