The HoG25: The 25 Best Television Shows of the Past 25 Years (Part II)

We're back, and not a moment too late, with part two of our take on the idiot box. If you dropped by yesterday, you'll see we offered up picks 25-11, which, admittedly was a fantastic read. We can all but guarantee that you'll agree with us on at least nine one of our top 10 picks, which you're welcome to peruse, on two conditions: The first is that you must click the little "Read More" tab, and condition two is that you must comment, in the provided space (Editor's Note: This means you, and no, "I was going to comment, but..." will not suffice). So hop to it, Skippy, before you miss your favorite show.

10: The Sopranos

Old No. 7: Just as baseball is an individual game masked as a team sport, The Sopranos was a comedy masquerading as a Mafia drama. The show had moments of intense action and serious themes of life & death, crime & punishment, loyalty & betrayal. But what made it great were the laughs.

No other show has ever made better use of the malapropism. Christopher Moltisanti longed to "create a little dysentery in the ranks," while Tony wisely pronounced that "revenge is like serving cold cuts." We loved these guys, guys who had no education and little sophistication yet controlled a criminal empire that brought in millions. As with any well-made Mob film, we rooted for the bad guys and hoped they stayed one step ahead of the law. The cops in The Sopranos were given a human face and decent story lines, but were still cast as bumbling straight men to the comedic wiseguys.

There's a reason James Gandolfini doesn't get any more work, even though he's a very good actor. The character he created in Tony Soprano had such depth, such power, and such hidden emotional frailty that is is impossible for anyone to see Gandolfini as anyone other than Tony. He's this generation's Archie Bunker or Ralph Kramden, a larger-than-life family man who repulses us with his temper and draws us closer with his charm.

9: The Cosby Show

Bankmeister: Where, when discussing The Cosby Show, does one begin? It was one of the best television programs of the 1980s, and also of the past 25 years. Why it was so significant is a multi-layered cake. For starters, it was based, to some degree, on the personal and professional life of one Bill Cosby, who just might be one of the most interesting figures of the 21st century. Prior to the television program, Cosby had successfully starred in stand-up comedy, as well as children’s television programming, i.e. Fat Albert and the Cosby Kids and the Picture Pages skits on Captain Kangaroo. The street- and book-smarts of Cosby exuded from all three of these endeavors, but it was his work on The Cosby Show that we acknowledge here.



The beauty of Cosby was that it gave the viewing audience a somewhat suburban view of life in New York City, a metropolis almost always depicted as urban. It showed a functioning family of seven and did an impressive job of evenly distributing the focus of each family member and their issues for most of its eight seasons on the air. At a time when the American divorce rate was reaching unforeseen highs, this family exuded a sense of unity with both natural sibling rivalries and, although seemingly occasionally tilted, a pretty even distribution of power between the mother and father.

The family managed to balance the demanding careers of both parents, while still suggesting a realistic portrayal of ample time for healthy, successful child rearing. And the issues each child dealt with were very real to life: attempts at parental manipulation, household responsibilities, puberty handcuffed by teen intimacy and the occasional “early” pregnancy, reading disorders, violence, drugs, friends, and education. This was all done on a season-by-season basis, in a fashion that included culture, extended family, and of course, humor. While it certainly had its corny moments, The Cosby Show was a sitcom that cemented itself into a position of all-time great

8: Sesame Street

Bankmeister: I’ve not yet delved into parenthood, but I feel somewhat safe in saying that the kind of child you were probably has a heavy hand in determining what kind of parent you will be. I also feel like what kind of child you were was largely congruent to how much Sesame Street you watched. Let me back up: Sesame Street is one of those that, for the purposes of this series, we could/should leave alone because here, in just two short months, the program will celebrate its 40th anniversary. That, of course, projects it beyond 25 years old, but it also, in my opinion, singles itself out in the fact that it has been good enough and popular enough to be on television for 40 freaking years.

To be fair, Sesame Street probably deserves its own post, but in that same vein of fairness, we’re not doing that for any other show. Now, we, in this installment, are discussing shows that have to do with crime, comedy, sports, and, among others, animation. Sesame Street, to me, is above and beyond all of them combined, in that it captures the minds of children, and in the pure essence of doing that, educates them. Sounds corny, I know. But really -– the kids need something like Sesame Street, especially these days when they’re developing faster, getting pregnant sooner, and in some sad cases, dying younger, be it via disease or crime.

