Tag: Morning DJs

Dear Sports Radio Hosts

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Dear Sports Radio Hosts,

Let me start by saying that I LOVE sports radio.  I listen to your programs every morning and on my way home from work.  I listen to sports radio more than I actually watch sports, which I’ll admit is weird.

So please, understand that I am coming to you as a fan (as opposed to a crazy, ranting feminist) when I tell you that your coverage of women’s sports doesn’t make you sound like an educated analyst; it makes you sound like a valued member of Ron Burgundy’s news team.

I hear your ads for male virility drugs and dad friendly divorce lawyers and I understand that I am a minority listener.  I would never ask you to give women’s sports an equal share of your air time.  In fact, I’m not even writing to ask you to report on women’s sports more.  I’m actually asking you to mention them LESS.

It seems like there are only two acceptable ways to approach the topic of women’s sports in your industry.  You can,

1) Comment on how they are inferior to men’s sports, or
2) Comment on how hot and/or un-hot the athletes are

They say no press is bad press, but if I was a professional athlete, I think I’d pass on either option.

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My New Diet

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Shitty pop songs are like simple carbs.  You know they’re not good for you, but when you get in the habit of consuming them on a regular basis, it’s kinda hard to stop.  They’re a mindless burst of pleasure, a shot of energy to your bloodstream that often doesn’t even last the duration of the jam. Sometimes you’ve had so much that you’re no longer even enjoying them as they enter your system, but you still can’t stop shoving them in an uncontrollable manner into your mouth and ears. 

 Jason Derulo, really?  Are they STILL playing this terrible song?, you wonder, as your hand, guided by some force outside of your conscious control, reaches toward the volume like it’s the bowl of chips on the coffee table. 

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“I’d like to give a shout-out to little ray ray and request the new Danity Cane”

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Dear Radio Morning Show Hosts (particularly of the hip-hop persuasion),

I don’t like you and you don’t like me.  You are higher on my list of “pet peeves” than personalized license plates, Ashlee Simpson, dogs in purses, and the phrase “pet peeves”.  In my opinion, your job places you on a lower rung of society than say, the guy responsible for scraping puke off an arena floor after a metal concert. 

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