The summer they took the TV away

The last episode of TNT's 'Inside the NBA' took place on May 31 in the Pacers' arena. I had to be there for it and was, somewhere off to the side but the closest to the set itself, dastardly attempting to avert direct eye contact with the posted security guards and police, each of whom the cast of 'Inside the NBA' would personally thank and embrace after their final broadcast.

That's all to report, there was nothing to hear but the surrounding crowd chatter, no moments which stood out beyond the moment I was making up in my own head.

I wanted to watch the final 'Inside the NBA' from beginning to end, something I hadn't done in years. Like many of us, whether due to cut cable or welcome waxing in 1 AM relationship responsibility, beginning-to-end viewings of 'Inside' ran increasingly rarer during Shaq's turn. Something I can't blame on the big man's oftentimes brusque and immature riff-a-roos. The cord cut my habit, not Shaq's shadow.

People simply watch less TV than they did when Yao Ming told Metta World Peace he'd see him at the club:

I'm not alone in mostly appreciating late-era 'Inside' via its viral moments, for good or ill, and during Twitter's declining seasons.

'Inside' isn't alone, Twenty-First Century Dave Letterman or Loosened Tie Conan O'Brien or CNN Anthony Bourdain were also examples of greatness we couldn't find time for, something to watch at someone else's house or the parents' place or a hotel room.

These exhibits weren't as essential to our brain as before, when we needed it to prove to ourselves that something like this still existed on TV, a sense of humor in spite of a desk and set and suits, a chef who won't be shamed for shoving past the well-reviewed brews on his way toward a cold bottle of Heineken (because it reminds him of why work should smell like unsalted fries).

I had to see the final 'Inside the NBA,' because I remember what sports television was like before Charles Barkley retired from basketball. Mostly unwatchable, every city's sports anchor shooting for the smarmiest cuts on 'SportsCenter,' and Bristol was only the baseline expectation. Every sports anchor and personality pitched as if they were the next to be on 'Sports Night,' followed by certain consideration for the slot following Letterman's (once Kilborn quits for movies).

Charmless deadpan was codified on Comedy Central well before 'Sports Night' when Viacom chose Kilborn – SportsCenter's All-Third Team Anchor – above any available comedic choice to captain the nascent 'Daily Show.' Every twentysomething sports personality hopeful had weeknight airings of Kilborn starting in the summer of 1996, a James Spader character doling Yeltsin jokes, leading right into each evening's Rich Eisen and Stu Scott Show (after flipping down a few channels).

Ernie Johnson Jr. never required that sort of validation, he didn't need the advancement of the 9 AM slot on SportsCenter or a weekly Sunday gig following the SportsReporters. Many sports and especially NBA voices spoke as if they could not wait to leapfrog past this 162 or 82-game haul and into a job calling singular Titans showdowns at 4:30 PM, Johnson's aversion to gridiron stardom was unique. A trillion sports dudes on TV at the time were compelled by the urge to either preen over or deflate the jocks ahead of them, Ernie Johnson just talked to the person on the other side of the desk.

Virtue in place, Kenny Smith's addition supplied 'Inside' with its consistent lead guard. A rotating chair existed for a decade prior to Kenny, let's call it "the 1990s," there was Fruitopia everywhere.

Cheryl Miller and Reggie Theus and Dick Versace and dozens of others bobbed in and out, the hosts often sat solo. Kenny dealt with a little more perspective than he preferred (waived four times in the final 12 months of an otherwise steady ten-year career) in his last NBA go-round, and made the show a must-watch for two post-lockout seasons before Charles Barkley's wheels blew out.

'Inside the NBA' with Ernie and Kenny alone would have dominated the 2000s anyway, but life is better with Charles Barkley around.

Recall with me those 'Inside the NBA' lured back.

Those millions of us who can't remember actually sitting through a single 11:00 PM 'SportsCenter' back to front in the 1990s, let alone an EJ or Craig Sager-helmed 'Inside the NBA,' yet those who can certainly recall watching every available second of the same 'State' episode replayed in the same time slot for at least the 15th time in I don't know how many Fruitopias. Letterman and Conan after that.

