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I never set out to be one of those snarky Internet People who sits around and smugly blogs about pop culture. It always seemed like a cowardly thing to do, since at least the goobers in the limelight have the constitution to stand up and expose themselves to criticism. After all, who am I? What have I done, other than write the most moving basketball book in the history of literature?

Well, that was before word came down from the senior members of the Hippo Grand Staff. I have now been commissioned to write a column about a recent viewing experience on ESPN. Apparently I was the only person to see it happen in real time, so Hippo HQ decided to trust the giraffe with the topic. Media critic Stretch, enter stage left.

ESPN sucks. I don’t know exactly when it happened, but the signs are clear and unmistakable. Somewhere along the line, ESPN decided that it was more important than the actual sports it was broadcasting. The only thing I can compare it to is the disappearance of MTV up its own bunghole during the 90s, which led us into an era where no discernible music exists anywhere on the network, including the seizure-inducing “music videos” they offer up. Likewise, ESPN has followed the path to self-aggrandizement to a stunning degree. The byproducts of this inflation are like the roll call at the Hater Hall of Fame: Jay Mariotti ranting about the Bulls as if he used to be Michael’s second option on the fast break after checking off Scottie. Skip Bayless howling incessantly about T.O. as if Owens owed him money. And everyone—EVERYONE—wailing indignantly about Pete Rose/Barry Bonds/Floyd Landis, even though no one on SportsCenter (hello, Sean Salisbury) could come remotely close to managing an MLB team/hitting a fastball/biking up the mountains of France.

The other night I was flipping through the channels right before heading off to bed, and I happened to land on Quite Frankly. For those unfamiliar with Steven A. Smith’s show, it can be roughly explained as “Steven Screaming”. The host of this self-indulgent jabberfest is not only in the same boat as Jim Rome and Stuart Scott; he is in fact the captain of that boat.

I should start by setting this episode up, and for that I will borrow one of Bill Simmons’ writing mechanisms:

There is crazy, there is extremely crazy, and then there’s upstage Steven A. Smith crazy.

As you can guess, we are dealing with the third variety here. As I watched, the show devolved into a series of easily defined mistakes, which I will list since I don’t have licensing rights to Clay’s patented diaries:

I don’t want to be a hater. Really I don’t. But who greenlighted Quite Frankly? Is this some sort of cruel hoax? Don’t get me wrong. I have a deep respect for people who speak their mind, and Steven A. Smith fits this mold. But his own show? SAS sounds like he took voice lessons from Don King and Malcolm X, except that he mixes in that strange crossover voice (like Dave Chapelle imitating a white guy or Justin Timberlake trying to act ghetto) when he’s attempting to be serious.

Mistake #2: Hey, let’s talk about current events! It works for Bill O’Reilly!

I have no idea why, but this episode of Quite Frankly was a roundtable discussion of current political events.

To anchor this meeting of the minds, SAS invited a college professor from Syracuse University to participate in the discussion. So far, so good… Only said professor was hawking his book What if George Bush were a Black Man? Hmm…. If the title didn’t give it away, the professor had a wee bit of an axe to grind with W. To that end, every question that was directed his way served as nothing more than an excuse to shout about the president.

(Charles Barkley as governor of Alabama?) “I tell you what. Sir Charles would be better as President than that clown we’ve got up in there now!”

(Duke lacrosse?) “If those boys had been black, they’d been in jail by now…and speaking of jail, why can’t we impeach W and throw him in the pokey? If he’d been black, he’d already be serving a life sentence!”

To be fair, at least the professor was a sharp dresser. Method Man sat next to SAS clad head to toe in FUBU that did not match in any form or fashion. In his defense, it appeared that Method Man had smoked about a pound and a half of funny grass before arriving on set. Add to this the fact that he had absolutely no idea what half the political issues were, and we were in for something special. Midway through the show, after it became apparent that Method Man knew less than Sylvester Stallone trying to give boxing tips on The Contender, SAS began to visibly flinch every time the rapper spoke. Why worry? A ganjed-up Method Man should be harmless, right?

(Is Hilary ready to be President?) “Yeah. Oh yeah. I could go for that woman. She’s got a hard look about her. I like that.”

(Is O.J. guilty?) “Uhh…probably. But he needed to be set free. That’s what I think.”

(Any comments about the Duke lacrosse case?) [Method Man mumbled something illegible and stood up in front of the camera. While a horrified SAS looked on, Method gave a brief demonstration of how he likes his strippers to perform.]

The trifecta of SAS, the professor, and Method Man would have been more than enough to make this show an instant comedy classic. As fate would have it, though, there was a fourth member of the discussion, and he elevated the whole experience from “funny stuff” to “Pacers/Pistons brawl-level event”. That person was Vince Spadea, and if you were like me and have no idea who Vince Spadea is, I believe this clip contains everything you need to know about him. (Hint: he is a professional tennis player)

While the professor was drunk with political rage, and Method Man was operating inside a Tommy Chong-level cloud of marijuana fumes, Spadea was perhaps the most wasted of the three. He was alternately giddy, disoriented, and frightened. He wore a baseball cap and Paris Hilton-style sunglasses, along with an outfit that gave Method Man a run for worst dressed on the set. Throughout the show, Spadea simply looked like he was tripping balls on acid. His participation culminated when SAS asked for his input on the Duke lacrosse scandal, to which Spadea responded calmly,

“Oh, dude, I dunno….I gotta be honest with you, man. I need to pick up a USA Today or something. I have no idea what’s going on.”

Incredibly, they kept sending questions about current affairs his way. Yo, Spadea, do you think Hillary will be President in ’08?”

“Uhh….well….I think that with the war on terrorism….we can’t really afford to let a woman in there right now….give it 10, 20 years, she’ll sneak right on in there…”

Spadea never finished this line. It was the most awkward thing I have seen in a long time. SAS, Method, and the professor just stared at him, stunned. For his part, Spadea looked around, and I will never forget his face—it said Wait, why am I sitting in a room full of black guys? Why does everyone look so angry at me? What did I just say? Where am I? What happened last night, and why does my head hurt?

Luckily, Method Man broke the tension by chuckling and reaching out to give Spadea a fist bump. SAS promptly took over the floor and hurriedly rushed to commercial.

Eventually, things wound down and SAS stood up to deliver his final rant, complete with the transition to Dave Chapelle white person-voice at the very end to drive home the sincerity. I sat in front of the television, wishing I owned a TiVo. Almost immediately, I emailed the Hippos and asked if anyone else had seen what I had just witnessed. I’m actually kind of glad that no one else saw it, and I was compelled to write this column. Maybe celebrity criticism isn’t so bad after all. Who knows—maybe one day I’ll write another column devoted entirely to bad music, and why the Black Eyed Peas suck so violently.

--News Flash: A Quicktime video download of this episode of Quite Frankly is available HERE... I can't say how long it will last--

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