Radio Shack is kaput, but my memories are not

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When you get to be 106 years old like me, you sometimes get wistful when you hear certain news.

So it was last week when I heard that Radio Shack was going out of business.

I haven't stepped inside a Radio Shack store in years -- a fact that obviously doesn't make me unique, seeing as how the company has been bleeding red ink for years. And though I was a bit of a nerd as a kid, I wasn't really the kind of geek who frequented Radio Shack. My father was the electronics guy; my eyes glazed over whenever he talked about such stuff.

So what about Radio Shack's demise brought about my wistfulness?

Well, I credit the company's little TRS-80 Model 100 laptop computer with saving my sanity. Had it not come along when it did, I might be in a loony bin right now.

I first saw a TRS-80 in 1984 when I was a 23-year-old reporter in Madison, Wis. My AP colleague, Rich Eggleston, had just bought one with his own money -- more than a thousand bucks for the little 8-line device with precious little memory and limited editing capabilities. The machine had just been introduced a few months earlier.

When I covered a Wisconsin football or basketball game back then, I had two choices: dictate my story to an editor in the Milwaukee bureau or use a Teleram Portabubble unit when the Milwaukee folks made it available.

The Portabubble was an evil device that regularly ate copy and couldn't handle crowd noise. It weighed a ton but had a tiny screen that was difficult to read. It had no memory. I hated that freakin' thing! So the few times Rich let me borrow his TRS-80, I was in heaven. Unfortunately, he needed it both for work (he was one of AP's political reporters) and for personal use, so I rarely had it. I actually preferred dictating stories off the top of my head than using the Portabubble.

When I was promoted to AP Minnesota Sports Editor the following year, I was issued a Portabubble to use at Vikings, Twins, North Stars and Gophers games. It was the source of much consternation. The cord was frayed and the device sometimes would shut off, which instantly made the work go away forever. When I managed to get an entire story ready to transmit to the Minneapolis bureau or to AP Sports HQ in New York, I had to attach the phone into holes on the top of the machine. If the crowd noise was too loud, it would result in garbled text -- if the story managed to make it at all.

By 1986, AP had been issuing TRS-80s to many sportswriters but I still had the Portabubble. I was working the state high school hockey tournament at the old St. Paul Civic Center, about 12 hours into what would be an 18-hour day, when the machine ate a story just as I was ready to transmit it. I called my boss and demanded we buy one of the Radio Shack laptops. I told him that if I lost another story, I was going to hurl the Portabubble out of the press box onto the ice below!

My boss probably could have fired me for insubordination but instead, nicely, talked me off the ledge. He also promised he'd seriously look into getting me a TRS-80. Sure enough, within about a month, he made it happen.

And I lived happily ever after. The End.

OK ... not quite The End. The TRS-80s had their own issues, including having to send through "accoustic couplers" that also could be sensitive to crowd noise. Within a couple of years, though, I was upgraded to a TRS-80 Model 200, which had a flip-up screen and more memory, and it came with a "direct connect" cable that made accoustic couplers unnecessary. Wow!

Eventually, AP started investing in "real" laptop computers for all of its reporters. More than a decade later, however, many sportswriters -- especially those at smaller newspapers -- were still using TRS-80s. Those little suckers were durable!

So although Radio Shack soon will be gone forever, I always will have fond memories of its little laptop that saved my sanity -- and very possibly saved the life of a high school hockey player who might have been killed by the Portabubble I'd have thrown out of  the press box.

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And speaking of wistful memories of bygone days ...

Remember when Tiger Woods was good at golf? Now he chips like me ... and believe me, that's no compliment.

But I digress. That's a different blog post for a different time. Like maybe when he's shooting an 86 at Augusta National.

I sure hope his career doesn't go the way of the TRS-80, because golf needs Tiger a lot more than the rest of us need Radio Shack.
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Hoping LeBron fans don't get Zonked

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The other day, my wife and I went to a Chicago club to listen to some music. On these occasions, I have two shirts I like to wear. One is a Minnesota North Stars jersey that actually was worn (and, I assume, brawled in) by late-1980s era goon Link Gaetz. The other is a genuine replica Larry Csonka Miami Dolphins jersey.

