The Throwdown in Motown

I have huge news about the blog coming in the next week or so. I’ve been working on stuff behind the scene. I will either announce the news on the blog, or a 60 minute special on ESPN.

As I’ve been busy with something new and cool, I thought that I would take a week off to cool down. With the news of the Indiana Pacers are getting their 33.5 million dollars of blood money to stay in town and Ron Artest won an NBA championship, I feel that the NBA has lost its credibility. I’d like to take you back to the moment that it happened. This is a repost from November 2005.

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Let me be the first to say it.  I told you so.

As a loyal Pacer fan, I had to justify what went wrong in the Eastern Conference Championship series against the Pistons last year, and two words came to mind.

Ron Artest.

His hard foul at the end of Game 6, as well as general bad play during the series, cost the Pacers a trip to the NBA finals to avenge their 2000 loss against the Lakers.  Sure, you could point to Jermaine O’Neal’s injury, or Reggie Miller not looking behind him to see if anyone was going to swat away his go ahead shot in Game 2 (the turning point of the series).  But, when push came to shove, Artest didn’t deliver.

The season ended, and the Pacers needed to make some bold moves to challenge the Pistons and the emerging behemoth in Miami.  The Pacers had 3 stellar power forwards, and questions inside.  I had said many times that the Pacers needed to do a sign and trade with the Golden State Warriors…Artest for Power Forward/Center Eric Dampier.  Easy enough, right.  You trade the team cancer, and keep Al Harrington, a young player that was thriving under the system off the bench.  However, Harrington publicly stated that he wanted more playing time, a cardinal sin in any Larry Bird team.  Al was sent packing for Atlanta.

Stupid, stupid, stupid!

Indiana gets in return Stephen Jackson…the ego maniacal shooting guard who won a ring with San Antonio in 1999, and sounded more like Michael Jackson than he did an NBA superstar.  He and Artest were sure to make fast friends.  It didn’t help Indiana’s inside game, but that’s what the draft was for.  Because I know when I think of guys that can take it to Shaq, I think of David Harrison. 

Jackson was brought in to be the heir apparent to the shooting guard post that would soon be left by an aging Reggie Miller.  It almost seemed that the Pacers’ brass forgot the job that backup Fred Jones did in the playoffs.  Fred Jones alone kept the Pacers alive during the road games in Auburn Hills in June.

So, what happens?  Harrington goes to the Hawks and averages over 20 points, while Jackson and Artest get suspended 102 games between them.

Good move, Indiana.

But I digress.  That was just a backdrop to the events Friday night in Detroit.  Fans were throwing cups of beer, and players were invading the stands as if they were looking for weapons of mass destruction, or as the people in Hollywood would say “Wackiness would ensue”.

Fast forward to tonight.  David Stern steps up and hands down his sentence.  Ron Artest, see you next year.  Stephen Jackson and Jermaine O’Neal, enjoy a long unpaid vacation.  Stern talked about the transgression as “unforgivable” and that he was “sending a clear message to the NBA”.

I mentioned earlier, I am a loyal Pacers fan.  I can honestly say that the punishment was fair, just, and swift.  In fact, I think that Stephen Jackson should have been suspended more.  Artest may have done the most damage, but he had a beer thrown at him…that’s provocation.  Jackson went up there just to go up there.

However, I think that there is one other suspension that needs to be levied.  It is my firm belief that the Detroit Pistons fans should be suspended for 10 games.  Let’s face it, this is not the first time Pistons fans have been involved in an incident of projectile beverages.  Boston forward M.L. Carr’s eyes were injured when a fan threw a beer in his face several years ago. 

For the next 10 games at The Palace, the Pistons should play in an empty arena.  In that time, the franchise can spend that time better figuring out the security issues they seem to have.  The Pistons should also be barred from serving alcohol for the rest of the season.

This punishment is common place in Europe for soccer hooligan fans that get just a little too rowdy.  In fact, a Swedish reporter asked Stern if this was possible during the press conference.  Stern dismissed it in that “sure, well look in to it” way that one gets when one makes a request at a radio station.

But I say to you, David Stern, you can send a clear message to the players and coaches that if team security can’t protect you, then the league will.  Sure, as a league, we’ll take the hit financially, but it’s worth it to make the game a family friendly environment.  Nobody can take part in a brawl if no one’s there, now can they?

But until then, I will watch my crippled Pacers slug their way through the next 30 games, and hope they make the playoffs.  And when I watch the highlights of Al Harrington in Atlanta, you know, actually playing.  I will only sit back, munch on my popcorn, and say, “I told you so.”

       

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King for a Day - My Open Letter to LeBron James

Dear LeBron,

Well, you have the spotlight tonight. ESPN is carving out an entire hour of programming for your announcement. You are going to tell us for whom you are signing your max contract. That should take less than 10 seconds. How do you plan to fill the other 59:50 of programming?

I’m so excited for you to make your announcement; because after it’s over, I don’t have to hear about it anymore. You’ve become a media coverage addicted diva like Bret Favre. The only difference between the two of you is that Favre has actually won something.

I know that you love the media attention, hearing from teams who are willing to back up a Brinks Truck to your house and the prospect of “stay in Cleveland sex” with Betty White. But really, do you deserve it?

To be fair, you have amassed an impressive résumé. You were the Rookie of the Year (as was Mitch Richmond, Mike Miller and Grant Hill), a two-time MVP (so was Karl Malone), an All Star Game MVP (like Tom Chambers), six-time All Star and you earned the Gold Medal in the 2008 Olympics and the 2007 FIBA World Championships.

But as the theme song for the “Facts of Life” says, you take the good, you take the bad.

You were the marquee player for the disappointing 2004 Olympic team (which lost by 19 points to Puerto Rico. PUERTO FREAKING RICO!) and the 2006 FIBA team, have made the NBA finals only once and completely disappeared during the playoffs in the last two years.

