You could say it’s the end of an era, but in truth that era died on January 12, 1969, when the New York Jets beat the Baltimore Colts in Super Bowl III. Joe Namath predicted it, and when it came true not only was he a hero in New York, but throughout the country. 

We didn’t pay attention to the rest of the globe. And people were just starting to play soccer in the U.S. We were so self-focused that the baseball championship was called the World Series, even though nobody else in the world competed.

But it was more than the Jets’ victory. It was Namath himself. The sixties had finally caught up with sports. Namath had facial hair, and a nightclub, he had trouble with authority, he resonated with both youngsters and oldsters, whereas baseball players…

But those on the diamond had their heyday. Kind of like rock and roll. It may be in bad shape now, but for decades it was EVERYTHING!

This is hard for those not alive in the fifties and sixties to understand. As for those conscious before that, not many of them are even left.

There are statistics, records, and we knew them, from the back of baseball cards if nothing else, but they could not convey the essence, the power of the game. You got that from watching, whether in the stadium or at home, in black and white.

It started with spring training and didn’t finish until the first week of October, with the end of the World Series. Baseball was a summer sport, but in the name of cash, no sport observes its natural limits anymore. Football is played in February, hockey and basketball in June, and the World Series is oftentimes played in November and it all runs together, but it didn’t used to be this way.

There were eight teams in each league, and then it spread to ten. This was a big deal, a very big deal. And the Yankees won almost every year. Which disappointed others, but their sheer dominance, their sheer talent, was akin to what Michael Jordan or Tiger Woods embodied in their heyday. But the Yankees and baseball had even further reach. You may not be able to name a song from the latest Taylor Swift album, but everybody knew that Mickey Mantle and Roger Maris were battling to beat Babe Ruth’s home run record in 1961.

And the uniforms! They were not double-knits, they were flannel, and heavy, and warm. And the stockings came up almost to the knee. There was tradition, the game was the same as it ever was. But then came the designated hitter and…

George Carlin’s breakthrough routine was about the difference between baseball and football. You can probably recite it in your head right now. Remember, football is played on a gridiron, baseball in a field…we don’t know when a game will end, it could go on FOREVER!

And ultimately that’s what happened. And it contributed to the demise of the sport’s popularity.

Along with night games. Baseball was a daylight game, played at night irregularly. You were glued to your transistor at work, the scores were passed by fans in school hallways. If you were lucky, your teacher would allow you to listen to the World Series on the public address system. And you rode your bike home fast to try and catch the last couple of innings.

And then there were the cards, and the annuals. Screw the gum, you needed the cards. Which you flipped and traded and they were seen as a momentary diversion until the boomers came of age and in a fit of nostalgia decided the cards were valuable, and oftentimes scarce, because like the rest of our childhood toys, they’d been thrown away.

But going to the game. The field was so green! It was the biggest public edifice you’d ever been in. It was special. And that feeling remains. But the tickets are no longer cheap. Anybody could afford to go to a baseball game, and many did.

Until they were all on TV. Then people stopped going. Baseball can be easier to comprehend on TV, especially football. But the NFL said the games couldn’t be televised locally unless they sold out. The NFL was based on scarcity, there were only a limited number of games, whereas baseball was played every day, like a job, it was immediate, it was part of your life, and you liked that.

By time the seventies rolled around hockey surged, with the success of the Bruins and the Islanders, who had rabid fans. And the NBA got a boost from Willis Reed and the rest of the Knicks, and there was an endless conveyor belt of phenoms. From Dr. J to Pistol Pete to… Baseball players started to fade into the background. They were two dimensional. Hard to relate to. They hadn’t been to college. They were oftentimes seen as hayseeds as opposed to denizens of the city.

Of course the seventies yielded Reggie Jackson. Namath with a bat. But his constant battles with Steinbrenner oftentimes undercut the show.

And Steinbrenner may have won, but he dissed Yogi Berra. And there were the shenanigans with Billy Martin.

And eventually there was the home run race of 1998, between Mark McGwire and Sammy Sosa, but it was ultimately tainted by steroids. Cocaine was one thing, illegal, but it didn’t enhance your ability. But if you’re cheating…

Mickey Mantle was no saint.

Then again, Willie Mays was.

Those were the two dominant players of their era. Of course there were supporting players, but we had Mickey in the American League and Willie in the National, they stood head and shoulders above the rest. They were the icons, and you never exactly knew when they’d deliver. Mickey would strike out, and then he come to bat in a clutch situation and wallop one over the wall.

