Reminding the P1's to Be One

Discussion in 'The Mainboard' started by dallasdawg, Oct 9, 2012.

  1. texasraider

    texasraider thanks
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    I missed it if he did.

    I'm friends with his wife on insta and she said they had two stints in the NICU but she said she's healthy and at home
     
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  2. Fuzzy Zoeller

    Fuzzy Zoeller College football > NFL

    They did a segment on it yesterday. She spiked a fever after she was delivered, had to get an epidural and spend a couple days in the NICU but all is well now.
     
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  3. a.tramp

    a.tramp Insubordinate and churlish
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    I start tuning out every year when the NFL gets fired up and am completely off the station when NCAA fab is done.

    Every year it gets harder to switch the dial back over, with the exception of the Musers, as the on air personalities after 10am are either getting more stale or are more annoying now that years before.

    Respect my decision. I will only field one question at this time.
     
  4. Zebbie

    Zebbie Hey Mike, guess what I have in my underwear?
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    The only show I listen to consistently is The Musers (every day) - the other shows are pretty much only when I’m in the car.
     
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  5. dallasdawg

    dallasdawg does the tin man have a sheet metal cock?
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    musers are definitely my leaders
     
  6. dallasdawg

    dallasdawg does the tin man have a sheet metal cock?
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    we’re setting up at ticketstock this year and i’m pumped. i’ve never been to one
     
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  7. a.tramp

    a.tramp Insubordinate and churlish
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    Be careful or their promotions dept will bankrupt you like they did with the flight simulator and bedazzled jeans company
     
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  8. John McGuirk

    John McGuirk member of the blue tiger club
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    If the hardline could show even a little effort in preparation, it would make their show so much better. The lack of hot takes and the groupthink that occurs on that show is bad when it comes to sports talk. Occasionally, you will get good segments like college football blowhard or mike talking baseball, but for the most part it is worse than three dudes at a bar talking sports.

    Entertainment (E news, fun with real audio, community quickhits, etc.) is a different story and I enjoy that part of the show. Mino is a top notch board operator and helps to make the show what it is.

    In short, I listen to musers on the way to work for an hour, BaD radio for about 30 mins during lunch, and pieces of hardline on the way home.
     
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  9. Line 4 guy

    Line 4 guy I still ski on the weekends.
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    I should host 10 to noon instead of Norm.
     
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  10. dallasdawg

    dallasdawg does the tin man have a sheet metal cock?
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    corby is a clown when it comes to sports. hardline is generally entertaining though

    i think we can all agree that 10-12 is basically unlistenable
     
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  11. John McGuirk

    John McGuirk member of the blue tiger club
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    Mike has no idea what’s going on either...he’s basically phoned it in. Love mike...but just sayin...
     
  12. texasraider

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    really enjoyed Mike and Corby talking for 20 minutes about how weird it was that Edelman didn't play much in the beginning of the season while Danny was googling pig feed instead of telling them that Edelman was suspended the first four games.
     
  13. * J Y *

    * J Y * TEXAS
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    Not a Jake fan. He tries to sound too cool. Someone needs to tell him he’s on sports radio.
     
  14. C-Pay

    C-Pay Shockular

    Mino is hilarious to me. The story last year about him getting escorted out of the mall by security for fear he might jump to his death was great
     
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  15. BayouMafia

    BayouMafia this that slumdog millionaire Bollywood flow
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    a free service provided by me to those of you who are not subscribers to The Athletic:

    https://theathletic.com/782223/2019/01/24/how-a-rock-and-roll-drummer-started-a-radio-revolution/

    How a rock and roll drummer started a radio revolution
    [​IMG]
    By Levi Weaver Jan 24, 2019[​IMG] 79 [​IMG]
    “I’m not a big stayer,” Mike Rhyner says, shaking his head in bemused wonder. Somehow, in spite of that declaration, Thursday, January 24th, 2019 will mark the 25th anniversary of Rhyner’s brainchild that revolutionized the American sports radio landscape: 1310 The Ticket.

    Time is a funny thing — we move forward through it, but can only experience it by facing backward. We can’t see where the road is about to go, but we can see the path that led us here and take a wild guess as to what’s next. Look far enough back on Mike Rhyner’s path, and you can see the mile markers that led him from Oak Cliff — where he was born in 1950 and lived until he was 27 — to his seat seven miles northeast, behind a microphone in the Ticket studios in Victory Park.

    “I had always been infatuated with radio,” he says. “Ever since I was a little kid. I used to listen to Mighty 1190 KLIF, and it was just magic to me. Absolute magic. I would listen to those guys, and it sounded like they were really having big fun; it sounded like everybody in the city was listening to them. They were the epicenter of it all, you know?”

    But to call it a simple seven-mile journey is a gross oversimplification. The last 68 years have certainly seen The Old Grey Wolf (as he is occasionally called by his cohorts and fans) traverse a greater-than-usual number of detours and twists. Long before the co-host of The Hardline was the engine behind the launch of the Ticket in 1994, he was an uncomfortable kid, trying to figure out how to be less of a misfit. It wasn’t until the British invasion brought John, Paul, George and Ringo into the national spotlight that a 14-year-old Rhyner — like a generation of others his age — had something of an epiphany.

    The Music Years
    “I was nowhere near self-aware enough to realize this at the time, (but) I probably saw that as my way out. Because I was a really, really dorky wallflower. I mean, I was very, very shy, and I was homely, I mean… just everything that could go wrong with a kid was wrong with me. I was a mess.”

    It didn’t take long before he discovered he had a knack for keeping a beat without speeding up or slowing down. A friend of a cousin gave him a drum kit that was a “bunch of thrown-together stuff from the 1930s or 40s that had drum heads that were just barely this side of cat skin,” Rhyner relates. Before long, he started playing with local bands. As his teen years grew into his twenties, he developed enough of a reputation in the Dallas scene that he was able to make a reasonable living playing gigs, both locally and otherwise, including a touring act called Gypsy Ryder that kept him on the road for all but six weeks one year. “The agency loved us,” he nods. “You want us to go to Sioux Falls? You got it. Chicago? We’ll go to Chicago. Wherever, whenever.”

    But by the late 70s, as rock and roll gave way to disco, the rock shows become more and more infrequent until a chance encounter in the parking lot of a music store gave Rhyner an opportunity to shift gears and stay in the scene. David Page, an old acquaintance from Oak Cliff, mentioned that he had been playing in country bands to make ends meet and that Rhyner should consider doing the same.

    “That was just an anathema,” the 68-year old says. But after being told that Page was making about $400 per week playing six nights a week, he quickly changed his mind. “Well, okay. I’ll give it a shot,” Rhyner said. “I don’t have that much going on right now. You know, circulate my number.”

