There’s something in the air. ’Tis the magic season wee Angelenos, boys and girls alike, wait for all year. Finally the morning arrives. After a fitful sleep they rise extra early, fresh-faced and twinkly-eyed. They grab a cup of joe and a smoke, get strapped into their carseats and are unceremoniously hauled by mom and dad over to Hancock Park to stare in amazement at the House of Christmas® David™s.
Let us take a few moments to side-by-side the changes in the annual decorum, then…
Dear Daily News,
It’s not you. It’s me. But our relationship has to stop. I can’t have you showing up at my doorstep at four o’clock each morning. I told my fiancee our relationship was over, and she’s getting upset.
Please don’t think I haven’t tried, Daily News. I did.
I remember the chilly day we met last year. A burly man with a name tag that read “Bud” called out to me. Daily News, he said, $24 for 12 months.
“And it comes with a $10 gift card,” said Bud. “So cheap, you don’t even have to read it.”
I remember laughing, Daily News. But then I felt bad that someone would sell you so short. You are clearly worth far more, and I wonder if that has affected your self-esteem.
I appreciated your local coverage and your jaunty red and blue masthead. I think your sports columnists are superior to those of the LA Times, and I like the fact that I can read you in 25 minutes, the time it takes for my Metrolink train to whisk me downtown.
But no more. We had three newspapers at the time: the LA Times, the NY Times and the Daily News. We were overwhelmed. Stacks of newsprint gathered in our home like an illustration in a Shel Silverstein poem.
The man-in-the-middle for the pre-game huddle.
Good form on his free throw shooting up to this point. But everything after this freeze frame could use a little work.