Mister Faded Glory | misterfadedglory.com

Well, they lost their third straight to the Reds.

Has a team ever looked so tired, defeated, beaten down, as the Cubs?

Old. Can’t hit. And the year’s over. And sure, I wrote what you see below, but that doesn’t mean losing five out of six to the Mets and Reds — with two dominant performances by Prior — hurts any less.

They’re still beating in Texas and Oakland. I guess they must feel like, ‘Hey, at least we’re not the Cubs.’

Unbelievable.

Cranky sportswriters will say, “You should have seen it coming.”
Scoffing Cardinals fans will say “Completely useless by September.”
Pirate and Royal fans will call the Cubs lucky.
White Sox fans will continue beating their dogs.
And Houston fans? Well, to them, a year later, turnabout really is fair play.

It’s twilight in Chicago, with the sun about to set on another baseball season. Last season, the Cubs finished under the lights, at night, with two losses in their final games too painful to relive. This season, they’re likely done. It will be incredibly difficult to catch the red-hot Houston Astros in the last four games, regardless of the Cubs’ results.

Oh, there’s a glimmer of hope, not a bad thing, but considering the season thus far – the glimmer is perhaps more painful than plucky. Cubs fans are in no way eager to relive the heartbreak of last season’s end.

The botched double play. The fan interference no-call. Ugh. They were so close. But no crying. In baseball, you begin again, either the next day or next year.

However, last season’s fun, exuberant, wunderkind ball club – who seemingly could eke out a win no matter the circumstances – has turned into a petulant, frustrated, aging group, crushing under the weight of last season’s success.

It’s not worth dissecting the season as if it’s been a failure, and it’s not worth reading the riot act against culprits, whether they are closers, managers, left-fielders, cartoon-character sluggers, strikeouts, poor hitting instruction, or injuries.

What Cub fans now should know is that, consistent with a culture of winning, it is absolutely, unbelievably unhealthy and impossible to live and die with every single game. I did it this season, too. I won’t again.

Sure, you can find plenty of takes from disgruntled and mischievous columnists, scoffing sportscasters, random fans and disgusted radio analysts. You can hear the arguments that “lovable losers” were better, because they were lovable (nope), this is what happens when players self-destruct (maybe), and it’s better to lose early than lose late (idiots), but whether those are true or not is moot. Not worth your time to wonder.

Sports seasons are difficult, because they are compact in their drive for success, whereas we, in our daily lives, jobs, careers, families, etc. strive for success over much longer periods of time.

Baseball is even more difficult, because with a grueling 162-game schedule and six-month race for a scant few invitations for the postseason, it’s a constant challenge for players, managers, writers, front office and fans to put into perspective. Consider these bits of wisdom:

“You’ve got to have a short memory.”

“Teams that can’t win one-run games are destined for failure.”

“The breaks will even out.”

“I’d rather get beat with a hit than a walk.”

“You can only play who’s in front of you.”

“We control our own destiny.”

“We don’t control our own destiny.”

Think about it. All of these are true. All of these are false.

It’s true, you can only win the games in front of you. And yes, you wake up the next day, and life goes on, win or lose. It’s never the end of the world (yeah, I know. Shut up), and you can be proud of your season without making the playoffs. Yes, all are true. But all ring false, through intermittent disappointment, elation, and heartache.

In any case, many fans agree that should the Cubs lose out to the Astros, Giants, Padres, whomever, it would be less painful than in the playoffs. I tend to disagree with this. Winning the wild card is somewhat of an antiseptic to a long, arduous season. Losing in the playoffs is just that, losing in the playoffs. At least you got there. (Besides, who’s really a juggernaut in the NL? In all of baseball? Hm?) It’s no easier, not for me, to end it early. It’s more satisfying, I think, to end it late. Heartbreaking or not, I’ll take the glimmer for glory in any day, before a merciful decapitation.

Regardless, should it end in the next week, next day, next month, well, , I think we’ve all learned a lesson.

You can’t live and die with every game. You just can’t. It’s heartache. Ask Cardinal fans about 2002 or 2003. Ask Oakland fans right now. Ask Boston fans in 2001. Ask Yankees fans in 2002. That crap will kill you. Step back. And, looking at the Cubs, here, of course, is my suggestion and two cents. Maybe an epitaph. Maybe a foreshadowing. Who knows.