    Two days later, he found himself on stage with a country band playing songs he’d never even heard before.

    “I quickly learned that to do this, there were about five or six grooves that you had to have,” he recalls now. “I had a couple of them. He told me a couple more that I needed to work on, so I did.”

    Two days later, another gig. Then another. Before long, Mike Rhyner was, for all intents and purposes, a country music drummer. “I did that for a couple of years,” he says now. “But all that time, I started thinking ‘Okay, what else. What else is out there?”

    The Dark Period
    What was next was radio. In 1979, after a few dead-end attempts to get a job, he found himself talking to Ken Rundle, who was doing the news on the LaBella and Rody morning show at KZEW “The Zoo”,

    “He was about to get out of the game and go to law school,” Rhyner relates. “He needed somebody to come in there and do his shit work for him. I went down there and talked to him about it one day, and he realized that he had a fish on the line here; it took him about a nineteenth of a second to hone in on me, and that was my entree into radio … Once I was in there, I was all in. I knew that this was what I wanted to do.”

    Rhyner eventually became the producer of the morning show, getting to the studio in time to ensure that the 6 a.m. show — replete with sound effects, drops, and off-the-wall commentary — ran smoothly. In old video clips of the show, you can almost see the foundations of what would eventually become The Ticket’s calling card: personality.

    It was while Rhyner worked at the Zoo that — on a whim — he sent a letter to John Hinckley, Jr. who was in custody at St. Elizabeth’s hospital in Washington D.C. after attempting to assassinate President Ronald Reagan. Hinckley had lived in Dallas, so Rhyner wanted to know if the inmate remembered anything.

    A couple of weeks later, an envelope showed up in Rhyner’s inbox at the station. The return address? St. Elizabeth’s.

    “I’m like ‘Shit, man, could this be from John Hinckley, or am I in some kind of trouble here,” Rhyner recalls. “Have I violated the law in some way, or what? And I opened it, and sure enough there in his handwriting … he said ‘Yes, I remember The Zoo from my days in Dallas. He said he used to go to Peaches, which was a big record store over on Fitzhugh and Oak Lawn. And, god, he said he used to listen to — he mentioned a couple of songs he used to listen to when he was stalking Jody Foster — because it put him in a strange mood.”

    It may not have been intended as a publicity stunt, but it worked as one. Hinckley’s letter made the rounds on local TV newscasts for a couple of days. Rhyner still has a copy somewhere but says the station General Manager kept the original.

    The Zoo was sold in 1986, and Rhyner was looking for a job again. After a short stint at KZPS, he was hired at WBAP 820 AM.

    “I was in the sports department there,” he says. “That was my first taste of real legitimate sports. They had two guys there, Bill Coates and Steve Lamb, and I did whatever they didn’t want to do. Occasionally, they would toss me a nice fill-in shift on the air, and it was alright.”

    It was around this time that Mike and his ex-wife Renee had a daughter, Jordan. Between parenthood and hopes of climbing the radio ladder, he gradually stopped playing shows until one day in 1988, he realized his days as a working musician were over. “Okay, I’m done with this,” he thought. “I’m never going to do another band again. That’s that.”

    And for a while, he was.

    “I was not real aware that I was doing this at the time, but long about the time that my daughter was born, which was 1988, I kind of zoned out of everything,” Rhyner says now. “Everything that I had ever known. I stopped listening to music. I mean, any time I heard new music, I thought it was just shit without even giving it a chance or listening to it, or trying to evaluate it intellectually, the way I otherwise would. And it was the same thing with everything else. I paid no attention to movies, I didn’t watch TV. All I did was sports. That was the only thing I didn’t zone out of. And consequently, there are some pretty substantial gaps in my knowledge of stuff from that period. Occasionally, I’ll get caught with my pants down on that. It’ll be apparent that I don’t know anything about it.”

    Was that a bout of depression? Mourning the loss of something he loved? Rhyner says it was the latter, “Even though I didn’t really want to do it anymore, you know? But I think that I had a little bit of the mentality that if I can’t do it, I don’t want anybody else doing it either. So I kind of walled myself off. A lot of it was bitterness. I wish I had been more successful. I also wished that I had been able to change with the times a little more than I did.”

    The Seeds of a Dream
    With music and other entertainment on hiatus and his radio career providing only marginal success, Rhyner did what he had always done: questioned what was next.

    “I KNEW THERE HAD TO BE SOMETHING ELSE OUT THERE. I DIDN’T KNOW WHAT IT WAS.”

    What was next was still not The Ticket. In fact, it wasn’t even radio. Instead, it was a short-lived experiment that existed in the last few years before internet access became widespread. GTE On-Call allowed customers to call a number, make their selection, listen to an ad, then hear 3-4 minutes’ worth of Mike Rhyner giving them a recap of the most recent game just minutes after the score was final, getting an overnight jump on the newspapers.

    He covered the Cowboys, Mavericks, and Rangers, but with the baseball schedule carrying twice as many home games as the next-closest sport, the auxiliary press box at old Arlington stadium proved to be the garden from which the Ticket grew. Rhyner met Craig Miller (who was working at KRLD 1080) and Greg “The Hammer” Williams, who was working at WBAP 820 answering phones for Randy Galloway’s “Sports at Six” show. The three were almost instantly friends, and spent most Rangers games riffing off of one another’s commentary — sometimes about baseball, but more frequently about whatever other topic ran through their minds.

    “We were pretty loud; we were laughing a lot, we were cutting up, we were amusing each other,” Rhyner says. “And just having fun amongst ourselves. Over a period of time, I began to notice the others around us. And I noticed that some of them were looking down at us like ‘Man, I wish you guys would shut the fuck up.’ And others would look at us like ‘Wow, you guys look like you’re having some fun. I think I’d like to go down there and hang with you.’

    “It wasn’t long before we had established an identifiable clique, in that you very rarely saw one of us without at least one of the other two close by. But I started to realize that these guys are listening to what you’re saying down here, what you’re doing, and they’re reacting to it in some way. That kind of made me pay a whole lot more attention to it. Okay, they’re reacting to it, but why? We’re just kind of amusing each other. Why are they reacting to that? It took me a long time to come to this realization … there was a workable, identifiable chemistry being formed between us.”

    Meanwhile, thanks to an introduction from Renee, Rhyner met Geoff Dunbar. As the two began talking, Rhyner realized he had — after hearing all-sports talk radio stations in places like Seattle and Boston — subconsciously been thinking a lot about starting one in Dallas. Every time the two of them spent time together, the topic would resurface. Then one day in late 1992, Dunbar called Rhyner on the phone.

    “Meet me for lunch at the Dixie House in Lakewood today,” Dunbar told him. “I’ll tell you when you get here.”