I got the Gaetz jersey, with fight straps intact and everything, because I thought it was cool. I mean, the dude was known as The Missing Link! I bought the Csonka shirt on eBay about 10 years ago because, as a kid, I was a Dolphins fanatic and Zonk was by far my favorite athlete.

So anyway, Roberta always gives me crap when I pull on one of those shirts. "You wearing that again?" is a pretty typical comment. And I always defend my choice by saying I love those shirts - and I'm not the only one. The event the other night proved my point so solidly that even my bride can't argue with me anymore.

I chose Csonka for this particular show because we were going to see a tribute band that was doing one-hit wonders from the '70s.

We get to the venue and, as we're looking for a seat, one of the ushers comes up to me and says, "Great shirt! Larry Csonka, right?"

About 5 minutes later, another guy who works at the place says, "Csonka ... nice!"

OK, so a couple people noticed. Big deal, right?

About 15 minutes later, some guy comes up to me, tells me how much he loves the shirt and asks me if I know where he could get a Paul Warfield jersey because the former Dolphins receiver was his favorite player. I suggested eBay, and then we chatted a little about those dynastic Dolphins. As the guy and his wife walked away, the woman turned and said her husband had "major shirt envy."

By now, my wife is ready to admit that, yes, it's a pretty cool shirt. But wait ... there's more!

A little later, a guy comes up to me and is gushing about the jersey. He asked if I wore it because it's a 70s night and when I said yes, he stuck out his hand. As we shook hands, he said: "Zonk was the best. That's really a great shirt. Thanks so much for wearing it."

When it comes to wife-and-husband "discussions," I don't win many. But I won that one.

And in a related subject ...

I totally get the angst Cavaliers fans are going through regarding LeBron's future.

After the 1974 NFL season, the two-time Super Bowl champion Dolphins - my team - lost a classic playoff game to the hated Raiders on a heartbreaking, last-second TD. Then things got worse.

A new league, the WFL, had formed and was raiding NFL rosters. The Memphis Southmen - yes, the Memphis Bleepin' Southmen - stole Csonka, Warfield and Jim Kiick from the Dolphins.

Looking back, I believe Zonk's departure was one of the major reasons I became such a cynical sports observer.

The WFL folded the following year, but the damage was done. The Dolphins no longer were contenders. When Csonka came back to the NFL, it was to play for the New York Giants. And I was never the same fan.

Cavs fans might say: "Yeah, like Larry Csonka is even in LeBron's league."

As an athlete, of course not. But Csonka was a one-of-a-kind bulldozer of a fullback, a Hall of Famer, a two-time champion and a franchise icon. James only wishes he had the kind of impact for a championship team that Zonk did in the '74 Super Bowl.

As a 14-year-old worshipper, I was every bit as crushed by Csonka's departure as any Clevelander will be if LeBron leaves. And believe me, I wouldn't wish that feeling on anybody.

Reporting to duty for Year 28

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Indulge me and my memories, folks. It was the week of July 4, 1982, that I began my journalism career.

During my rookie year in the business (with AP in Milwaukee), I was lucky enough to help cover the Brewers' only run to the World Series. I didn't have a laptop computer to use - hardly anyone did back then - so I had to dictate my stories via telephone to an editor.

Given what we know has happened technologically, it's hard to believe that things were so primitive barely more than a quarter-century ago. I mean, we might as well have been using chisels and stone tablets, right?

But you know what? No matter what method I had to use to submit my stories, it was absolutely thrilling to be a just-turned-22-year-old kid who was part of such a big event. My heart still races whenever I recall that feeling of urgency I experienced in October '82.

Later that year, I covered a Marquette Warriors game in which coach Hank Raymonds and point guard Glenn Rivers (you know him as Celtics coach Doc now) got into a shouting match. Actually, it was a one-sided argument, with Rivers basically telling Raymonds to sit down, shut up and leave the players alone.

Sure, Hank was semi-deaf and might not have heard what Glenn was saying. But can you imagine one of the Celtics saying such a thing to Rivers now and getting away with it? (That was one of the few times during these last 27 years that I covered anything involving my alma mater. I've become far too big a fan to attempt it again.)

