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I was watching Game 3 of the 1969 World Series with my friend John, who happens to be a huge Mets fan and somehow acquired tapes of the whole series. I'm not a Mets fan, but I remember that series vividly, and I loved watching the old coverage, which included a pre-game show with Jim Simpson talking to Sandy Koufax (!) and Mickey Mantle (!), all in yellow blazers on a garish "mod" set in UltraSaturated UnnaturalColor (TM), then some raw footage of Tony Kubek interviewing fans on that subway station entrance platform in right field (with one young Noo Yawk girl answering every question with "certainly" in a hilariously thick accent), then badly chromakeyed Curt Gowdy and Lindsey Nelson previewing the game (with parts of their heads missing, chromakeyed out of vision), and then the game. Jim Palmer didn't have it and Tommie Agee had a game for the ages while Gary Gentry started the shutout and Nolan Ryan finished it.

And that reminded us of Gary Gentry. Gentry was supposed to be another star for the Mets- someone on the NBC telecast said that they expected him to be right up there with Seaver and Koosman within a couple of years- but he flamed out quickly, gone after a few seasons and finishing with Atlanta. What we both remembered- and what got reinforced by Gowdy and Nelson- was that nobody ever called Gary Gentry "Gary Gentry." It was always "Young Gary Gentry." "Young" was his broadcaster-given first name. "Young Gary Gentry" was on the mound, the Mets had high hopes for "Young Gary Gentry," another strikeout for "Young Gary Gentry." He hd just turned 23 when he pitched for the Mets in the Series in '69. He WAS "Young Gary Gentry."

And when Lindsey Nelson said "Young Gary Gentry" for the hundredth time, something dawned on me. "Hey, John," I said. "'Young Gary Gentry' is 60 years old."

And Tommie Agee is dead. So are Donn Clendenon and Pat Dobson and Cal Koonce and Tug McGraw and Elrod Hendricks and Mark Belanger and Chico Salmon. Dave McNally's gone, too, and Jim Hardin and Marcelino Lopez.

Yeah, we felt old. But it could have been worse.

While we're waxing nostalgic, here's the 1969 Mets yearbook page with Gentry's picture and bio:

Gentry was the pick to be a star. I haevn't figured out whatever happened to him after baseball- other than a brief mention on someone's blog about buying cigarettes in Arizona, there's been no mention of his whereabouts (although there are plenty of other people named Gary Gentry). The other guy? Discarded at the end of the year, fobbed off on Kansas City for Joe Foy. He ended up just being a five-time All-Star. He'll be 60 on April 26. Time flies when you're, um, getting old.

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January 4, 1978, ABC burns off a busted sketch-comedy pilot:

"That Thing On ABC"- self-consciously "wacky" "alternative" comedy title. Some established network guest stars- Bill Bixby, Cheryl Ladd, John Ritter, Henny Youngman (!), John Cameron Swayze (!!). And a bunch of unknowns in a comedy troupe. Unlike a lot of these shows, a few of the unknowns actually became knowns: Andrea Martin, Shelley Long, Marsha Warfield, Mandy Patinkin. Also Judy Carter, Denny Evans, Will Porter, and Deborah Zon, who remained unknown. You can assume this show was terrible:

...sketches that include a sendup of Bigfoot sightings, a takeoff on the movie "The Exorcist," and a spoof incorporating a beauty contest, the energy crisis and impersonations of Groucho Marx.

And that's why it was a busted pilot.

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Your DVR allows you to watch what you want, when you want it.

Life negates that.

We couldn't watch "24" when it aired this week. No problem- set the recorder for KTTV, 9 pm Monday. And it recorded, so I looked forward to watching tonight.

And then I was listening to a particular radio show, and without so much as a spoiler warning, one of the hosts spilled the surprise element of the episode's plot. I didn't want to know it, but that's too bad. Other people knew, and they'll make sure you do, too. At least on the Net, people put spoiler space in before they discuss this stuff. On radio? No such manners.

I don't want to have to avoid all contact with other humans before I have time to watch the damn show. And I can't walk around all day with my fingers in my ears screaming "NA NA NA NA NA NA NA NA I CAN'T HEAR YOU!" I'm not sure HOW to handle this. Maybe I shouldn't bother watching TV anymore. It's just too much trouble.

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We were eating dinner in San Pedro tonight, and the TVs were showing the NHL All-Star Game. I hadn't planned on watching it, but there it was, and my eyes occasionally redirected towards the sets, primarily because I'll watch almost anything on a flat panel in HD.

"So," Fran said, trying to draw my attention back to her, "who's good? What players would I want to watch?"

"Hm?"

"Players. In the game. The hockey game."

"Oh. Um, well, there's, ah, Sidney Crosby, he's kinda who the league wants to be the next Gretzky. And... and..." And that's when I realized how little I've been paying attention since the strike. I couldn't come up with names, and I was looking right at the All-Star Game. Teemu Selanne scored, a local star, no less, and I couldn't say his name. Alexander Ovechkin was on the screen, and I blanked. Thornton, Shanahan, Sakic- nothing. I couldn't even think of any Flyers to mention, although that's more because they suck- I know Gagne's there, and his first name's our last, but it just wasn't coming to me.

And I just... don't... care.

The transition is complete. And it feels good. Having sworn off the sport, I no longer have to occupy space in my brain for it. The old stuff's there- deep in the recesses of my mind, guys like Dave Keon and Tim Horton and Dave Schultz are skating on rinks without ads on the dashers, and somewhere in there, the California Golden Seals are still sporting Charlie Finley green and gold. I still remember teams long gone- the Michigan Stags, the Denver Spurs, the Jersey Knights. But nothing new. I don't even pause for the Kings and Ducks games on TV. Don't care. No time to care. Got baseball, basketball, football, a little soccer- that's more than I need. Something had to give, and hockey volunteered to take the bullet. And I don't miss it.

I used to like every sport- I followed everything, and I was proud of it. I knew other guys who were one-sport guys- football all year, or baseball- and I'd think they were lame. Now, I think they knew something I didn't: life's too damn short to waste on frivolous pursuits. You know, if I stopped following ALL sports, I'd have more time to spend on more important, life-enriching things....

But football and baseball and hoops are essential. I may be feeling a little smarter for dropping hockey, but I ain't crazy.

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Unexpected late delays, running behind, no time. Nothing today. Sorry. I'll do better tomorrow.

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This week's All Access "The Letter" came out of my inability to write this week's All Access "The Letter":

Ever since I made the transition from programming radio stations to writing about radio, I've become intimately acquainted with the concept of writer's block. I get nailed with that from time to time, and I've developed some procedures to follow when it hits, namely a) aimlessly surfing the Net for a while, b) consuming several large movie-sized boxes of Raisinets, c) going over to Borders and paging through books about coping with writer's block, and d) silently weeping into a pint of Newcastle Brown Ale. None of these work, mind you, but at least I have my methods.

And we're done for this week. Next week: maybe something about the Super Bowl. Or I'll be eating a lot more Raisinets. Or both.

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Gee, while I'd really like to regale you with more magic, I've been out all day and just got back, it's 11 pm Saturday night... Gotta go. See you tomorrow. Really.

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