It wasn’t always this way. When we were young, my Dad used to put us up in a shoddy collection of motels, RV Parks (we never had an RV, mind you) and Log Cabins. These were hotels only in the purest sense of the term. They took your money, and provided you a bed. If you left alive was never a concern. These were places that you had to walk on a narrow sidewalk, usually on the second floor, to find the one ice machine (that was working) and fill up that little tiny bucket of ice, which promptly melted by the time you got back to the room.

These were different times, of course, and Dad merely stopped when the sun fell and found the closest VACANCY sign. More often or not, Norman Bates would have envied these dives.

Today, my trips are much more structured. One of the fun parts of having a tiny bit of obsessive-compulsive disorder is planning out where you will stay. There’s nothing quite like un-checking the TWO STARS box to filter out those places that Dad used to find. That usually filters out the Super 8’s and the Motel 6’s and for the most part, that leaves me with Holiday Inn’s, Ramada’s and an occasional Hilton or Marriott, if the rates are low that weekend.

With the help of modern technology, I can find the hotels that give me exactly what I want. Internet and free breakfast. Some families might search for a swimming pool, or pet-friendly, or close to attractions. I’ll drive an extra 20 minutes if it’s got free internet and those crappy rubber scrambled eggs and those tiny boxes of Corn Flakes as long as I don’t have to pay extra for it. (This is the part of my Dad’s personality that I DID retain.)

I’m a three-star guy. I don’t ask for much. But I know my limits. This past weekend, I was in Omaha and found that just about every hotel room was booked for a State High School Track Meet. So I had to go higher and stay in a four-star hotel.

I hated it. First of all, there was this jacked up code I had to put in to get on the Internet. Then, when I checked in, I asked, “What time’s breakfast?” and the lady handed me a menu. A MENU?? $8 for a bowl of Frosted Flakes? What is this, Beverly Hills 90210? I guess people that can afford $150 a night for a hotel room can also afford $25 for a crappy breakfast.

The last straw was when I sat down on my bed and they didn’t have a guide near the TV to tell me what channel was ESPN. So that meant every time I turned on the TV, I had to sift through 42 commercials, 6 MTV Teen Pregnancy shows and 19 Weather Channels to finally find it. By the time I got back the next day, I’d forgotten what channel ESPN was and had to start all over again.

Part of growing up is realizing what lane you’re in. Me? I’m in the tiny box of corn flakes, free wireless internet, no poodles next door, ESPN is channel 22 kind of guy.

Let’s turn on the Wayback Machine and dial it back to 1991. Operation Desert Storm began in Iraq that January night – back when CNN was still a reputable news source. The Kansas City Royals were only 6 years removed from their first World Championship and were looking to add a second under skipper John Wathan, Shortstop Kurt Stillwell and Left Fielder Kirk Gibson. And Saturday morning television featured such programs as Back to the Future: The Animated Series and Super Mario World.

It was a simpler time. If you’ll also recall, it was 1991 when professional Boxer, and Heavyweight Champion, Mike Tyson was arrested for raping 18-year-old Desiree Washington. Tyson was found guilty in 1992 and went on to serve three years of a six year sentence in hte Plainfield Correctional Facility in Indiana.

Since 1991, a lot has changed in the world. Reality television has become popular. The Royals are still looking for their second World Championship and Saturday Morning cartoons are all but a thing of the past, being replaced by the Cartoon Network. The world in many ways became a much colder place after 9/11 and entertainment has, arguably, never been more un-entertaining.

Since Mike Tyson pinned Desiree Washington down on an Indianapolis hotel bed and raped her as she pleaded for him to stop, Tyson has returned to boxing. He has also completely rehabilitated his image to the point of exceeding his fame that he had in the 1980’s when he pummeled all those who would come before him including Michael Spinks. In the past 10 years, Tyson has lived off of his name, appearing in movies like The Hangover Series, and How I Met Your Mother. “Famous for being famous.” Tyson, who still has issues with rage (he said in a 2003 interview with Fox News on whether he raped Washington, “I really wish I did now. But now I really do want to rape her.”) will star in an animated series, Mike Tyson Mysteries.