Lean back and remember entering 2001, with little hope for any success. Seemingly no direction, and two frustrating seasons after a lucky wild card berth in 1998.

In 2001 the Tribune Company appeared to make a small decision to actually attempt to win more than a few games over a longer haul.

They were developing bottom up, and had acquired and drafted several can’t-miss pitching prospects. Andy MacPhail and Jim Hendry joined the front office. The team was constructed around all-world Sammy Sosa, all-enigma Kerry Wood, and all-workhorse Jon Lieber. And that team won. Not enough, but they began.

We forget, because the Cards and ‘Stros overtook us in the last two months playing .750 baseball (no shame) but that season was enjoyable. Fun.

Fundamental baseball, with a group of guys who couldn’t hit their way out of a paper bag, but who bunted, ran, stole, and played D enough to give Sosa a chance to slug some wins. They fell short, but the outlook was promising for the next season, even if the hitting wasn’t too great.

The hitting was awful in 2002. Mark Bellhorn and Fred McGriff carried an anemic offense to only a few wins and a last place finish. Mark Prior and Carlos Zambrano weren’t ready. Sosa struggled. Corey Patterson wasn’t ready. The bullpen was brutal … again.

And last season, with no expectations, virtually the same anemic offense, albeit with some late additions, managed to grind out enough wins, supported by unbelievable strikeout-oriented starting pitching to win a division title. The bullpen was still awful. They still couldn’t move runners, and the defense was bad. They won in spite of all this.

And in 2004, even showing an improved record, these same flaws – light hitting and a combustible bullpen – are once again fatal to the Cubs. Too many homers, not enough spot hitting, too many strikeouts, etc. Still, the record is better than last season’s. It’s not much, but it’s a start.

When you step back, you see that only Sosa, Wood, Zambrano, Kyle Farnsworth and Patterson remain from the ending roster in 2001. In a four-year window, the Cubs have taken their shot, gotten better, had one real chance to win it … but didn’t do it … so far. That’s it. No harm done. Could have been better, could have been worse.

So, it’s ‘Just wait ‘til next year again,’ and you can pick up an edition of the Sun-Times and read those words used mockingly, disgustedly, whiningly, and optimistically, but the cliché is read again, nonetheless.

Well, the window isn’t closed. Not even close. There will be some changes. Moises Alou, thanks for playing. Nomar, stick around if you want. Sosa, enjoy life as a bit player. (What we need is a wholesale changeover in hitting instruction, emphasizing contact and productive outs. Not the assumption that veterans can simply turn it on-and-off. That’s another column.) Still, the window isn’t closed. Patience will be rewarded.

I think we can take our chances with building around Corey Patterson (25) -Derrek Lee (29) -Aramis Ramirez (26) on one side, and Kerry Wood (28) -Mark Prior (24) -Carlos Zambrano (24) on the other. You only get so many shots. And if history indicates, we’ll have a few.

The Astros’ group of Bagwell-Berkman-Biggio (circa 1997) is down to their last. It’s nearing the end for Pujols-Rolen-Edmonds-Renteria (circa 1999), and they’re taking their best shot this season.

We’re just getting started, and since the millenium, we’ve had one real chance. Just one. With a 2004 hiccough, who says we’re not going to have any more?

Patience. Perspective. Perseverance. We’ll see what happens through Sunday … but regardless, we’ll anticipate next year, again. And I’m fine with that.

Again.

It’s back to lists again today, with a continuing plug for the novel-length ranking of all states in the redneck spectrum. Find yours!

Anyway, the board:
1. Steroids. Forget all the nonsense about baseball and BALCO, guess what finally has temporarily cured my allergies? It’s true, one shot and I’m free! No swollen face, no runny nose, my voice once again sounds normal, and I can sleep and breathe. Any side effects? Ah, who cares.
2. K-State off weeks. No television coverage of the Big 12 on Saturday, which allowed me to see both the Iowa/Michigan game and the Cubs/Mets tilt. Both experienced gut-wrenching losses, and I hate sports again.
3. Kit Kat White Chocolate bars. – The Lion has a challenger. These things are addictive.
4. Old football players. Say what you will, it’s refreshing to watch a college football game featuring someone older than me.
5. The NFL. Finally, I get to sit home all day Sunday, watch TV, and feel like I’m being productive.

