February 4, 2005

The theme of the week at the KNBR Morning Show: Singing.

No, no. Not my singing. I learned right off the bat from our discerning listener base that I ran the risk, very early in our relationship, of being the William Hung of the Morning Show.

Being William Hung, we must reiterate, is not something for which a man can or should strive. There is only One Hung -- and there should remain One Hung.

And only One Hung.

Instead, my partner Tim Liotta -- along with Super Producer Tony Rhein (SPTR, to his close friends), assistant producer P-Conn and sports/news reporter Cass Centeno -- and I are whistling a tune, still star-struck by our interview with Anson Williams, the man you know better as Warren Weber, the man you know even better as, well, Potsie.

Yes, that Potsie. From "Happy Days." What other Potsie is there?

I have to come clean. In my 15 years as a sportswriter and now sports-radio host, I have interviewed the following icons: Joe Montana, Steve Young, Jerry Rice, Derek Jeter, Alex Rodriguez, Tiger Woods, John Elway, Bill Walsh, Barry Bonds -- the list is endless.

I even rode in an elevator once with Joe DiMaggio -- never washed that elevator button again.

But all of those experiences pale to the rush of interviewing Potsie.

Potsie! Part of an American iconic experience -- the gang at Arnold's, passing through the living room at the Cunninghams, wearing the Jefferson High letterman's jacket . . . Potsie!

We come back to singing, because Potsiey's gig on the show was to croon, occasionally. He sang "Splish Splash", he sang "Put Your Head on My Shoulder", he sang "All Shook Up". But it was the life lesson he learned from "Happy Days" director and producer Garry Marshall that I impart to you today.

Marshall told Potsie -- er, Williams -- that he'd let him sing in an episode, but warned him: "You have to sing to a bulldog. Because if you're not any good, I'm cutting to the bulldog." The genius of Garry Marshall -- understanding the fundamental comedy of the "cut to the bulldog."

"So I sang, and sang pretty well," Williams, er, Potsie told us. "And Garry cut to the bulldog anyway."

There it is, sports fans. When in doubt, cut to the bulldog.

Hopefully, a lesson we at the Morning Show will heed, as we march forward into Super Bowl weekend and begin, ever so faintly, to whiff the smell of cut grass on a nearby ball diamond...

SUPER KARAOKE

Staying on our singing theme, we turn to Super Bowl XXXIX.

(Immediate digression: Is America ready for next year's Super Bowl which, if I recall my Roman correctly, will be labeled "Super Bowl XL"? In a super-sized society where obesity is more common than parking tickets, how outrageous will it be to see 300-pound fans toddling around Detroit next year with garish gear that reads "SUPER BOWL XL." They're just lucky the Roman numeral system doesn't allow for the number "XXXL". Grim wouldn't begin to describe the sight.)

Anyway, back to the singing. The Morning Show stumbled on a tip last week that the best place in the 844-square mile area of Jacksonville was Lynch's Irish Pub, an unassuming wood shack near Jax Beach. We chatted with Keith, the Northern Irish manager with a wit drier than a Bill Belichick quote sheet, who anticipated good times at his pub -- we just didn't know how good.

Turns out the New England Patriots, of all teams, have made Lynch's their hang. Keith happily reported that two-time Super Bowl MVP and the Pride of San Mateo, Tom Brady, enjoyed the atmosphere of Lynch's with a multitude of teammates on Monday night, and that the good times were so thick, a big crew returned on Tuesday night, as well.

The key development: Tedy Bruschi's karaoke skills.

In a sure sign that the Patriots are either so loose, they will destroy the Eagles, or so distracted, they have lost focus, Bruschi established himself as Karaoke King. He sang four consecutive country songs, Keith reported, with the show-stopper being Garth Brooks' "Friends in Low Places."

How were Bruschi's pipes?

"We had to gong him," Keith said.

Or, of course, cut to the bulldog.

So there you have it -- Tedy Bruschi channeling Anson Williams. Take it for what it's worth. Could be an omen.

