News

2007 Turkeys of the Year

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K: See, sometimes if it's — Are you calling for a food order?

HP: Yeah.

K: So it's a matter of life and death over a food order?

HP: Well, you know, sometimes you really need that burger.

K: Well, sometimes — I'm going to tell you now, the winter months are coming and if it's cold at night and there's no business, they do close early at times.

HP: Ah, good to know. Thanks!

So remember, people: Whether you're ordering a burger or trying to keep the state from killing a mentally retarded person, if you're dealing with a Keller, keep your eye on the clock!

Sports Turkey of the Year: Dennis Franchione

How can we put this kindly? It takes a lot to be an embarrassment to Texas A&M football.

Aggies are people who aren't bothered by the fact that a fall weekend in College Station feels like it should be filmed by Leni Riefenstahl; that everyone in the world except them thinks they are a ­college-football irrelevancy (an especially whiny, self-delusional irrelevancy); and that they are actually proud to be the campus that is home to the George Bush library.

If you're not embarrassed by any of that, it's tough to get you embarrassed. But Dennis Franchione, the one-time-beloved "Coach Fran," has pulled it off. (If anyone could do it, it would be the classy guy who bailed on players of his former team, Alabama, by telling them by phone that, despite earlier denials, he was leaving.)

It's not the fact that Franchione's only managed a barely .500 record in his five seasons at A&M, with no bowl wins. Or that he's never finished better than third in the six-team Big 12 South.

It's his incredible, jaw-droppingly dumb idea to sell inside information via newsletter to big-bucks boosters.

For $1,200, Franchione kept subscribers up to date on:

1) Player injuries that were not otherwise disclosed. Thus possibly violating federal rules on patient privacy, and thus certainly giving valuable tips to potential gamblers.

2) Recruiting updates. Thus probably violating NCAA rules that forbid a coach from publicly discussing specific recruits.

3) Criticism of his current players. Thus making sure the subscribers knew that any problems with the Aggies' record were the result of the dumb players and not the brilliant Coach Fran.

Who would pay $1,200 for such insights? (Besides, of course, gamblers.)

Part of the answer came in the e-mails A&M released in a document dump meant to quiet the storm. One Dallas lawyer, complaining about Franchione's conduct, began his note by saying, "God, Family, Country and Texas A&M Football. In order, those are the priorities of my life."

About two dozen people paid for the "VIP Newsletter," which was actually ghostwritten by one of Franchione's underlings.

An example of what they received:

"One of the main topics of today's meeting — and this obviously is a totally confidential inside bit of information that Coach was willing to share with you that will not be made public: whether defensive end (redacted name) will be in the 105 (number of players on the roster). He has pushed the envelope on academic requirements, and the coaches have leaned toward making a statement by omitting him from the 105..."

"Pushed the envelope on academic requirements" at A&M? That's some impressive pushing.

Was the newsletter worth it to subscribers? Not according to Lance Zierlein, co-host of the morning show at KGOW-AM.

His Five Reasons Not to Pay for Coach Fran's Newsletter:

5) Do you really want to pay $1,200 for "inside info" from a coach nicknamed Franny?

4) I'll give you some free information: Fran won't win many in November, and the passing game still sucks.

3) It's disjointed and poorly written. Just like Fran's offensive playbook.

2) $1,200 might be better spent on slush funds for cornerbacks and linebackers.

1) You could get the same information — plus some great recipes! — from Kim Franchione's newsletter, for only $600.

Franchione is likely gone within seconds of the final whistle of the season, if not sooner. The Aggies are bowl-eligible, thanks to a cupcake schedule, so he may hang on through the end of whatever crummy bowl A&M goes to. But he's a dead man walking.

At least this time, he won't be telling his players "so long, suckers!" over the phone.

Music Turkey of the Year: Mike Jones

Not since Tommy Tutone sang about 867-5309 has an artist done more for a phone number than Houston rapper Mike Jones.

And then, it seems, done less with his newfound fame.

Jones exploded onto the scene in 2005, endlessly exhorting his fans to call him at "281-330-8004, baby" (don't bother; chances are good it's busy).

And since then he's been hard at work...trying to piss his success away as fast as he can.

Jones has thrown around money on Bentleys and bling, which after all isn't the most unusual thing a newly successful rapper might do. But he's also seen fit to get embroiled in a nasty fight with his first label, SwishaHouse, and that's effectively kept him from taking advantage of his 15 minutes in the sun.

Like a lot of young artists, he thought SwishaHouse was screwing him with his contract. (A musical act getting screwed by a label? That's news.)

There's few things duller than the details of a record-label dispute, so we'll spare you. The bottom line is that the guy who exploded onto the scene might be fizzling away into a dud.

Jones has tried to break out on his own, but he's still hampered by the deal he signed. He's moved to get Rap-A-Lot's muscle behind him, but when was the last time you heard any new Mike Jones stuff on the radio? (If you wanted to, that is.)

Some are not all that sad to see him go.

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