The bored.
1. Telemarketers. I don’t know where I divulged my phone number, but all of a sudden I’m deluged with calls from Chase Bank, SBC, etc. I’m running out of clever responses, such as “Gotta go, house is on fire,” “How dare you call me in the middle of sex,” “I can’t believe you assholes work on Sunday” and the like. While this may be a good opportunity for me to hone my schtik, it’s really annoying. I’ll appreciate suggestions of responses below.
2. The NFL. It’s a love-hate relationship with me and football. Sure, I like it as much as the next guy, but as noted, self-important blustering announcers and life-or-death fans churn my stomach. Also, commercials run rampant in the league, ensuring difficulty in watching any game.
But the latest transgression is committed by Fox, and makes the games even more unbelievably difficult to watch. In the beginning, they had the FoxBox, which showed the score and time constantly. Fine. Then, it was the FoxStrip, across the top of the screen. OK, sucky, but not fatal. Now, it’s the strip, coupled with a constant large update of all scores, flashing yellow in the corner of the screen. After each play, a scrolling “ticker” denotes the play and stats that occurred. I don’t know who to blame for this. Fantasy geeks. Loser fans. Crappy networks. Please, just give us sports.
3. Conference calls. Unproductive. Boring. Ridiculous. Invented by people who have no idea how to accomplish anything, much less work with or against colleagues. A colossal waste of time. How do you think I got the chance to write this column?
4. Fazoli’s. Yeah, I don’t know why, either. But I did. Yuck.
5. Dead time during sporting events. As you might know, I’m a sports nut, though I don’t care to be lumped in with the rest of ‘em all. Still, I have to give a plug to my favorite, baseball. Because I continually can’t understand NFL fans, who claim baseball is so boring – yet they routinely stand through 145, 687 five-minute TV timeouts during games, between intervals of 5-second plays. Unbelievable.

At long last, we have another column written by me in the form of a list, the most tried and true column gimmick in all media.

However, this list is a particularly ambitious one. Here at Mr. Faded Glory, we have rarely, if ever, been continually happy with our surroundings. Whether it is snobbish-Connecticut types, tree-hugging graduate students, ultra-religified student council members or right-wing conservative backwoodsmen, we can always find the ability to complain about the folks that share the same space.

One blatant stereotype of Americans continually pops up to frustrate, the redneck/hayseed/country bumpkin/dimwitted/faux-patriotic person. Throughout the travels of Mr. Faded Glory – particularly in several Midwestern states – and particularly particularly in the current headquarters of MFG, these narrow-minded brethren keep popping up.

Commonly referred to as the “hick,” each state has some propensity for producing lazy, uninformed, unintelligent, close-minded, arrogant, dumb, and generally reprehensible folk, lacking any sort of “street smarts,” preferring subconsciously to play the fool or tool.

In interest of saving space, (scroll down and snicker) and in interest of generic ease, I’ll eschew defining redneck, hayseed, Kansan, etc., in favor of the more general “hick.” That many times these folk hail from the countryside is perhaps a happy coincidence.

So, without further ado (too late, I know), here is the grand list, each state ranked in order of said propensity for hick inhabitants. Yes, I have belabored the point that one need not be a country bumpkin in order to be considered a hick – but I will occasionally refer to that stereotype for list purposes. The irony is just freaking delicious. Lowest to highest. Enjoy!

