Pat Jordan doesn't mess around

Picked up his book the other day (his picture in the book reminds me of George Carlin). McNamee comes off as pretty odd in the Clemens piece and it is a bit humorous reading now about how Clemens and Mac helped Pettite add velocity to his fastball. Just started his famous Steve Garvey piece.

 

Why does Pat always have a big fat cigar stuck in his mouth?

Not that there's anything wrong with that..........

Sorta gives me the heebie-jeebies, though.

 

Wait a moment.
I know we all adore the BALCO-SF Chronicle guys, but they didn't exactly hit the beach at Normandy.
I thought Jordan sounded a little odd but comparing him unfavorably to Fainaru-Wada for not being "brave" enough to get Jeff Novitzky's phone number is not just a category mistake, as has been pointed out, but really rather dumb.

 

Someone didn't get an autograph.

 

I don't know much about him as a writer but that interview came off like something the guys who made the Chuck Norris facts site would have done. No one can take themselves that seriously. I liked some of the comments, particularly the ones about him fighting the guy rollerblading and ripping his bicep.

 

I'm going to ask our visuals people if I can get a new colsig mug shot, one with a pair of handguns.

 

really rather dumb. rather rather.

he says the working stiffs in this business are "pussies".

don't you get it fenian?

the 'pussies' do the grunt work - men's work - and do it well - without whining like a pampered magazine features writer.

this guy was once a pampered jock - who got dumped from that elite world - and surfaced in another elite world - the world of glossy magazine feature writers. he is a parasite on the stories broken and developed by daily journalists.

yet he has the gall to call them 'pussies'. he struts and puffs out his chest and promotes himself as an "authentic man" - sort of like a hemingway in loud floral shirts. how contrived and pompous can one man possibly be?

real men do journalism.
wimps and deletantes do 'feature profiles' for glossy magazines.

rather rather.

 

I'm not backing what Jordan said about sportswriters. But I'd have a hard time convincing my Pop or his Pop that what I and my colleagues do is "men's work." They'd come home with hands so calloused and dirty, there was no getting them clean. There was a real physical toll. Us, we run the risk of carpal tunnel syndrome.

Among journalists, I'd only elevate war correspondents to the "men's work" category. And yes, even if they're women.

 

That's why I console myself by carrying a box of closeout Honduran Robustos and a sawed-off Ithaca 12-gauge to Big East Media Day.

 

I'm quite the opposite, old sport. I say, jgmacg, will you fetch me some scones when you're next out on the path? I found the most delightful herb butter that when melted over fragrant wood chips makes for the loveliest yummy snack, especially when followed by a sip of Orange Pekoe steeped in a turn-of-the-century kettle. I'd get it myself, but I need more soap for my bubble pipe. I simply MUST have something to chew on while contemplating my next pithy missive for one of those fabulous new glossy magazinettes. My, how the paper shines!

 

Pussy.

You got a write-up in the WaPo for your Esquire effort.

But you're still a glossy mag-writing pussy.

 

Deletante! (Which I take to be someone who deletes things, but does it with an inauthentic, inexpert aesthetic.)

Business-class finger-sandwich pinkie-waver!

Double-truck four-color perfect-binding bedwetter!

Monthly mailing mama's boy!

Long-horizon deadline candyass!

High wordcount pantywaist!

Blow-in card necessitating nambypamby!

Automatic subscription-renewal weakling!

Expense-account having, necktie-wearing, parachuter-in who grabs all the glory and the rotogravure glossies groupies and gets first pick of the brats in the Lambeau press box!

Evil milquetoast!

Your thick and luscious paper can't save you from the truth!