You have yet to win an NBA championship. You’re still young, but the great ones win early. Magic won one in his rookie year (without an injured Kareem). Larry won in his second year. Michael won the first of six championships in his seventh year. Kobe won in his fourth year. Next year is your eighth season.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

If you worked as hard in the post-season as you do in the off-season to get an hour long drone fest about your “greatness”, then you might have a championship ring…and maybe something to talk about for 60 minutes.  As a Pacer fan, I was told over and over that Reggie Miller couldn’t be considered one of the best players in the league, because he hadn’t won an NBA Championship. You may be the most celebrated player in the league, but it don’t mean a thing if you ain’t got a ring.   

The most likely places for you are back to Cleveland, Miami or New York. If I were to pick for you, I’d send you to the Knicks. Why not? You have a lot in common. It’s an overrated, underachieving franchise that hasn’t won a championship in your lifetime.

By the way, if ESPN at anytime plays “Should I Stay or Should I Go” by the Clash during the show tonight, I pray that the ghost of Joe Strummer finds his way to your house and smothers you in your sleep.

Good luck, and get off my TV and radio soon.

Ian Shane

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My open letter to the Big Ten

Dear Big Ten,

Look, I’ve been there, too. Once upon a time, I dated someone with the sole purpose to make another girl jealous. If she saw me with someone else, she’d realize that we were perfect for each other. It took a couple of broken hearts before I realized that this is the same logic a teenager has when he thinks “if I wreck the car, my dad will be forced to buy me a new one.”

We’re both guys, so you can admit it. Come on! I won’t tell anyone. You don’t really want Nebraska, do you? This is really about Notre Dame.

I don’t blame you. You and Notre Dame are perfect for each other. It has a lot of tradition, a chance to build some really intense rivalries, great programs that go beyond football and basketball, and its athletes tend to stay out of jail. For years, it’s been an independent in football and has played other sports with the coastal thugs in the Big East. They deserve better than Syracuse.

Remember, we went through something like this 20 years ago; when Penn State made it the Big 11. They didn’t have more to offer than football and women’s volleyball (which really is all that Nebraska has). Even I have a hard time remembering that they are a Big Ten School. For a second, when I see that IU is playing Penn State, I wonder why the Hoosiers are playing the Nittany Lions so late in the season.

Penn State was a rebound when Notre Dame turned you down. I don’t think that anyone can argue that. You’ve had some good times with Penn State since, but really after January 3, PSU is just a huge weight around your neck.

Now with Nebraska coming to the Big Ten, you have broken up the Big 12. Missouri is on the outside looking in, Colorado is headed to the Pac 10 (yes that great west coast state, Colorado) along with the Texas schools, and there's talk of you raiding the Big East. You have created a logistically impractical Nebraska-Penn State home and home women’s softball series every year (yes, there are other sports apart from football), and you have effectively killed the BCS (OK…maybe that’s not such a bad thing).

All of this, just to get Notre Dame.

The irony is that Notre Dame’s interest may be tempered if the Texas schools join the league. Do they really want to go from being an independent to swimming in a 16 school conference? With all the revenue being shared? I hardly think so.

Suppose you land Notre Dame. You will have used Nebraska and played home-wrecker to a fine (albeit overrated) conference. Would it have been worth it? I love the Fighting Irish too, but is it really worth destroying college sports?  

Look, if you want to be the Uther Pendragon of college football, I guess I can’t stop you. But if you really expect me to accept a Rutgers-Missouri game as a Big Ten match-up, then you have bigger problems than wooing the regents in South Bend.

Best of luck in the courtship of the Irish. Go Hoosiers.

Ian Shane 

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Indy is Danica Patrick’s Booty Call

There’s this really hot girl that you used to date. You thought that the two of you had a good thing going, until she tells you “we need to talk.” She says that she has met someone else, and she thinks it’s time to move on. The guy for whom you’ve been thrown over is a slack-jawed idiot that may look good, but doesn’t have anything of substance to offer. When that guy doesn’t give her what she wants the most, she gives you a call at 10:30 and asks if she can come over.

That’s what we like to call a “booty call”.

This is exactly what Danica Patrick is doing with the IRL.

When she first started racing, I was all about Danica. She had what it took to become the first female Indy 500 winner. In her rookie year, she qualified and finished fourth. She was poised and seemed to have the focus to do anything that she wanted. She came across as Rick Mears with breasts.

Then Danica became a celebrity. She’s been a Sports Illustrated swimsuit issue regular, the Go-Daddy girl, and garnered more endorsements than she had Indy Car wins. She was the star of the Indy Racing League.

Everybody panicked when rumors circulated late last season that Danica was going to leave Andretti Motorsports for the money pit known as NASCAR. I tried to assure everyone that she would never leave the IRL until she conquered that yard of bricks. She had said on more than one occasion that it was her dream. Danica proved me wrong by signing a huge NASCAR deal, mostly for the money and the opportunity to have more endorsements.

While some IRL fans and insiders were calculating the loss of Danica, I thought about her actual accomplishments. In her IRL career, she has won one race, and has one top three finish at Indy.

So did Kevin Cogan.

Now, it’s almost as if she called Indy at 10:30, wanting to know what it was doing, and asked if she could come over. She’s now back in an IRL car because she wants the one thing that NASCAR can’t give her…the chance to slug milk out of a glass bottle and have her mug slapped on the Borg-Warner Trophy.

We’re now supposed to be grateful that she is taking time away from the good ol’ boys to slum it with the open-wheelers. She really hasn’t done anything to warrant her superstar status, outside of being attractive and willing to take her clothes off for a Super Bowl commercial. (Side Note: She’s not even the most attractive girl named Danica. Let’s not forget about Danica McKellar…Winnie Cooper forever)

Since her first year, she has become a spoiled brat. She has a temper that rivals A.J. Foyt’s. A couple of years ago, she turned some heads when she marched down pit row to have a spirited chat with Ryan Briscoe after their collision in the pits knocked her out of the race. She was redirected to Gasoline Alley where she whined to the press about Briscoe not knowing what he was doing.

Danica Patrick is nothing more than Anna Kournikova in a fire suit. She wants to win at Indy, but she won’t…at least not this year. She doesn’t have the car, but more importantly, she doesn’t have the mentality. If she ever wants to win the 500, she needs to be the focused driver she was her rookie year, and govern her passions.