1. Hawaii. Not surprisingly, America’s top resort is filled with the least amount of hicks. Idiot tourists, yes. Sleazy hotel promoters, yes. Cheesy entertainers, yes. Remember, a vacation for a hick is a NASCAR race shown on network TV.
2. Alaska. Not sure I want to debate whether or not an igloo signifies a hick, but Northern Exposure was sure a quirky show.
3. Connecticut. Too much yuppie spillover. You couldn’t find an American car here, let alone a pickup with a gunrack.
4. Arizona. No one is from Arizona. Everyone is a transplant from their own (presumably) godforsaken states.
5. Rhode Island. Too small. But check out those houses in Newport.
6. New Jersey. Again, it’s filled with mobsters and toxic waste, suburbia and turnpikes, but it’s the blue-collar cousin of Connecticut. Angry tri-state residents don’t really fit this list’s purpose, rather, they deserve their own separate list, (drum roll) … the FBI’s ten most wanted! Ha! I kill me!
7. Maine. A very pretty state, with lots of vacation homes and beautiful scenery. Loses points when those yokels – the Bushies – show up for six-month vacations.
8. North Dakota. Seriously, who lives here?
9. Nevada. Gamblers and tourists. Again – idiots, yes. Hicks, no.
10. Massachusetts. If these were ranked in order of “most difficult state to drive in,” this would rank a wicked numbah freakin’ one.
11. Virginia. Some tobacco farmers, some southerners. Still, more informed and pleasant than its western cousin. See below. Way below.
12. Illinois. If the Cubs didn’t play here, White Sox fans alone would drive this state down into the mid-40s.
13. Oregon. Portland is the blueprint for fighting urban sprawl. Eugene is a, ahem, green dream.
14. California. A playground for the rich that includes anyone’s evil du jour, including gangbangers, B-movie stars, vapid plastic surgery candidates, and ex-Austrian governors — yet not necessarily a stable for hayseeds.
15. Florida. The old and the stupid.
16. Maryland. How does Maryland get off so easy?
17. Louisiana. The assumption of French culture saves this state. Because, after all, it does have culture. Mardi Gras may be filled with loud, idiot, heathens, but, c’mon, it’s Mardi Gras. And by the way, there’s nothing that screams idiot/hick/overdone like making insidious, dirty-’fraidy-cat-French jokes.
18. Washington. The birthplace of grunge rock and Mecca of self-congratulatory coolness is also home to a former restaurant cook I used to manage, who regularly wore the same clothes and was also regularly ensconced in the county jail. Not a shining example for the husky state.
19. Ohio. High in the middle, and round on both ends. This is an underrated state, although after you’ve paid nearly $875.46 in tollbooth fares, you may not think so.
20. Minnesota. I’ve always been a fan of Minnesota, after all, I have the accent. (Minn: “GRAM-muh.” Kan.: “GRAY-und-maw.”)
21. New Mexico. You’re wondering if there’s any established criteria for this list. Nope.
22. Colorado. Often viewed as a liberal paradise, it has more than its share of potato farmers, military dropouts and dude ranches.
23. Idaho. Remember those potato farmers? And, no, Mister Easterner, it’s not the corn state.
24. South Dakota. Country radio stations only, between Sioux Falls and … well, what the hell is on the other side of the state? Mount Rushmore?
25. New York. We know. You think it should be lower. Well, then visit Brewster. Jeffersonville. Patterson. Go on, try it. They don’t even have running water north of Albany.
26. Iowa. Right smack in the middle of the heartland, Iowa often suffers from the unflattering, hayseed stereotype. After all, who else produces more corn? But when your educational system is second to none, your kids are constantly the smartest, and your university is arguably a top-five school nationwide – you’re not quite a hick haven, which explains its surprisingly high ranking. And, no, it’s not the potato state.
27. Delaware. Again, it’s this high for a lack of discernible size. Which doesn’t hide the fact that there is nothing here save a good D-II football team.
28. Tennessee. Are you sensing a swing into the stereotyped ‘good ole boys’ states? You’re not? Then I’m not accurately conveying that this is the home of Dollywood, Elvis and country music.
29. North Carolina. Goes bonkers for NASCAR. If horse racing is the sport of kings, than surely NASCAR is the sport of rednecks. Wait, it’s not a sport. Wait, I’m babbling.