Here’s a brief thumbnail of the series:

In the new animated comedy series Mike Tyson Mysteries, Mike Tyson is taking the fight from the boxing ring to the streets… by solving mysteries! Armed with a magical tattoo on his face and a trusty associate by his side — a talking pigeon — if you have a problem that needs solving, Iron Mike is in your corner. The series incorporates live-action appearances featuring Mighty Mike himself, and the gloves come off as the former heavyweight champ and his fowl-mouthed partner gear up for weekly adventures as they put unsolved mysteries — like how to defeat a super computer at chess or why a famous author/werewolf can’t finish his novel — down for the count.

It’s got a parrot!. Admittedly, it’s on the adult-themed “Adult Swim” which is the after-hours portion of Cartoon Network, but I’m still stumped at how this convicted felon just keeps getting nine more lives.

Tyson joins a long line of those who are “Famous for being famous” like the Kardashians and Paris Hilton. Television (and the world) would be better off if it didn’t have them on it.

Mike Tyson is a douchebag. He deserves an animated cartoon just about as much as I do. Except I didn’t rape anyone. Maybe if I had made poorer choices back in 1991, I’d find myself living in Vegas starring in movies and cartoons, too!

One thing is certain, Brad Brickell has had it. He’s seen enough promises. He’s seen enough slogans. He’s seen enough misery. He’s out.

These are his words. You’re welcome to throw him a follow at twitter.com/bradbrick

Many of us aren’t far behind you, Brad.

—-

Leaving the Royals

My name is Brad and I’m a recovering Royals fan. In the back of my mind I’ve known for some time that it would come to this, but I patiently stuck with the Royals through thin and thinner. Unfortunately (or maybe fortunately), May 2013 was enough to push me over the edge and into action.

I came to be a Royals fan just as I was coming back to baseball in the early 2000s. It made sense geographically, and I was falling in love with the game again. 2003 happened, and I got caught up in the excitement of long time Royals fans in the area who made a season of slightly above .500 baseball feel like a magic carpet ride. My crew and I probably made the 2 hour drive in from Manhattan to the K a dozen or more times that season.

Yet even in 2003, the summer of success (3rd place but whatever), it was becoming apparent that the Royals had a hard time doing smart things. My greatest error was in believing that dumb things would be recognized and corrected. Obviously I still had a lot to learn about baseball.

In 2004 I was pumped for baseball, and experienced my first real Royaling. The Gonzalez and Santiago signings were quickly shown to be mistakes. Tony Pena believed he had Roy Halladay as his ironman ace, when in fact he had Brian Anderson. And then there was Mendy Lopez who hit an improbable homerun on opening day, and somehow found his way into the lineup for the rest of eternity after that. Add in Angel Berroa – leadoff hitter and Curtis Leskanic – closer for good measure. In the year of going for it the Royals traded their best player at the deadline for prospects, and it was obviously the right thing to do.

But baseball people learn from mistakes, right? I guess I was still naïve. But I was hopefully naïve upon the hiring of new general manager Dayton Moore. A new GM implies a new way of doing things, and in some respects that was true. Ownership and management had agreed on a start from scratch, slow and steady turnaround. Focus on the low minors, drafting, signing, and hoarding prospects. They said this is the only way it’s going to work in Kansas City, and it sounded reasonable. Smart even. I guess I just took it for granted that all of that deliberate planning would also come with at least a dash of baseball IQ mixed in.

And now here we are, 7 years later. Ownership’s greatest failure has not been willingness to spend on any aspect. They have spent in the draft, they have spent internationally, they have spent on the farm system, and they have spent at the big league level (Meche, Guillen, Greinke, Butler, Gordon, Santana, Shields, Francoeur). But ownership not blameless either. They have enabled Dayton Moore to make bad decision after bad decision with no accountability.