She was booed by the Indy faithful after her pathetic qualifying attempt. It wasn’t because of her effort; it was because she whined about her car’s set up. Unless your name is Foyt, you can’t get away with that at Indy.

I’ve written some pretty harsh things. On the off chance Danica has clicked on this piece, she has more than likely stopped reading (she doesn’t take criticism very well). However, if the message is getting through to you, Danica, here’s some advice as to how you can get back in our good graces. Put on some clothes, fess up to mistakes you make, shut the hell up and drive.

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(Back Home Again in) Indiana

There are several times during the year I miss living in Indiana. This coming weekend is one of them.

I’ve been to the Indianapolis 500 twice (1986, 1987). Traditions at the Indianapolis Motor Speedway have changed a bit since my last pilgrimage 23 years ago. The start of the race changed from 11 AM EST to 1PM EDT (due to Indiana adopting Daylight Saving Time, one of the five pillars of evil), and this year, qualifying was only one weekend. However, my favorite tradition has survived…the singing of “(Back Home Again in) Indiana.”

Since 1972, Jim Nabors, backed by the Purdue All-American Marching Band, has belted out this traditional Hoosier-land tune. In my estimation, that performance is the official start of summer. Of course, Nabors’s annual performance isn’t the only one worthy of mention. For many years, Louis Armstrong and his All-Stars would open their shows with the song. Both interpretations are unique, and shouldn’t be duplicated.

Through the years, “Back Home Again” has been misidentified as the official Indiana state song. That honor goes to the song “On the Banks of the Wabash, Far Away.” The song, written by Terre Haute native Paul Dresser, was originally published in 1897. Poor money management forced Dresser to sell the copyright to Maurice Richmond Music. In 1917, the new copyright owner gave up and coming songwriters Ballard MacDonald and James F. Hanley permission to use two bars of “On the Banks of the Wabash” for a their new song (which if you haven’t guessed, it’s “Back Home Again”). MacDonald and Hanley may have exceeded their permission.

“On the Banks of the Wabash”

Oh, the moonlight's fair tonight along the Wabash,

From the fields there comes the breath of newmown hay.

Through the sycamores the candle lights are gleaming,

On the banks of the Wabash, far away.

“(Back Home Again in) Indiana”

Back home again in Indiana,

And it seems that I can see

The gleaming candlelight, still shining bright,

Through the sycamores for me.

The new-mown hay sends all its fragrance

From the fields I used to roam.

When I dream about the moonlight on the Wabash,

Then I long for my Indiana home.

This is flat out copyright infringement. The jury would take 12 minutes to deliberate, and Ballard and MacDonald would have lost all rights to the song. It would be in the same league as George Harrison’s “My Sweet Lord”, Vanilla Ice’s “Ice Ice Baby” and Coldplay’s “Viva la Vida” (admit it you talentless hacks, you ripped off Satriani). However, the copyright laws in 1917 were a little vague, and threats made by the Dresser Estate to sue were never followed up.

Regardless of the history and the obvious theft, “(Back Home Again in) Indiana” is still the most beloved song about Indiana. While other songs written by proud Hoosiers such as “Going Back to Indiana” by the Jackson 5 and “Back to Indiana” by the Elms share the sentiment of missing their home state, they will never garner the same popularity as the song that was ironically written by a non-Hoosier (MacDonald was from Oregon).

When Gomer sings, and 33 engines simultaneously ignite on Sunday, I will once again get chills.

I will long for my Indiana home. 
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“It was just that the timing was wrong” - Romeo and Juliet by Dire Straits

Mark Knopfler wrote “Romeo and Juliet”, Dire Straits’ first release of the ‘80s, after his breakup with Holly Vincent, lead singer of Holly and the Italians. The song’s narrator, “Romeo”, goes to visit his Juliet and calls out her name from a street light. Juliet responds by telling him that her boyfriend is there and not to come by unannounced. Romeo laments that he is still in love with Juliet and, in spite of how he has been treated, he’d still “Do the stars” with her anytime.

Romeo claims that he and his star crossed lover couldn’t get it together because “the timing was wrong,” although Juliet’s cold remarks about her Romeo tend to suggest otherwise. She tends to regard him as a small footnote in the book of her love life with the line “Romeo, yeah I used to have a scene with him.” (This is a reference to an interview Vincent gave, stating that she had a scene with Knopfler, and he couldn’t handle it.) The song has been covered by The Indigo Girls and The Killers since.

I honestly had no intention of writing about this song on this blog, as I have plans for it down the road. However, I did a 180 when I heard Matt Nathanson’s cover version of it on Pandora last week. I also realized what time of year it was. As much as I wanted to save this song for a long form essay to be featured in the future Anthology book, I feel that the time is right to post this now.



In an earlier post (“Good Luck, Goodbye”) I wrote about my short time with “The First Bobby Jean”. I had also made mention that she was one of only two women to make a mix CD for me. The live version of “Romeo and Juliet” from On The Night was one of the first tracks on the second side. She said that she put it on the tape because it was one of her favorites. The song, however, was a thinly veiled hint that our time together was not going to be a long lasting one. She said goodbye, and left Bloomington 13 years ago this week. I always find myself listening to this song a lot in the first part of May.

Was it that the timing was wrong? At first, I believed that it was. However, over time I’ve come to realize that the timing was right. Had we met at any other time with different circumstances, things may have turned ugly; making it difficult for us to remain friends over the years. We got the most out of that time, and frankly I wouldn’t change a thing. I still think very fondly of her, and I am happy that she has found the right man for her, as I have found the perfect woman for me.

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Repost - VITAL Idle

Just checking in with a Script Frenzy break and update. I’m about 50 pages in, half waty through. I am on pace to make 100 pages, even with being idle for a few days.

On this fill month post, we’ll go back to my last spring in Indiana. I was part of a quiz show team for our radio station, and our appearance was less than spectacular. The last line of this story was a little chilling, as at this point, I had no idea that I was going to leave Collegetown, USA in just three months. So this is a repost from April 9, 2002 from the original ianshane.com. Enjoy.

