Keidel: Trailblazers Mike & The Mad Dog Prove They've Still Got It

By Jason Keidel
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Nearly seven years ago, I interviewed Mike Francesa for the local newspaper, amNewYork. After five weeks and countless calls to WFAN -- this was before I joined the CBS family -- Mike's producer and I locked down a time. It was to be on a weekday, around 11 a.m., while he was on his way to work in Manhattan to do his show.

Other than the mountain of tapes and bulky recording devices and making sure my land line was clear for his phone call, I was oddly anxious for the segment.

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Though I'd made my bones as a boxing writer -- back when the sport was still essential -- I'd already interviewed a litany of sports luminaries, from Phil Simms to Joe Torre to Mike Tyson. So the idea that Francesa somehow soared above these people didn't compute.

Maybe it's because Francesa was on my side of the aisle. Athletes were easy to compartmentalize, brutes who have a singular skill. Once removed from the diamond, hardwood or gridiron, they are just men.

But Francesa spawned an industry. Sports talk radio was a fringe medium, a couple studios dotting the map, a bunch of vaguely known voices sharing a single microphone. And over the decades, Francesa had morphed from a local voice to an emblem of commerce, the baritone bard of of sports, in America's media vortex. He bridged the business of sports and the 9-to-5 fan behind his hard opinions and Long Island colloquialisms. He brought a blue-collar quality to the opulent, exaggerated world of high-end athletics.

Considering how he treated callers, I worried the wrong question would send me plunging through some trap door, a resounding "click" dropping me into the pits of silence, dwelling with all the lost callers Francesa dismissed with the flex of a finger.

What I got was, to say the least, a little different. He was generous with his time and temper, not only answering my questions, but praising them when warranted. He made a vital distinction between callers into his show -- who were indeed part of his program and subject to his epic rants -- and the rest of humanity.

I was amazed by his endless archive of sports knowledge, his sense of recall and, after all these years, his preteen fervor for talking sports for 5 1/2 hours every day. While it's a blessing to squat behind a microphone for decades and make King Farouk money for it, it is a job. For those sports fans who think taking Francesa's job is merely a case of sliding a few seats down, you're wrong, my friends.

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Say what you will about Francesa -- and much has been -- his gift for connecting with the public is special, almost singular. He doesn't toil in a cubicle, wield a jackhammer or drive a cab, but he slid in seamlessly with those who do.

Not too long before this chat, he'd split with Chris "Mad Dog" Russo, one of the more notable divorces between colleagues in some time. If there was any lingering, simmering bitterness, I didn't hear it. While I was allotted about 15 minutes to speak with Francesa, he gave me nearly two hours.

So Mike and the Mad Dog gathered in peace Wednesday night. Musing on stage at Radio City Music Hall, the first true duo on sports radio rolled out the red carpet, on which walked a conga line of stars, from Joe Torre to Tom Coughlin to Jeff Van Gundy, each of whom represented an enchanted time in Big Apple history. All of whom, of course, had spun through the car wash of Mike and the Mad Dog.

Francesa and Russo are like that friendship you've had since grade school. No matter how much physical or spiritual space has grown between you, you can always close that chasm within minutes of seeing each other again. No matter your status or stage of life, there are certain truths to chemistry, whether your bond is business, friendship or romance.

For those expecting fireworks, what you got was Mike and the Mad Dog, which was all they ever offered or guaranteed. Between Francesa's low-key cynicism and Russo's high, hoarse exhortations, they fit like a radio rendition of Magic and Worthy. And, for this sports fan, that was quite enough.

That was part of the magic between them, the simple alchemy between two alpha males who come together for the better of the unit. Whatever that implicit agreement was for 19 years, they lost it. And it may not ever creep back into a studio. But it's obvious they "still have it."

For those who long for a return of Mike and the Mad Dog, who want the electric and eclectic duet to sing on radio for another swath of years, don't hold your breath. Between age and wage, it's often impossible to drift back into time, even figuratively. Like the man said, you can't go home again.

But they did give us 19 years of sports, of fun, and, in most cases, friendship. Whether you sat next to Justin Tuck or watched from the comfort of your couch, there's no denying how important they were or how good they still are. To so many New Yorkers, Mike and the Mad Dog doubled as a cultural baton, passed between dads and kids for almost two decades.

And, for one night, it felt like home again.

Follow Jason on Twitter at @JasonKeidel