Moore is responsible for Yuni. Moore is responsible for Mike Jacobs. Moore is responsible for Christian Colon and Roman Colon. Moore is responsible for Arguellas, Crow, Hosmer and Moustakas. Moore is responsible for Francoeur, Hochevar, and Kyle Davies, and maybe Tommy John himself. Moore is responsible for Trey Hillman, Ned Yost, and Gil Meche’s arm. He’s not responsible for every prospect flame out, but he is responsible for the much higher than average percentage of prospect flameouts. Moore is responsible for overseeing an organization that believes in giving away free outs to advance a runner, that walking is for mailmen, and that if they try hard enough they can lead the league in not hitting HRs.

After 11 years I’ve had enough of waiting for stubborn people to learn from mistakes they’re not interested in learning from. I’m searching for a new team to follow. I don’t want to raise my kids as Royals fans, and have to explain to them that Daddy’s team does everything that Daddy thinks is stupid. I want to bond with my kids over baseball and make good memories. I would love to stay with the Royals and expect that will happen. But I am learning from my mistakes. And unlike the Royals I am taking action. I have a short list of teams to try out. I’m hopeful I can learn to love one of them like I’ve loved the Royals. More than that, I’m hopeful that it won’t be long before I can return to the Royals. But that depends on ownership. Will they correct their greatest failure? Will they take action? Will they learn from their mistakes? Will they fire Dayton Moore? I hope so.

Because I’m done with the Royals until they do.

Not anymore. I hereby decree April 26 as National Bitch And Moan Day. It is because April 26, 1993 was the day that then-Royals Manager Hal McRae flipped his nuggets after being asked whether he considered pinch-hitting George Brett for Keith Miller in the 7th inning of an eventual 5-3 loss against the Detroit Tigers. What followed was the undisputed, undefeated, mother of all meltdowns which included nearly a dozen f-bombs, a bottle of vodka, challenges to reporters’ manhoods a challenge to place “that in your pipe and smoke it” and an assault with a telephone. Classic, classic stuff.

Before the phrase “viral video,” existed this rant went multi-platinum viral. Alan Eskew, sportswriter for the Topeka Capital-Journal, and the one hit by the phone told me this week that he still sees the video come up a few times a year. (Eskew also humbly refuses media requests to talk about the incident, just as he did twenty years ago.)

Following the profanity-laced tyrade, McRae reportedly challenged reporters, bottle of vodka in hand, to “be a man…” whatever that means. We’ve seen some that have come close, see Knight, Bob or Gundy, Mike, but McRae’s is the Mona Lisa.

A rant of that quality, with that depth and texture, may never be seen again. In the age of Social Media, people have become more reserved and are starting to realize that everything is recorded and will likely go on YouTube in minutes. “I’ve never seen anything like it,” Royals pitcher Aaron Crow said. Catcher George Kottaras agreed and said that he like the old managers like Lou Pinella and Ozzie Guillen, “because it meant that they were standing up for their players.”

But McRae’s eclipsed them all. This wasn’t just kicking dirt on an umpire or yelling at a reporter, McRae THREW A FRIGGIN’ PHONE AND HIT A GUY.

The major reason McRae’s rant will never be seen again is that leadership positions now come with their own handlers whose job it is to make sure that person isn’t the next viral sensation. The Royals now have Mike Swanson, the Vice President of Media Relations. He’s worked for 17 different managers in more than two decades in baseball. “I tell all my managers they have 10 minutes after the game [before they meet the press]. Blow up at me, but don’t take it out in front of them.” Swanson’s advice is wise. Just last month, video captured Rutgers’ Basketball Coach Mike Rice during a videotaped practice throwing basketballs at players and shouting racial slurs. Rice is no longer employed by Rutgers University.

But on April 26th every year, we should pause, get liquored up (allegedly) and all take a page from Hal McRae.

