Five years later: Waiting for the 9/11 Saint

Five years since 9/11. Five years since Father Mychal Judge, a Franciscan priest and FDNY chaplain, heard the report on his police and fire scanner and drove forty blocks downtown to be with his men at the World Trade Center and to wind up dead and named as the official first victim of the attack.

Mychal Judge was hailed as a living saint by politicians and Church officials alike— until a few days after his death, when gay activists declared him one of their own, a celibate yet homosexual priest whose life work had little to do with his sexuality other than aiding his ability to extend compassion to those abandoned by friends, family and even the Church they were born into.

In the months following the death of Mychal Judge, the story of his heroic last hours almost began to pale among stories of his life. And a prayer he wrote and passed on to those he met began to spread around the world:

Lord, take me where you want me to go;
Let me meet who you want me to meet;
Tell me what you want me to say
And keep me out of your way.

Thousands of people from very diverse groups were also able to declare Mychal as one of their own. Alcoholics, Irish emigrants, AIDS victims, the homeless, college students, newlyweds, suburban families, survivors of air crash victims, cops, firemen, journos and more told stories of their encounters with the wondrous man in the who’d walk across the Brooklyn Bridge in monk’s robe and sandals one day, and meet with the President the next.

In 2002, an investigation by the Tabloid Baby website led to the creation of Saintmychal.com was initially set up as a resource for documentary research, to gather information and testimony about Mychal’s life (while memories were fresh) and determine if possibly New Yorkers had their own, human, flawed, living saint walking among them.

Saintmychal.com grew beyond all expectations, with ordinary people from across America and around the world writing in to share their experiences with Mychal Judge. More than several claimed that he had performed actual miracles for them.

The evidence was there for the taking. The New York Times, USA Today and other organizations took our work and backed it up in front page stories. (Read some of the amazing articles here.)

The Roman Catholic Chuch, with hits hands full with paedophile priest payouts, ignored the obvious. As they rushed the canonization of Mother Teresa and a peasant named Juan Diego who may not have existed all, they wouldn’t touch Mychal with a ten-foot pole.

The five-year waiting period for consideration passes sometime Monday morning, so Mychal’s order is free to open the door to a canonization investigation.

Don’t count on it. But the Franciscans and their superiors in Rome should have second thoughts knowing members of their own flock say it doesn’t matter, that Mychal is already a “People’s Saint,” too good for the church that he dedicated and gave his life to.

Meanwhile, a new documentary movie about Mychal Judge is in some theatres this week. Saint of 9/11 follows the excellent British CTVC documentary, Victim 0001. It's made by some of those same gay activists and narrated by gay actor Ian McKellen. That’s fine. They, as many, claim him as their own. But don’t let the pedigree ghettoize Mychal or lead you to believe that a “people’s saint” is anything but second class.

Saint of 9/11 is bound to be a worthy documentary, the Basketball Man of hagiography. There are many more sides to Mychal Judge, and many more Mychal documentaries to come.

WTC photo by Shannon Stapleton; portraits by Michael Goldman

Storm Large takes her body home

From her name on down, she was one big walking contradiction: a whitebread beauty whose body was covered in extravagant tattoos, a down-and-dirty rock singer who performed like a castmember from Cats, a performer who won over the crowd with crunching rockers but insisted on boring them with ballads, an apparently troubled daddy's girl who acted like a suburban poseur, and a six foot tall behemoth whose name actually was Storm Large.

Portland chanteuse Storm was finally kicked off Rock Star: Supernova last night. We can't say she didn't deserve it, because she wasn't cut out for the job and was a more annoying screen presence than Mike Boogie and the Survivor creeps.

But Storm did add a big dose of sex to a show that was unmemorable for its soccer mom, haggard lesbian and chin-pierced troll contestants, and she took one for the team, allowing CBS to censor her website (currently "suspended," either for too much traffic or unpaid bills) and then leading millions of viewers to search for the reason why when she urged Tommy Lee on camera to Google her name in search of naked photos, helping boost the ratings and probably keeping her on the show a few weeks longer than she was fated.