But back to my original point: Sesame Street was one of the major cornerstones of my childhood. I remember riding my bike, swinging at the park, and doing chores singing “Can You Tell Me How to Get to Sesame Street?”. I think of Cookie Monster’s “’C’ is for Cookie” every time I eat a chocolate chip. I hear the words to “Rubber Duckie” every time I see a duck on a pond or a kid in a tub. I think of the ol’ 1-2-3-4-5 pinball-machine tune every time I hear a kid counting. The interaction of people and puppets, them learning together -– hell, the interaction of different ethnicities living harmoniously, the everyday things we do in life like going to the dentist or milking a cow are just a few of many, many things kids learn every time they tune in to Sesame Street.

There are about four billion reasons why Sesame Street rules. Jim Henson and Frank Oz are two of them, but the rest are too many, the list too long to explain exactly why. Sesame Street kicked and still kicks all the ass.

7: David Letterman

Old No. 7: For this I'm folding Dave's old NBC Late Night show and his current CBS gig into one. I know, I know, he was more edgy in the later time slot and his monologues have turned painfully predictable. But Dave is the king of late night TV, every other host including Conan O'Brien and yes, Johnny Carson is jockeying for second place.

For years, though, Letterman lost in the ratings to Jay Leno. I could never, ever understand this, because Jay Leno is awful. He's an awful person and I'm sure he smells like a dumpster. Yet year after year Leno posted better numbers, which to some validated NBC's decision to pick the big-chinned knuckle-dragger over Dave's gap-toothed excellence. Who, on God's green Earth, actually watched Jay Leno?



Then I found out -- it was my dad. My dad loves Leno, and he even loves his new prime-time show that has received shittier reviews than Jake Delhomme. Apparently Jay Leno is a big car collector and aficionado of fine vintage automobiles, a hobby that appeals to my father. When I pointed out to Dad that Letterman also likes cars and is from Indianapolis and never misses the 500 and once owned an open-wheeled racing team -- in addition to being 600 times funnier and less annoying than Jay Leno -- Dad didn't care. Leno fills a void for many older Americans, because he is safe and predictable and provides a platter of "humor" and entertainment that reminds them of a simpler time.

Letterman is, of course, the choice for folks my age, or at least those that don't prefer Conan or Jon Stewart after hours. And don't get me wrong, Conan and Stewart are undeniably awesome. But the awkwardness and earnestness that make Conan's stand-up so brilliant also hinders him with interview guests. And Stewart is confined by his fake-news shtick and delightfully acidic condescension. Dave's biggest strength is his honesty.

There are some nights that Dave doesn't like his guests, or doesn't like his jokes, or really doesn't like doing his TV show. He still plows through because he's a pro. But he doesn't hide his displeasure, you can see it on his face and hear it in his voice. And that truth is what makes Dave great.

Bankmeister: For the record, my dad was a fan of Leno, too. Drove me B...a-n-a-n-a-S!

6: Saturday Night Live

Cecil: It is nearly impossible for me to imagine a universe without Saturday Night Live. It's like pepperoni pizza and the starry night sky, like Puff the Magic Dragon and existential despair. It's just there, hardwired into my cultural memory. I'll be on my deathbed and the last flickering image tracing the inside of my mind will be of Chris Kattan and Will Ferrell leg-humping some some guest celebrity. Maybe Drew Barrymore or one of the Tilly sisters.

There have been good years and years that, well, sucked flaming barbed demon cock. It's totally inconsistent season to season -- you think you have the makings of a good cast at the start, then a few episodes in they lapse back into the overlong and ill-conceived sketches that inevitably mark their down periods. You can break the show's history down in eras like geology: the late '70s were regarded as being some of the best American comedy of the 20th Century, even though the humor hasn't really worn all that well, and the early '80s were terrible, except for Eddie Murphy, and then he left and they were terrible again until Adam Sandler and Dana Carvey and Chris Farley, then they really really blew for almost an entire decade. Tina Fey oversaw a brief burst of quality and then fled. The results since have been mediocre at best.