So. April 26 is the day to let it go. Tell your boss to get out of your office. Tell the guy on that dumb conference call to “stop asking me these stupid f—– questions.” Throw a phone at that idiot in accounting. Let out everything that’s been building for the other 364 days of the year. This is your moment. Put that in your pipe… and smoke it.

Fred White – Photo from jcpost.com

As you have heard by now, Royals Broadcaster Fred White passed away Wednesday. I join with all Royals fans in wishing condolences to his family.

On yesterday’s Ballgame radio show, I got the chance to talk with both Greg Pryor and 1985 World Series MVP Bret Saberhagen about their stories of Fred and how he treated them not as ballplayers, but as friends.  It’s well worth a listen, you should check it out. (Show is embedded below.)

For me, however, I was only a listener.  Denny and Fred filled many of my summer evenings as I listened to their calls before going to sleep at night.  In the mid-80′s when the team was at their peak, I got my first transistor radio (with the single ear piece) just to listen to the games.

The night of Game 6 of the 85 World Series, it was Fred and Denny’s call I listened to, in Downtown Kansas City as I was getting out of church choir practice.  I listened to Fred talk about the “improbable little team doing improbable things to win” on the radio of a taxi cab that had pulled over in the shadow of the Cathedral in Downtown KC.

To me, Fred’s voice is always synonymous with rain delays, however.  For some reason, I loved listening to the coverage during rain delays.  This was when Fred usually covered scores and highlights from “around the League.” Mostly, I was driving with my Dad from here or there.  One particular night, I remember my Dad running into the grocery store when it was pouring rain outside. (This was still when you could leave your kids in the car, probably with the motor running.) I remember the swish-swosh of the windshield wipers and Fred and Denny laughing about how it’s “now raining buckets” out at Royals Stadium.  That rhythmic swish-swosh was the first thing I thought of when I heard about Fred White’s passing.  And how he would always seem to chuckle just a little bit, as if he had the funnest job in the world.

Fred White, along with Denny Matthews were my childhood. They were my summers. Fred’s voice, his chuckle, and his calming words during a rainstorm will be missed.

This is the last day for the Fake Ned Twitter account.

The account has been converted over to @ChrisKamler, my real name.

There are a number of reasons for this, none of them relevant. But for now, I just want to say “Thank You” to all I’ve had a chance to interact with and meet over the past three years. This goofy little Twitter account started as a Trey Hillman parody account and then converted to FakeNedYost once Hillman was shown the door. From there, “Fake Ned” started to take on a life, and a voice, of his own.

His first splash on the scene was two years ago this week in an Open Letter to Kevin Kietzman right here on RamblingMorons.com – and if you read that today, it’s just as poignant as ever.

From there, Ned began contributing to a podcast called the Royalman Report and met some lifelong friends in Michael Engel, Jeff Herr and, yes, even Royalman himself, Troy Olsen.

Then, came a weekly column in The Platte County Landmark. Then this blog began breaking news. Ned got himself on the radio where I met Jeff Logan and 1985 World Series Champ Greg Pryor. I made a few podcasts myself. And then Ned became the story a few times. The growth has been exponentially larger than I ever anticipated.

And tonight… it ends.

I want to thank all of you so much for your tweets, your retweets and your interactions over the past three years. You have been there. Every day. With your snark, your sass, your spunk and even your spam. I wouldn’t trade any of it for the world.

@ChrisKamler now steps into the shoes vacated by Fake Ned. You’ll continue to get regular updates. You’ll continue to see me around. And you’ll continue to hear me from time to time. The major difference is that I’ll have my name behind what I say, and tweet and write. But Fake Ned ends tonight.

But Fake Ned does have one more parting lyric to leave with you… In the end, the love I take is far greater than the love we made. #InBed

Left with little else, I asked him about his new movie “42” in which he is unrecognizable as Brooklyn Dodgers General Manager Branch Rickey. “It’s an important film. It’s an incredible story about a critical step that was taken in confronting the issue of inequality. It was a moment when, ultimately we shined.” Unfortunately, I couldn’t slip any other questions about what it was like to be frozen in Carbonite, or whether the Lost Ark really melted that guy’s face.