In tribute, we lead you to some naked Storm links here, here, and here, so you can study the tattoos as Storm begins her new life as a reality television castoff-- which can be a pretty lucrative afterlife.

(Rock Star: Supernova has turned out to be the best TV series of the summer -- only because it turned out to be more consistent than Rescue Me-- and as it wraps up next week, our money is still on Baby Brando to win. Though the Aussie karaoke guy might pull it off despite last night's better-never-than-late song dedication to "the Crocodile Hunter.")

Sex sells on the new CBS Evening News after all

Wow. CBS pulled a fast one.

They introduce Katie Couric on the CBS Evening News, all made up and airbrushed and botoxed to the edge, yet they squeeze her into a little short white turkey jacket that only accentuates her middle aged plumpness, and then they lead off the show, not with news, but a long 60 Minutesish piece starring the network’s resident sexpot.

The star of last night's much-watched broadcast wasn't Katie at all, but the former swimsuit (or was it underwear?) model and Steve Irwinesque daredevil, Lara Logan (known affectionately in the British tabloids, thanks to her past, as Lara “34D” Logan).

It’s a clever reversal.

Many of us expected that Katie would banish all those sexy young chiquitas who surrounded Bob Schieffer in his Charlie’s Angels guise. Or that she'd try to play the older, experienced, news veteran vamp.

But, damn the Slimfast and photoshopping, they plopped her up high on the chair like they had to do on the Today show and hit us straight on with the sexiest of them all. It sure countered the impression that show biz Katie was hired for sex appeal.

Unfortunately, the juxtaposition doesn't add to Katie's gravitas.

And the Baby Boomer references are cloying as only CBS can be-- sort of like the first season of Big Brother. It’s comfort food and kitsch to have Walter Cronkite do the opening, but the Ron Burgundy & Mary Tyler Moore bits are morning show stuff.

(Our staff is searching for those modelling shots.

Contact us here if you have a lead!)

David Hull makes his debut with Aerosmith

Tabloid Baby’s old friend, 60s and 70s rock star David Hull, had his TV movie moment last night when he made his debut onstage as the bassist for Aerosmith.

Dave, whose rock star days seemed but a memory a few weeks ago, finds himself dusting off his leather pants, teasing up his hair and fixing his makeup at an age when he should be having his prostate checked. His good fortune comes at the expense of his friend, Aerosmith’s longtime bassman Tom Hamilton, who's sidelined with throat cancer. But that’s how these things happen.

And the story’s just beginning.

Here’s the first photo (above) from the Germain, Amphitheater (that’s Dave, second from the left), from Steve Mitchell, and review, from Aaron Beck of the Columbus Dispatch, as Dave and the boys kicked off their Route of All Evil tour with Motley Crue:

Aerosmith fired on all cylinders, delivering reinvigorated '70s chestnuts (Sweet Emotion; Draw the Line; Mama Kin; Walk This Way; Dream On) and enlivened its post-drugs and drink/MTV-friendly fare (Rag Doll; Cryin'; F.I.N.E.).

As for Steven Tyler, still the main face of Aerosmith, he sounded strong all night even if his pants these days might do well with some pleats. The 58-year-old, whose throat ailment derailed his band's tour in February, was his former self, though, scatting his banshee scat, blowing a bit of harmonica and, in general, singing with force and projection.

Still, it was Perry, channeling Jimmy Page, Keith Richards and Peter Green (literally when he sang and played Fleetwood Mac's Stop Messin' Around) between multiple wardrobe and six-string changes, who commanded the most attention.

The guitarist, dedicating Stop Messin' Around to bassist Tom Hamilton, who is recovering from throat cancer treatment, raced all night about a stage accentuated with the occasional laser light show. Perry was all over the place, shoulder-length locks blowing in the wind, his head toward heaven and eyes closed during many a Les Paul solo.

During Sweet Emotion the guy even managed a Theremin solo. Talk about fun, a Theremin manipulated by a shirtless dude in leather pants center stage, a fellow born in 1950? That's some top-drawer Tuesday-night fun.