Yet still, there it is goes. It'll just keep on a-soldiering, pumping out episode after celebrity-hosted, bloated sketch-packed and occasional belly laugh-riffic episode. And I'm sure we'll keep on getting terrible movies featuring ex-cast members, garbage like Corky Romano or Fat Albert. My advice, ala Bob Knight, is to lie back and enjoy it. These days I fall asleep 15 minutes in anyway.

5: Sportscenter

Old No. 7: There's really no point to explaining this show, because if you read this blog you have watched more hours of Sportscenter than any other television program. Probably ten times as many hours. Is there another show that you would leave on and allow to replay over and over and over again? Of course not. But you've done this with Sportscenter.

The anchors, of course, come and go, and some are annoying and some are great. I loved the years of The Big Show with Dan Patrick and Keith Olbermann, but looking back I don't really know why. Those guys weren't actually that funny, and when they try to recreate their glory years on NBC's football show they're downright agitating.

What Sportscenter did is condense the most visceral parts of being a sports fan -- the awesome plays. Sure, you cared about who won and who lost, and you cared about the stats in the box score, but you could get all that in the paper the next day. Bob Ryan could describe in vivid detail a Michael Jordan dunk, but you could read that story a hundred times and not get the impact one replay on Sportscenter gave you.

Plus, in recent years it's become the go-to repository of loony-tunes postgame press conferences. Repeat after me: Playoffs? Practice? I'm a man! I'm 40! They are who we thought they were! There's a bunch of assholes out there watching football games like a piece of shit with no pride! All brought to you by Sportscenter. Duh-duh-duh! Duh-duh-duh!

4: Seinfeld

Old No. 7: I love this show, despite the fact that I dislike every main character and the finale of the series was the worst TV show I've ever seen.



Curb Your Enthusiasm had a chance to surpass it as the greatest comedy in television history, but then Larry David's neuroses overtook everything, including his own life (on which both Curb and Seinfeld were partly based).

3: The Simpsons

Cecil: Simpsons creator Matt Groening was a respected and successful cartoonist for years before his sketches on the Tracey Ullman Show turned into the most popular television program of the last two decades, but as great as Life in Hell was -- and it really, truly was -- no one will remember the guy for Binky, Sheba, Akbar or Jeff. What's truly amazing is how long the show's peak lasted; for about 10 full seasons, up until the late '90s crash in quality, there wasn't a funnier show on television. Not even Bob Dornan on CSPAN could compete.

The Simpsons is such an important cultural touchstone for our generation that I spent several years of my life speaking little but quotes from the show. There are so many good ones that you can apply to daily circumstances, especially if you wear an onion on your belt (it was the style at the time.) In its heyday, the laughs would come so fast and furious that you'd have to wait for a re-run to collect all the chuckles you missed the first time.

Most impressively, it was never, ever, cruel or mean-spirited. (At least during the glory years it wasn't; by the time they started writing whole episodes around celebrities, it dropped back to Earth.) The characters weren't just cutouts with catchphrases, they were textured, complex and human. The shadow of its greatness looms large over every animated show that's come after -- one of my former co-workers at the Rocky once asked me if I liked Family Guy, and my response was, "Yeah, back when it was called The Simpsons."

2: Cheers

Cecil: Remember when Boston didn't seem like it was quite so full of doucheknockers? More like a blue-collar city where you could walk into a local bar and hobnob over beers with a group of quick-witted characters? Sure you do -- that time was the '80s, and you thought that because of Sam Malone and company.



Cheers was more than just the best televisions show of its era. To my mind, it stands alone in the history of the medium as being the one program that was as good the day it ended as it was in the first episode -- not M.A.S.H, not All In The Family, not The Simpsons, nada. There was no creative dip, the writing was always excellent and, amazingly, the cast remained virtually unchanged over the course of what, 12 years? New characters came aboard -- Woody, Frasier Crane, Lilith, annoying Kirstie Alley -- Coach left because he died and Dianne Long left because she wanted to make Troop Beverly Hills, but the core group never split apart, which happens to nearly every successful show. Think about it: McLean Stevenson left M.A.S.H, Sherman Helmsley left All In The Family, funny left The Simpsons. But Cheers just kept on bringing the clever, year after year, fake beer after fake beer -- that kind of consistency is rare in any form of entertainment, and almost nonexistent in television.