So… Han shot first?

It is Ford’s portrayal of Rickey that I will take away from this film. His realistic portrayal with a voice filled with gravel. Rickey’s true intentions to integrate baseball and bring Negroes into the game was less than altruistic, and Ford channeled Rickey in saying that his intentions were “To make money.”

But there were some other outstanding performances in this movie. Chadwick Boseman made a realistic Robinson and his on-screen chemistry with Nicole Beharie, who played Rachel Robinson, was surprising and honest. You could really understand the special love these two had with each other, who often felt it was them against the world.

I particularly liked the performances of two smaller roles in the movie, Alan Tudyk, who steals just about every movie he’s in. He plays the racist manager of the Philadelphia Phillies, Ben Chapman. Tudyk has a pivotal scene where he shouts racial epithets at Robinson causing him to nearly break. And John C. McGinley, who you’ll recall from Scrubs and Office Space. He plays famed play-by-play man Red Barber and whose voice you hear throughout the baseball sequences in the film. He did a great job capturing the unique voice of Barber.

In summary, I’ll echo what Jarrod Dyson told me after the movie, it felt a little flat as an entertainment movie. It felt, at times, more like a History Channel movie.  That doesn’t mean you shouldn’t go see it, because you should. The performances alone easily put this movie into the top 3 baseball movies and an important piece of history.

It also helps set a tone for introspection on those of us who watched it.  While Robinson’s integration into Baseball helped lead the way for the Civil Rights Amendment, you need look only to your local Facebook pages to see that there is still ignorance and racism in this world and in our community.  The next front for human rights may be in the area of sexual preference, and yet this year, we may see a “Gay Jackie Robinson” as there are growing rumors of someone coming out of the closet in the National Football League.  No matter the avenue, it’s important to recognize and honor the sacrifice of Jackie Robinson, so that no others will have to suffer the same fate.

TAP

While we all had seen events such as these play out before – September 11th, Columbine, Aurora, Colorado and countless others – this one was different.

This event was more… interactive.  News delivery changed that Monday in New England. Breaking news was broken on Twitter and Reddit, and reporters were seen glued to their phones for updates. These updates were being given by embedded reporters who didn’t have Journalism degrees, but rather had Skype accounts and webcams.

Websites like Reddit and 4chan “croudsourced” efforts to find “guys with backpacks” and help determine those who murdered and maimed.

News became interactive and locally gathered and less formal.

Only… we all got it wrong.

CNN watching us… watching CNN… watching us…

Reddit and 4chan targeted a number of suspects that turned out not having anything to do with the bombing.  The actual bombers never showed up on their witch hunt. Noise and speculation on Twitter had multiple undetonated bombs all over Boston. During the manhunt for those killers, residents of Watertown, Mass craned webcams and cellphones out windows as firefights ran up and down their streets.  Many brought compelling video, but I couldn’t help think of the danger these folks put themselves in. For 20 seconds of video. Is that worth your life?

Boston Police repeatedly urged citizens across the globe to stop tweeting police scanner traffic which was being broadcast over websites and video feeds dedicated to listening in on police communications.  We were listening to police telling their partners which direction they were going to close in on the suspects – and it’s possible they were hearing that and adjusting their directions.

I don’t know the answer here. Reporting is being deputized down to normal Tom, Dick and Harry’s but they don’t have the benefit of double-sourcing and editor oversight that “real” reporters do.  But then again, most of the news coverage didn’t follow their own rules anyway.  Everyone will remember CNN’s giant blunder saying that a “dark-skinned” suspect had been arrested – nearly 3 days before two white kids actually were taken into custody.

If we’re all going to become reporters, we should at least do ourselves a favor and learn a little more about maintaining safety and how broadcasting raw data over a police scanner is a bad idea when it jeopardizes the lives of first responders. If we want to participate in the coverage of news, we need to get better at it.

