A Journey inside the World of Sports Talk Radio Their voices explode over the airwaves -- with names like Mike and the Mad Dog, the Stinkin' Genius, Hacksaw, and JT the Brick. They broadcast in drive time and downtime, from rush hour to the dead of night. And yet, millions of fans tune in around the clock to hear their favorite larger-than-life radio personalities rant, rave, critique, predict, and mix it up with callers -- the dedicated fans of sports talk radio. Never before has this cloistered world opened its doors to a no-holds-barred, behind-the-scenes, full-access look at itself. Noted journalist (and fan) Alan Eisenstock embarks on a journey through the American sports radio landscape and gives readers a front-row seat -- from breakfast at the kitchen table of Eddie Andelman, Boston's godfather of sports radio, to the WFAN commissary with Mike and the Mad Dog in New York; from the plush home game room of Chicago's hot dog-vendor-turned-#1 DJ Mike North to the empty 3 AM studio parking garage with nationally syndicated JT the Brick. Eisenstock goes into the studios, homes, and lives of these and many other of America's hottest and most-listened-to sports talk hosts. Filled with hilarious and entertaining tales of what makes these hosts tick -- as well as the unbelievable stories of how they got where they are today -- Sports Talk paints a picture the fans never see. Eisenstock shows us the blood, sweat, and tears of program directors with their reputations on the line; hosts searching for career security; and station managers who are always eyeing the bottom line. And, of course, there are stories of the rabid, obsessed, and off-the-wall fans. Whether you're a sports fan or a sports talk junkie, you'll be hooked from the first page. Eddie Andelman WEEI, "The Godfather of Sports Talk Radio" "Sports Talk" clearly tells every guy why his (choose one) mother, wife, girlfriend, or lover always says "Turn it off! I can't stand that stupid sports stuff anymore!" Eddie Andelman WEEI, "The Godfather of Sports Talk Radio" "Sports Talk" clearly tells every guy why his (choose one) mother, wife, girlfriend, or lover always says "Turn it off! I can't stand that stupid sports stuff anymore!" Alan Eisenstock, a sports talk radio fan since the early 1970s, is the co-author of Inside the Meat Grinder: An NFL Official's Life in the Trenches. His numerous television writing credits include Married...With Children, Mork and Mindy, Sanford and Son, Family Matters, What's Happening, and The Nanny. He lives with his family in southern California. Chapter 1: how i got hooked on smack I drive. It is November of 1973. I have been living in Los Angeles for barely two months. I am alone most of the time. My wife has just begun a grueling Ph.D. program while I stay home in our small one-bedroom apartment, trying to write screenplays on my IBM Selectric, which rests on a desk made of two black metal file cabinets and a plywood door. To be honest, I spend most of my day reading mystery novels by Robert B. Parker, Michael Z. Lewin, and Loren D. Estleman, featuring lone-wolf detectives who spend their nights trailing beautiful blondes and bad guys into bad neighborhoods, and their days sitting alone in closets doubling as offices, chain-smoking, their hands wrapped around a bottle. I don't smoke or drink hard stuff and I don't know any blondes or bad guys. But I know the night. And so I drive, cruising Sunset and Wilshire and Olympic and losing myself in the voices of the darkness. The voices that pour out of the car radio. I have heard these voices all my life, beginning when I was a boy. They were the companions who calmed my night fears. They were the voices of DJs like Crazy Joey Reynolds, who once locked himself in his studio and played "'Til There Was You" over and over, for four hours straight, while he honked aah-ohh-gah horns, rang cowbells, and cracked jokes in the background. What thrilled me was how Reynolds broke the rules. He was daring and irreverent, and what resulted was nothing less than theater of the mind. Even before Crazy Joey, there was baseball, where long luxurious pauses in the action allowed my imagination to soar. Although I lived in New England, Red Sox territory, the powerful night signal from New York brought me the sound of the Yankees. Mel Allen, all Southern comfort, unconditionally in love with the Bronx Bombers, midnight pitchman for Ballantine beer and White Owl cigars, described the Yankees in his honey-soaked tenor: "How about that?" and "It's going, going gone!" Phil Rizzuto, known as the Scooter, the former vacuum cleaner of a shortstop, he of the timely hit and high-pitched chatter, jabbered happily alongside Mel. What a team they made! At ten, as I snuggled in bed, Mel and the Scooter visited me through a clunky brown console perched on my nightstand. I closed my eyes and was transported out of my room like the boy in Maurice Sendak's In the Night Kitchen, afloat o