Imagine the kids whose parents had the good cable, 'Larry Sanders' and 'Mr. Show,' an entire generation primed for unimpeachable late night programming, loath to flip over from the 'Chris Rock Show' to in time to catch Jack Edwards slinging an Ernie Els joke.

This is why I wanted to watch the final 'Inside the NBA,' because there were many, many times in my life where the idea of making time for compelling sports programming, and not the sports themselves, was not on the list. Nowhere near the list.

This is why I had to get to the last 'Inside the NBA,' even if I couldn't hear a single joke, because I remember what sports on TV was like when Kenny joined the set, and when Charles joined the crew.

I had to watch the final 'Inside' because I remember basketball on Turner Sports before TNT existed, and I remember what life was like on Tuesday and Wednesday and Thursday in the early 2000s, Peter Vecsey on the TBS dates, Barkley and Kenny on the other two.

Barkley made a brief appearance with the crew during the 2000 playoffs, the patter and tone and alacrity toward emphasis was well in place.

People aren't great at new things right away – I recently watched episode No. 17 of Billy Corgan's new podcast and unsurprisingly Billy Corgan is not a good listener – but Ernie and Kenny and Chuck were great, and right away. Even with Pete Vecsey there.

(Though each played nicely over the summer of 2000 when promoting the new show, Barkley and Vecsey hated each other and did not hide it. The pair were separated on most nights and Vecsey was notably chagrined midway through 2000-01 after he was clearly told not to act Charles' ombudsman.

Vecsey, still flush with NBC Sundays and a newspaper byline which occasionally broke jokes, was gone after 2000-01.)

During the 2000 NBA draft, Chuck piped in via satellite to crush the Clippers, and what followed was monstrous.

The trio ran white hot, so much so that TNT introduced half-hour shows with the three to preface NBA coverage, postgame shows which routinely pushed over 90 minutes past the final whistle. For fans of the film 'Maximum Overdrive,' a most unwelcome encroachment.

The laughter ran on and on until we could all register ourselves with @ handles, recognize that many of us were watching the same live broadcast on basic cable well past 1 AM on a Friday morning, cackling the whole time. By now our VCRs were replaced by Tivos, documenting every second until the seconds were sucked through the glass, darkly, into our YouTube suggestions.

When 'Inside the NBA' signed off well past midnight Atlanta-time, its viewers felt as if they were the only NBA fans left on the planet. Remarkable reach for a studio show pitched to represent the cable end of a billion buck broadcast deal, three or more millionaires on panel.

Now we know we're not alone, social media assured us we're part of something larger and this means we can turn off the television and attend to the important pursuits in life. Like devoting an ever-increasing amount of minutes toward social media.

For the last decade and a half I've sat in press rows and watched three-quarters of NBA media spend the overwhelming majority of live ball action serving the scroll, noses in social media at request of their employers. Or by implied request of any future employers. For those not fully employed, a micro-plea for addition to a following which may someday result in five-buck per month mini-employment.

I do not blame these workers, nor would I claim these workers (the ones hoofing through shootarounds every day while I goof columns from home?) know anything less than way more than me about the game ahead of them. But it's grim up there, and the league passed this buzz onto the consumer.

The NBA's new partners seek attention spans suited best for weak, drawn-long Netflix documentaries, images seldom paid strong attention to while the consumer thumbs over a phone. Free throw breaks are drone shots of treetops, no need to look up.

Which is occasionally fine for fans, free throw breaks are enough time to run to the other room for something cold in a can. But media's heads are down while the ball is floor-bound, all for the service of Someone Else's Website, a frustration I held long before I learned the name of the guy who ran Twitter, let alone the guy who bought (and revealed) it.

How do we break the habit? Inadvertently. When NBA fans break the law. Illegally streaming at least a few games per week which cannot be rewound, intensifying the viewing experience.

People are subscribed to a lot of things, but they're not subscribed to everything. If the occasional Big Game is illegally obtained, there will be quite a few Big Games where would-be home posters won't have time to pause, not for a cold can or a crucial Twitter taunt. It could be fan-tastic.

I do not know what to think about the NBA's new television package because I will not have to think about it unless the NBA takes away my free media access to League Pass. I don't watch anything but the NBA, I don't have streaming platforms on my stuff, I view zero movies and TV shows, the amount of Celebrated Cable Programming I've experienced this century is "None Of It," zero minutes. I am NBA.