The operative phrase here is fired on all cylinders. Aerosmith is a rock 'n' roll machine, and the bass is crucial to keep it running without a hitch. David Hull is supposed to be on the road with the band for the next six weeks or so, until Hamilton is well enough to rejoin his mates (if he’s well enough, we must add, regretfully but realistically). Dave should be looking a lot more like his old-time rock star self by then.

What a great story. Check in here for updates.

Katie Couric kicks off with a big lie

"Out of curiosity, I did a little 'Googling' for the word 'blog.' And one of the first entries that popped up was a guy by the name of Henry Blogg … Reading his story reminded me of some wisdom that was passed on to me when I was deciding whether or not I should come to CBS…. A good friend told me: 'Katie, a boat is always safe in the harbor. But it’s not what it was built for..."

Katie Couric hasn’t even plopped her photoshopped rump into the big seat yet, and already she’s being dishonest with her audience. Hours before her debut on the CBS Evening News, CBS has launched a “blog” (just like NBC’s Brian Williams), purportedly written by Couric herself.

But a quick scan makes it obvious that, despite the use of the first person on the posting, the multi-million dollar diva, on the eve of her big moment, has not taken time to google the word "blog" or type out this crap:

Today we begin “Couric & Co.” Welcome! I’m glad you found us. Pull up a chair and stay a while. There’s a lot going on in the world, and we have a lot to talk about…

“In the little village that is CBS News, you might consider “Couric & Co” the coffee house on the corner, where something is always brewing...

I can’t be here all day, every day, so some visitors will be dropping by – the “company” of “Couric & Co.”…

A footnote: out of curiosity, I did a little “Googling” for the word “blog.” And one of the first entries that popped up was a guy by the name of Henry Blogg . He lived long before the age of the internet. But his story is quite remarkable. He was apparently an accomplished sailor – a legendary lifeboatman, to be exact – who weathered fierce storms while doing his job, rowing out to sea. It took guts – and some muscle – to venture out into the unknown like that.

Reading his story reminded me of some wisdom that was passed on to me when I was deciding whether or not I should come to CBS. I was anxious about making a career change. But a good friend told me: “Katie, a boat is always safe in the harbor. But it’s not what it was built for”…

Like Henry Blogg, this blog is shoving off from the harbor, and heading out to a mysterious and uncharted sea… Hopefully, we won't all end up like Gilligan...

Do you believe Katie Couric wrote that? Do you believe a good friend convinced her with a boat metaphor? If you do, I have some photocopies of old National Guard documents you can rush to air.

This is the equivalent of Dan Rather’s New York Times Op Ed pieces being written by his producer. It’s dishonest. And how can we as an audience be expected to trust anything out of this woman's mouth if she's BS-ing us out of the gate?

By the way, Gilligan lasted three seasons. Katie should be so lucky.

Memories of Steve Irwin

Aw, give us a break! He always made us laugh, and finally everyone's given him a pass on the baby incident!

...a tip of the Tabloid Baby hat to Sam, who found the pix-- and thought the shark photo was real (hey, they are fakes, aren't they?)...

Crikey! Reality Television gets its own Diana

"It wasn't the stingray. It was television killed the Crocodile Hunter."

The shock last night and this morning over the death of the Crocodile Hunter is a little disingenuous, isn't it? Sure, we all got a kick out of the bloke, but you can't deny he was asking for it, tempting fate by intruding on the habitat of wild animals and dangerous creatures for years. Goaded by the TV camera, he went closer and closer to the edge, and eventually it was bound to come back and bite him on the ass.

Unfortunately, it stabbed him through the chest and pierced his heart.

But we're shocked, because people aren’t supposed to die on reality television. Especially not a reality television star. Not even one as controversial as Steve Irwin.

Though the floral arrangements are being dropped off at the ticket booths to his amusement park zoo in Queensland the same way tributes were stacked outside the gates Buckingham Palace for Princess Diana, Steve Irwin was not as beloved in his native Australia as he was here in America or in Europe.