Willie was more homespun. Willie didn’t need the spotlight, the spotlight found him, he was just that good.

But then Willie was exiled to San Francisco, and played in a park with such bad weather that it impacted his stats and he played three hours later than the teams on the east coast. But in 1962 he was in New York battling the Yankees in the World Series and it looked like the Giants might win, and then Bobby Richardson jumped to catch a blazing line drive and…

Then there was the famous catch. Backwards. Of Vic Wertz’s deep ball. And the throw thereafter. This was legendary, as well known as Woodstock years later. It was basic lore, it was in our DNA, it’s one thing to run and snare the ball, but BACKWARDS? In the deep center field of the Polo Grounds?

The parks were still old. And in some ways decrepit. There were no luxury boxes. We were all in it together.

But that was the fifties and sixties. Sure, there were flaws, engendering protests, rebellion, but seemingly everybody was middle class, there were no billionaires, and we saw it as our duty to raise the level of life for those in poverty.

I have these memories. They’re emblazoned in my brain.

Like the time I bought a biography of Willie on the boardwalk in Atlantic City. I think it was fifteen cents, maybe a quarter, back when paperbacks were cheap. I needed more. We all needed more.

And now there’s too much.

But the heroes of the past. Today’s generations have no idea how big they were.

And Willie Mays was one of the titans. We admired baseball players, we imitated them, we wanted to be them. Work at a bank? No, you’d rather play ball.

And then came rock and roll.

I was having dinner with John Brodey at Ago and he told me his Australian film director buddy Fred Schepisi might be stopping by.

It used to be Bono’s. Sonny’s place. Before that I can’t remember. But it was always Italian. And right there at the intersection of Melrose and La Cienega. The last time I was there Jack Douglas invited me for dinner with Richard Lewis, Steven Bauer, Geoff Emerick and a few other buddies. Before we sat down Richard and I made up, after our encounter at McCabe’s, when we wall went to see Terry Reid. Knowing the booker, I got in early and saved the seats. But while I was waving to our group, showing them where I was, Richard slipped behind me and sat down in my seat, on the end of the row, on the aisle. I was not happy, but ultimately I moved deeper into the row, but Richard knew what he’d done, so he yelled over, “My back, I’ve got a bad back, I’ve got to sit on the end!” That was Richard Lewis. He was the same neurotic guy he was on stage and in “Curb Your Enthusiasm.” And funny, his wife was as down to earth as he was crazy. I always quote Richard… He said before he met Joyce he dated slaves. Women who would do whatever he wanted. Joyce stood up to him.

As for Geoff Emerick… The rule of famous people is you don’t talk to them about what they’re famous for. But the remix of “Sgt. Pepper” had just come out and ultimately I brought this up with Geoff and he went from zero to one hundred instantly, he was pissed! The stereo mixes weren’t afterthoughts, they’d put time into them, they were what everybody wanted.

As for Steven Bauer… What a character. He was just off his success in “Ray Donovan,” and he assumed I knew all about it, when in truth I’d never seen the series. But after recounting his success, recalling the high points, he started telling me the story of his family’s exit from Cuba. In detail. And not only was it fascinating, Bauer was treating me like a good friend, he was convivial, intimate, I could see why he was successful. Then again, was he really the guy in “Scarface”?

But that was years later. My dinner with Brodey was at the beginning of the twenty first century, in the main room, as opposed to the private back room I was in with Jack and his friends.

So we’re just about finished and Fred enters the restaurant. With an entourage. A couple of women, another guy, and…

Donald Sutherland.

I mean come on, DONALD SUTHERLAND? Was there ever anybody cooler? Well, there was James Dean… Let’s not argue about it, let’s just say that Donald Sutherland was always cool. He burst on to the scene in “M*A*S*H,” the breakthrough Robert Altman film, which was platformed as opposed to opened wide back in 1970, there was a small ad in the “Times” for weeks before it opened, building buzz about a movie almost no one was aware of.

In the movie Sutherland embodied the sixties, he was IRREVERENT! He didn’t take it too seriously, he could see the humor in the insanity of war. That was what the era was all about, questioning authority.

And then there was “Klute” and even “Day of the Locust.” As well as the cult movie “Don’t Look Now,” back when there used to be cult movies that you had to see at the revival house, that even if they played on television we didn’t see, because we didn’t own TVs, and they were edited anyway.

And “Steelyard Blues.” And “Ordinary People.” Donald Sutherland was part of the firmament, a true Hollywood star, someone who was not always playing himself, someone who emanated his interior thoughts, not only his exterior visage.

