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Strange little episode tonight. It moved the plot along, which was a good thing. We probably didn't need any additional reason for Paulie Walnuts to go psycho, although they did bring the subplot around nicely with the final scene by the water, and we probably didn't need any additional reason for Tony to get all soft and mystical, although it appears that his willingness to take the deal from Johnny Sack is setting up some fun for next week as everyone tries to take advantage of Tony's perceived weakness. The rap subplot was unnecessary but amusing- the ass-shooting was comic relief, and the music stuff was a reminder that the writers of this episode were the same ones responsible for "The Chris Isaak Show." And the whole thing with Hal Holbrook and the everything's-connected philosophy and the lost larynx was just laying it on thick.

But when he sat in his back yard looking up at the leaves rustling in the wind, I expected the return of the ducks. I mean, they mentioned Livia for the first time in a long time; why not the ducks? It's been a long time since the ducks. Bring back the ducks!

They're probably saving the ducks for the last episode, to bring everything full circle. We can only hope.

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In this morning's mailbox comes this e-mail from Amazon.com:

Apparently, they know something we don't about tonight's game. But besides the headline "UCLA Wins," the subject line and message body are a little more tentative. OK, a LOT more tentative. The subject line is "[placeholder for winning team] Wins the NCAA Tournament!" and the body of the mail says:

Congratulations, [placeholder for winning team]! As someone who has purchased sports products from Amazon.com, we thought you should be the first to see our selection of NCAA championship products.

Great! I've always been a big [placeholder for winning team] fan.

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Tonight was going to feature a bunch of pictures taken at last night's Dodger opener, with appropriate commentary.

When I reached my car, which had been wedged between two cop cars in the last available spot in the media lot, I heard a beep from my pocket as I squeezed into the narrow gap to get into the driver's seat. I didn't pay much attention; I was more absorbed in extracting the car from the space without scraping the other vehicles.

The beep was to signify that I'd erased the camera's memory card.

And that's why you're being deprived of artistic shots of the side of Dave Denholm's face and the back of Ken Levine's head and what a concession stand looks like when every register has a queue of at least 30 people waiting to buy Dodger Dogs and beer. Be thankful for small favors.

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Ring.

Hello?

"Sorry to disturb you. This message was intended only for delivery to an answering machine. Goodbye."

Click.

What the hell?

Since when are telemarketing companies behaving like nervous suitors, waiting to call until they think you're not home? Not fair! I want to yell back at them. This incident is just... unsatisfying.

Bastards! And they didn't even say who they are- I don't even know who I'm angry at.

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I picked up an XM Satellite Radio the other day, because regular radio AND sirius Satellite Radio AND online steraming AND an iPod aren't enough for me. Actually, it was for business purposes, but it didn't hurt that they carry baseball. And that's how I was driving up to the post office listening to the Phillies lose again to the Cardinals and Jimmy Rollins' hitting streak coming to an end with an easy fly to center.

I haven't listened to Phillies broadcasts for a while- I watch the TV games on MLB.tv, but don't usually hear the radio broadcasts- so I was surprised at how dull the games sound nowadays. I remember the best years- Harry Kalas and Whitey Ashburn bantering and ribbing each other and genially taking listeners through the game- and things have changed. Whitey's gone, of course, and Harry's doing TV, obviously uncomfortable with Chris Wheeler as always. On the radio, there's the competent Scott Graham and there's a new guy in from Texas and there's Larry Andersen, who was amusing enough in the Whitey role on TV but now...

See, here's the thing. Baseball done merely competently on the radio is deadly. It's- here it comes- boring. You need character, animation, drama. But the guys who used to do that are almost all gone. We're lucky in Los Angeles, because we still get to hear Vin Scully working solo as always, doing the game as if having a conversation with each individual listener, not just blandly describing the game but telling stories and creating lyrical descriptions on the fly and not being a homer, just honest and direct. He's still that good. And in comparison, everyone else is a little flat. (It can go too far the other way- Mike Shannon on the Cardinals broadcasts is nearly incomprehensible, and John "Thuh-uh-uh-uh-uh Yankees Win" Sterling is evil incarnate)

The Phillies broadcast was adequate. The announcers gave an accurate description of the game action. But I was bored. It was a close game and I wanted to know what was happening, but my mind drifted. That doesn't happen with Scully, didn't happen with the old Kalas-Ashburn team or the Mets' original Nelson-Kiner-Murphy crew. Is it too much to ask for intelligence and wit along with my baseball? I can listen to the Dodger games, I can enjoy Padres broadcasts when Jerry Coleman's wobbling his way through a game, but too many broadcasts are just forgettable. I miss the days when radio really mattered to baseball. Then again, I must be a dinosaur- I still care about baseball.

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Long week. Had to take care of a lot of things. Burnt crispy.

Hate to do this, but I need the night off. See ya tomorrow.

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I never mastered the art of failing upward.

This came to mind this week when I discussed a guy who'd gotten a new job with a friend. My friend predicted that the guy would ascend to an even more important position with his company, but we both noted that the guy had been thus far at best unimpressive and more accurately a failure at his previous jobs. That's true, but he keeps getting work, keeps getting treated like he knows something.

"You know what he's good at?" my friend said. "He's good at managing upward." He meant that the guy knows how to cloud the minds of his superiors long enough to not just survive but prosper. His subordinates figure out he doesn't know what he's doing, but by then, it's too late.

That's not how I went about my career in radio. I thought that working hard and doing my job well would get me far, and in a way, it did, but not the way I would have thought. I was the guy who'd get blown out the door when my bosses heard someone more well-known in the business was available. I concentrated on actually working. I should have concentrated on making my bosses happy. What a moron I was.

You can apply this to a lot of fields. Baseball managers and football coaches are notorious for this. So are actors- David Spade comes to mind. Does anyone want to see David Spade in anything, ever again? His movies consistently bomb, nobody likes the guy, he can't act, he's horribly unfunny, yet he keeps working. He has studio executives and casting directors completely wrapped around his finger.

He fails upward. And when his projects bomb, he walks away with money.

I haven't unraveled the mystery of how to make people think you're successful when you're not, but I'm willing to try. Perhaps someday I'll finally be able to embrace the concept of success through failure. It worked for Donald Trump. Why not me?

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