Michael Idato writes in today’s Sydney Morning Herald:

To millions of television viewers in Europe, Britain and the US, Steve Irwin-- the buffoonish, khaki-clad loudmouth who made both a hobby and a higher calling out of wrestling with crocodiles-- embodied what it meant to be Australian.

Much like Paul Hogan, who served as a cultural ambassador, and Crocodile Dundee a decade before him, Irwin's cartoonish screen persona, with his bulging eyes and enthusiastic chatter, was laughable, laudable and lovable. Not to mention immensely popular…

And yet Irwin's international success sits in uneasy contrast to his popularity in Australia. Here he was, at best, a jolly Queensland curiosity whose second wind was fuelled by a mild, pantomime-ish send-up on Nine's The Footy Show. At worst, he was an ocker-sounding self-parody who infamously held his son, Bob, in one arm, while he fed a crocodile with the other…

In Australia, Steve Irwin was viewed as a powerbroker who hobnobbed with politicians, and whose wildlife decisions and campaigns caused great consternation among conservationists and animal activists— from turning his parents' zoo into a Down Under Wally World, to bothering penguins, seals and humpback whales in the name of entertainment.

Steve Irwin was a larger-than-life TV personality, and he turned his schtick into a pretty good movie, but he was a guy who tromped around swamps and swam around bays with camera crews, intruding on the habitat of creatures who were not meant to have exposure to man-- especially a khaki-clad screamer who used these creatures for entertainment as much as education.

But it wasn’t really the animals the TV audiences cared about. It was Steve Irwin. He did things on camera that people weren’t supposed to do--and lived. Until he died-- on camera.

People aren’t supposed to die on reality television, not even people who hold their infants within chomping distance of a hungry crocodile (and remember, it was that child-endangering incident that caused networks and viewers around the world to shake their heads and keep their distance).

Yet, look back and recall that Princess Diana had slipped from the good lists before she wound up shockingly dead and was quickly elevated and canonized.

For better or worse, Steve Irwin is our Diana.

For all of us who've worked in reality television… Steve Irwin died for our sins.

Great moments in editorial cartooning...

...with a tip of the Tabloid Baby hat to Our Man Elli in Israel...

The Katie Couric Countdown:
Only one finger to liftoff!

David Hull's Rock Star Supernova

It’s funny to think that just a few months earlier, I was praying for another chance like Steven Tyler of Aerosmith, who made a wad of money, blew it all, and was allowed another go. Now my chance was right in front of me...
--Tabloid Baby, Chapter 25

...Tom Hamilton won’t be with his brothers until mid October. David Hull, a longtime friend of the band who played in the Joe Perry Project, will fill in as bassist.
--Aerosmith.com

Growing up in the Sixties and Seventies, we all wanted to be rock ‘n’ roll stars, and David Hull was the first rock ‘n’ roll star we got to know up close. We were in Connecticut, heading into high school, and he was the cousin of our best friend. David Hull was a few years older than us, a skinny, long-haired, velvet-wearing bass player in rock ‘n’ roll bands at a time when rock ‘n’ roll was important, when Jimi Hendrix was alive, the Beatles were still together and Steven Tyler was singing in local cover bands.

In 1969, David Hull and his guitar-slinging bandmate Charlie Karp entered local rock mythology when they joined The Buddy Miles Express in time to play on the Them Changes album. Buddy was a big fat drummer with a big Afro and a psychedelic red white and blue drum kit who'd been in the Electric Flag and played in Band of Gypsies with Hendrix. Timing being everything, David and Charlie got to know Hendrix-- and play at his funeral. After a couple of years, they left Buddy Miles, made an album with Arthur Lee, and returned to Connecticut with a funk trio called White Chocolate and a contract with RCA Records.

One thing: David Hull was a great rock 'n' roll (and funk) bass player. In high school, he gave us bass guitar lessons, teaching us patterns and names like James Jamerson and Willie Weeks. He had extra cachet because he was friends with the guys in Aerosmith, whose first two albums were essential to every Connecticut kid, and legend was that he and Charlie had recorded with Tyler and that he’d almost joined their band.

That was more than thirty years ago.