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April is the month of the greatest competition known to man. It isn’t the final game of the NCAA tourney, the Little 500, or even the Masters. No contest can bring out the true champion in us all like the VITAL quiz bowl.

VITAL (Volunteers In Tutoring Adult Learners) is committed to raising the literacy rate in Bloomington. Every year, the VITAL quiz bowl is the centerpiece of the annual fundraiser that is held at the Monroe County Library Main Branch in downtown Bloomington.

Our company is usually represented by personalities for our sister station, AM 1370 WGCL. The “Chatterboxes” have had a horrid history in the Quiz Bowl. In eight years, we have failed to win a game and advance to the second round. To make matters worse, the team would be without the services of Jeff Dellinger, who planned to be out of town that week. The star player from last year’s team was gone.

I wanted in and I asked to fill Jeff’s shoes. Our Program Director not only took me up on the offer to play, but gave me the Captain’s C for the team…meaning I was the spokesperson for the team on bonus questions.

I showed up at the library to check in. There was a guy sitting by the entrance of the auditorium, “looking official”. Of course, to me, any one that carries a clipboard is official enough.

“I’m Ian Shane checking in for WGCL,” I said.

The guy checks his lists to confirm. It struck me as strange that he had to do that. Was there anybody just itching to get backstage and pretend to be a player for the greater glory to be on cable access for 15 minuets? Satisfied that I was indeed slated to play the game, he hands me a few sheets of paper, a blank nametag, and a black Sharpie Pen.

One of the grips came to us to let us know that it was, as he put it, “go time”. They lead us backstage to our tables. We put our cardboard nameplates to the left of us, as we were instructed to do.

Eight years of being one and done were over. Tichenor Publishing was going down!

During the introductions, the Alex Trebek wannabe instructed each team member to test the buzzer one at a time. He looked right at us and told us to say our names directly in the microphone. Who the hell was he kidding? Out of all the teams playing, we were the only ones that actually make our living by talking into a mic. Thanks, Skippy…I think we got that one.

I was warned before the game to be quick, and I soon found out why. The game started, and Tichenor got off to an early lead, while being a step ahead of me, and the rest of the team. I don’t think that they were smarter, just faster.

We were in need of a rally, and I had been silent all night long. I then rattled off three right answers in a row to make a game of it. It looked as if the Chatterboxes weren’t dead yet. I was like Vinnie “The Microwave” (who could get hot in a hurry…get it) Johnson from the old Detroit Pistons. The host took a break from the action to give a score update, with Tichenor up 90-70. Unfortunately that little time out broke our momentum and Tichenor took full advantage by firing off four straight answers.

The next question, you would think, would be up my alley. “Who became the youngest person to achieve the top of the Billboard charts in 1970?”

Joe buzzed in quickly to answer before fully having the answer. “Uh…the kid from Gary…what his name…Jackson…the weird one…MICHAEL.”

Five points, Chatterboxes.

However, it would not be enough to mount any kind of comeback. That would be the last correct answer that we would conjure. Team Tichenor answered a few more question before the gun went off.

Final Score Tichenor 135, Chatterboxes 75…by most standards, a major ass whippin’. Beaten and broken, I headed off stage with my head hung low. The other members of the team were use to the kind of beheading that we suffered, but I wasn’t. I was brought in to be the one that pushed us over the hump, but I came up short and let the team down.

Well, there’s always next year.

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Fill Month Continues – Scene From “Public Enemy”

As I noted in a previous blog post, after I finished Radio Radio, my next project would have been a feature length screenplay titled Public Enemy. It focused on John Dillinger’s life after he was arrested in Arizona and extradited back to Indiana.

A few months after I started the project (which by the way was backed by eight years of research), I heard a Wisconsin Public Radio news report about Michael Mann’s movie Public Enemies, a film about John Dillinger starring Johnny Depp.

I was crushed, and I tabled the project for good. So, since I don’t plan on finishing it anytime soon, I’d thought that I would post one of the fist scenes of the film.

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EXT. CROWN POINT PRISON – NIGHT
TITLE:

“Crown Point State Prison”

The cars come to a halt in front of the state jail. The ’33 Ford that is carrying Dillinger is approached by two uniformed officers. On of the officers opens the doors, and the two plain clothes detectives get out and lead Dillinger to the door.

Estill runs from behind to catch them.

ESTILL

Hold on a second there.

The two detectives stop. The first detective turns his head around. Estill is still trying to catch up to the three men.

ESTILL(CON’T)

I’ll take him from here.

DETECTIVE 1

Are you sure, sir?

DILLINGER

Of course he’s sure.

Estill takes Dillinger’s left arm. The two detectives let go and take a step back.

DILLINGER

He has reporters and photographers in there waiting for him to bring in John Dillinger.

ESTILL

Are you trying to get a rise out of me, Dillinger?

DILLINGER

No, sir. My father taught me to never disrespect someone who is gracious enough to host me.

ESTILL

Already trying to be a model prisoner.

DILLINGER

I’ve always been a model prisoner, sir.

Estill flashes a cocky smile.

ESTILL

Ready to meet the press?

DILLINGER

I always enjoy an audience.

Estill leads Dillinger up the front stairs of the brick building. There are two more armed police officers. Each one grabs a door and opens them simultaneously.

The CAMERA FOLLOWS Estill and Dillinger into—

INT. CROWN POINT JAIL – CONTINUOUS
As Dillinger and Estill enter the building, there are about fifteen to twenty reporters and photographers in the main room. The reporters are shouting questions for both Estill and Dillinger. Flash bulbs are going off. Estill leads Dillinger past them to the first jail cell. Waiting for them on the other side of the sea of press men is SHERIFF LILLIAN HOLLEY joins them. She is a stoic 40ish woman with dark hair. She is clearly not happy with the press presence. By her demeanor, Estill strong armed her into letting the press in.

