…bring in the clowns
Here is my first blog…….
There are only three dates I feel compelled to remember…
-March 24, my sainted mothers birthday.
-September 11, 2001.. obvious reasons.
-October 12, 2007, the day I was fired from Ticket.
There are some others that make me recollect, but not to extent taking time to reflect. So April 15, 2013 carries no special meaning as of now. It was just another date that signified I was canned from another job. 10-12-07 was the first time I was ever fired. I survived all my life guarding details. And every single bartending gigs. But on 10-12-07 I experienced the hooded axe man for the first time. It was swift and cunning. Also deserved. My actions of acting like a Highland Park jet-setter proved to be an ego-deflator. Egocentric,but balanced with irony. I was canned from the best job on the planet. And the only one to blame was the only man who was guilty…ME!
So after a forgettable stint at ESPN and another explainable firing, I was back at my trusty Lakehouse on Lake Granbury. I was like radiation enchiladas..scrumptious to the eye, but toxic to the body. It wouldn’t last and shouldn’t last. After a melt down moment on the air, I was fired again. Just call it a Charlie Brown moment. A Charlie Brown’s teachers moment. I talked, but no one understood. Another firing, another Greggo fuck up. Then it was Richie Whitt to the rescue. The PD at the time was Tom Bigby. After about six months of wrangling and pleading, Tom Bigby agreed to meet with me. Not sure what it was to sway him, but suddenely I was onboard. With a nice six-figure salary to boot. That wasn’t all. In a meeting with Richie and Tom, we were told that I operated under a different set of guidelines. In private they were called the Greggo Rules. I had more freedom and free rein than other hosts. My how times changed. From unemployment and no returned calls to my own set of rules. Holy shit! Things were looking up. Then, the surprise of all, Tom Bigby was ‘reassigned’ and a new PD was hired. It was a dude named Bruce Gilbert. Are you fucking kidding me? Bruce was the new PD at the Fan? Along with one of my favorite human beings off all-time, Mike Thompson. Mike and Bruce were the two management blokes that were most responsible for the Ticket’s absolute success. Was this a dream? This was like a script written especially for me. I wanted a party. A celebration. Then remembered that celebrations were what landed me in employment purgatory. I quickly dismissed that lame-brained idea. But not the idea of Bruce Gilbert riding into town in a tank designed for destruction. No more gunboat diplomacy. No more uncoordinated chaos. No more Panglossian methods. It was on. No more inherited ideas from beer commercials and sit-coms. No more cries of the marooned hungry. We had our cavalry, our marching orders, our desires, just time to play our winning cards and reap the rewards. Very noble aspirations. Very lofty expectations. It just didn’t work.
Accessing blame is unfair. In the orchestra of war, mistakes are often calculated in lives lost. I never use that barometer. From Bunker Hill through Gettysburg ,the trenches of Western Europe to the impossible jungles of Vietnam and climaxing in the very real situations of Southeast Asia. War is war, peace is impossible.
So it was down to analyzing a war halfway across the globe while fighting a war with the radio czars right here at home. And the war mongers seemed to be winning. And we didn’t get any help on our home front. Bruce Gilbert was the perfect general to draw up the battle plans and we had more than enough soldiers to execute the plan. It just didn’t fucking work. And it was about the time that 2012 was coming to a close that it occurred to me…if Bruce Gilbert couldn’t make this thing work, nobody in the radio biz could. And those doubts were raining down from the heavens. For the first time, I doubted Bruce Gilbert. Then it happened, Bruce jumped on a huge offer. No one could blame him. A third sports station in Dallas was not gonna float. Despite having the power of the Cowboys and the force of the CBS empire, it is an apocalypse on the front lines.Then enter,the clowns. The first being Tim Collins. He had already weathered a couple of un-spectacular years as assistant program director. He is the perfect corporate puppet. Arrives at 8:30 sharp every morning. Mysteriously disappears around 2:00 for a few hours, then makes like Earl Campbell every fucking day at 5:00 to get the hell outta Dodge. This buffoon is so over his head that he and whale shit are on a first name basis. How a blockhead like this droll climbed the corporate ladder is an amazing. I never knew there was such a demand for spreadsheets and unnecessary schedules. He is the epitome of the Peter Principle. He is truly the Dexter Manley of management. Attends class everyday,keeps his mouth shut, turns,his work in, then receives a degree not knowing how to read and write. To insinuate this guy has no clue is an insult to cluelessness. He is about as sharp as mashed potatoes.
So there you have it. We are at the fact where the Fan is struggling and there is a search party for a scapegoat. Monday I will introduce you to Spittle, Gavin. I use last name first so I won’t in any manner get him mixed up with G-Man general Gavin Dawson. As brain-dead as Tim Collins is, Spittle,Gavin might rival him on the SS Dumbshit vessel.
Let all that percolate over the weekend. Tomorrow we talk my favorite sporting event of the year. And as earlier stated, we finish the REAL story on my public beheading on Monday.
Hang in there puppies…