I'm not normal. Other normal people watch, y'know, other normal things. I can't comprehend the cost of the complete NBA package. I bet each streaming company got a copy of someone's parents' DirecTV bill from June 2021 and decided the total of their collective services should eclipse that debt plus interest, Zaslav called the percentage "our late fees" in a way that creeped the whole room out.

NBA fans will certainly feel their parents' age this season, thumbing through app after app until a thumbnail of Stephen Curry springs up.

The 2025-26 pro campaign should be as rich and compelling as any in history but again, that's me, zero 'Breaking Bads,' no 'Thrones,' this mad man never called Saul. This NBA regular season better delight with parity in the absolute best way, 24 different towns with a chance, or else its fans will find something else to catch up on.

Not other television shows, nothing's on, but places our FaceID is expected. Social media. Because it's dangerous out there and we're supposed to be paying attention and because we don't have a password for Warriors/Clippers.

If this turns out to be one of the things Mark Cuban is right about, but about the NBA? That would be annoying. Awfully annoying.

“Just watch,” Cuban said in a March 2014 conversation with reporters. “Pigs get fat, hogs get slaughtered. When you try to take it too far, people turn the other way. I’m just telling you, when you’ve got a good thing and you get greedy, it always, always, always, always, always turns on you. That’s rule No. 1 of business.

I thought the No. 1 rule of business was "get it in writing," I'll have to pass that along to Mark if he ever unmutes me on BlueSky.

“I’m just telling you: Pigs get fat, hogs get slaughtered. And they’re getting hoggy.”

The NBA literally left us to our own devices.

This isn't like CBS wasting baseball in the 1990s, a Game of the Week every three weeks. These NBA games are available, fans will find passwords or people will find streams quicker than corporations can crib sharing and the NBA can yank its line.

The issue is choice, will the viewer weave their way through all those streaming television apps toward the NBA's app of the night, ignoring all options along the way? With a phone in their hand at the same time, will they do it with the same purpose as they used to flip up through basic cable channels at a strange bar? Until they found either TBS or TNT, and knew they were in the area.

It will be much effort and it will reveal that none of this is done on our behalf. The NBA's labor force and the networks they partner with will work tails off, harder than they should have to, but the tops won't budge, only spin.

And we'll be squeezed. How we will react?

DORIS BURKE

Anyone get the feeling Doris Burke is about to get the "good news" call?

I read 'The Game Behind the Game' last week, an I'm-gonna-tell-mom tome from Jock Sniffer Supremo Terry O'Neil, sentient pair of too-short tennis shorts who did terrific work at ABC, CBS, and NBC before all three had their full of Terry O'Neil (and those talking shorts).

Among O'Neil's many credits was recognizing the charm behind the pairing of Pat Summerall and (especially) John Madden. To Terry's discredit was the phone patter used presenting the pair's ascension to the other voice speaking for NFL lead at CBS: Vin Scully.

O'Neil was charged with telling Scully he was No. 2, out of the running for play-by-play alongside Pat Summerall at the Super Bowl.

"Vin, I have good news. You're going to be working two postseason games, a divisional playoff and the NFC Championship. Your partner for the second half of the season is going to be (other No. 2) Hank Stram."

Even as I was hearing myself say these words, I knew how wrong they were.

This is the only such acknowledgement in the 300-page book. Vin later told an associate that the "good news" feint was a leading spark to spurn CBS for NBC. That and millions of dollars.

Maybe let Richard Jefferson and Doris Burke work together for a season without feeling like they're auditioning?

Also, Mike Breen is a sweetheart at the top of his game, but he isn't replaceable? What if a greater trio emerged, wouldn't that be better for viewers than the safety of the Bang, continuity overall? If Breen's call is the star of the broadcast, and in many instances it is, shouldn't Breen be given clearer runway?

Plug Grady in with Richard and Doris, let Breen choose a single partner.

MANBEARPIG

That the fellas from South Park want back in on this, because Paramount paid them to be, is infuriating. Trey Parker and Matt Stone handed "yeah, Republicans are bad but Democrats are worse because they're [lame]" to class after class of 10-year olds from 1998 through 2008, all of those kids could vote in 2016 and 2024 and some of them did, check the price of eggs.