So we finished up and went over to Fred’s table. They were in a booth, Brodey and I pulled up chairs on the outside. They’d just come from filming. And Fred was so NICE!

A lot of Hollywood people can be standoffish, especially if they don’t know who you are.

But not Fred. He set the tone for the conversation. It was breezy. So, after the better part of ten minutes, I participated, I joined in.

And Donald Sutherland immediately gave me sh*t. Wow.

And when I spoke again, he criticized my word usage. And went on about it. So I STFU!

What an as*hole. I was not dominating the conversation. We were all having fun. But according to Sutherland, I was not entitled to speak. So I didn’t.

I sat there in silence for nearly half an hour. I know the rules, it’s not about me. But I can’t say I was happy. It wasn’t like they were discussing things I was unfamiliar with, it wasn’t inside baseball.

And then, when I was completely calm, but not quite detached, Sutherland pontificated, about this or that. From his high horse.

And that’s when I saw my opening.

I gave HIM sh*t!

And he was stunned. Speechless. He’d left an opening and I walked right in and slammed him right down. Employing the same holier-than-thou attitude he did.

And then I did it again.

And then Sutherland shut up for a while. Licked his wounds.

But then he said something and included me as part of his team. Like the two of us were speaking to the table at large. And then we started amping it up, playing with the language, making jokes, having a rollicking good time. The center of attention had shifted to us.

And when the evening came to a close, we all got up, for the long goodbye, and Donald embraced me in a bear hug, smiling, talking about the next time we got together.

That never happened, but…

Let that be a lesson to you. People will try to put you down, keep you in your place, and if you can’t speak truth to power, you will be stepped on.

Whereas if you rise up and play their game…

Tyler Grimm is Chief Counsel for Policy and Strategy for the House Judiciary Committee majority staff. We address intellectual property legislation and how the sausage is made. This is an insider’s view into what really goes on in Congress.

Apple: https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/tyler-grimm/id1316200737?i=1000659622721

Spotify: https://open.spotify.com/episode/1mCGmJhAieizEoyNDpDjq9?si=KDUJ1_XUQiuk1XEIdKu_ZA

Amazon: https://music.amazon.com/podcasts/9ff4fb19-54d4-41ae-ae7a-8a6f8d3dafa8/episodes/06d3285e-408d-48e8-afd1-2a6dd4459fbe/the-bob-lefsetz-podcast-tyler-grimm

iHeart: https://www.iheart.com/podcast/1119-the-bob-lefsetz-podcast-30806836/episode/tyler-grimm-187468237/?cmp=web_share&embed=true

It’s not going to make any difference. Except maybe to Justin himself. Refuse to take a biological sobriety test in California and you automatically lose your license. I’m not sure of the law in New York, and the issue is complicated by the fact that Timberlake was probably driving on a  California license. And in any event, Timberlake can afford a driver, or at least Uber, but not being able to drive yourself is a big pain in the ass.

There’s only one taboo in America anymore. Pedophilia. Oh, we can extend that into other sex crimes, but everything else gets a shrug, at least from those paying attention. One can argue that going to jail in the hip-hop world raises your cred. And I can say the same thing here with Timberlake. His squeaky-clean image could use a bit of roughing up. It took years, but there’s been blowback about his emerging sans penalty in the Super Bowl Nipplegate, and Britney Spears took a swing at him, but Timberlake is more akin to a star of old, sleek and bulletproof. But nobody is that way anymore, nobody, that’s what social media has wrought.

Now this all began with Bristol Palin. Her mother was nominated for Vice President and didn’t tell the higher ups that her teenage daughter was pregnant, out of wedlock, supposedly a big taboo in the Christian Republican world, if not the world at large. But it didn’t hurt Palin a bit, she went on to numerous financial opportunities, she made bank after stepping down as the governor of Alaska. As for Bristol… She had her own reality show.

You see many people have babies out of wedlock. Statistics tell us teen pregnancy is down, then again it was lauded by MTV. But this is not the sixties, where you send your daughter away to have the baby and then give it away doing your best to scrub the landscape clean, leaving their image and CV intact.

And then came Trump. You can’t say anything positive about Trump or the Biden-lovers will excoriate you, but the truth is we’ve got to credit Trump for bringing us into reality eight years ago. Trump used taboo words, talked about taboo subjects, and the “New York Times” may not use swear words, but you do, everybody does!

So we’ve seen a societal adjustment. We no longer live in a two-tiered world. Dignified and undignified. Washed and unwashed. We’re all in it together, and one must not only realize this, but accept it.