It's also one of the very few shows that I will unfailingly tune in for re-runs. It's amazing how well it aged -- maybe because "a guy walks into a bar" is just one of the great dictates of comedy.

Bankmeister: Coach: (with telephone receiver clutched to chest) "Some guy on the phone wants to speak to an Ernie Pantusso."

Woody: "Coach, that's you."

Coach: "Oh, right. (places receiver to ear) "Speaking."

1: The Wire

Old No. 7: The setting of any TV show is important, and that venue becomes a character in and of itself. We've all seen countless shows set in New York or Los Angeles, as well as Milwaukee (Happy Days and Laverne & Shirley), Las Vegas (CSI), Miami (Dexter), North Jersey (The Sopranos), Boston (Cheers), Cleveland (Drew Carey), Springfield (The Simpsons) and Cincinnati (WKRP). I've never felt a connection to any of those places like I did to the city of Baltimore through The Wire.

I've never been to Baltimore, but I feel as though I've lived there for years. I feel like I know what the streets smell like, or that I can sense the nip in the air as winter approaches. The word "genius" gets tossed around too easily these days, but I can proclaim with 100 per cent certainty that David Simon is one. He has created a masterwork of drama that will hold up forever.

Just watch this show. I implore you and I beg you, and I do that with full understanding of how annoying that is. I was hounded for years by friends and writers who told me I had to watch The Wire or I'd miss out on some grand cultural experience. I hate it when I'm told that I'm missing out on something, I hate it so much that I will usually intentionally continue to ignore what I'm missing out on, just out of spite.

Luckily I relented on The Wire, and I watched Season One in the least appealing way possible -- during a rebroadcast on BET, with commercials, and with the cursing and nudity edited out. My world was rocked, and I purchased that season and others on DVD before watching the last season on HBO. My current budget allows me neither DVD-buying nor HBO (damned reproduction), but a simple Netflix subscription or membership at your local Blockbuster is all that's needed to gain passage to David Simon's Baltimore and this tragically magnificent slice of America.

And there you have it folks. The top 25 television programs of the last 25 years, as The Iron Triangle sees it. Hope you enjoyed. In the event that you did, peep our similar lists on NFL QBs, cinematic endeavors, baseball stick-swingers, chaptered compilations, and of course, starting pitchers.
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Baseball in the Daytime: 4-9-09

It's true: This image has absolutely zero to do with today's installment of "Baseball in the Daytime," but sometimes, when looking for art to go along with your piece, you stumble across something you can't pass up, and in this case, I'm a N.D. fan, so, uh, like, there, or something. Anyway, there are nine, count 'em, nine, baseball games that will have all but transpired by the time the bankers of the country punch their out cards this afternoon. Dig in for some heavy previewage, or just make like most of the readers and skip this feature altogether. If you're into it, it's after the jump.

Los Mets @ Los Rojos, 11:35 Central: Starters in today's first tilt are an interesting pair. There are two somewhat-known O. Perezes associated with professional baseball. One his a fat, out-of-work, former Royal from the Dominican. The other one is pretty decent. His name's Oliver, he's put together 25 wins for the Mets over the last two campaigns, and he'll toe the slab opposite Old No. 7 favorite Bronson Arroyo today. The Mets would like to make this a sweep as Cecil's Marlins have already done so with their debut series. Catch the tilt on DirecTV 721, or have a listen: XM 183.

Tigers @ Blue Jays, 11:37: If your name is Fredrick Alfred, you've got a few nickname options. If you go with "Rick," well, you're a bigger man than I. Rick Porcello gets the nod for the Motown visitors today. His counterpart: Ricky Romero. That's right; it's a dual of Rickies. One's a lefty, the other one isn't. You can watch both of them on DirecTV 722, or listen to the commentators poke fun of their names -- which isn't guaranteed -- on XM 178.

Mariners @ Twins, 12:10: Jarrod Washburn goes for the non-Pilots today. Glen Perkins hopes to lead the Twinkies. Three games into the season, these two clubs are right where you'd expect: Minnesota with a half-game lead in the Central; Seattle's in the Western basement. DirecTV's got the broadcast on channel 723. It's 179 on XM.