Around the time punk was breaking, White Chocolate became The Angels with Dirty Faces, which became the Dirty Angels which were the best bar band of the Seventies— real rock stars in beachside clubs, opening with the Beach Boys' Marcella, blasting in with originals.

They had the chops. They had the attitude. They had rock ‘n’ roll model girlfriends and even had a shot at the big time when they recorded an album for Private Stock at the same time Blondie was laying down their first LP for the same label across the hall. Bruce Springsteen told Creem magazine that their record Tell Me was his favorite song on the radio. But this was the record business. They made their next album with Ted Nugent’s producer— and included new versions of songs from their first album. The Dirty Angels opened for Aerosmith, but eventually broke up.

Around that time, Joe Perry left Aerosmith and started The Joe Perry Project. David Hull joined as bass player.

This was 1980. The gig lasted probably a year and a half.

Joe Perry would get back with Aerosmith for an even greater ride. And that was the last we‘d heard of David Hull, until about a year ago when we looked him up on the Internet. In an interview on an Aerosmith tribute site, he confirmed the legends we’d grown up with:

”I'm from southern Connecticut and I think Steven Tyler was from Yonkers. When I was a kid I used to see him playing around the circuit there. His band would play in high school gyms. I saw him once open up for Sly Stone I think, he had this band called The Chain Reaction and for part of the time he played drums in it. So I just knew him. I was playing with Buddy Miles. Buddy moved to Boston, I started living in Boston and met Steven … Charlie Karp and I were going to start a band with Steven and we actually got together and recorded… Steven wrote the lyrics and sang on it… but then Charlie Karp and I left town with Buddy Miles and went on the road. By the time we got done with that Aerosmith was already under way…”

David Hull had settled in Boston. His story got a little sad in the Eighties as he played with a number of fashionable bands—even changing his name and dressing up for one of them. More recently, he was playing bass for a singer named Pete Droge and recorded with local blues hero James Montgomery.

And, apparently, he stayed friends with the guys in Aerosmith.

Last week, we read that Aerosmith’s bass player, Tom Hamilton, is being treated for throat cancer and would miss the beginning of the band’s Fall tour. And then Aerosmith’s management put out a press release:

David Hull, a longtime friend of the band who played in the Joe Perry Project, will fill in as bassist.

The tour is set to launch Tuesday in Columbus, Ohio.

Aerosmith.com reports: “David Hull has been in the studio everyday going over a countless number of songs with (drummer) Joey and David usually got into the studio 2 hours before the rest of the guys to get into a groove.”

So David Hull gets another shot at the big game, 25 years later. Tom Hamilton’s recovery will determine whether he'll be more than a footnote in Aerosmith history, but at a time when we're digging our rock stars 50 years and older, his second, or third, or fourth act couldn't have come at a better time.

Once a rock star, always a rock star.


(The Hulls were a musical family. Dave’s grandmother was our freshman music teacher and his dad was a jazz musician who’d gone the Louis Prima route with a Vegas lounge act. Every year, Gene Hull would bring his group and his gorgeous girl singer to play in our high school gym. Today, one of our researchers discovered that daddy Gene Hull recently wrote his own Tabloid Baby! Hooked on a Horn: Memoirs of A Recovered Musician was published last November. It looks like a great read. We’re ordering it from Amazon, and will have a review soon.

CBS Sports' US Open Sore

A Tabloid Baby contributor weighs in on last night in televised sports:

I'm watching the late-night US Open Tennis Roundup. The respectable Patrick McEnroe (Davis Cup captain and brother of John, who was once married to Tatum O'Neal and confessed to coke and miscreant behavior before becoming the darling of tennis media commentators) is host.

Now forget Andre Agassi's amazing tennis and history and the brilliance of Roger Federer, the greatest tennis player who ever lived...

Forget all that, because in the midst of all this, Patrick McEnroe's co-host of CBS's late-night roundup, is...

Pat O'Brien!!! (See Pat O'Brien links.)

When are they gonna start drug testing the sports guys who keep insisting on drug testing??? Tennis is a pure and beautiful sport and TV nets that cover it should have to do a urine test to prove that they don’t have any Pat O'Brien in their system.