30. Wisconsin. Where kids put Pabst on their cereal.
31. Indiana. You wouldn’t think it rates this low, with urban Indianapolis and pristine South Bend. You wouldn’t think so, with Terre Haute – home of federal executions and Columbia House music. But if you’ve ever been here, well, you know. The accents alone will slay you. Side note: They are too proud to go on Daylight Savings Time. They switch between Eastern and Central. Now that you know that, what will you do?
32. Arkansas. I almost went to school as a Razorback, but everyone on campus said “y’all” all the time.
33. Pennsylvania. Featuring the longest godforsaken cross-state drive in the universe. I know there are several states larger in area than Pennsylvania. Try driving across this monstrosity. It’s awful. It’s the longest. Trust me.
34. Michigan. Union City. Look it up.
35. Georgia. Still smarting from that Civil War defeat.
36. New Hampshire. Gets really pumped, because of the primary for two months every four years, then it’s back to mesh trucker hats. Wait, those are cool now? Dammit.
37. Kansas. In many ways, it deserves to be the midpoint of America. Because it’s like a drain, where the worst people funnel in from the outside – from the relentless cowboys in Dodge City, to the intense blackness of flat prairie, to the dregs of Coffeyville, to various ultraconservative folk, your free-thinking ideals are not safe here, smack in the middle of the Bible Belt. Culture must be intensively sought, to be found. Of course, negative stereotypes do plague this state, but Kansas still smarts most because of its unending desire to promote creationism as law, theory, fact, whatever – to promote it as undisputable. Yikes.
38. Vermont. The way you can tell Vermont from New Hampshire, is because the state looks like a “V.” And Vermont begins with “V.”
39. Kentucky. I know, how could the Bluegrass State be considered a hick paradise? Weird.
40. Alabama. I do like some things about this state, like the way legendary football announcer Keith Jackson pronounces “Ahl – Uh – BAM – Uh,” slowly and regally.
41. South Carolina. Brother-and-sister marriage capital of the world. Yes, I made that up.
42. Utah. Bigamists, people. You all forget, or at least look away disgusted.
43. Wyoming. You’ve seen movie scenes, where a stray tumbleweed will roll across a barren landscape. That image should be Wyoming’s state flag.
44. Mississippi. The River is described as majestic, yet it appropriately flows downward into a gathering pile of waste, known as a delta. That’s Mississippi.
45. Oklahoma. As is a theme with some of these Midwestern states, a common football team seems to unite them. Here, however, OU’s fight song is only two words long, designed so that even the most drunken dirt-stained yokel can remember it. It purports to rhyme, too!
46. Missouri. Kansas is lower on the list because an Overland Park fan is less likely to go home and beat his wife after a Chiefs loss than an KCMO fan. Worst roads in the country. And if you’re going to argue that St. Louis saves it, you’re absolutely wrong. A city that features the Cardinals doesn’t even register on the radar. Also the home of Busch and Budweiser beer. Yes, both can be refreshing. Yes, both are headaches in a can. No, neither are classy.
47. Montana. At least you can drive 80 mph, while on your way to a militia rally. And you’re safe, because no one can see you in that camouflage F150!
48. Nebraska. Like Kansas and Oklahoma, yet somehow, it is invariably worse. Closeminded, ultra-religious capital of America. These hayseeds are so backwards that the state tree is the telephone pole. Really, the only decent parts of Nebraska closely border Iowa. So, pretty much, Omaha is in Iowa. And pretty much, there’s nothing else here.
49. Texas. The biggest, baddest, don’t-mess-with-us, redneck state of them all. The home of our “aw-shucks” president, and a microcosm of all negative social policy issues in America today. Like what, you ask? Ah, this column is already too long. Best to put on a ten-gallon hat and ride into the sunset. On an armadillo, of course.
50. West Virginia. Just close your eyes. And picture West Va. What do you think of? Moonshine? Accents? Prohibition? Coal? Yep, it’s got it all. A dirty mix of the redneck south, the conservative, farming Midwest, the Amish, miners, and colonial misfits, West Virginia is perhaps the most diverse of all stereotypically hick states. And shouldn’t that count for something?