Rays @ Red Sox, 12:35: The Beantown affair likely has the best pitching duel on the slate today as Matt Garza takes on Daisuke Matsuzaka. This'll be the rubbber match of the series, and a chance to gain some ground on the Eastern birds, the Blue Jays and the Orioles. Those two clubs, along with the last-place Yankees have got the Sox and Rays sandwiched in the East, and I really enjoyed typing that. A lot. The DirecTV guide says 726 if you root for Tampa, 727 if you don't. XM offers one option, and that's 177.

Yankees @ Orioles, 12:35: Speak of the devil, A.J. Burnett hopes to get the pinstripes their first win, while Alberto Simon goes for the O's. If you like losers, your feed comes in on DirecTV 724. If you live where "The Wire" was filmed, catch it on 725, which of course is a perfect opportunity to mention that Jason Whitlock's interview with "Wire" producer David Simon is slated to air during the second hour of the Jim Rome show today, which is a conflict if you're trying to listen to the game, something easily accomplished on XM 176.

Pirates @ Cardinals, 12:40: We follow those potential gems with a contest nobody cares about. Curtis Ohlendorf'll toss of for the Steel Town kid-fuckers. Representing the Busch Stadium blow-jobbers is Chris Carpenter. Seven twenty-eight's the gig for you DirecTVers, while XM suggests 184.

Indians @ Rangers, 1:05: The sensitive-minded probably take issue with the mascots meeting in Arlington today, as the Texas team nickname is offensive to, like, the Earth and stuff. If you can get over that, Carl Pavano goes for the Tribe. Brandon McCarthy is your Tex-ass starter. The Lone Star squad seeks a series sweep. Jesus wants Clevelanders to watch DirecTV 729. George W. supporters are likely to prefer 730. Flip the dial to XM 181 if you're of the radio-listening variety.

Royals @ White Sox, 1:05: It's a battle of D's in the Windy City: Kyle Davies is the Royals' righty slated for today, while lefty John Danks goes for the stockings. If you're in the KC metro, FSKC will televise, and 610 AM will broadcast. Outside of the area, DirecTV has it on -- well, slap me pink -- 731 for the blue fans, 732 for the all-whites. XM carries it on 180. Insert shameless plug for the Royals to take this one, and the series with it.

Dodgers @ Padres, 2:35: Finally, Clayton Kershaw and Kevin Correia go at it in the N.L. West. I won't be tuning in to this one, as drunk Dodger fan Johnny Utah will likely need to be bailed out of jail right around first pitch. Catch the action on DirecTV 733, or XM 185.

There you have it. Your fun-filled BitD schedule for the first Thursday of the season, and here I go, off to knock back my first scotch of the morning.
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Evening Essay: "The Wire"

Five score and a handful of months ago, Old No. 7 called an all-staff House of Georges meeting of the ethics variety. The conference room was full of passion and disdain, and after the fact, Seven and I had a series of extensive phone conversations regarding, race, violence, and the American dream. Opinions were voiced, angst-riddled phrases were exchanged, and among other things, I was told the following: "Dude, you have got to check out season four of The Wire." It's kind of seldom that the man actually says something serious to me, so when he be fa'-real talkin', I be listenin'.

Stubborn prick that I am, though -- I can't dive into something like that; I've got to have the handle, the entire litter as opposed to the alleged pick. So I got on the NetFlix, and I ordered it up, one disc at a time, cordially interspersed with one movie for the wife, then one for me in between. Earlier this week, I finished the entire program, and I can't remember the last time I felt so thankful for a recommendation, so stunned by a production of any kind. And I say all that to say this: There is nothing current-events-related about this post. The Wire called it a wrap and ended their fifth and final season earlier this spring. But, like Jim Gaffigan says,



it's frustrating when you see a movie for the first time that everyone else has already seen ages ago, and you want more than anything to talk to someone about it. That's the position I'm in right now, so I'm talkin'.

Every once in a while, people are moved, and that's how I felt watching the credits of every single episode of this HBO series. The viewing experience was quite the marriage of adrenaline and dismay, one that fostered some kids by the names of outrage and inspiration. I'd get a disc with two to four episodes on it, and at my first opportunity, power through the whole thing, and find myself literally motionless on the couch, treading the depths of ponder. First thing the next morning, I'd get it in the mailbox and wait, oftentimes updating my queue if we hadn't gotten around to the movie on hand. In that exchange would come a fond animosity that wavered from hatred toward the postal service for taking half-days on Saturday and Sunday off, and a relief knowing that I was actually buying more time before the program would end, given that there are only five seasons. But this thing, this magnifi-tastic monster that David Simon and Ed Burns put together blew me away, and I'm not interested in attempting to convince folks to watch it. I'm really not. You simply do or you don't.