Thanks, Tabloid Baby contributor. A tip of the Tabloid Baby hat to you.

But the question remains. How did Pat O’Brien make it back to CBS Sports, after flushing away his credibility with years of shilling as host of infotainment shows like Access Hollywood and The Insider and then weathering a humiliating phone sex, swinging, booze and drug scandal, rehab and a prime time (CBS!) spanking by Dr. Phil?

O’Brien tells the Boston Globe it was Sean McManus, president of CBS Sports-- and, as of last October, president of CBS News:

"When I left (CBS Sports in the 1990s) , Sean McManus, who was just taking over as head of CBS Sports, said, `We're both young men, we'll work together again,' and sure enough, here we are."

McManus, now president of CBS News and Sports, said it made sense to have O'Brien host the late-night show that features entertainment as much as it does tennis; the Gin Blossoms performed the other night.

"We try to make it fun, and thought Pat's had a pretty high profile in sports and thought we might add some different flavor, and so far it's worked out really well," McManus said.

O'Brien, 58, said he has no problem going from entertainment to sports ``because there's no line anymore between the two. Sports stars are entertainers, and entertainers want to be in sports."

On the news side, of course, McManus’ latest hire is Katie Couric.

Starting to see the connections? Infotainment? CBS Sports? CBS News? The Insider? The CBS Evening News? The Gin Blossoms? Phone sex? Pat O’Brien? Katie Couric?

(A final note: As Pat’s high times get even higher, we’re sad to see that his galpal Betsy no longer has a travelogue blog…)


The Katie Couric Countdown:
Three fingers to liftoff!

Don't forget the Jerry Lewis Telethon

The 2006 Jerry Lewis Labor Day Telethon begins on Sunday evening. It's the 41st. It's back in Las Vegas. Sort of.

You can donate here. Give 'til it hurts.


From Tabloid Baby:

...The next day I had a message from Jerry Lewis. I'd written him a letter, asking permission to shoot behind the scenes at his Muscular Dystrophy Telethon. Jerry had called me back.

Jerry Lewis was my show business hero. His telethons were, to me, the ultimate in reality television, edge-of-your-seat psychodramas from an alternative show business universe where time stopped in the Sixties and only Frank Sinatra was a bigger star than Jerry himself.

I had dozens of VHS tapes at home filled with complete 21-hour telethons from years of Labor Day weekends. Two years earlier, when my friend Kiki worked as an assistant director for the telethon from Caesars Palace in Las Vegas, I volunteered as a production assistant just so I could stay awake the entire time and hang with Jerry and Sammy and the gang.

One of the producers had assigned my first task the moment I arrived in the production trailer: fix the show rundowns that were distributed to all studio personnel. Someone had typed "Muscular Dystrophy Telethon" at the top of the sheets. Jerry had passed through the office, noticed the misprint and demanded it be corrected on every page. It was my job to white out the words "Muscular Dystrophy" and type in "Jerry Lewis." This wasn't the Muscular Dystrophy Telethon, it was the Jerry Lewis Telethon. I was in fucking heaven...

Couric: From Fun to Nun

Are they serious with this? Leave it to CBS News to pay all that money for Katie Couric and then dress her up like Sister Bertrille.

This is old Bob Schieffer in his last night on Dan Rather's set, after an eighteen-month Viagra high with the CBS Newsbabes, turning the show over to one of the nuns from our Vatican II schooldays. This is their idea of making Katie Couric acceptably "serious" to read the Teleprompter for the Depends and Metamucil set? She's going up against Brian Williams, for Chrissakes!

Les. Are you watching this? Dude, drop the bomb. These people are wacked.

Then again, maybe they figure that black is slimming.

Let us pray... that old Bob isn't covering up what we think he's covering up...

The Katie Couric Countdown:
Five fingers to liftoff!


(Just how wacked is CBS News? Read the introduction to Tabloid Baby, the book that CBS veteran Paula Zahn told us "got it exactly right.")

UPDATE: Ray Richmond of The Hollywood Reporter, the dean of entertainment-- and entertaining-- commentary, weighs in with his usual brilliant perspective at Past Deadline.