In the sixties, even the seventies, the rich hid their wealth. They clothed themselves in chinos and Topsiders, they traveled in old Country Squires, but when the baby boomers made bank in the eighties, that was out the window. Today you boast about your wealth. You flash it. You want to be seen as a “rock star,” even though that moniker doesn’t fit these people.

So Justin Timberlake got arrested for driving while drunk. You might have. Certainly someone in your circle has. Does that make them a bad person? Of course there are alcoholics who get arrested time and again and should be off the streets, but no one believes that’s Justin Timberlake. Furthermore, musicians have done drugs forever and Tom Petty died of a fentanyl overdose. Do we judge Tom for that? If anything, we give him props because he did his last tour in pain, he was self-medicating so everybody else could get paid.

No one is not going to buy a concert ticket because Justin Timberlake got arrested for a DUI. No one sits in judgment that way anymore. And if you’re a fan of somebody, it’s almost impossible to be convinced otherwise. That’s what’s confounding about the Trumpers, they cannot be convinced otherwise, that Donald is flawed, shouldn’t be elected, if anything they’ve doubled-down. That’s the nature of fandom today. You rally around your hero, you don’t abandon them.

As for casual fans…

That’s an interesting concept. The whole world used to run on casual fans. They filled the rest of the seats in the arena, they bought the album a year or two out, they went to see the popular movie…but that concept is dying, if not near dead.

You see people just don’t feel the pressure to be a member of the herd anymore. Everybody’s got their own interests and that’s enough. The press hasn’t realized this. And the gossip press lives for events like Timberlake’s DUI. Because it’s all about garnering eyeballs, which deliver money. They’ll publicize any faux pas.

But that does not mean the public will pay attention, that it will resonate with them. Which is why most music publicity, nearly all traditional publicity, is worthless these days.

We need to give money to Biden so he can advertise on TV. Screw that, advertise on TikTok and Instagram!

The funny thing about social media advertising is oftentimes it’s as good as the posts. Innovative, frequently about innovative products. Sometimes you’re not even sure if it’s an ad. Sure, it’s great to go viral spontaneously, but you can buy your way in, and should. But I don’t see Biden ads on these services.

But the people running Biden’s campaign are not on these services. They pooh-pooh them. Only deplorables spend time on them, wasted time, and the platforms need to be shut down. How well did that attitude work for Hillary Clinton? It didn’t. The game changes and nobody in D.C. seems to be aware of it. Maybe because the only way you can understand the new game is by participating in it. If you want to be plugged in spend at least fifteen minutes on either TikTok or Instagram Reels every day for a week. You’ll get a feel for America. That’s all it takes. But oldsters sit in judgment while youngsters move on, there’s a giant generation gap, the same one that has the youth saying both Biden and Trump are too old.

And for all the haters, of course I’m going to vote for Biden if he’s the ultimate nominee, and you never know, that’s the strange thing about life, unexpected stuff happens. Of course I’m afraid of Trump getting elected, I’m fearful of the death of democracy. But Biden could lose. As a matter of fact, he’s losing right now. And I don’t see him and his team doing anything to change this. All his acolytes just say to hold tight and pray that he wins in November. That’s not a good strategy. But by pointing this out…

Elon Musk owns a platform, and he spews his insanity each and every day. He understands that he or she who owns the media wins the game. Can you say “Rupert Murdoch”?

And one of the big stories today is how Tucker Carlson is touring Australia and has trouble selling tickets. Proving that the platform is more powerful than the individual. The hardest thing to do is to gain an audience. Turns out there were a limited number of Tucker fans, most were Fox fans. In addition, casual fans don’t even know where to find Carlson today.

There’s just too much in the pipeline, it’s overwhelming.

So we’re supposed to care about an aged pop star getting arrested for drunk driving?

That’s one of the great stories of this arrest. The cop didn’t even know who Timberlake was! Justin was too old and the police officer was too young. But Timberlake triumphed when we lived in a monoculture, and that’s all mainstream media understands. The true stars of today, social media influencers, from Mr. Beast to gamers to cosmetic queens, are ignored, they don’t fit the paradigm of yore, and the old media titans don’t know who they are, what they mean, and are refusing to believe we live in a changed landscape.

Did you read in their last results that the “New York Times” had more people subscribing to cooking and puzzles than the basic news app?

But this is all freeing. You can make a mistake and recover. Then again, not if you’re a politician, where gotcha still exists. But that’s got more to do with those in office and their seconds than the public at large. How high a standard can you hold someone to these days? We’re all flawed. And the sooner we accept this.

The sooner we win.