A Too High Fly on the Wall at The Le Batard Show Live in Las Vegas
In 2014 I discovered The Dan Le Batard Show with Stugotz on ESPNU. I was living in my father’s unfinished basement, playing catch with my friends, and pissing into the wind. I was 28 years old.
Now, my sister and her husband can’t even hear the word “wow” without performing “a cacophony of Owen Wilsons,” and they don’t get the show. I just happened to be staying with them in Las Vegas when that episode aired, so paying $187 for a flight to see the show performed live from the Circa Stadium Swim rooftop pool was an easy decision. The experience was incredibly inspirational, despite what you’ve seen, heard, read, or are about to read.
I just wanted to eat some weed, have a Bloody Mary or two, go for a swim, and enjoy the show with people who get the show. Sure, I wanted to tell Juju and Tony the positivism they put into the world is inspiring. I probably could have done that, but perhaps 30 milligrams of edibles was five too many for my first time eating weed in six months. My tolerance apparently isn’t what it used to be despite vaping more weed than ever.
I wanted to tell Jess and Lucy to continue celebrating women’s sports, including the excellent yet seemingly ignored PWHL. But I didn’t really have it in me to be at all critical despite the technical difficulties to kick off the show, which were so on point. I don’t know that I’ve ever guffawed before, so thank you, Dan.
I wanted to tell Dan he made me quit newspapers to pursue a career in radio, and that I took money from The Devil to get experience in radio only to end up driving Zamboni and cleaning toilets. That’s probably too much to tell and probably too much for Dan to take. That wouldn’t be fair, and I didn’t need to meet the show’s cast of characters. I don’t like coming off as a fanboy and the guilty feeling that comes with celebrity meet-and-greets. If they wanted to talk to me they would. I don’t want them feeling obligated. I also didn’t want to stand in line for hours. There are few things I dislike more than waiting in line, and after seeing how long Dan spent with just one person, I knew it’d be a long wait. Kudos to Dan, though. Thank you, Dan.
I was feeling so guilty about the two Dave’s Hot Chicken sandwiches I ate at bingo the night before that I walked to the reservation to burn it off and buy some cigars. “Maybe Dan would like one of these,” I thought. Then I didn’t enjoy the one I smoked. Is that because I wasn’t enjoying myself? Did my distaste for my own being make my cigar suck? Because I smoked the second, which was exactly the same, and it was a lot better. The only thing that changed was me writing this and getting back into my exercise routine.
Frankly, I don’t know that I could have spoken to anyone from the show without breaking down crying. I balled like my friends died when I finished binging M*A*S*H. The thought of never again hearing his Dirty Demon of Debate or Complicated Legacy Joe Zagacki had me avoiding Mike Ryan Ruiz both days. The thought of never seeing his smiling face on the show again is as depressing as an A24 film, but I wish him nothing but the best Turkish hair transplant.
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I did manage to tell Greg Cote he was terrific both days. How could I not? But it’s odd that I wouldn’t seek their attention in-person when I could get it and then return home and write this, which people will call a desperate attempt for attention. But what are all our selfies and social posts if not desperate attempts for attention. The least I can do in my desperation is turn to an actual craft — an art form when done right — like when Dan does it.
This crazy train of thought is brought to you by my new favorite drug: bath salts. What keeps me semi-sane and my skin soft as silk? Baths with bath salts from Windrift Hill. My favorite thing about a hot bath is burning myself. I do eight modified bows to the Buddha before entering the tub, one each for the eight practices of the Noble Eightfold Path. I lower my hands and head until they’re submerged enough for me to scream underwater “thank you for this pain!”
You have to understand that The Dan Le Batard Show isn’t what gets me through my days. It helps me forget how much I hate myself for a few hours each day. A lot of that hate stems from trauma I can’t control, but I can control how I respond to those feelings of self-hate when they arrive.
In reading William McKeen’s Outlaw Journalist on the life of Hunter S. Thompson, the inspiration for not only this blog but this human being, I realized my idol felt like a loser, too. He found a way around that, but the drug that made him feel less like a loser was writing, not the drugs that helped him write for days and left his contemporaries dumbfounded.