Estill stops and turns around, taking Dillinger with him. Dillinger is to Estill’s left, and Lillian Holley is to his right. Dillinger smirks, knowing that he is about to upstage the ambitious district attorney. Estill takes the handcuff key out of his pocket, and unlocks Dillinger’s cuffs. Dillinger looks a little surprised that Estill would free him while he was not in a cell. Dillinger massages his wrists and flexes his fingers. Estill raises both hands, almost victoriously.

ESTILL

Gentlemen of the press, this is a glorious day in the history in Indiana Justice—

Sherriff Holley rolls her eyes and mutters, “Oh brother.”

ESTILL(CON’T)

The capture and extradition of this man is made possible by the joint cooperation of the Arizona State Police, and the Indiana Department of Justice.

One reporter raises his hand.

REPORTER 1

Mr. Estill, John Dillinger is wanted in many other states. How did you get him.

ESTILL

We asked.

REPORTER 2

Mr. Estill, what do you say to the people who say that your pursuit of John Dillinger is nothing more than a stunt to get to the Governor’s Mansion?

ESTILL

I’d say even my critics think that I can be Governor.

REPORTER 2

Well, what do you think, Mr. Dillinger? Are you the sacrificial lamb for Governor Estill?

Estill looks at Dillinger and shoots him a foreboding look.

DILLINGER

I don’t know.

Dillinger looks at Estill and pats him on his back.

DILLINGER(CON’T)

I think that he’d make a fine Governor.

REPORTER 2

Why do you say that?

Dillinger flashes a smile.

DILLINGER

I like his tough position on crime.

The reporters laugh.

REPORTER 3

Mr. Dillinger. Were you involved in the killing of a police officer during the First National Bank and Trust robbery in East Chicago?

DILLINGER

Of course not. I was in Florida that day. And call me John.

REPORTER 3

There are witnesses that said that you were the man who killed Officer O’Malley.

DILLINGER

The witnesses saw a man of medium height and medium build with dark slicked back hair kill Officer O’Malley. Now, that could be anybody. As a matter of fact—

He seizes up the Reporter.

DILLINGER(CON’T)

You match that description.

Some of the reporters laugh

DILLINGER(CON’T)

Where were you on January 15th.

REPORTER 3

In Terre Haute with my in-laws.

DILLINGER

You should have been in Florida with me. You would have had a better time.

All of the reporters laugh.

REPORTER 3

You’re probably right, John.

DILLINGER

I’m against killing. It’s an option of last resort that I have never taken.

REPORTER 4

So you do admit that you rob banks.

DILLINGER

Absolutely.

The reporter is a little surprised at Dillinger’s honesty.

REPOTER 4

Why?

DILLINGER

Legal fees.

The reporters laugh again, as do some of the police officers. Estill is starting to get annoyed that the focus of the press conference has shifted from him to Dillinger.

DILLINGER

I rob banks, but they aren’t the good guys. I seem to read in your newspapers that banks all over the country are closing and keeping people’s money. They rob from families and create orphans on a daily basis. These are the people I take from. In the interest of fairness, I challenge Mr. Estill to bring justice to every bank president in Indiana so I don’t have to.

The reporters start to clap and cheer. Dillinger smiles and looks over to Estill.

DILLINGER

They seem to like it. You can use it on the campaign trail, if you want to.

ESTILL

(coldly)

I’ll keep that in mind.

REPORTER 2

John, what do you think of the “escape proof” Crown Point Jail?

Dillinger smirks.

DILLINGER

Well, it’s a nice place to visit, but I wouldn’t want to live here.

The reporters laugh again.

Let’s Not Get Carried Away, Butler Fans

The other day, I saw someone wearing a Syracuse sweatshirt (It’s still a little cool here in Minnesota).

“I hate to tell you this,” I said. “I grew up down the road from Butler University.”

This isn’t exactly true, unless you consider a three hour drive to Evansville “down the road.” That’s how much I've been caught up in the recent “Butler Fever” that is sweeping the country. People are going nuts over the Bulldogs, and for good reason. For as many “fans” who buy Duke and Michigan State t-shirts, there are just as many people who love the underdog.

However, the ones who are getting carried away more than anyone is a small portion of Butler diehards who have made a variation of this comment in the Indianapolis Star.

“Butler has now surpassed IU as the best basketball program in the state of Indiana.”

*Deep breath. Sigh.*

So this is now my open letter to the few Butler fans who are, shall we say, a little over excited.

Dear Bulldog Extremists:

First off, congratulations on a truly extraordinary season. There is much to celebrate with your team’s success. As with many people who are from Indiana, we are hoping that you take care of Michigan State, and dispatch either Duke of West Virginia in the NCAA Championship game. You have come a long way from being the easy win for the University of Evansville back in their MCC days.

I know that some of you think that Butler is now the top program in Indiana. While it is true that Butler has certainly been the best team in Indiana in the last five years, it’s a long drive to be Indiana’s best.

Making the National Semis is a very impressive thing to do, and not many schools can make that claim. But remember, you’ve made one Final Four. So has Notre Dame. So has Purdue. Hell, even Indiana State did it. While it looks great on the résumé, it’s not the end all be all.

As a younger sibling, I know how important it is to step out of the shadow of a larger than life big brother. It’s true that the last time Indiana won the National Championship, none of the Butler players were born, and Coach Brad Stevens was in swaddling clothes. However, Indiana is one of only five schools to make the Final Four in the 70s, 80s, 90s, and 00s (the others are Kansas, Duke, UNC and UCLA).

Indiana’s efforts to return to its former glory isn’t a rebuilding project, it’s major reconstruction. The Cream and Crimson will be down for the next couple of years, but they will be back.

A five to 10 year run doesn’t make a program. Ask Oklahoma. Ask DePaul. Ask Seton Hall. Glory can vanish in a heartbeat.

I don’t want to take anything away from the wonderful accomplishment that BU has earned, but let’s exercise a little perspective. It takes a long time to build a top flight program, and Butler just isn’t there yet. I hope that one day they are held with the same reverence as UK, Duke, Kansas, and UNC. Until then, enjoy the Final Four and hopefully a National Championship.