(Sorry for stealing a joke from Stephen Colbert. I have no comment on Stephen Colbert past the evening I happily dug in to watch my third-ever Stephen Colbert TV Show and saw him spinning past Henry Kissinger. Supreme judgement. Kind guidance. No more TV people for president.

Additionally, I will not support a presidential candidate whose brother thinks RACKSTRAW did it, like, Rackstraw is the worst of all the Cooper candidates.)

'South Park' is the TV show which argued for the ability for us straight fellas to plop a pejorative "gay." Because we'd earned it after growing angered at someone blowing through a late, lingering yellow light and ruining our left, non-figurative, turn.

(Matt, Trey, you get to turn left anyway. You get to turn left if you are waiting in that intersection, even if your car has to wait out someone driving through a red light. The smartest person I know, major 'South Park' fan, taught me this.)

Boomers were adept enough to handle Archie Bunker as avatar in two dimensions. Yet we ran with Cartman and why not: Eric's friends, who never abandoned him, were the show's hateful scolds. Cartman merely asked questions long enough for our Main Character to boot up, Facebook toward the polling station, no improvised human interaction in-between to prove this isn't all some script.

South Park's satire was broad enough that even a 10-year old could pick up on its arch bent, but not all 10-year olds are the same. Ten-year olds from a decade before didn't wait all week to listen to what Bart Simpson told them what to do on Sunday because Bart was mostly sad, wracked with genuine regret over misdemeanor pranks. Cartman's whimpering toward his mother? Played for laughs over the head of another stupid female character too dumb to understand us clever boys.

This isn't a shot at the show's fans: I've loved a billion episodes. Ardent supporters will no doubt find weekly instance of Matt and Trey telling their viewers not to act like the show's most popular character nor think like him, l'il winking wrap-ups that told Cartman he was going to Hell.

But it was also comedy, 'South Park' is inarguably hilarious, one of the greats. And entertainment, we can't chide viewers away, this isn't a Miller/Boyett Production.

But I wrote all this, and then I saw a screenshot on social media of Charlie Kirk's social media, without even clicking I could tell it included a Cartman as Charlie avatar, and I'm left to assume 'South Park' "took on" Charlie Kirk and Matt and Trey really think they're getting somewhere, huh.

Taunts of "Cartman" don't burn people like Charlie Kirk, people like Charlie Kirk just watched two decades of Cartman telling kids like Charlie Kirk that Cartman had as much right to Cartman's grievances as anyone else had right to ward off their own, actual, oppression.

And with all the good lines, too, Matt and Trey's best jokes weren't written for Stan and Kyle. The best lines delivered lavishly while describing the many minor annoyances befalling us suburban males. Us amazing and special and very unique men, cats among pigeons, first on our call sheet, peering around the shielding corner with a piece like Bruce Willis in our own movie poster for our own movie, 'MCS: Call of This Guy.'

Matt and Trey were literally given the chance to kill a child in each episode, and chose to drop the silent one every time. America coulda tuned in every Wednesday night at 10:52 PM Eastern, 8:52 PM Mountain to watch the final moments of a story arc where a fascist kid is appropriately beaten to bloody and blubbering death for his words and deeds, a once-every-seven-days reminder of what to do when faced with Baby Hitler. Instead, Matt and Trey impaled their program's poorest participant on his elementary school's American flag and flagpole.

For two decades the show gave Eric Cartman the funniest bits while amplifying mediocre man's modern moments for pause. And instead of preaching the best response to sacrifice, the ol' suburban tradition, feigning ignorance with a neurasthenic nod about our brow, 'South Park' instead preached that a healthy round of Questions Asked deserved to hit the airwaves as opposition response. Like a football team that has to run twice before it throws, no matter what. Gotta get the line's heads ringin' before we trust them to stand for pass protection.

Cartman told millions of people who looked like him in real life that the best response to the idea of slightest give was to grow bloated and aggrieved and contemptuous for those who even knew of the notion. Let alone the ones who practiced as much, deciding not to say words which upset strangers we don't even know, give us a fucking medal.