But I've got to talk about it, nine months (Editor's Note: Or five years; your pick.) late or not.

One common theme I've discovered surrounding folks that have discussed it or written about it is the program's realness. And for the record, you bumpkin Oklahomans, that word is pronounced "pro.gram., not "PRO-grum." But the show, even though I've never spent a prostitute's hour in the ghetto or a mayor's week in a city hall, is real. In season one, we're turned on to the Avon Barksdale drug ring, one that is henched by his main man, Stringer Bell. It should also be noted that I'm not going to apologize for ruining anything for folks who haven't seen it. This is an essay, not a preview. I watched all of the cast/producer commentary at the conclusion of the program, and one line (among many) really struck me, and it came from Delaney Williams, who played Sergeant Jay Landsman, and it went something to the tune of "At the end of season three, I had to wear a t-shirt that said 'I had nothing to do with the killing of Stringer Bell' for like six months."

You know, here in the blogospheres, you see the occasional writer or commenter that has a goofy screen name like Angelo Pappas or Morpheus or Stringer Bell, so it was of some surprise to me that there were actually fans of that character out there. The guy, played by Idris Elba, was a total, complete piece of mad-cow-riddled calf shit. The wretched, steamy kind with a pack of flies hovering. I didn't stand up for Barksdale; I was of course a fan of (Dominic West's character) Jimmy McNulty to the bitter end. I did, however, appreciate the way Barksdale did business, and I even liked that his power followed him to the clink in a seemingly authentic way. My point: Fuck Stringer Bell. If ever I start a new Web site, the domain will be www.fuckstringerbell.com. Also in the realm of side notes, listening to West speak in the commentary was like listening to someone interview Bob Marley. That shit fascinates me while it drives me to pull my testicles from my scrotum. When Marley sings, his English is annunciated and audible. When he speaks, his Jamaican drawl is far from comprehendible. When West acts, his American dialect is perfect; when he speaks as himself, it's back to wanker-ese, and I feel like composing a song called "Just Fucking Speak Normal Already."

Anyway, season one reveals the drug ring, the power, the money, and the same aspects of the Baltimore Police Department officers trying to track it and beat it. In season two, they re-craft the art of intelligent. That is, instead of delving deeper into the introduced scenario, they go the opposite direction: global. Cops, along with the curious citizen, want to know where the drugs are coming from. With that comes an implication of "find the drug boss and the thing's solved." This approach actually tackles where the drugs are coming from, like, who's bringing them to the boss. In that roost come dozens of eggs that hatch hooker smuggling, rugged blue-collar life, and conspiracy. Amazing stuff. An odd transition to adjust to, but really God-damned amazing, nonetheless. The puppeteers of the show are able to do this by an examination of a major Baltimore industry: overseas shipping receiving. Like its predecessor, the season educated and found a new way to exemplify how people's lives be bein'.

Somewhere in the mix of this, politics is introduced, hand-in-hand with money, blackmailing, power, and corruption, or, as I like to put it, "da' troof from da' boof'." The politicians want to eliminate symbols of drugs, gangs, violence, and poverty, and there's a massive moment where they detonate some apartment complex towers, edifii that define certain cast characters' entire lives. Yet, the drug ring works around it, finds new methods. Barksdale gets out of prison, secrets unfold, and dabbled in there like an accidental paint splotch, is the Brother Joe character who's outsourced from New York to come down and fend off the newcomer drug fellas. He's quite the presence. His re-appearance later in the program was masterfully done as he and Omar Little -- my even-though-I-have-like-six-way-tie favorite character from the entire series -- mow down Bell with the efficiency of a self-propelled Lawn Boy.