    When Rhyner showed up, he was informed that Dunbar had made a connection with Spence Kendrick, an investment banker who was a big sports fan. Dunbar thought there might be a chance to make their conversations a reality, so he pulled out a legal pad and a pen and told Rhyner to go over everything again.

    It worked. They got a green light from Kendrick, who began seeking other investors, and the chaos began.

    The Chaos
    “(This) was a promise I made to myself when I started this thing,” Rhyner says now. “This time, I was going to do this my way. Every other time, I’d taken my marching orders from somebody else. Here was a time when the slate was clean and I could do it however I wanted. I was going to take advantage, and I was going to ride or die with it.”

    It’s easy to say in retrospect that the answer would always end up ride.

    But it could have easily been die.

    “My job was to handle the entire broadcast operations side,” Rhyner says, then raises his eyebrows to ensure the dire point is made. “Which I knew nothing about.”

    He repeats the final word for emphasis. “Nothing.”

    One thing he did know: he wanted the chemistry of his auxiliary press box buddies to make it to the airwaves. Greg Williams and Craig Miller (who by this time had been christened with the nickname “Junior”) would be his first two recruits. So on June 25th, 1993 — after a rainout between the Rangers and the Athletics — Rhyner asked Miller to come with him to the nearby TGI Friday’s.

    “I will never forget the look on Junior’s face when I told him ‘I got a guy that wants to play sports radio, and I want you to do this with me’,” Rhyner says with a grin. Miller’s face went from an eyebrows-raised look of shock to a wide-eyed look of disbelief before finding the right response:

    “ARE YOU CRAZY?!”

    Williams hadn’t been at the game that night — he was still bartending occasionally — but a few nights later, in the middle of the game, Rhyner stood up and quietly motioned with a head-jerk that his friend should meet him outside. Upon hearing the plan, Williams responded in a similar fashion.

    “They both had all kinds of questions,” Rhyner remembers.

    “Okay, what’s the signal going to be?”

    “I don’t know.”

    “Who else is going to do it?”

    “I don’t know.”

    “How much money is involved in this.”

    “I really don’t know.”

    “I didn’t know shit,” Rhyner concedes. “I just knew that I wanted to do this, and I wanted them to do it with me, and they were just peppering me with questions. And it finally got to the point where I said ‘Look, man – are you guys in or not?’ And they both said ‘Ohhh oh yeah, oh yeah, yeah! Yeah, we’re in!'”

    Next to join the fold was George Dunham.

    “We actually go way back,” Dunham says with a smile. “He ran a battle of the bands competition that I was in when he was working for the Zoo and I listened to him in the morning on Labella and Rody so I knew exactly who he was and went up and met him.”

    Dunham covered the Rangers and Cowboys for KRLD but had largely stopped covering games by the time the Rhyner / Williams / Miller trio began taking over the auxiliary press box. It was Miller who suggested that Dunham be added to the roster. It took Dunham about a week to decide to take the risk and join the fold, Rhyner recalls, but there was never any question in Dunham’s mind that he wanted in.

    “I really thought it could work, and I didn’t really know too much about the success stories of some other sports stations at that time,” Dunham says. “I just heard that there was such an animal as an all-sports radio station, and I knew this market and thought there was a niche for it. I guess my only doubt was my own ability to do it because I just hadn’t done a talk show before … but the prospect of doing a show — and not just doing a show with anybody but doing a show with Craig — that was really attractive. I thought, ‘man, if nothing else, we can tell funny stories, and (I think) crack people up.’ So it’s worth a shot.”

    With Williams, Dunham, and Miller in the fold, it was time for the Ticket to go fishing for name recognition.

    Chuck Cooperstein was in Philadelphia at the time but agreed to join the fold. He put his house up for sale and made plans to move back (though he removed the sign when old friend Brad Sham came for a visit, so as not to reveal that anything was going on).

    Next up, Skip Bayless.

    “The only reason we got Bayless is because, at that time, he had burned about every chit in town that he could, and was pretty much on the beach,” Rhyner says bluntly. “I mean, he had run through both newspapers, he had run through KLIF, and at WBAP, Galloway hated him. He was persona non-grata there. I can’t remember whether he had run through KRLD or not; I don’t think he ever did, because they were probably on to him, too. But he had the one thing that we did not have: and that was a name. He was a known commodity. Now, everyone hated him, but he was still a known commodity. And he was pretty desperate at the time, and he wanted to do it. So he came on board.”

    [​IMG]

    The last one to officially come on board was current FOX NFL Sunday host Curt Menefee, who was working for CBS affiliate KTVT. One catch: Menefee didn’t have permission from KTVT to host the show until the day before the station launched.

    Meanwhile, as Rhyner worked to secure talent, there were other factors that had to be dealt with, primarily by Kendrick and Dunbar, though Rhyner was involved. A sales team was cobbled together from old acquaintances who were out of the business and wanted back in.

    Of course, to be a radio station, the Ticket needed a signal. That would require a call to the Church of Latter-Day Saints, who owned the station through Bonneville International,

    “I don’t know if this is true or not,” Rhyner says, smiling and shaking his head. “I suspect this is a joke, some kind of radio joke; but I’ve heard that this is true. I heard the whole idea behind the Mormon church getting into radio was that they wanted to acquire an AM and an FM signal in every major city in the nation and set up a network, so when the second coming rolled around, they could broadcast it.

    “I thought that if it was true, that put it out of play for us, and if it wasn’t, that they would want way, way, way more money than we could come up with. I figured that we wouldn’t be able to go for much more than a million and a half, which would just get us a little shit signal, but hey, that’s okay. I would fight through anything back then.”

    Three million dollars later, The Ticket owned a signal and a transmitter. “We probably way overpaid,” Rhyner says. “And I didn’t care.”

    One problem: the transmitter was in desperate need of maintenance. In fact, Rhyner says, he thought it hadn’t been maintained since the 1940s; about the same era of that first drum set all those years ago.

    Enter Tim Walker. “I knew the signal sounded kind of lousy, but I didn’t know how lousy,” Rhyner says. “(Walker) did. His first time out there, he just came back and told me ‘Man, that is a disaster out there.’ I asked ‘Do you know what to do about it?’ and he goes ‘Oh yeah. I’ll get it as squared away as it can be’. And he did.”

    Walker hired a team of engineers and within a couple of months of his arrival, the Ticket was fully incubated and ready to be born. A couple of billboards announced the coming station, one with a giant jock strap, and the other declaring the Ticket to be “Your wife’s worst nightmare”.

    Rhyner and Williams would go on from 11 a.m. – 2 p.m. under the moniker “The Hardline,” named after the Terence Trent D’Arby album.