As we now know, the way we get our news changed last Monday. And we have to get a little smarter because of it.

For my son and I, we look forward to this weekend every year as it a great opportunity to bond, eat garbage, fart and make a few memories without repercussion. This year, we decided to be tourists in the St. Louis Area, see the Arch, walk around and just goof around.

Now, anyone who knows me, knows that I am constantly tapping away on my phone and vacations are no different. This “quiet time” allows me to get caught up on articles, podcasts and just mindless Internet reading. I can catch up on a little work and still spend some great time with the kid.

But something odd happened this weekend – something shocking, really. My phone died. My lifeline to the outside world. The battery died around Saturday morning, my charger wouldn’t work. My backup charger didn’t work. It just wouldn’t turn on.

After initial panic, I decided not to spend the rest of the weekend in the fetal position and we went on with our agenda of going to the St. Louis Science Center and seeing the Gateway Arch.

Initially, my surroundings were strange. I managed to make it to the Science Center without the aid of a GPS. We made it downtown by taking the subway without so much as a Foursquare Check-In.

When it was time to eat, we managed to find a nice restaurant – not by checking reviews on Yelp, but by walking around Lacledes Landing and checking out the menus outside the entrance.

And then… the most shocking thing on our vacation… the boy and I began to talk. And it wasn’t just “Did you see this video on YouTube?” It was real talking. We talked about our dreams, our challenges and our lives. He asked questions about what he was like as a baby, and what he would be like when he grew up. And I told him stories about my successes and failures in life. We talked for hours – uninterrupted.

We have gone on a number of vacations like this in the past, and we will hopefully have dozens more before he reaches whatever age that he doesn’t go on vacations with his Father any longer. But one feature that will remain will be that they will be technology-free. You cannot appreciate the silence, until that silence is filled with the right type of noise.

Look at that. Suits. Ties. Not a set of flip-flops to be seen.

And we have  a lot of good ideas. Sliced bread. iPhones. Pornography.  All great ideas that have had their moment in the sun.  But those ideas do tend to get sucked down by the need to make a buck.

That’s why I like this idea so much.

Brett Parker, Royals fan, contacted a number of folks in the media with a request.  Let’s get people to dress up for a Royals game.  The idea was simple.  Baseball games used to be events of the time.  People would dress in suits and ties, women in sun dresses and they would attend the games as moments of occasion before and shortly after the World Wars.  I recall Bob Kendrick of the Negro Leagues Baseball Museum talking about how black churches would alter the times for their Sunday Services depending on whether the Monarchs were in town, and folks would head to Municipal Stadium wearing their Sunday Best.

Fans would rush from Sunday services to attend the popular Kansas City Monarchs at Municipal Stadium.

Brett Parker and friend at last year’s Dress to the Nines day.

This was Brett’s request.  Let’s all dress up to go to a ballgame. Simple. Elegant.  There isn’t even anything tied to it, other than a good, clean idea.

The date – May 5, Sunday. 1:05.   Here’s what Brett would like to see:

Last year a couple buddies and I decided to celebrate Jackie Robinson Day by dressing as people did for baseball games in the 40s and specifically how Monarchs fans would walk straight from church to the stadium in their Sunday bests. In fact, many black churches in KC began their services an hour early to accommodate the baseball fans. We got a nice response from people last year and decided to see if we could grow it for this season. Next year, Bob Kendrick and I are talking about making it an official event for the museum and hopefully the Royals as well. In all honesty, we were really just hoping to get a bigger group of friends together this year, but I sought out a few twitter plugs from Kendrick, Sly James, and some media members and it has really taken off in the past couple of days.

So. Take a bath. Put on them clean underpants. Pop some tags if you have to. Dress up for a game, dammit. Look sharp.

If you do choose to dress up, they’d like you to join in a photograph at 12:45.  Check out Brett’s Twitter Feed for more information.