By Richard Carrier
Contributing Writer

The older one gets the more one clings to the security of a routine: out of bed at 6 a.m., pour the first cup of coffee, 15 minutes of local news and weather (channel 12), kiss the wife goodbye as she heads out to the corporate world, then a mood-softening 30 minutes of Robin Mead and HLN (pour second cup of coffee during commercial) and one round of ESPN – normally 30 minutes but up to an hour on big sports days – while drinking the third and final cup of coffee and downing a large bowl of bran flakes with a half cup of skim milk and five Sweet ‘N Low packets.

I don’t even vary that routine over the weekend, it’s just facilitated by a slightly different cast of characters. I do have to be a bit more disciplined on weekends as wife is pushing to get me outside and into an accumulated list of projects, but I have been a rock ... until the past ten days, that is.

I’ve given up ESPN, both morning and evening, and feel that denial will probably go on for at least another week as the overwhelming coverage of one individual, who is really no more than a glorified entertainer, slowly subsides.

My stomach first began a slow turn when I saw that the heart or, at minimum, the morale of at least one major city and the interest of the entire country was being subverted by the carefully orchestrated career move of one individual. And this individual was not as the Chairman of the Board of an international consortium, nor a shaper of world policies and politics or a spiritual leader, but a 25 year-old kid who gets over paid to entertain us.

I had the option not to buy into the hype nor to have the propaganda as a part of my daily routine and, as my nausea increased, I exercised that option and tried to “keep it real,” as the younger generations profess.

But without totally tuning out the world (and this is the saddest part) I was not able to escape the influence of this one kid. Speculation on his future seeped into every form of communication.

My Total Disgust Meter burst when he announced a prime-time, hour-long television special as the forum chosen to share with the masses what should have been no more than a four-word sentence, “I’m going to ________.”

An unusual bumper crop of equally talented “free agent” entertainers had individually done pretty much that, with brief press releases or short press conferences. One of the most promising talents had actually announced his new maximum contract on his Twitter account, no press conference at all. But this ego-driven prima donna found it necessary to command a full hour of prime TV time – disguised as a benefit for the Boys and Girls Club – to give us the same information.

I wrote this prior to Thursday night and swore I would not watch the “Decision” but of course, I did. However, the second the words “South Beach” came out of his mouth, I immediately switched over to National Geographic and a far more meaningful piece on the endangered 800-pound Amur Tigers of Eastern Russia.

Until this morning, I had no idea what the final 50 minutes of that “Decision Special” were used to justify.

I caught some of a post-decision interview between the subject and Mike Wilbon. His (the subject’s) opening comments were, “First of all, I know people look up to me and I know what I’ve done for the City of Cleveland, the area, the franchise and all my teammates …” With my eyes closed, and had the voice been a bit higher, I would easily have been able to identify the speaker as Allen the “I” for Iverson, another master of self-aggrandizement.