After Milwaukee, my career took me to AP stops Madison, Minneapolis and Chicago and then to my dream job as columnist for the Copley Newspaper chain, which was bought two years ago by GateHouse, which decided in January that the only way it could survive the recession was to eliminate the Chicago sports columnist's $88 million salary.

Even though I'm now unempl ... um, between jobs ... I wouldn't have changed a thing. It's been a fun, fulfilling 27 years, with incredible assignments, travels to faraway lands and vivid memories.

Back in 1982, I was at the dawn of my career and didn't mind that I lacked a computer to use. Now, I have all the techno toys at my disposal but not so much of a career. I'm not sure if that's irony or just a kick in the crotch.

Still, as hard as the business seems to be trying to eliminate its workforce, it can't get rid of this stubborn clown so easily.

I thank AP for taking me back (as a freelancer this time) and my readers for keeping The Baldest Truth relevant.

I probably don't have another 27 years in me, but I'm not done yet.

Isiah's legacy, Oscar's future and my puck reawakening

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The Bald Truth

Are sports yakkers actually debating Isiah Thomas' legacy now that he's taken a college coaching job at some nondescript Sun Belt school? What is there to debate?

One of the great point guards ever.

A mediocre coach when his team had good talent and a bad coach when his team had mediocre talent.

As bad an executive as anyone who hasn't run the Clippers.

There. That's Isiah's legacy.

The Balder Truth

Boxer Oscar De La Hoya has retired because he has pretty much done it all.

Except come out of retirement to win a title.

Translation: His unretirement press conference will take place in eight months. Ten tops.

THE BALDEST TRUTH

Once upon a time, I watched hockey. Lots of hockey.

For most of a decade, as the de facto national hockey writer for The Associated Press, I witnessed every big event the sport staged - Stanley Cup Finals, Olympics, All-Star Games, NCAA Frozen Fours, Minnesota prep puck tourneys, strikes, lockouts. You name it, I covered it.

Then I came to Chicago in the mid-'90s, when the Bulls were the big story and the Blackhawks were a punch line. The NHL started sticking teams in every city that had a population larger than that of the LaSalle-Peru Greater Metro Area and started scheduling work stoppages just for funsies.

As a result, I completely lost my puck mojo.

It's a little too early to say that it's completely back, but now I at least can watch a game all the way through - especially on HDTV. I'm starting to enjoy the entertaining sport again and to re-educate myself about the NHL's top players and best teams.

I'm not going to pretend I know enough about today's NHL to predict which team will win the Stanley Cup, but I do know enough to say this:

Expect playoff upsets. 

Why? Two reasons:

1. The luck factor. In the NBA, the ball doesn't go off somebody's backside and into the hoop. In baseball, nobody hits a home run while diving through the air, his body parallel to the ground. But in hockey, the Cup-winning goal can be scored in overtime on a shot that deflects off of eight people.

2. The goalie factor. Baseball comes close, because one pitcher can dominate the opponent and lift an ordinary team (see: 1988 Dodgers), but that's pretty rare because said pitcher only can work three World Series games max. The NHL goaltender is in the net for every second of every game ... and if he's hot, he's hot. Almost every year, one goalie makes the folks in Canada say: "He's really standing on his head, eh?"

While it's impossible to predict who will be lucky, it's a little easier to forecast which teams might benefit from otherworldly goaltending. 

Watch out for the Canucks and the marvelous Roberto Luongo. It's possible that the neophyte Blue Jackets could steal at least a couple of games from the heavily favored Red Wings thanks to remarkable rookie Steve Mason. There is no better gamer in net than the Devils' Martin Brodeur. The Bruins' Tim Thomas led the league in save percentage and goals-against average.

Or maybe some decent goalie will catch fire at just the right time - a la Jon Casey with the '91 North Stars - and carry a sub-par team all the way to the Finals.

I guarantee that the North Stars won't pull off a repeat. Otherwise, it would be folly for me to try to predict the team that will be drinking from Lord Stanley's Cup. 

I'd have a better chance to score a date with Anna Kournikova while standing on my head, eh?