GO DOGS,

Ian Shane

My Life With The Thrill Kill Colts

It's no secret that I am a huge Colts fan. This is not a recent development that started when some guy named Peyton came to town 12 seasons ago. I date back to the Jack Trudeau/Ron Meyer era. Sure, I was a fan of other teams in the past as well. To be fair, I was 11 when the Colts played their first game in the venue formally known as the Hoosier Dome (to this day, I refuse to call it by its corporate name, as the same year the Radio Company of America gave the Circle City a huge check for naming rights was the same year they closed the RCA/Thompson plant in Bloomington because of budgetary reasons. Nice, isn't it). Plus, if I wanted to root for a team in January, it couldn't be the Colts (for a long time, I was a Dolphin fan, too). With the Pacers in state, I was convinced that Indy would never be the home of a professional sports champion (The ABA era doesn't count). Sure, every now and then, the Colts would have a winning season, but nothing consistent.

I really started to get into the Colts in 1995. I was working promotions at WGBF, and our radio station had done some charity work with Colt Tight End Ken Dilger (who is also a Southern Indiana native). That season, I went to my first Colt game with my brother (Indy is a good three hour drive from Evansville). They lost to the San Diego Chargers, a defeat that would be avenged in the AFC playoffs. The Colts made it to the AFC Championship game that year, and got screwed out of making the Super Bowl, thanks to Kordell Stewart's illegal TD catch before halftime, and the pass interference no call in the end zone on the last play. I'm still convinced that the Colts would have beaten the Dallas Cowboys that year for the Lombardi Trophy—a theory that was bolstered by the Colts beating the Cowboys AT DALLAS 25-24 in week 3 of the next season.

When I moved to Bloomington, I was able to watch the Colts every Sunday, and my love of the boys in blue grew. I hung with them during the Lindy Infante seasons, and then hoped they got the 1998 draft right. Indy picked Peyton Manning, and the rest was history. The Colts started to build a juggernaut that would eventually break the record for franchise victories in a decade. It was a magical time.

I'd like to take a little credit for the hiring of Tony Dungy. I was working nights at WTTS after Dungy was unjustly fired in Tampa. Knowing that Indy was looking for a new head coach and that Colts owner Jim Irsay listened to our station, I repeatedly stated on the air that Dungy would make the Colts a contender. A month later, Dungy was hired. Coincident? I would have asked for confirmation of my influence during my bizarre interview with Irsay later that off-season, but his 15 minute answer of the question "How are you, Jim?" took us to commercial break.

Being a Colts fan is advanced fandom. You have to endure drafting Chris Chandler and Jeff George, and the consistent pantsing by the New England Hatriots. You have to hear Mel Kiper Jr. tell the world that the Colts don't understand what the draft is all about, and that's why they'll be a bad team for a very long time. You had to watch home games on a field that looked like pool felt in the Mini-Me version of Minneapolis's Metro Dome. Every Dan Marino milestone that is perfectly preserved on NFL films was captured in Indy. Indianapolis endured threats of nuclear obliteration by the great city of Baltimore (even after they stole the Browns from Cleveland).

All of it was worth it three years ago. A Super Bowl Championship. Hot damn.

There have many storylines that have popped out in the time since the conference championship games. However, for as ridiculous as some of these are, here are some subplots that haven't surface. Why the hell not, there are two weeks and 24 hour coverage. And I'd be willing to bet, if Dwight Freeney was healthy, some may have come up.

The Lincoln Had A Secretary Named Kennedy Subplot: Manning is from New Orleans, Breese play college ball in Indiana.

The What Could Have Been Subplot: Manning almost left Tennessee after his junior year to enter the draft, and was projected to be the number one pick overall. The team who had the first pick that year? New Orleans. With Manning deciding to finish his colligate career, The Saints instead drafted Florida QB Danny Wuerffel.

The Should Have Been Bowl Subplot: The last time the Colts played in the Super Bowl three years ago, also in Miami, they faced the Bears. The Bears beat the Saints in the NFC Championship Game.

The Jim Mora Subplot: The two greatest coach's meltdowns in the history of the NFL were perpetrated by Jim Mora. One when he was the coach of the Colts, and the other when he was the coach of the Saints.





The Dome Sweet Done Subplot: This is the first time in the history of the Super Bowl that both teams that play their home games in an indoor stadium are facing off in the Super Bowl.

The You Really Should Forget Your First Time Subplot: Record of first time Super Bowl teams in the championship game (not including first time teams playing another first time team): 4-12. The winners were the Pittsburgh Steelers (SB IX against Minnesota), New York Giants (SB XXI against Denver), Baltimore Ravens (SB XXV against the Giants), Tampa Bay Buccaneers (SB XXXVII against Oakland). The losers were the Minnesota Vikings (SB IV against the Chiefs), Dallas Cowboys (SB V against the Colts), Denver Broncos (SB XII against Dallas), LA Rams (SB XIV against Pittsburgh), Philadelphia Eagles (SB XV against Oakland), Buffalo Bills (SB XXV against the Giants), San Diego Chargers (SB XXIX against San Francisco), Atlanta Falcons (SB XXXIII against Denver), Tennessee Titans (SB XXXIV against the Rams), Carolina Panthers (SB XXXVIII against the Hatriots), Seattle Seahawks (SB XL against Pittsburgh), and the Arizona Cardinals (SB XLIII against Pittsburgh). The Saints play in their first ever Super Bowl.

The Miami Colts Subplot: The Colts have made the Super Bowl four times. Each time, the game was in Miami. Wearing the white unis, the Colts are 2-0. Wearing the blue uniforms, they are 0-1. The Colts wear blue Sunday.

The Indianapolis Saints Subplot: Before Robert Irsay moved the Colts to the Hoosier Dome, Indianapolis real estate developer Bob Welch tried to buy the New Orleans Saints from John Mecom in order to relocate them to Indy. Mecom instead sold the team to Tom Benson, and kept the team in New Orleans.

All this being said, I like the odds for my boys, even without Freeney. I say that after a bit of a rough start, Manning figures out how to dissect the Saints D, and picks them apart. Final Score: Indy 31, Saints 21.