    1310 The Ticket
    “It is 6 a.m. on January 24th, 1994,” revved the treble-laden and determined voice of Skip Bayless. “Good morning. And welcome to history. You are listening to the first breaths of the first all-sports radio station in Dallas history. You are listening to 1310 AM, which will become known as The Ticket; your ticket inside Dallas Fort Worth sports. My name is Skip Bayless, AKA Doctor Bay, and my show 6 to 9 weekday mornings is called The Wake-Up Call. Welcome to The Wake-Up Call! I will wake you up in more ways than one! Go one on one with me right now! Our number here at the Ticket is 787-1310, that’s 787-1310 And while you are dialing me up, I have a prediction for you — move over, Jimmy Johnson! — I have a promise. You can put this one in 33-inch headlines. We will win our ballgame! This station will kick all the other stations’ butts! We will kick KLIF’s butt! We will kick WBAP’s butt and KRLD’s butt! We will, because we have the best team in this city!”

    “I remember that first day,” Rhyner surmises, 25 years later. “Spence and Geoffrey and I; it was probably our last happy moment together. We were all in a production room, it was 6:00 in the morning, we were ready to hit the air, and we couldn’t believe that this was really about to happen. I just knew that something was going to go wrong, something was going to happen, and it was going to crater the whole thing. But it didn’t. They started playing the sounder and Skip Bayless came on, and we were in there listening, and he started taking calls about ten minutes in, and he had calls. He had callers, and the callers all seemed to know what to do. It was not like they’d never heard this before. I had a very strange feeling come over me that for all the chaos and all the mess and all the shit that we were swimming through right now, in the end game, some way, somehow, this was going to be alright.”

    Fortunately for the Ticket, they just so happened to launch in Dallas in a year that the Cowboys were headed to the Super Bowl. As part of their first month, they sent a crew of rag-tag hosts to Atlanta to talk, joke, annoy, and otherwise run amok; much to the delight of their new fanbase.

    But if the Super Bowl was a bit of good luck, what came next was a golden ticket:

    “THERE ARE 500 COACHES WHO COULD HAVE WON THE SUPER BOWL WITH OUR TEAM.” – JERRY JONES, MARCH 29, 1994

    “Man, you have no idea how that played into our hands,” Rhyner says of the Jerry Jones / Jimmy Johnson split. “Because that transcended sports. That was all anyone was talking about, that was all anyone wanted to hear about.”

    While the other stations continued to have their usual daily programming, The Ticket was free to spend all day every day on the rift. Their listenership went through the roof. By the time the ratings came out in August, The Hardline was the highest-rated show on the Ticket, and the Ticket — fulfilling at least part of Bayless’ prediction — was ahead of KRLD and KLIF. The station shot to prominence both locally and nationally.

    In short order, ardent listeners were identifying themselves as “P1’s,” something Rhyner says was not an intended effect, but quickly caught on.

    “That is a term that is used throughout the business,” he informs me “The P in P1 stands for preference. If you were a P1 of a certain station, that means if your radio is on, it’s probably on that station. P2 is a couple rungs lower than that. P3 is a couple rungs lower than that. But it’s an inside radio term. If you go to any radio station in the nation, anywhere and start talking to them about their P1s, they’ll know exactly what you mean, you won’t have to explain or anything.

    “But one day, I started thinking about this, and I was promoting some event or something on the air, and I remember saying ‘You may be thinking to yourself, how can I, the P1, get in on this…’ I started thinking about what I had just done, and I started trying to apply that tag elsewhere as much as I could, and it caught on.

    “I don’t remember the first time it happened, but it wasn’t long after I’d said it a few times before somebody self-identified as a P1. I knew we had come up with something. It’s a little thing that turned into a big thing. They (listeners) are the ones that assumed the mantle. I never told them to start identifying as P1s or ‘Call yourselves P1s’ They just did it!”

    Over the next few years — as the relationship between the younger members of the on-air talent was forged in the beer-fueled party house known as the “Ticket Compound” — the relationships between the older members (Rhyner and various members of management) became a bit more prickly. The dust-ups usually came from an edict to “stick to sports”.

    “There came a point where (Kendrick) had to go out and start rounding up some investors, and a couple of these guys wanted a say in the thing,” Rhyner says. “He would try to get us to stick to sports, and he started going around me and telling Dunham and Miller in no uncertain terms that they should stick to sports, too. ‘You guys should knock off this bullshit’. Well they wouldn’t stand up to him, they felt like they were on really shaky ground, so I did it for them. I told them ‘No, we’re on the right track! People love what we’re doing here; they love everything about this thing. What we need to do is just keep going like we are!’

    “We butted heads many times over that, there were many times when I thought he was going to fire me, and really, after a point, (he) was just finished with me. Probably the only reason he didn’t (fire me) was that he knew that everybody would follow me out the door because their loyalty was to me. That meant that he would either have to do it himself or find somebody to go out and round up a whole new crew after this thing had already been on the air for a while, so none of that ever came about. I guess there, better judgment took the day eventually.”

    While Rhyner believed in himself and his vision for the station, he says it wasn’t until Kendrick sold the station and new Program Director Mike Thompson arrived that someone in management also saw the vision.

    “He became our biggest advocate,” Rhyner says. “He didn’t want people talking sports all the time. He said ‘You guys just do what you do, let your personalities develop. If you want to talk about shit beyond sports, that is fine with me, I will never say anything to you about it.’ And he didn’t! … He was the first guy that we really had that really enabled us. And showed us that ‘Look, what you’re doing here is good, man. Keep doing it.’ His place in our story, for me, is huge.”

    But while the early turnover was fraught with turmoil, nothing could compare to the fracture of 2008.

    Where’s Greggo?
    It’s that time of the interview. I have to ask. “Mike, what happened with Greggo?”

    He sighs and nods.

    “Believe me, I have huge, huge regard for what we did,” he begins, taking a big pause before launching into the story.

    “As we were putting this thing together in the formative days, months, and even years, I tried to ask myself every possible question I could. Like, if this happens, what would you do? If that happens, how would you react? What if the station gets sold out from under you? How are you going to navigate those waters? And I think that I did a pretty reasonable job at it. I was ready for just about anything that I might have to stand up to or get involved in.

    “There’s one question, though, that I didn’t ask. And it was so far outside the realm of possibility, not only did I not ask it or think about it, I didn’t even consider it as any kind of even remote possibility. And that question was: what are you going to do if this thing goes off-the-wall successful? How are you going to react then, and how are all these other guys going to react to this? As things turned out, all of them reacted to it just fine. I reacted to it just fine. Greggo didn’t. He just could not handle it.