From Juwanna Mann to Basketball Man!

We told you about the tremendous buzz surrounding the new sports documentary feature, Basketball Man. The buzz is only intensifying with word that a top comedian and movie star will star at the premiere party in Las Vegas.

We can tell you that Tommy Davidson will host the film preview September 27th at the House of Blues in the Mandalay Bay Resort & Casino.

“Tommy Davidson is the man!” enthuses executive producer Keith Zimmerman of Double Dog Sports & Entertainment. “He’s a dynamite performer. And he knows the game. Basketball Man might be the best sports documentary ever made. Tommy will make it the best premiere Vegas has ever seen!”

You might remember that Davidson leapt to fame-- along with Jim Carrey, Jamie Foxx and various Wayanses-- from the cast of TV’s In Living Color (we've always dug his Sammy Davis, Jr. impression). But the Basketball Man websites note a couple of impressive basketball connections. Davidson was the comic who came to the aid of Magic Johnson when the hoops legend was flailing with late night talk show. He was also a star of Juwanna Mann, the outrageous cross-dressing hoopsploitation comedy flick that has to be the Cloud 9 of hoops movies! (And you can quote us!)

Basketball Man is the first documentary to tell the story of the life and legacy of basketball’s inventor, Dr. James Naismith. Much of the story through his grandson, Ian, a tough-talking Texan who carries the original typed rules of the game in a golden attaché case.

The film, with its mix of archival footage, surprising revelations and a dramatic story line centered on Ian Naismith, has already led to Oscar whispers. Especially around here.

The doco features many basketball stars, including Steve Nash, Michael Jordan, Bob Cousy, Oscar Robertson, John Wooden, Red Auerbach and NBA commissioner David Stern.

Many of them will be at the premiere, which is a benefit for the Naismith International Basketball Foundation and other charities.

Basketball Man is a Double Dog Sports & Entertainment presentation of a Frozen Pictures production. It’s headed to a special DVD release after a planned brief theatrical run.

Prosecutors drop McDermott probe-- but we won't!

Federal prosecutors have dropped their investigation into the disappearance of Olivia Newton-John's alleged boyfriend of nine years, Patrick McDermott.

But investigations by the US Coast Guard and the Tabloid Baby team remain open. And McDermott is believed to remain on the run.

Six months after Tabloid Baby revealed evidence that McDermott faked his own death and was in Mexico, prosecutors have failed to turn up any clues into his disappearance on an overnight fishing trip off the coast of California last year. The US Attorney's office had been investigating the crew and owners of the fishing boat Freedom over the disappearance, but failed to find any evidence they were responsible.

The case rose to the surface in June, when Australian reporter Nick Papps followed Tabloid Baby's lead and found more evidence that McDermott was alive and seen in an around the town of Todos Santos on the Baja peninsula.

The chase was muddied when the celebutainment show Extra jumped on the bandwagon and promised to perform DNA tests on a possible McDermott its investigator had discovered in the region. After the show and its ancillary website Tmz.com generated worldwide publicity for the find and tests, it was revealed that the hat had actually been handed to Extra by a local reporter in Todos Santos-- and that Extra had returned the hat-- untested and contaminated. The cruel and cynical ratings ploy led some to speculate that the Warner Bros. show was involved in the coverup of McDermott's disappearance.

Prosecutors had been using a grand jury to quiz crew members of the Freedom over a galley tab that showed McDermott's food and drink bill had been paid just hours before the Freedom came to shore in San Pedro. The investigators had been trying to determine whether McDermott had paid the bill himself or someone had paid it to cover up his disappearance.

The prosecutor's letter noted it "may reopen this investigation at any time should it receive additional pertinent evidence relating to this matter," but for now, the owners of the Freedom sportfishing boat are very relieved to be off the hook. Just two days ago, Tabloid Baby received an email inviting us on a September fishing expedition in the same area where McDermott had last fished.

When McDermott disappeared, he was in debt and facing possible jail time over unpaid child support.

Again, the case remains open here.