Good Luck, Goodbye - Bobby Jean by Bruce Springsteen

Article 6, Paragraph 2 of the Mix CD Axiom states that it is not advisable to use a cornerstone song in multiple Mix CDs. However, I have broken my own rule only once for Bruce Springsteen's "Bobby Jean". In my defense, the sentiment held true both times, and the fact that it was recycled didn't diminish the feeling behind it.

The common misconception about the song is that it's written for ex-girlfriend. It makes sense if you read the lyric sheet. In the novel High Fidelity by Nick Hornby, Rob Gordon refers to the song by name as a send off to an ex-girlfriend. However, in the movie version, Rob mentions his quest to see all of his former lovers was like a generic Springsteen song. The Boss even has a cameo for the film. I have a hunch that the name of the song was removed from the script because Springsteen told director Stephen Frears "you know Bobby Jean's a guy, right?"



The song was actually inspired by the departure of Steve Van Zandt from the E Street band in 1984. Van Zandt had not only been an original E Streeter, but had played in some of Springsteen's earlier bands. Now that E Street has reunited, they frequently play this song, with the jumbotron camera squarely trained on "Little Stevie".

In the song, Bobby Jean is leaving town without telling anyone. Springsteen tells the tale of the history of the friendship with great sentiment. The best part of the song is the conclusion of the tune. The Boss notes that his thoughts are always with Bobby Jean.

Maybe you'll be out there on that road somewhere
In some bus or train traveling along
In some motel room there'll be a radio playing
And you'll hear me sing this song
Well if you do you'll know I'm thinking of you and all the miles in between
And I'm just calling one last time not to change your mind
But just to say I miss you baby, good luck goodbye, Bobby Jean

When you live in a college town and you're not a student, the cast of characters change frequently enough, you start to think that you're on Law and Order. Bloomington, Indiana is nothing more than a way station for women of great potential, and the sooner you realize it, the better off you are.

I met the first Bobby Jean in the winter of 1997 during a remote broadcast from IU. I was working at the top 40 station, and she was in charge of the event we were promoting that day. My first impression was that she was very charming and very cute, and it stopped there. I was in a relationship, and I figured that even if I wasn't, I would probably only see her again for the final remote, and that would be the end of it. However, we started talked more and more, and before you knew it, we were starting something. I don't know what, but it was something.

On paper, we didn't really have anything in common. She came from a well established family in the south, and I was the son of a middle class family in Evansville. She was a little country, I was a little Rock N' Roll. But when you're 23, all you really need is a certain level of what my friend Trace called "serious heat and electricity". There was no indication that our tryst would have nothing more than a very short shelf life, but I dove into that pool head first. By the time we did get together, we only had a couple of months before she uprooted and moved back home.

The first Bobby Jean will hold the distinction as the first girl (and one of only two) who ever made me a mix. On the mix I made for her, Bobby Jean was the closing track. Although I wished more than anything that we could have had a real shot, I knew that she wouldn't come back to me. All I could do was say I miss you, baby. Good luck, goodbye.

Several years later, I was hitting an all time low. Within a month, I was temporarily moved off of nights at WTTS, had my job threatened every day, my parents had just split up, and I had just been dumped. But the good thing about a losing streak is that it allows one to have a personal renaissance. This is when I started to hang out with the second Bobby Jean.

It only takes an average of eight seconds for any heterosexual man to fall in love with this girl. She is very smart, very funny, very charming, oh yeah—and rather attractive. She has this gift of making people feel like that they are the most important person in the world. It's not flirting or teasing, it's genuine interest and a love of life. I swear to God, she should be in politics. This is the kind of person you need in your life when you hit rock bottom.

The second Bobby Jean and I never dated, and there is a large part of me that thinks that it was the best thing that could have happened. For as intoxicating as it is to be in her presence, I would have been crushed when she left (a lesson I learned from the first Bobby Jean). I once told her that if the situation were different, I'd be chasing after her at full speed.

"If the situation were different, you wouldn't have to," she responded.

It didn't matter if she told the truth or not. I felt like such a man.

She was also the driving force behind Radio Radio. I honestly believe that if I didn't know her, I never would have finished the first draft of the book. On the first Mix CD I made for her, I decided to use the Springsteen song again. More than any other, this song conveyed what I was feeling (with the possible exception of the first track, "Crimson and Clover"). I wouldn't try to change her mind, but just miss her terribly.

I never lost contact with the second Bobby Jean. She was living in Chicago, then moved to LA, and then back to Chi-town. On a trip to the region to do some last minute planning for the wedding, D and I met up with her for dinner on the north side. A few months later, she attended my wedding. She sat at the table with my friends from Minnesota, charming the socks off of everyone with whom she broke bread.

The first Bobby Jean disappeared for many years. I had tried on several occasions to find her online, to no avail. About a year ago, I spotted her on Facebook. She's married now, and has two beautiful daughters. I'm really happy that she found what she was looking for, and wish her the best.

I still think fondly of both of them when I hear that song. It's interesting that I only knew these women for short amount of time. They both had a tremendous impact on my life, and I thank them for that, and note that they both have a very special place in my heart. And now with the magic of the internet, I can leave out the "goodbye" part. Just the good luck part only applies, and I get the added bonus of catching up with my old friends online.

Although in the past, I've played the game of what if, I'm happy that things turned out the way they did. I have a wonderful wife who is very supportive, and very understanding. She's the one, but that's another Springsteen song for a future post.

See Ya On The Way Back Down

Also posted on the Indy Star blog Tales of a Hoosier Ex-Pat

The Kentucky Wildcats should be congratulated on their 90-73 victory over a tenacious Indiana University squad looking for their 5^th win. Kentucky and Indiana are two teams at different stages. Kentucky is playing at a championship level with the ability to make huge runs. They look a lot like the UNC team that took home the national championship in April, and is my early choice to run everyone they face out of the bracket this spring. They have a chance to make a run at Indiana's undefeated mark (unless my old friend Bruce Pearl has anything to say about it).