    “He was the first big breakout personality at the Ticket. I mean, really, for a good couple of years or so, we were all kind of riding on his coattails. He was the one people were talking about; he was the one people listened to, and I was just kind of along for the ride because I was still trying to find my persona. Mine was not anywhere near as well-defined as his, and neither was anyone else’s … It never bothered me how much attention he got; I loved it! But once that started to shift, it was difficult for him. And then drugs came in, women came in, he began to be a little less inclined to do the work of the job. He just got, um… he got a lot more eaten-up with all the ancillary stuff, and he just wouldn’t listen to me anymore, and that was it, man. It just kind of dissolved from there, until the drug use became such an issue that we just couldn’t continue with it.”

    At 2:58 p.m. on Friday, October 12, 2007 — just fifteen days after The Ticket won their first Marconi award for Best Sports Station in America — a cross-talk segment between the Bob and Dan midday show and The Hardline began. Bob Sturm was in the studio, Dan McDowell, who had to leave early to get to a doctor appointment, was on the phone, and The Hardline was broadcasting from a remote location.

    Greggo was nowhere to be found.

    Six minutes later, his voice finally made it on-air.

    “Where the hell have you been?” asked Corby Davidson.

    “I — believe me. Car and — full chaos.” Williams said rapidly. “I just hope I’m on, I’m using my OnStar; this is the first time I’ve ever used it. I didn’t know if I was on or not. I don’t have a cell phone. My cell phone’s lost.”

    “Mm.” Rhyner can be heard saying in response.

    “So I’m just hoping my OnStar is working in my car.”

    “Everybody was on to him,” Rhyner says now, woefully. “He’d been warned by management, and it just rolled into, just a big, downhill, rolling shit-ball that nobody knew how to stop.”

    Williams stuck around for another segment of the show, in which The Hardline talked about wanting to learn another language. “They told me years ago I’d regret it and they’re right,” Williams can be heard saying. “I so wish I’d learned to speak another language.”

    When the show came back from the next commercial break, Rhyner and Davidson dove into a discussion about an upcoming Texas A&M vs. Texas Tech football game. Williams was nowhere to be heard. He had been removed from the broadcast.

    “So a couple days after that — and this was a shit way to handle it — we had an all-hands staff meeting,” Rhyner recalls. “Out of that came the decision that he was no longer going to be a part of this. That didn’t need to be done in front of everybody. There were a lot of people in that meeting, like Bob and Dan, who had no business there. Because all of this stuff went on well before they were a part of things.”

    “Well, you have to understand, it was going on for probably three years prior,” Davidson says. “I mean, three full years of he would show up, wouldn’t show up, he would be sick, he wouldn’t be sick. And so him being gone, even though we kind of knew that that was the last straw, it was almost a relief and it was really easy. I mean, we worked without him so many times. You’re talking about a guy who would miss six weeks at a time so it wasn’t that big of a deal and really, when it all went down and the way it went down, and I knew pretty quickly because my bosses were calling me and were like, ‘Here’s what’s happening, here’s what’s going to happen and here’s what he has to do. He’s got to take a drug test, blah blah blah.’ I’m like, ‘That’s it; it’s over.’ So it was almost one of those deals where you felt the weight of the world off your back. It was weird, I mean very, very weird but it was almost like, ‘Okay, here we go.'”

    While the Ticket staff knew what had happened to Williams, the listeners weren’t told officially until months later.

    “I don’t know if I would have survived that, had social media been around back then,” Davidson says. “People were out for blood; they wanted answers, we didn’t have any answers, we couldn’t say much because of HIPAA laws and all of that. I mean, I could feel the tension from the outside pushing in.”

    Williams went on to be hired and subsequently fired from 103.3 ESPN Radio and 105.3 The Fan. I asked Rhyner if he has been in touch. He shook his head.

    “He’s toxic to me.”

    After a long pause, he leaned back in his seat.

    “Now, that said, I hope he comes to Ticketstock.”

    Was he invited? “Well, I put it out there on social media and said it on the air that if he wants to come on… I hope he does. Because he was a big part of the thing at the start, and if he wants to re-live that time again, then I think I’d like to have him there. And I mean, I haven’t gone so far as to reach out to him; that I won’t do, but I put it on social media. He’ll see it. I’m sure he knows it … Much to the chagrin of the others who don’t think he should be there, I want him there, and I hope he comes. Now, he may be hearing from the others, saying ‘No, no, don’t come’ I don’t know. We’ll see what happens, but I have assured him that — just for this one day — I will play nice.

    “I’m not doing it to be magnanimous, I’m not doing it to be big. I’m doing it because I think he belongs there. Because I recognize what he was to us back then. And if he wants to commemorate the occasion with us, he should be able to.”



    What’s Next

    Mike Rhyner is 68 years old. He is not the oldest on-air personality at the Ticket — not since Norm Hitzges joined the fold in 2000 — but he is still as relevant as ever, in part because of a lesson he learned from his days in music: adapt.

    “Partly, has been me realizing that I had to do it,” Rhyner admits “And I think partly, it’s because everybody up there was a generation younger than me; that’s helped. But the thing about it is, they’re all getting younger too. So, they’re going to be facing the same thing I was back then.”

    “Those people who were listening to him in their 20s back then, they’re now 25 years older, see the world differently and they changed and evolved just like Mike has,” adds George Dunham. “I guess that’s one thing I didn’t realize; just the overall depth that Mike has. He has an amazing knowledge of sports and sports history that I didn’t realize when the station first started. I just heard he was kind of a sports guy on an FM wacky morning show … but you know, Mike’s really like all of us; he’s passionate about sports, he’s passionate about music and he has interesting takes. Part of the thing that’s made The Ticket work, he’s an interesting person. I think there’s a lot of different layers to him, there’s a lot of quirks to him.”

    Davidson thinks Rhyner’s ability to stay relevant has been due in part to another strength: his willingness to allow — if not outright insistence upon — his co-hosts’ personalities shining through.

    “He’s basically let Danny (Balis) and I walk into a situation and be ourselves. I mean, we go at it back and forth, no doubt about it, we bicker all the time and it’s like an old married couple, but it’s all good. He’s the one that had to allow it to work initially and kind of let it grow and yeah, it was all his thing, for sure.”

    Does he have an exit strategy?

    “No. I don’t have any idea how much longer I’m going to be doing this,” Rhyner muses. “I could be doing it for another — if everything goes according to Hoyle — ten years, fifteen years, hell, I don’t know. Or I could go in there tomorrow and say ‘Fuck it, man. I’m done’. Both of those are pretty extreme cases; the truth is probably in the middle somewhere there. But it’s not something I’ve really thought about.

