Overkill

by Barry Crimmins

Had I met Tim Russert, we'd have talked about sports, upstate New York and maybe some rock concerts we both attended back in the day. Russert seemed an amiable, affable fellow. He was clearly a man who valued being liked. That's why he'd have been as cordial as possible as he fled from me as soon as I changed the subject to Daniel Patrick Moynihan and benign neglect or the police/prison industrial state or the plight of workers everywhere or genuine green activism or the putrid stench of corporatism that permeates the mainstream media and the politicians upon whom journalists are supposed to be reporting.

Tim Russert stayed busy, frenetically directing our attention toward every diversionary flare fired skyward by the murky figures who truly command and control this nation. In a world of amazing stories, all he covered were horse-race politics, scandals du jour and of course, the passing of "national figures." By doing this he showed himself to be worthy of full membership in the Gladhand Social Club that is Washington D.C. When he passed, he was commemorated with the kind of fanfare reserved for the exclusive crowd that sits so close to the action that it can't ever be relied upon for decent perspective.

The media wags that survive Russert are incapable of seeing the absurdity of their overkill of his death. An hour into the maudlin, endless "tribute" to Russert, I found myself relieved that his wife and son were in Italy and beyond viewing range of a shameless parade of electronic narcissists. The surviving talking heads busily inflated their deceased colleague beyond any recognizable proportion. They had more than enough hot air for the task.

As floodwaters rose, wars raged and the economy nose-dived, the MSNBC on-camera wake went on and on and on with nary a mention of the rest of the world. After a few hours, it became rather clear that there wasn't a lot to say about the man except that he was well thought of by friends and co-workers; he enjoyed his life; and he prepared questions that he then asked of the power elite -- who looked upon him as if he were one of them

Again and again we heard about the "likable" Russert. Well excuse me, but I want my journalists to be disliked by at least some people. I want them to be despised by those whose scams they exposed, whose misdeeds they brought to light. As the televised condolences continued, even Dick Cheney spoke well of Tim Russert. It did not color the late TV host in glory.

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