Indiana is in year two of Extreme Makeover: College Basketball Edition. It's not so much a rebuilding year, but more of a reconstruction effort so massive, it may qualify for stimulus money. The Hoosiers had some early missteps this year, including an embarrassing loss to my wife's alma mater, Boston University (which she has not let me forget). They did get a huge road win over Pitt earlier in the week. It's not like taking down UNC or Michigan State, but it's a win over a really good team. Indiana has a great freshman in Mo Creek (play on Mo Cheeks), and junior transfer Jeremiah Rivers plays with an energy level that the Hoosier Nation hasn't seen since a young A.J. Moye donned number 2. Plus, Indiana has the energetic young coach it's been looking for since they jettisoned Robert Montgomery Knight.

Next year, Indiana will contend for a Big Ten title. Next year, Kentucky may be under the microscope.

So this part of the post is to the Kentucky faithful. Look, I know that we haven't always gotten along. Actually we really don't like each other all that much, but I beg of you…boot John Calipari as soon as possible.

Please.

I know what you're thinking. I'm a bitter, jealous Indiana apologist who wants to taint the victory with unfounded accusations of wrong doing by bringing in ringers and ineligible rent-a-players.

Calipari is a bad guy.

Really.

His résumé says that Coach Cal has made two Final Fours. In reality, he has had team scrimmage in two "Final Threes". His first star Marcus Camby took $20,000, bling, and prostitutes from an agent (Sidebar: Really, you needed prostitutes…you went to UMass. You couldn't find a cadre of college women who were willing to throw themselves at you…at the same time? You're Marcus Camby, Dammit!). Neither the school nor Calipari were implicated in the scandal. However, the NCAA declared Camby ineligible, each game was vacated, and Calipari bolted to New Jersey. No further investigation was warranted.

Coach Cal found his way to Memphis after failing in the NBA. He started to build up a Tiger program that needed a renaissance. Memphis slowly started to build the dominate program in Conference USA (which isn't saying much. Oooo you beat the crap out of DePaul).Then Calipari recruited a Chicago guy named Derrick Rose. He wasn't too bright, so somebody else took the SAT for him. Oddly enough, the NCAA thought that it sounded like academic fraud. Once again, Calipari was not implicated, but Memphis lost their second Final Four (1985 was vacated as well). There was no further investigation, because Rose left the school to go to the NBA, and Calipari left for Kentucky.

This year at Kentucky, Cal has John Wall. He's an almost definite rent-a-player who will declare himself eligible for the NBA Draft that will either land him in Minnesota or New Jersey (which would be ironic). Calipari says that he's a real student with a 3.something suspect GPA. It's hard to believe him considering Cal's previous educational standards. How do we know that he's been doing his own work? I don't really like making an accusation like that, but if you look at Cal's body of work, it's easy to assume the worst. It wouldn't be that hard to pull off. Just ask Clem Haskins.

This guy is dirty. Sure, he wasn't implicated either time, but these things seem to happen on his watch. For as much as I hate Kentucky, I would really hate to see a program I respect tarnished again. When the Eddie Sutton scandal rained hell on Lexington, I thought that it was sad. Kentucky was a great adversary, and watching that team gutted because someone was unscrupulous was hard to. It watered down a great rivalry.

Look, I know what I am talking about. Indiana hired a guy that smelled of scandal several years ago, and they knew he was a bad guy. They did it anyway. Kelvin Sampson single handedly destroyed a storied tradition, and besmirched a program that prided itself on being clean. Indiana is starting over again. Please, Kentucky, don't do the same thing.

I feel like the guy telling a female friend that the guy she's dating is dangerous, and she's screaming back. "You just don't know him." Then I would say, "Sweetie, I know his kind."

We had Kelvin Sampson.

We can recognize a dirty coach.

If not, then, we'll see you on the way back down.

Oh Well…

Originally posted on my Indianapolis Star blog "Tales of a Hoosier Ex-Pat"

Several years ago, my friend Jeff told me that he had a great idea for a screenplay. It was a spoof of a zombie movie.

"It's time for one," he said.

Then he went to see a movie called Shaun of the Dead, and he saw his movie play out in front of him. Jeff sat there in horror as he saw three or four things that he had already written in his unfinished screenplay (all of which prompted great laughter by the audience.)

He told me that it was the worst feeling he ever had as a writer, and he hoped that it would never happen to me.

Let's fast forward to 2007. I had started to put together my first feature length screenplay. It was the result of nine years of research. I had downloaded FBI files, and read biographies. I was 30 pages into a screenplay titled Public Enemy. It started in Tucson, Arizona January 30, 1934 as John Dillinger was set to be extradited to Indiana to face charges that he killed a police officer during a bank robbery in East Chicago.

I was feeling pretty good about the story and what I had written, until D and I went back to Indiana for the holidays. As we were on the way back to Minnesota, I heard a report on Wisconsin Public Radio about how Badger State favorite son, Michael Mann, was going to be in the state shooting a film. I like Michael Mann, so the story caught my attention.

"The untitled film stars Johnny Depp and focuses on the life of John Dillinger."

What did that reporter say?

It was just another excuse to hate Wisconsin.

I immediately put the project on the back burner. My friends who were aware of the project urged me to reconsider, and to continue to work on it.

"It could be totally different than what you're writing," DeAnna said. "He could screw it up. Michael Mann isn't infallible. Look at Heat."

I held on to that hope, but still had the project in suspended animation. I would take a wait and see approach.

Then I saw the trailer, and I wept.

Like Jeff, I sat in horror as I saw one scene exactly as I had envisioned, and one as I had written. I knew what he was feeling in that California movie theater five years ago.

I haven't seen Public Enemies yet. But I will sometime, and I'm going to be keeping notes. I know the history, and I will be the movie's toughest critic. I already have some problems with it. Christian "Good For You" Bale is not who I would cast as Melvin Purvis. And for as much as I love Marion Cotillard (she would be in a laminated list), who is certainly beautiful enough to play Billie Frechette, I still can't figure out what her accent is all about. Research, Michael!

Until then, Public Enemy is a dead project. It may be resurrected in 10 or 15 years, but I don't hold out much hope for it.