'South Park' told trillions that Cartman's gravest sin was stealing fast food chicken from friends, and while that's up there, even that denouement probably wasn't enough.

If it leaked that our president ate all the skin off the Kentucky Fried Chicken before the president's wife and kid and Zelensky and the president's friends Stan and Kyle, the act would poll very well in 2025.

CHRISTMAS GAME SCHEDULE REACTION

I mean who cares but check this out:

I didn't know Phil Jackson still posts.

Sports on Christmas? I recall watching the Vikings and Bengals and Billy Martin's death announced over the air while I was flipping through baseball cards, unnerving. A few months later I'd watch 'Twin Peaks' on the same TV while flipping through baseball cards, settled my nerves.

Doesn't golf often finish major tournaments on Easter Sunday? I just watched an interview with Phil Jackson from two days before Phil's Christmas off in 1995 (the 1995-96 Chicago Bulls were not on NBC's 1995-96 Christmas slate), and he was in fine spirits. Weirdly squinting directly at the camera for most of the interview like he always did, leaving Wayne Larrivee to make eye contact with practicing cheerleaders.

Phil Jackson is, of course, best known for telling the 2000-era Lakers that they "needed to know the sound of [their] master's voice," an anecdote backed up by 'Shaq Uncut' by Shaq.

Anyway, how dare Phil post on 4-20, a sacred day. That should be the day we turn the TV off in time to remember that we only really like the first song and a little bit of the last song on 'Terrapin Station,' something important to recall before listening to all of 'Terrapin Station.'

MJW

The Theo Huxtable character was the first and, I don't know, probably only character I related to on a TV show. There was no chance the average elementary lad could feel kinship with whatever Kirk Cameron or Sammy Silver Spoons or Jason Bateman were up to, but Theo was different. The croak in his voice didn't only represent the changes Malcolm Jamal-Warner's britches couldn't keep up with, the gulf revealed actual angst. Considerate writing, expert commitment from the actors.

Theo Huxtable was the only human boy I remember, which I didn't really think about until Bart Simpson, not a real human boy, came along. Realizing Bart and Theo were the only normal ones on TV, Bart was a cartoon and Theo was Bill Cosby's fake kid, inescapable because you knew Bill Cosby before you knew 'Cosby Show.'

I'm just of age where the idea of Bill Cosby – sitting on a chair on HBO or guiding us through Picture Pages on Nickelodeon – predates my recognition of his successful family sitcom. There was never a point in my life where Bill Cosby was actually Cliff Huxtable.

Which is why it was a delight when the show lifted from Bill and upstairs into the Huxtable family, a must-see moment long after Theo's tone deepened. Jamal-Warner transitioned dynamically from wiseass youngster to on-the-make cad without losing any credibility. His character assumed his on-screen father's beguilement, appropriate for grins which were supposed to be related. And Jamal-Warner had to smile away, the cast was growing by the season.

He always found his frequency range, among his television sisters or the tots that followed when Theo was kicked out to lend more lines to shorter and shorter actors. But it was never played for dumb laughs even when Theo was doing dumb things, there would be no putting down the young men and women characters on that show. I can relay this capably because for two years I watched it darn near every night before bed, Tivo'd off TV One, until Hannibal.

My life will be surrounded by screens until it ends, begging for my subscription and maybe attention, show after program after broadcast after show. For the rest of my life I will be closer in age to the main male character of any program, everything will be written for me even in my fall and winter, when programming will seek my ain't-everything-shit approval.

And I can tell you I'll never feel closer to a character than I did to Theo Huxtable. I am grateful for Malcolm Jamal-Warner's performance.

ITEM

From May 1993:

And finally: Conan O’Brien may be in for a rugged time as David Letterman’s replacement on CBS. The other night he had dinner with Robert Smigel of “Saturday Night Live,” a big fan of Da Bulls, and Scott Williams in New York’s Planet Hollywood-and it was Scott drawing most of the attention from autograph seekers.

Can't comment on this "Co-nan," but scouts say Scott Williams is set to be the center of the Fruitopia Decade.

TUESDAY WEDNESDAY THURSDAY

I love jazz, even though it's like the exact opposite of basketball.

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