And season three, which appropriately did away with Bell after seeing him scammed by lawyers and property developers, is quite the Sangria of issues. We get back to the drug ring, get more detailed on the police investigation, but we also get into Baltimore politics, we dive into the mind of a newly released-from-prison, former gang-banger, and we look at a perhaps-insane attempt to tackle the inconceivably cumbersome animal that is the quote war on drugs. This all leads us to season four, and the impetus for Seven's insistence.

In season four, which by the way is not necessarily my favorite, the producers and writers deliver, in a word, culmination. As a blogger, I often wrestle with other gay men in unitards the logistics of cursing. In one venue, you can't be taken seriously if you drop eff bombs, while in the other, the liberty provides the opportunity to -- as one might think -- get the point across. But, Andre Royo, in an interview with the Smoking Section, says it best:

"In every season, I’ve had a great moment or great episodes. But the fourth season it was just everything just lined up, everything was powerful and the flow of the whole show, it never dropped...When I was growing up, my parents and everybody was having these parties. And it would be like a round table, and they would say, ‘It’s the school system,’ or they would say, ‘It’s the government,’ or they would say, ‘It’s the family,’ and they would argue all night, but in reality they were all right. Everything matters. You can’t just fix one thing and leave everything else fucked up. It won’t work. You gotta fix it all, know what I’m saying? And the fourth season just made that really, really clear. Everything is connected and everything has an effect on the other."

That quote defines the show. It really does, and I have to hand it to whoever at Smoking Section lined that shit up. This is the shaved almonds of the cereal Old No. 7 was spooning: It's all fucked. Understand that that statement doesn't come with a surrenderous white flag or a shrug to the Final Jeopardy question. It's an analysis. When talking about people, one member of one demographic can't finger another with the mindset of opportunity ignorance. The thought behind all of this is that if the drug ring is out there and even seven year-olds are a part of it, you can't chunk the education system in there or slice the economy out of the pie, or head nod in the direction of politics. You can't, and I can't. We, on many occasions, will, regardless. Because we want to fix things, because we want a perfect world wherein at the grocery-store endcaps of life, the Brad Pitt/Angelina Jolie issues, the Madonna-and-the-Pope chats are our biggest concerns. Not the future of our offspring. Not the decay of our hometown cities. Not the actually never-ending cycles of non-consideration of life. This television program is about life. And not their life. Not his life. Or her life. It's about our life. It's about our cluelessness with regard to how to improve it.

That last sentence isn't an insult. I am the perfect example of a clueless individual. I wrap my aorta around the traffic this blog doesn't get. I'm embarrassed multiple times in a week when folks mention news items I've never heard of, ones that are already months old. My year teeter-totters on The Tradition. I feel that I am like most animals within this human species: I can be a good leader at one or two things, but for others, I need a leader to follow. I could rally my energies around a feasible solution to school systems, to violent crime, but how intimidated am I by the notion of determining the starting point to fix it? Really dang intimidated.

I dunno. Maybe this guy



was a step in the direction we were seeking. Maybe he wasn't. Maybe there is no difference between Republicans and Democrats. Maybe we're all in this mess until we figure out a way to fix it ourselves. Maybe we never will. But I naturally digress. We've gone to non-recognizable efforts to clarify that this blog is not about politics. This blog also isn't about television. This blog, at the risk of sounding Muenster, is about freedom. We have the capability of talking with the abundancy of oxygen, about our two favorite football teams, and whether or not one can or will beat the other and triumph. And that freaking rules.

But the fourth season goes into the schools, it introduces a quartet of young actors who play kids. They all portray crucial -- that word might get thrown around a lot but it's really significant here -- roles in terms of real world. You got Randy, Duquan, Michael, and Namond. And I ain't tryin' to get all Whitney Houston here. I ain't. But these kids are the future. The characters these youths play are real. They are. Again: Never done no time in no ghetto, but the point of this post is that this stuff is real. It's the Meyer of Oscar, yo. At one time or another, in the heart of their eighth-grade year, each one of these kids has a glimmer of a chance to go in a positive direction. One does. The rest become under-the-bed dust mites, products of the system, which doesn't lead down the path of positivity.

School. I don't know how or why, but somehow, some way, there has to be a means for change in school. Now, I don't own a soap box, and even if I did, I wouldn't be tightening my shoelaces. I'm talking about a portrayal on television. A real one.

Season five.