Well, there you have it. Please remember, this is not a scientific list, just an attempt to poke fun at each state’s general stereotypes. There are good, smart, decent people in all states, truly, and I hope that none are offended by this post. Stereotypes, in my opinion, do exist for a reason, and that reason is to poke fun at the STEREOTYPE ITSELF, which is never completely descriptive of any state’s true nature. I don’t have any point or further commentary, in an attempt to be well-liked yet intensely trivial and opinionated, I’m already beginning to backtrack.

Top 20 – September 17, 2004

1. Vendetta Red, Shatterday
2. Pete Townsend, Let My Love Open the Door
3. Pearl Jam, Yellow Ledbetter
4. Danzig, Cantspeak
5. 50 Cent, In Da Club
6. Third Eye Blind, How It’s Going to Be
7. Soundgarden, Fell On Black Days
8. Toad the Wet Sprocket, All I Want
9. Jane’s Addiction, Ted, Just Admit It
10. Incubus, Wish You Were Here
11. A Perfect Circle, Blue
12. Zwan, Come With Me
13. Mother Love Bone, Bone China
14. Tesla, Little Suzi
15. Usher, Yeah
16. R.E.M., The One I Love
17. Night Court, theme
18. Stone Temple Pilots, Plush (acoustic)
19. Pink, Don’t Let Me Get Me
20. Tool, Eulogy

For those of you who have debated whether rooting for the Cubs was more or equally painful to root canal work ….

Yesterday I undertook a dangerous new experiment to test this theory, and sat in a dentist’s chair for three replacement fillings (the new ones are white, the old, aluminum, magnetic ones were circa 1987) and while I underwent the procedures, I watched the Cubs game on WGN on the ceiling TV.

And, while a drill was planted squarely on bicuspid molar 14, Neifi Perez cracked a home run for the Cubs (seriously, never in a million years would I have guessed I would type that sentence) and propelled Chicago to a 13-5 win over the Pirates. So, even though it wasn’t really root canal surgery, it was more painful than the Cubs. We have an answer!

So there you have it. More revolutionary science from Mr. Faded Glory. Up later: We rank the states, in order of their propensity for hick populations.

EXTRA CREDIT: More annoying than any other song my junior year of college was Are you Jimmy Ray? which disappeared roughly 12 minutes after its release. Does anyone else remember this slice of garbage? (Are you Johnny Ray? No! Are you Stevie Ray? No! Are you Jimmy Ray? Yes, I am, Yes, I am … and so forth.)

As I’ve described in this space before, there are few columnists who I hold in extremely high regard. There are even a select few with whom I have been fortunate enough to draw comparison – when I have been lucky enough to have a writing published in some way, shape, or form.

The columnist to which I have historically been most compared is now a cult phenomenon, having grown by leaps and bounds through the miraculous pat-on-the-back that is ESPN. And so I read his work critically and lightheartedly, often finding his taste in sports and pop culture strikingly similar to mine.

However, this Friday, the columnist took a turn for the worse, with a celebration of a year past in sports and pop – and a cheap shot (scroll down) at the sitcom that I hold most dear to my heart, Night Court.

I realize that Night Court has somehow managed to avoid inception into the Hall of Fame of sitcoms. It was never thought as clever as Seinfeld and Cheers, and its sophomoric humor is considered an insult to most who have grown up on the snide, insipid comedy of Friends and the constant innuendo of Will and Grace. Night Court, however you may view it, deserves its own place if only for uniquity.

If ever it was possible to develop deep characters that audiences could care about — while still maintaining an aura of slapstick and zany, unpredictable comedy — then Night Court delivered better than any sitcom in history. At once a mesh of sleazy sex jokes, light social commentary, dark workplace satire, and sidesplitting pratfalls and gags, Night Court is best compared to Newsradio, and perhaps even The Simpsons.

It is no surprise that all three of these shows are favorites of mine, but forever in my heart will Night Court hold a special place. I have recited one-liners from this show for years, its quotability ranks up there with Fletch and the aforementioned Simpsons.

Night Court’ss characters were uncharacteristically deeper than most sitcoms – empathetic but wacky Judge Harold T. Stone, the lecherous D.A. Dan Fielding, naïve legal aid Christine Sullivan, dry, deadpanning bailiff Roz Russell, genial and browbeaten court clerk Mac Robinson, and of course, the visual staple of the show, dumb, kindhearted bailiff Nostradamus “Bull” Shannon.