    “I enjoy the work of the job; I enjoy the day-to-day of it. In fact… for the last couple of years, at the end of the year, I’ve wound up with a lot of (vacation) time (that) I had just gone through the year not realizing I hadn’t used, you know? In 2017, I had about two weeks off, which is a good bit. This year, it was even worse. My last day was December 7th, and I didn’t go back until the end of the year. (But) I did okay with it. I did okay with it this year, for the first time ever. For both of those two years, I’ve been okay with it.”

    Those last five words might not sound significant, but there’s something heartwarming about hearing such a contented phrase from the guy who kept asking “what’s next” for all those years of awkward childhood, playing drums — first in rock and roll bands, then in country bands — working at a morning show, then another morning show, then yet another morning show, reading game summaries for a pre-internet crowd, and then fighting tooth and nail to see his vision become a three-time Marconi-Award-winning radio station. Those are the phrases you take when you can get them.

    “I’ve been okay with it.”
     
  16. dallasdawg

    dallasdawg does the tin man have a sheet metal cock?
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    outchea at ticketstock

    if anyone comes out, come get a shot or two at our booth
     
  17. Line 4 guy

    Line 4 guy I still ski on the weekends.
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    What booth?
     
  18. dallasdawg

    dallasdawg does the tin man have a sheet metal cock?
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    vitaliv, we’ve got the b12 shots etc
     
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  19. a.tramp

    a.tramp Insubordinate and churlish
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    VialiV I think
     
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  20. a.tramp

    a.tramp Insubordinate and churlish
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    NAILED IT!!!
     
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  21. BayouMafia

    BayouMafia this that slumdog millionaire Bollywood flow
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    in case you need even more toilet reading:
    https://theathletic.com/783924/2019...25-years-and-how-lucky-am-i-to-be-part-of-it/

    How in the world has The Ticket made it 25 years, and how lucky am I to be part of it?
    By Bob Sturm Jan 25, 2019
    This is a huge weekend for the institution I owe everything to: Sports Radio 1310 The Ticket. 25 years have passed since the station’s radical format change in early 1994, and while that makes it nowhere near the age of many other long-haul radio frequencies and formats, I’d like to think our story is a little bit more amazing.

    If you want stories from the early days, there are many on our staff who can recite them all. Mike Rhyner told quite a few to Levi Weaver this week. I have heard them countless times and am eager for additional tellings at our next team dinner. The stories get progressively more ridiculous each time they are told, as if I am hearing an old comedy album with added punch lines that produce spit-takes at just the right beat. At their root, though, the stories are all true. They are true because the guys who did the work to make sure this station even existed 25 years ago remain on the air in 2019, still killing it.

    To me, that is what makes The Ticket special. It is not magical call-letters or a logo or the location of the studios. It comes down to the guys who would not let this operation fail. They were determined to be the voice of sports in a city that had never tried that idea before dinner (only night time sports talk existed before 1994). Most of the players who got this train out of the station still make the place tick today, and that makes all the difference in the world to me.

    I wasn’t part of that group; not by any stretch. In fact, in January of 1994, I was finishing my senior year at Liberty University, chasing a broadcast journalism degree while wearing a tie to class (because that is how we rolled). I would graduate four months later and begin a run of four years and two months in Lynchburg, Virginia. I was the only local voice on WLNI, a station of syndicated radio shows like Don Imus, G-Gordon Liddy, and Don and Mike. My little shake-voiced-21-year-old know-it-all routine debuted on May 9, 1994. Four days later, I would graduate from college.

    By 1998, my wife and I had enough of the small-town life (radio market #166!) and were itchy to either move up or move back to Wisconsin to tackle a life of insurance sales or some “real job.” I needed to figure out how to move further up along the ladder. I compiled a list of target cities, but Dallas was certainly not one. Having served the Redskins fan base, there was no way a Dallas station would hire me; I was openly cheering for “ABC! Anybody But the Cowboys” to win each year. I sure knew how to pander to a fanbase.

    To make a long story short, I found sportsradio.com (generic) and asked consultant Rick Scott about how to move up and whether I needed an agent to do it. He put me in touch with the great Bruce Gilbert (KTCK’s program director at the time) who brought me in on Fathers Day of 1998 to try out for a night-time gig that was soon to be vacant. He even introduced me to a friendly Max Miller during my tour of the station, but I would later find out I would replace him. That remains my only interaction with Max to this day, and I still feel bad about it. If you are out there, Max, I am sorry.

    This is a good point of the story to reinforce that I had no idea what the Ticket was, whether it was successful, or whether it would be on the air 12 months later. I didn’t know, I wasn’t smart enough to ask — and frankly, my dear — I didn’t care. I wanted to move to a place where big-time sports were played. I would have literally gone anywhere. In retrospect, I definitely won the lottery, but I was too dumb to know better. I was going to the first radio station and city that returned my call and I did it with more happiness than any one person should possess.

    Anyway, my first day was July 27, 1998. Within one week I would be in Wichita Falls at Cowboys training camp, doing what passed as my nighttime show from 8 to 11 p.m. I was alone on the air in a city I knew very little about. I was on a radio station where everyone was seemingly a rock-star. I was a confident, medium-sized fish in a tiny pond who had been thrown in the radio ocean. And I was terrified.

    Perhaps you can relate to the feeling that you have fallen into something too big for you. The feeling that you clearly don’t belong. The feeling that your time here is going to be short because you will soon be exposed for being out of your league. I figured I would enjoy these few months before shaking the hands of the guy brought in to replace me. I was a mess, and my apprehension wasn’t getting any better as the weeks went by. I would not go on the air until 8 p.m., but I would start preparing for the show the moment my eyes opened each morning. I could never get comfortable, and I was so young and insecure that I would try anything. Those tapes sound extremely weird to me because I was not being myself. I was trying to be what I thought I was supposed to sound like. I was lost without a compass.

    I was moved to middays within nine months. That move was obviously a huge positive for my career, but I had mixed feelings because of its repercussions. Previous midday host Rocco Pendola was fired in the Spring of 1999 and he was definitely the station’s “hockey guy,” making my entry a natural fit. You may recall that Dallas had a nice hockey story happening in 1999, so again, I fell into something amazing. Within two months, I would be standing in arenas at historic Dallas hockey wins in St. Louis, Denver, and Buffalo witnessing history before a Downtown Dallas parade. Somehow, I had gone from middays in Lynchburg to a Stanley Cup-winning locker room in 11 months. Blessed doesn’t describe it well enough.