Given that I'm just under 48 hours of having finished it, I'm still not done processing. There are things that happened in those 10 1/2 episodes that absolutely murdered me. In fact, most of the concepts birthed in that season did. But like a gargle of warm salt water, I took them. But only for one reason. I tell you, I don't watch a lot of TV. I see a fair amount of movies, but almost always late, and on the rare occasion that I deem one "really good," my opinion of the movie as a whole is ruined by the ending. Take "No Country for Old Men" for example. Couldn't believe that what's-his-name, the dude from "The Goonies," the good guy, bit the bullet. Couldn't freaking believe it. I was flabbergasted that his ol' lady was killed off. And I was lock-jawed at the fact that the bad dude got away. Those events are crucial to the theme of the storyline. That I get. But I'm a fuddy duddy, or something like that. I want justice. I don't always need a happy ending, but I look for redemption, and for scores to be settled. When they don't happen like that, I'm pissed. Great movie either way, and many props to Cormac McCarthy, one of the greatest authors of our day. But in The Wire, I feel -- at least now -- like I needed some more redemption than I got. And this isn't a criticism of the show; it was a real canvas.

It was so real, that I, stubborn prick that I am, was fine with it. Because I knew it was real. And I knew it wasn't about a huge payday, or an Emmy. It was about making good television that served the purpose of a message, and I'm not the first to say it, but allow me: That was what Brown could do for me. I happen to like truth. I happen to like progress. I happen to like good writers and even hope to one day be one.

In conclusion (Note: Has a worse introductory phrase ever been invented?), I am mildly embarrassed to admit that I don't know that the purpose of this post was beyond writing about The Wire. It is phenomenal. Like cooler than Transformers. And I, a few weeks beyond Thanksgiving, couldn't be more thankful for having experienced the best television ever made.

There is the aspect of the fifth season that I have not yet touched on: the newspaper. Killer angle. The producers deliver some incredible newsroom angles and successfully address issues associated with the allegedly dying form of media: print. I've always been an optimist. I've always felt confident that the Chiefs will one day win a Super Bowl before my children put me in a nursing home, and I've, in recent years, felt that print journalism will rebound. I've also been called a fool on more occasions than there are words in this post. So who knows. The way things shake down for McNulty are rough, and the same goes with the city desk editor of the Baltimore Sun. In essence, there's a truckload full of bullshit dealt to the guys fighting for what's right. Further defining the galactic scope of what's wrong with "things," they lose. Tremendous insight, though. We also get an edge into some police work that only seeks the right thing, and we spy on some attorney-based corruption as well. And the thing, the final episode, wraps up with a full-circle examination of how things be. How things've been. How they will continue to be.

I'm sure that I've read a novel that exploded my cortex, met a woman that rocked my Tropic of Capricorn, and heard a song that gave me daydreams of rockstardom, but I cannot recall any that moved me as much as this production.

Cheers to David Simon, Ed Burns, and of course, Old No. 7.
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Friday Morning Fracas: 10-31-08

It's Halloween. If you haven't already assembled your costume and readied your candy, shame on you. Not to worry, I haven't either, but that's because I'm going to hand out granola bars in my bathrobe, the one that has a "corn-cob pipe" in it. While the thought of that is both tricky and a treat, we've actually got a few things to address later in the day, so we'll keep this one nice and easy. "Nice and easy," by the way, is another way of saying full of vaultage for the pole.

A guy by the name of Old No. 7 once told me, "If you're not going to With Leather on a daily basis, you're doing yourself a disservice." That comment of course didn't suck, nor does the fact that they've linked to pbase today, and said pbase has what I like to call a tantalizing collection of photos of Leryn Franco, the stunning javelin thrower from Argentina.

Well, go on. Have a look. Just keep your pants on. Unless you're Mike Singletary, then it's a-okay.

As if we haven't gratuitously whored ourselves for Big Daddy Drew enough this week: this week's Jamboroo at Deadspin, with Jim Gaffigan footage. Win. Win.

In things of the loss-loss scenario, The Big Lead (vis-a-vis The Big Picture) has the skinny on some kid's big game. Sounds like the high-school version of Tony Gonzalez.

Lastly, The Smoking Section has an interview with Andre Royo, a.k.a. "Bubbles" from The Wire. Your homework: Go read it now. Absolutely phenomenal.
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