ABOUT THE GAME

Tim and I have sort of adopted the sentimental story of the Philadelphia Eagles, the team that makes overgrown fans in undersized jerseys weep with joy, to the point where tears freeze on their chubby faces, chilled by the blasts of Philly winter winds. But Birds fans don't mind. We read e-mails from a bunch of them who are profoundly moved by their team's soaring ride to the Super Bowl, and the Morning Show has fallen for their charms, and their underdog tale.

Besides, if the Eagles win, we already have a correspondent lined up to give us play-by-play action from the Philly Victory Parade. Former Haight Street bartender Paul (Green Fright Wig) Schmidt, who poured pure drinks at the Gold Cane, is back in his native Philly and promised to call in when he says, the Birds have the Tuesday parade down Broad Street. There would be nothing like the live radio of Schmitty saying: "...And there's a guy in a T.O. game jersey hanging off the lightpost above me ... he's calling for a beer ... someone is throwing him one ... OH, MY! ... it was over his head and he made a diving attempt . . . now they're scooping him off the street . . . and some fans have made off with his T.O. jersey..."

All that said, I can't see it happening. Why not? The Pats are bloodless killers. They feel no pressure, other than to seal their legend with another game packed with execution, fundamentals and no turnovers. Tom Brady is that good -- he's the perfect leader under pressure, and knows that if all it takes is an Adam Vinatieri field goal, well, then he'll get them that Vinatieri field goal.

Meanwhile, the Eagles are too excited, too distracted, not good enough; their Super Bowl was making the Super Bowl. Besides, they have peripheral issues, like Freddie Mitchell's ill-advised remarks, and Donovan McNabb's beard that disturbingly resembles Abe Lincoln's beard. I don't know about you, but if I ever strive for a "look," Abe Lincoln isn't high on my list of makeover idols.

The heart says Philly, the head says New England: Pats 30, Eagles 13.

A QUICK NOD TO THE HALL OF FAMER

If all goes well Saturday morning, Steve Young will join the Pro Football Hall of Fame, when votes are released.

What a double-edged sword for 49er fans -- on the one hand, the remarkable joy that comes from the knowledge that we lived to watch Joe Montana and Steve Young play QB in our town from 1980-1999, consecutive Hall of Famers; on the other hand, the depressing knowledge that, likely, in 2020, we won't be celebrating dual Canton runs for Tim Rattay and Ken Dorsey.

Credit to Young for fighting through the spectre of Montana, and bringing us such beautiful play while following a legend. Young had a nice phrase for it recently, saying his tenacity and will to succeed made him feel "like a bulldog on the pantleg of life."

The bulldog again. I'm telling you, it's failsafe. Who would have thought that Garry Marshall and Steve Young had so much in common?

FOR THE GOLF FANATICS AMONG YOU

Timmy and I continue our PGA Tour Battle to the Death, selecting one player per week and competing, head-to-head, for Tour dollars in our own little Morning Show fantasy league.

Quite frankly, my picks of late have been about as well-received as the city of Jacksonville as a Super Bowl host: Two weeks ago, Chris Riley pulled an "MC Hammer" at Torrey Pines (missed cut) and last week, Tour bad boy Jonathan Kaye was, well, bad. He missed the cut at the Bob Hope, which I previously thought was mathematically impossible, those courses play so easy.

Liotta, meanwhile, scooped up a little bit o' change with Chris DiMarco's tie-69th and winnings of $9,447. I wasn't kidding when I said "little bit o' change" -- on the super-rich Tour, 9400 bucks is like missing the cut. The tally after four events:
Liotta: $477, 847.00
Murphy: $228,133.34.

As always the 34 cents could be the X-Factor.

This week, in Phoenix, at the keg party that passes for a Tour stop, I have steady-eddie Stewart Cink, while Liotta has the left-handed Canadian Mike Weir.

Shouldn't you either be left-handed, or Canadian? Who can be both?

Please, somebody, cut to the bulldog.

E-mail Brian Murphy at bmurphy@knbr.com.

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