    That same month I was paired with Dan McDowell in an arranged marriage, one of 12-15 different partners the station matched me with over a 60-day transition period. Bruce knew he wanted me to host middays, but he didn’t know with whom. He asked me for my opinions and I thought Mark Followill was a perfect partner, but Bruce had other ideas (so did Mark, eventually). Gilbert definitely believed that a two-man show was the path, and to circle back to my insecurities, I needed a shoulder to lean on. I did not conduct a good single-man show because I tried to take on the world by myself and that really wasn’t my strength at age 26. Dan was the perfect antidote. His ability to do radio while questioning authority, convention, and “the way it is” are his finest traits. I colored within the lines for fear of consequences. He colored outside the lines because it was fun to do bad things. I probably needed more fun. It was uncomfortably perfect.

    We would fight, argue, and occasionally pull together in a joint effort to survive amongst the most talented staff a radio station can have. You don’t understand; these guys who made the Ticket what it is are absurdly talented. They all can do things that are ridiculous outside of just sports talk. Musicians, impressionists, and brilliant intellectuals. I have one gift: I can talk sports. These guys were several levels beyond that.

    All Dan and I wanted in 1999 was to survive. We knew that these shows around us, particularly The Musers and The Hardline, were heavyweight champions in a massive market where every station is trying to get to the top. We didn’t care about world domination. We just cared about not getting sent back from whence we came. We also thought the way to do it was a departure from many other shows that tried to make their way at the station. It always seemed to us that the rookie shows were made up of young radio guys who had been born here and thus grew up on the Ticket. Their perspective on radio was pretty much influenced specifically by the Ticket. Therefore, their shows sounded like cover bands of Ticket shows.

    If we did anything right, it was to purposely try to sound like we were part of the Ticket but not like we were ripping if off. It is hard to say how well we pulled that feat off, but we are not Texans by birth. We are “Yankees” to many, who talk funny and probably can’t be trusted. For us to survive, we would have to produce a product that could hold its own. Eventually, we figured out how to do that.

    It took a while, though. And during that time, we needed our Ticket buddies to give us a boost. We needed their approval and their endorsement at times. With a snap of their fingers, they could have turned their loyalists against the new guys. It would have been self-destructive, perhaps, but it is pretty common in radio for accomplished performers to make the new guys twist. I don’t believe this Ticket family ever did that for a moment. We kept trying to figure out our sound, and at some point over 20 years, we made some progress.

    Back in 1998, when I first arrived, I was terrified of these guys. I met them all when they operated a success-producing machine. I had a bag of next to nothing. They must have wondered about me; I could not be less like them in many respects and I truly didn’t get 80% of their jokes at first. My head was spinning. Mike Rhyner definitely had me extra frightened. It was very confusing to pinpoint his exact role; I can clearly recall trying to explain him to my dad and being confused myself. Was he my boss? Well, no. But, everything went through him. I met with Rhynes and he did most of the talking, and then when it was over, I remember wondering how it went. I am sure I did a lot of nodding and agreed to some words that I probably didn’t fully understand. I just knew that he sat in the power chair, so I was smart enough to act accordingly.

    Greggo, George, Craig, and Gordon were the rest of what constitutes The Dream Team, the group which flipped the switch on radio history 25 years ago. I arrived in Year 4, Dan in Year 5, and then Norm Hitzges came downstairs in Year 6, but he needed absolutely no introduction since the guys who conceived of the station actually grew up listening to Norm themselves. It was the Mount Rushmore of Dallas sports radio and those two carpet-baggers from up north.

    The coolest thing about the station from the inside was seeing how everyone seemed to be great friends. I don’t just mean the “Big Five,” but you could add in Jeff Catlin, Corby Davidson, and so many others at the station, as well as the P1’s who not only listened faithfully, but seemed to also hang out with many of the hosts everywhere we would go. Greggo seemed to know everyone in the city and they adored him. It was really mind-blowing how close-knit the group was (and how big the group really was when you included all of the listeners and part-time employees), even though I didn’t know a soul at first.

    Dan and I are wired very differently, but we share one thing in common: Even during our earliest days in Dallas, we were never what you would call “nightlife” folks. I think we both prefer to be home when skies get dark, and that certainly slowed down our ability to fit in with our new radio family.

    But that never stopped anyone from welcoming us to their team and helping us along. Were we different dudes? Absolutely. I would still say that in our own ways, we are rather dissimilar to many on the Ticket team. And that is why I cannot tell you how great it has been to be a part of something this special. This station’s cornerstones went out of their way to open their arms to me and my family, and now I cannot see ever leaving Dallas, Texas. I am 20 years older than I was when I got here and have three young Texans in my home. Literally everything that has happened to me in my career and every opportunity that has come my way is a product of The Ticket providing me with the shot of a lifetime.

    In 2013, Dan and I came close to seeing if the grass was actually greener on the other side of the fence. A competitor talked to the two of us about being the “top names” on their team. They were generous, flattering and tempting. It seemed natural that 15 years later, we might want to try to play on our own team and build our own identity away from the station, especially if the rewards seemed substantial.

    One thing kept us at the Ticket (and only one). It was our friends. These guys. The guys who put this radio station in place called our phones or cornered us in the parking lot as we deliberated over the decision. They talked to us each in terms of true friends who appreciated our opportunity but wanted to reach out and express their desire to keep the team together. The Ticket could go on without us, but our buddies wanted us to know that we were a bigger part of the team than we know and that our station’s best attribute is that our lineup had not budged much since 1998. Let’s keep the band together and keep this train going down the track.

    We should spend more time telling those close to us how we feel about them. Hearing those sentiments articulated by the guys you respect more than anyone on the planet meant the world to me and Dan. Our coworkers felt strongly about us, but I am not sure I had ever heard it said so clearly until June of 2013. By the time I was done talking to each of those “Day-1” guys during that time, I had done a complete 180. Dan felt the same way. We were staying. They had given my family so much that there was no way I was going to ignore their words. Having legends tell you that their team is better for having you on the roster was the ultimate compliment.

    I often wonder how many people in the world truly love their coworkers, because I can’t think of any other term to describe the feelings that I have for these guys. It would be a truly absurd way to use the movie Superbad and the sleeping bag scene with Seth and Evan to explain how I believe the four shows feel about each other after all these years, so let’s go for it:

    Seth: I love you. I love you. I’m not even embarrassed to say it. I just– I lo– I love you. –

    Evan: I’m not embarrassed. –

    Seth: I love you.

    Evan: I love you. Why don’t We say that every day? Why can’t We say it more often?

    Seth: I just love you. I just wanna go to the rooftops and scream: “I love my best friend, Evan.”

    Evan: We should go up on my roof.

    Seth: For sure.

    And there, in all of its absurdity, is the missing ingredient of the many sports radio stations which tried to steal The Ticket’s playbook. I just don’t think you can assemble a staff of great sports minds and expect them to give a rip about each other. That comes from years and years of legitimately good guys actually caring about each other and ultimately fighting for each other. As corny as it may sound, I think the key is that this place has a bunch of guys who love each other.