I could go on for pages about the genius that is Night Court, and I realize it would wear a little thin. The show was admittedly only in its prime for perhaps four out of its nine years, and its early revolving door of characters made it difficult to follow, just as its devolution into long, soap-opera-esque story arcs made it seem a shell of itself in its later years (However, this is true of most sitcoms as they progress. Or regress. Never mind.).

Perhaps all I can ask of anyone is that they revisit a few episodes of Night Court – it’s not as timely as The Simpsons or Newsradio, it’s not as chic as Friends, it’s not as neurotic as Seinfeld, and not as familial as Family Ties. Still, it delivers laughs, and it delivers stories.

Perhaps it’s best remembered as a foil to Cheers, which it was in 1984-1989, following the revered comedy in NBC’s 9:30 time slot. Cheers always seemed a little more uppity than Night Court, but the greater belly laughs were always delivered with Cheers’ follow-up sophomore cousin.

Cheers was trendy, Night Court was crass. Cheers was the Yankees, Night Court the Mets. Cheers was Tavern on the Green, Night Court was Burritoville. Cheers was Tuborg. Night Court was Miller High Life. However, the two packed a potent, thoughtful, laugh-filled punch – most of which is historically attributed to Cheers. Still, Night Court had four seasons of greatness in its own right, which should not be forgotten or trivialized. I plead that this show deserves its spot in television comedy lore — few run longer, few are as high when at their peak, and few were as genuinely fun as Night Court.

So, today, I remember the genius of Night Court, and I continue to celebrate it for now and ever. Raise your glass, but be careful, it’s likely to dribble on you.

TOP FIVE NIGHT COURT LINES

5. “Well, he left. Because he had to find a phone.” Dan, resting his hand on phone.
“This one’s broken.”
(phone rings)
(Dan pulls phone out of wall, swings it into the floor, destroying it.)
“You see! It just keeps ringing like that! Without any warning at all! Drives … me … batty…..” From Her Honor, part 3. Christine had become a judge and the gang had to pretend Harry was still around doing his job, rather than hanging suspended from the Brooklyn Bridge.

4. “Yeah, he’s nice. Real nice. Real, real, real nice. I HATE HIS GUTS!” Harry, upon meeting a jokester judge similar to himself, but younger.

3. “Because I’m 38 years old.” Jumper on ledge of Dan’s hotel room.
“Yeah, well, so am I.” Dan.
“And I’m a virgin.” Jumper
“Happy landings.” Dan, snide that a jumper had the audacity to sneak by his window on a “date” with Christine.

2. “You’re not in the mood? Well, you GET in the mood!” (same episode). Dan, seeking to bed Christine after saving her life. She showed up dressed in a hideous full nightgown and several hair curlers for her compensatory “date” with Dan.

1. “Oh god, let it be dead.” Roz, in a basement bar when the gang seeks to rescue a drunken, disheveled Mac. The deadpan and timing in this line never ceases to crack me up, and since I was 10, every time I have ever needed to force a “natural” smile upon myself, I think of this line. I guess maybe you had to be there.

Top 5 episodes
5. Dan saves Christine’s life with Heimlich maneuver, then asks Christine to sleep with him. She agrees, and hilarity ensues when a suicide jumper attempts to commit the act in their hotel room. Of course, the gang all arrives to eavesdrop.
4. Mac and wife Quon Le are expecting a baby, and Quon Le is expecting to be sworn in as an American citizen. Both are hospitalized, and the baby is born an American citizen.
3. Kipper on a cracker. – Mac is grief-stricken to find out Quon Le is pregnant, and leaves his post to become a lounge singer.
2. A day in the life. The gang must adjudicate 207 cases by midnight, in order to save an orphanage. Harry attempts to arm-wrestle a Texas oilman for money to save the orphans when they don’t quite make it — and Christine uncharacteristically saves the day.
1. Her Honor, all four parts. The absolute peak of the show. The cliffhanger during the season of 1986-87 was comedic gold, and it’s impossible to pick just one segment of the episode, centering around Christine’s appointment to the bench in Harry’s place. It includes unpredictable comedy, tragedy and conflict amongst the characters, a harebrained scheme, sexual tension, and a satisfying resolution.

There you have it. My ode to a show long forgotten by most — but which I adamantly claim — deserves its special place in comedy history. Now, if we could just release a DVD….