I had nothing until I adopted a Gonzo persona. The organic, original Anthony seemingly disappoints everyone. Most importantly, he disappoints me. That’s why I spoke to no one at the live performances of The Dan Le Batard Show with Stugotz in Las Vegas (except J from Colorado; shout out to J). I’ve always hoped the first time I spoke to Dan or Stu or the Shipping Container I would be worthy of their time and attention. I wasn’t ready to abandon that hope.
In the decade since getting the show, my biggest accomplishment is failing to legalize and tax cannabis in Montana back in 2016. Sure, legislation similar to what I wrote reached the ballot and was passed by the people four years later, but it doesn’t make me feel like any less of a failure.
“Don’t play the result. Celebrate your effort,” I keep telling myself — both on and off the tennis court. It doesn’t work. The tennis court might be the only place I’ve given 100 percent. Also, the gym. I’ve so seldom given effort worthy of praise, but I’m semi-proud of my ability to sweat. It might be the only thing I do good.
This body is brought to you by the YMCA. When I wake up and my back hurts, I know I need to get to the Y. That’s like everyday. I meditate and stretch in the sauna, and pump iron in the gym or swim and hit the hot tub. I met a friend at the Y. We try to meet there at least weekly. The other day we were working together to answer the daily trivia question at the pool. I got three of the four answers but was disappointed I didn’t get all four. He beat me to the word “dwell,” which is funny because it’s all I do. I dwelled on it until he told a lady I’m a writer, and I thought, “Am I, though?” That really did a number on me, and here we are, thanks to the Y, but why?
I half-assed the campaign to legalize cannabis in my home state even before the Montana Supreme Court struck down the medical cannabis law, rerouting our potential donations to re-ratifying medical cannabis legislation. All of this is really just a complex I had to try and save the world in order to get attention instead of trying to save myself.
I’ve tried adopting Orange Cassidy’s wrestling persona to make me care less about things, but my perfectionism and resulting rage is too often overwhelming. It’s hereditary, but I’m mostly pissed at myself — ashamed really. I am not exceptional. I am merely mediocre, and that smarts. It cuts to the core of my being and makes me question who I am and what the fuck I’m meant to do. But I know masks don’t seem to be working.
I don’t even know which me is most advantageous to me in this life. The masked me has been more profitable in almost every way. I’m a better character when I’m drunk and/or stoned. I’m most productive and most interesting on cocaine or amphetamines. Sober me might be healthy but has been a loser all his life. Thing is, despite all I didn’t do at the Dan Le Batard Show Live in Las Vegas, there’s one thing I didn’t do that makes me proud: cocaine. Now I’m thinking maybe I should have. Nope. Don’t think that.
I’m going to make myself worthy of attention, but more importantly, worthy of love, and most importantly, find the self I want to love. For the first time in my life, I’m ready to operate without a safety net, and I’m not going to stop dreaming, because “dreams are what make life tolerable.” My dream is to die without a penny in my pocket but for people to say my thoughts were worth at least a penny. For that to happen, I need to work on the one thing people have said I can do well: write.
I don’t want to be a fan of the show. I want to be a peer, which is why, from now on, if they’re working, I’m working on this craft. If I’m watching The Dan Le Batard Show with or without Stugotz, I’m writing something. Love it or hate it, you’re going to get a lot more of me figuring shit out through writing because there’s literally no other way for people like me to learn to love themselves. Sorry, but I’m not sorry.
This mood has been brought to you by The Menzingers‘ “Some Of It Was True.” I’ve favorited nine tracks on this record, which is the same number of songs I favorited on their best record, “On the Impossible Past.” This punk band has produced more songs that leave me breathless from singing and/or dancing than any other band. They even make country songs I like. Every time they release a new record I’m shocked they don’t blow up and become superstars, but it’s nice that they don’t because they play more intimate venues and give a lot of time to their fans…kind of like the Le Batard crew.