    The Ticket isn’t about sports talk. Well, it is, but it’s also not. It is about life and the day-to-day stuff that it includes; kids, wives, TV, movies, cars, golf. It is what radio can be when people are talking to their buddies and not at an audience. It is an infectious soap opera for guys.

    These guys built this thing from the dust, and like a band getting together, it started with friends who wanted to work together, doing something that hadn’t been done. They were successful because they were real. There is no on-air persona. They are guys being guys. They welcomed us onto their team, but it was one built on friendships and relationships that stand the test of time and the stress of competition. Now, when the occasional new personality joins the team, I use that as a textbook on how to bring the younger guys along. The door was opened for me and I should be expected to do the same.

    Years and years ago, I had a conversation with Dan about how long The Ticket could realistically keep going. It requires a lot of things to fall into place to keep it going at a top level. And when the success level drops… well, demolition is common to any enterprise with big expectations and a big operating budget.

    We arrived at the conclusion that The Dream Team probably couldn’t survive five more years. There was no way, considering everyone’s age and their years on the job, that we could keep the team together five more years. Impossible. Let’s enjoy this while it lasts.

    That was 2002.

    The Ticket won’t live forever and neither will its members. It is important for the station to skillfully add new characters to keep it going. Along the way, The Great Donovan has played an enormous role, with others like my good friend Jake ready for an even bigger stage. But, doggone, there will never be anything like this place and its characters ever again. I owe it everything and I consider the guys on this team my lifelong friends. I am truly blessed to have ended up on this team and I really have no idea how it all happened. I may have other jobs in this world, but this one is THE gig. And I love this gig.

    Everyone should be so lucky as to love what they do each day when they fire out of bed.

    Long live the Ticket.
     
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  22. texasraider

    texasraider thanks
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    That was a good read.
     
  23. * J Y *

    * J Y * TEXAS
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  24. Fuzzy Zoeller

    Fuzzy Zoeller College football > NFL

    This is funny coming from the Chris Chris of TMB.
     
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  25. * J Y *

    * J Y * TEXAS
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    Someone's mad they aren't in the SFC.
     
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  26. BayouMafia

    BayouMafia this that slumdog millionaire Bollywood flow
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    Mommy mommy mommy mommy... tell him to fuck off
     
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  27. Line 4 guy

    Line 4 guy I still ski on the weekends.
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    Is the app down for anyone else?
     
  28. BayouMafia

    BayouMafia this that slumdog millionaire Bollywood flow
    Staff Donor
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    stopped working for me about 10 minutes into my commute but with no musers anyway I preferred music anyway

    working again now though
     
  29. Line 4 guy

    Line 4 guy I still ski on the weekends.
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    Mines still down. Its stuck on 750 i think. It talks about the 23 and me dna kit and cuts off. I can rewind it an hour but cant play it in real time. Very odd.
     
  30. Zebbie

    Zebbie Hey Mike, guess what I have in my underwear?
    Donor
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    Mine kept getting hung up or doing weird stuff, so I just said the hell with it since everyone but the Hardline is off today - I know it’s Presidents‘ Day, but still a weird day to give them off.
     
  31. Line 4 guy

    Line 4 guy I still ski on the weekends.
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    Ive never wished failure on one person as much as i am for Kyler Murray. And its simply from all the dick sucking he gets from this station. Anybody else sick and fucking tired of hearing about him? Its just going to get worse the closer we get to the draft.
     
  32. texasraider

    texasraider thanks
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    Because of Corby and Junior, OU gets so much love on the station. The Baker love was bad but somehow it seems worse with Kyler.
     
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  33. BayouMafia

    BayouMafia this that slumdog millionaire Bollywood flow
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    I have no hate for Kyler, but I've been thinking as well about how The Ticket is making him the story of the year while he's just an interesting point on most other sports coverage.

    But yeah Corby and Junior have very little self-awareness on their OU bias. I chuckle at their obsession with labeling OU a "blue-blood". In my normal SEC discussions and travels I never hear Bama, Notre Dame, Michigan, OSU, etc fans use that term, but it's used several times in every discussion about OU by those two.
     
  34. Zebbie

    Zebbie Hey Mike, guess what I have in my underwear?
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    Even more irritating that neither one went to school there and are just t-shirt fans - if they were actually alums of OU, I wouldn’t mind it as much.
     
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  35. John McGuirk

    John McGuirk member of the blue tiger club
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    Enjoying BaD radio taking phone calls right now. Jake is clearly upset.
     
    BayouMafia likes this.
  36. dallasdawg

    dallasdawg does the tin man have a sheet metal cock?
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    [​IMG]
     
    a.tramp likes this.
  37. John McGuirk

    John McGuirk member of the blue tiger club
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    Pretty rich coming from the fan of two college teams over here. You’re like white trash that overuses the word “hater” because they get joked on so much for being white trash
     
  38. dallasdawg

    dallasdawg does the tin man have a sheet metal cock?
    Staff Donor
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    [​IMG]
     
  39. Soup

    Soup Legend in the making
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    So apparently blew up on air on dan or bob or both? I saw his apology on twitter. What gives?
     
  40. a.tramp

    a.tramp Insubordinate and churlish
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    Who blew up?
     
  41. Soup

    Soup Legend in the making
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    Lol Jake. Sorry.
     
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  42. * J Y *

    * J Y * TEXAS
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    That’s bc Jake is a baby back bitch. Him and Danny both have terrible bs.
     
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  43. BayouMafia

    BayouMafia this that slumdog millionaire Bollywood flow
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    Jake threw a fit earlier in the week because Bob and Dan were giving him a hard time about being a ‘90’s country music fan. It won the e-brake. It was a bitch move but a dramatic twitter apology is an even bigger bitch move.

    Also back the fuck up from Danny or we’re going to have a problem
     
  44. dallasdawg

    dallasdawg does the tin man have a sheet metal cock?
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    jake so sensitive
     
  45. texasraider

    texasraider thanks
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    Danny sucks HTH
     
    * J Y * likes this.
  46. a.tramp

    a.tramp Insubordinate and churlish
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    Wow, looks like Danny banged someone’s mom here guys
     
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  47. * J Y *

    * J Y * TEXAS
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    What is Danny always so pissed off about? The guy just sucks, he’s a drag.
     
    texasraider likes this.
  48. * J Y *

    * J Y * TEXAS
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    Jake is a try hard loser and he’s softer than baby shit. He’s the poster boy for the sensitive millennial. The only thing he really brings to the table is being an easy target for Dan especially.
     
    a.tramp likes this.
  49. texasraider

    texasraider thanks
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    I agreed with * J Y * for the first time ever and then he had to hate Jake
     
    * J Y * likes this.