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Who is that idiot on TV raving about the Redskins, and why won’t he shut the hell up? If you have to ask, you are one of the fortunate few who live relatively unsullied by the existence of Washington’s favorite sportscaster. You simply turn the channel and go about your business. But for the rest of us, George Michael holds a perverse fascination, and as much as we try, we can’t look away. We are hypnotized by the sheer odiousness of this ultimate sports whore. While fellow Channel 4 clown Arch Campbell is merely pathetic (his celebrity suck-ups can at least be enjoyed as mild camp), Michael is something sinister, a tannery-faced jackass forever flashing his Riddler’s grin and slinging his cliché-ridden, melodramatic spittle. In the ever more adolescent, ever more bush-league world of pro sports—a Circus Maximus of spoiled dickweeds—Michael is the loudest sideshow barker of all, the commentator as psycho-fan. Awed by everything, he expresses the same foaming-at-the-mouth enthusiasm for a dog show as he does for the Super Bowl. With his rote interview opener (“How did it feel…?”), Michael coddles any local bum who happens to be in the headlines—an ego-stroking, talk-show technique that has snagged him a pile of awards and the adulation of his deluded fans. His syndicated program, The Sports Machine, with its ludicrous pseudo-gadgetry, is a truly sick spectacle, as Michael wince-winks at bone-crunching highlights as if they were mere slapstick. His broadcast crimes over the years are legion, but a few stand out: His shameless “interviews” with former Redskin and convicted felon Dexter Manley, brazen ploys to get an uneducated, drug-addicted, overweight dolt to weep for the cameras. His rah-rah “special” on Juwan Howard, celebrating the hoop star’s college graduation as if he’d just won the Nobel Prize. Or his fluffy tribute to Mickey Mantle, during the Hall of Famer’s controversial wait for a transplant to replace his terminally pickled liver. An emotional George—grin momentarily wiped from his mug—wished the Mick a quick recovery from “kidney” replacement. In a town with an overabundance of sports jones—Redskin fever that sees past any and all mediocrity, Oriole lust any time the team gets hot, and Wizard worship that has nothing to do with what happens on the court—Michael’s relentless bombast is the least pardonable of all jock sins. To hell with the First Amendment—this tiresome fool finally needs to be muzzled.