For more than twenty years I listened to him daily. And I loved it. He was my inspiration.
And when he left I was sad.
He’s why I developed my own show. And my show reminded me of him. And I was happy.
Then my podcast show was picked up by the RELM Network. Co-owned by one of the radio-god’s former team members.
So close to my radio god. Closer than ever.
Then the big day–the day I learned that my radio god had come back—-to the very place my own show was.
I was very, very happy. I even wrote a very heartfelt post about it.
Of course he was a much bigger, much more experienced, much more popular radio personality. But today he was now my colleague, in a way—both of us hosts of shows on the same network. One day he even said the name of my show on his new program. Wow.
My own network wouldn’t give me the radio god’s show for free. But I didn’t care. I subscribed, it was worth it. To hear my radio god. Alas, the show was mostly rants about former employers and complaining, not the same imagination as I remembered from the past, not the same great radio guy, just an angry guy with a microphone with a “yes-man”cohost seemingly devoid of much personality, not adding a lot except to give him someone to talk to. It was fine. Still—-my radio god.
Then, suddenly, he was gone. It was over.
That wasn’t the end. Yet. Now, my radio god is fighting with my network management. I want to believe him.
His new show finally begins. I subscribe. I want to hear the full story from his side. He sounds like he was right, and my network was wrong. They had been bad, they had stolen. He was the victim. I started to wonder how I could stay with them when my radio god is calling on all of us, all of his faithful mortals to believe in him, to follow him. Blind faith. He is passionate. It must be true. After all, he is my radio god.
Then I heard it. The angry, sad, spoiled child. The tantrum.
Public. Embarrassing himself.
I don’t even care if he was right. There is supposed to be a certain way adults and professionals do things.
This wasn’t it. The toys of social media in his hands like an automatic weapon with an itchy trigger finger and anger issues.
I was sad.
It got ugly. Name calling, lawyers.
Then, the other side. High road, calm, collected, mature, adult, professional.
I don’t care who’s right. I don’t even really care what happened. I care about the way my radio idols acted.
I am embarrassed for him. And, after all the stones he’s thrown, after all the wild accusations and dirty play, his new show—for which I paid money — is terrible. It is a mess. Almost every show on the network he’s mocking is better than his is, because at least theirs have actual content.
What’s more, hypocritically, his own new show is fraught with apparent amateurish technical issues, including seemingly a mere two episodes being available to subscribers who could not listen live. And for those who express polite concern? No apology—instead, mocking for impatience. For those who followed in blind faith. On the memory of what once was, long ago. When it was good.
If you are going to trash talk your enemy, you better make sure you have it all together before you put your best foot forward.
My radio god has stumbled. My radio god has fallen. He has betrayed us.
I cancelled my subscription because my radio god failed me. The ultimate in radio atheism.
I wanted to love you. To root for you. To support you. To believe in you.
Radio gods fly above the fray, they succeed in spite of, they inspire, they shine with their talent. They show why they are greater.
False deities use “intimidation and illegitimate or non-functioning in its professed authority or capability” (Wikipedia). Martin Luther King Jr. pointed to the dangers of “turning one’s natural worship drive in to false channels”.
Now, I am sad once again.
Because I don’t believe in my radio god anymore.
More from Marc Raco on this subject in this episode of Monkey Radio with Marc: