Keith Olbermann (2:22)

Countdown with Keith Olbermann is a production of iHeartRadio. We must financially destroy Jeff Bezos we and that includes the Democratic Party, must Bankrupt Jeff Bezos. I don't mean to bring him any physical or personal harm. I just want his $240 billion to go away. I want him to be living in a one bedroom apartment somewhere in a non fashionable part of a non fashionable town, hopefully in a different country. Jeff Bezos is one of the true villains of this era, one of the evildoers of the 21st century, because at the initial stages of what we have seen in the destruction of this country by Donald Trump since 2015, in the initial stages, Jeff Bezos was on the right side. When they went to Jeff Bezos and said, we know you're having an affair with this sportscaster, Lauren Sanchez. We know you're having an affair with her. We're going to expose it. Unless you take this Washington Post that you just bought and turn it in the direction of Donald Trump, we are going to expose this and your wife is going to divorce you. And instead of doing that, Jeff Bezos initially and for a period of about six years maintained this position. He said, screw you guys. If I'm going to give up half of my money to anybody, it's going to be to my wife. She certainly earned it. No matter how you judge what I did, there's no reason why I should be giving you the money or trying to keep it for myself when I certainly can handle it having the $200 billion that I do. So he told them to shove the Trumpist blackmail up their asses and it basically put the Trump blackmail machine out of business for time. Something has happened in the last year and a half and now we have reached the climax where in essence yesterday Jeff Bezos took the Washington Post. Not a vital to the continuation of the nation publication, but an important aspect of our media firmament took it and essentially took it offline and said, we're going to continue to publish anyway, but you're probably not going to see anything on here except AI slop and an occasional feature about Melania Trump. This is, after all, Jeff Bezos, who shut down the Washington Post's foreign desk, in essence yesterday, certainly its Middle east desk, its Ukraine desk, the entirety of its sports department. The damage to the foreign correspondence was such that the foreign editor asked to be fired along with his staff. He jumped onto the funeral pyre with them. That's how bad it was. The Washington Post, for all intents and purposes, no longer exists because Jeff Bezos decided to save. Who knows how much he saved yesterday, how much the estimates will be, but it's probably not going to be more than the $75 million he let them shove up his ass for the Melania movie, the Amazon biopic, or as it's also been referred to, the horror film about Melania Trump, Lauren Sanchez's sister in plastics, somebody else who looks like they were obtained by a mail order on discount day@anastasia.com $75 million, all told, between the production, the fee they paid Melania for standing still so she wouldn't look blurry and saying something that may or may not have been words, certainly may or may not have been English. And they made a movie out of it, and now they're pretending she's a movie star. Because Trump wants his wife to be a movie star. Or perhaps it is in his contract with her, she has to be a movie star. So the Washington Post, which originally was Jeff Bezos, saying, no, I am not going to fold, we will be the leading critic of Donald Trump's presidency. We will fight back, we will find this market, we will take it, and we will vault the Washington Post, damaged as it has been for the preceding 10 or 20 years of pretty mediocre management, and we will take the Washington Post and we will vault it back into competition with the New York Times and the Wall Street Journal and the other national organizations. And it all worked. The resistance turned out to be profitable. The Washington Post was back on its feet. And if not printing money, it certainly was printing enough money. And then last year, when it came time to make the obvious endorsement, are you going to endorse Donald Trump for president of the United States or human being? When they wrote the one favoring the human being, whoever it was, doesn't matter in retrospect, it was not Donald Trump. That's right. That's the way you should have voted last year, folks. When it came time to do that, Jeff Bezos had that editorial endorsing Kamala Harris killed, and that was the beginning of the end. And the end result, if it were not financially ordained in advance that day, it certainly was hastened. And we are at the point that we reached yesterday. Washington Post is essentially out of business. This is not the most important story. I will explain to you why I am ranting about the Washington Post in a few minutes, but I'm not finished ranting yet. Any problems with the Washington Post owe directly to Jeff Bezos. Cowardice. I don't know that there was any blackmail attempt. I don't know past some point when you have a lot of money, when you have more money than you could possibly need, whether or not you get to this total moral blankness inside you in which nothing matters except having more money. I don't know if having somebody like Lauren Sanchez, and I thankfully only knew her a little while. I knew enough about her to know what she is and what kind of demands she made and the things that she used to do to cameramen and to athletes, demanding, demanding unbelievable goals, unbelievable desires. Maybe that's part of it, and maybe she has nothing to do with it. Maybe I am throwing her under the bus for no reason. Maybe she said to him, don't do this, Jeff. If so, I apologize in advance. I don't think that's the case. And I'm straying from the main point here. The Wall Street Journal and the New York Times are burgeoning. And the New York Times, by the way, when it decided that it was going to have to be out there by itself, it backed off. I think we have discussed this many, many times. The New York Times is a shade of itself in terms of its criticism of Trump from 10 years ago. It has decided to move into a, if not the right hand lane. It certainly has moved into the middle lane. And we can't ever say Wall Street Journal is some sort of anti Trump publication, but they are making money hand over fist. And the Post had a formula that was on its way to doing exactly that. And Jeff Bezos threw it away because the Washington Post was a vanity project for him and he got a little annoyed by it. This reminds me of the man who was the chairman of ge, who decided one day to take MSNBC off the air because the paltry 200 million a year we were profiting for him just wasn't worth the trouble of taking a phone call from his mother. The Bill O'Reilly fan who used to yell at him for things that Bill O'Reilly said that he, the chairman of GE, had done, and this was not worth it. He did not like being bothered by Fox, and so he was going to take MSNBC and just close it, pay us all off, fire it. Fire everybody there, sell the equipment, turn it into a cartoon channel. God knows what. This is what Jeff Bezos has just done. I suspect, ultimately, if you carved Jeff Bezos open and found out what really has driven this, and the Courtship of Melania and DONALD Effing Trump. $75 million for a movie that is about, what, 90 minutes long and it's 89 minutes too long. Whatever caused that and whatever led to that is a description of our society right now. The point at which you say it is too much trouble for me to fight for what is right. So I'm just going to go with those people who are cor. Who are enemies of freedom, who are enemies of American society, who are unraveling everything that Jeff Bezos parents fought for, everything that my parents fought for and yours and my grandfather's out there on picket lines when the response to the picket lines was for the cops to come over and maybe shoot you while you were on the picket line. This is the world that Jeff Bezos and Elon Musk and Donald Trump want. We've already seen people being shot in the street for being human beings. We've already seen someone, a 67 year old man, write for mercy to the possible expulsion of someone by ICE and have authority show up at his door to ask him about his email, to get his side of the story, to intimidate this man because he had the nerve to write, to suggest that maybe this man deserved to stay here no matter what the laws said or what the new laws said. We are reenacting everything from Germany in the 1930s. I'm not sure. Sometimes I think we're already at about 1938. Sometimes it seems more like we're at about 1934. But we're somewhere in there. And we all know how this ends and all of us who said this is where we were going to go were right. We welcome the rest of you who are understanding this now. And we say this, I say this with absolutely no snark involved. It's tough to recognize that this is what the plan was all along or this is how it has evolved. But it is important, it is imperative, it is your life that you understand that has happened. What does this have to do with the Washington Post? This country cannot be allowed to go back to where Jeff Bezos and Musk and Trump are taking it. Make America 1885 again. Shoot protesters on the street. Do this. Mehmet Oz Jazz oh, let's get you out there in the workforce earlier. Maybe people should be working at 7:17 and working till 66. Imagine how much more money that will pump into the economy. Mehmet Oz, a quack doctor is telling us about how people should work longer because it will benefit. Mehmet Oz. Because when conservatives and people in this fraudulent, dictatorial government discuss the subject of money. When they say the economy, they mean they're extraordinary. House. Democrats thus need to commit today to the financial destruction of Jeff Bezos. It will be easier to make an example of him because he's not tight with Trump. Trump doesn't like him. Trump has accepted him. Trump doesn't like him. We need to position Jeff Bezos in such a way that he has no corner to go and hide in. This country cannot be run by Jeff Bezos, Elon Musk after Donald Trump is gone. It cannot be. There are more of us than there are of them. They have the money, they have the superstructure. But there is one thing that will continue to be true. They're all actually pretty damn stupid at these things. And when things don't go to plan, they don't know what to do. Jeff Bezos could have managed to keep the Washington Post roughly what it has been, or roughly what it had been from, say, 2016 to 2022. He could have kept it that way and still gone and rubbed Donald Trump's proverbial metaphorical penis with a Melania movie for $75 million and not even broken any of the bills in his wallet by doing so. He could have done them both, but he's just not smart enough to have seen the big picture, which is that you are going to off a lot of people who are going to have the last remaining weapon they have available to them, which is to not work for you. Voting. I hope we still have voting. I don't think they're going to be able to completely shut down the elections, but I do know that they can be leveled by a simple general strike. Will we ever get to that point in this country? Will we get to a tax strike? Will any of that ever occur? I don't know. I do know that Jeff Bezos is close to making it happen right now because this has happened in industry after industry that are far less full of people who know how to write and express themselves than the newspaper industry and the Washington Post. But every Democratic would be presidential candidate, and every Democratic would be Senator, and every Democratic would be representative and every would be Democratic governor needs to commit to using the anti monopolistic practices that are in the law still. To take Amazon apart, to take Amazon's ugly, gigantic, unwieldy monopoly, to take it apart, to take the Amazon streaming operations apart, to take the Amazon movie houses apart, to keep Blue Origin on the ground, I would say he would have to. Also, every Democratic candidate, that is our generic Democrat, would have to commit to ending Jeff Bezos's ownership of the Washington Post. But happily, for our purposes here, Bezos has already destroyed the Washington Post himself. No Democrat has to be involved in the destruction of this newspaper, which will now die a slow and very unpleasant death by the banks of the Potomac in the next few years, if you planned to make the financial collapse of the Washington Post inevitable, you could not have done it better than Jeff Bezos did. He brought in this man, Will Lewis, who was tied to the British phone hacking. And once again this. This fascination of American media to have British failures come in and run their organizations is inexplicable. CNN did it. It was done at NBC. Everyone who has come to this country to run one of these operations, except an occasional editor of the wash of the Wall Street Journal has been an utter disaster. Who has hurt their companies and then ran back with their tail between their legs to uk. Will Lewis then brought in Matt Murray, office Murdoch. And of course at the mass firing yesterday, Matt Murray was there and Will Lewis was not. And Jeff Bezos was not. Because Jeff Bezos is a cowardly piece of shit. But we knew that when he killed the Kamala Harris editorial. We knew that when he folded to blackmail, even though there may not have been any blackmail, the fourth richest person in the world, $240 billion. Proving once again that you can buy all the money in the world and all the plat women in the world and you can still be a wreaking piece of shit like Jeff Bezos. I don't have any particular argument on behalf of the Washington Post. Over the years, I think I've had more trivial problems with people from the Washington Post than with any other newspaper except the Los Angeles Times. And we don't even need to get into what happened to the Los Angeles Times and that idiot who bought that thing and is driving it into the ground. We don't even have to talk about that. But the LA Times was in desperate trouble when I got to Los Angeles in 1985. What's happened to the LA Times has almost nothing to do with the year surrounding it. It hasn't been a firm success since about 1910. So skipping the Los Angeles Times for the moment and sticking with the Washington Post, it is just imperative that there be balancing against something like the New York Times. Somebody to keep them running, somebody to be the alternative. Somebody to compete on a granular level, reporter to reporter, to make sure that there's someone challenging the Times guy on this story. And if this story is about Ukraine, or if this story is about the Middle east, or if this story is about sports, it's all yours, Times. The Post just quit the playing field and so do not ask for whom the bell tolls. It tolls for thee. The Washington Post was part of mankind and now it's the Washington Post and Penny Sabre News. Former publisher Marty Baron released a long statement, some of which is worth repeating. He wrote, the Post challenges, however, were made infinitely worse by ill conceived decisions that came from the very top. From a gutless order to kill a presidential endorsement 11 days before the 2024 election to a remake of the editorial page that now stands out only for its moral infirmity. Loyal readers, livid as they saw owner Jeff Bezos betraying the values he was supposed to uphold, fled the Post. In truth, they were driven away by the hundreds of thousands. I don't know that Mr. Barron realizes how correct he is. There was not an ill conceived decision to kill the presidential endorsement 11 days before the election in 2024. It was a plan. And it was a plan conceived perhaps in Bezos's office and perhaps in Trump's. Who knows? And ultimately, who cares? This was not a boat accident. This was the murder of the Washington Post. Mr. Barron continued. The owner, in a note to readers, wrote that he aimed to boost trust in the Post. The effect was something else entirely. Subscribers lost trust in his stewardship and notwithstanding the newsroom, stellar journalism, the Post overall. Similarly, many leading journalists at the Post lost confidence in Bezos and jumped to other news organizations. They also, in effect were driven away. Again, I will note that I believe Mr. Barron is being kind and is perhaps not trusting his instincts here and relying too much on literal reporting. It was nothing to do with in effect, they were driven away. There is one way to make sure that you have to fire everybody at a newspaper or any news organization to make sure that it cannot make money. And that is to cripple it from making money, to hamstring it, to pull the money out of it, to take the popular products and make them unavailable, to make them scarce, to make them worse than they were last week. And that is all what Jeff Bezos did and what we as consumers need to assume he will do if Donald Trump tells him to, or he even thinks Donald Trump wants him to. At Amazon prime, at Amazon tv, at Amazon plus, at Amazon Charter Control at Amazon Amazon. To hell with all of them. May your building melt in the hot sun. They also, in effect to continue from Mr. Barron, were driven away. Bezos's sickening efforts to curry favor with President Trump have left an especially ugly stain of their own. I happen to like that imagery at the moment. It's about time, isn't it? He hasn't sharted in several days. This is a case study in near instant self inflicted brand destruction. Many superior journalists will remain at the Post delivering important work. I expect they will continue to hold power to account as they have spectacularly well for decades. They deserve the support of all who believe in quality journalism. They deserve it. And I'm afraid, Marty Barron, they will probably not receive it for the simple reason that nobody's going to read one quarter of a newspaper. It is sad, but it is true. What we have seen is the murder a part of the American free press. Flawed, biased, sometimes stupid, lazy, on occasion, intrusive, cold. All of these things are true. All of these things have been true at every place I've ever worked. And I have worked at almost every place. Not the Washington Post, but I knew enough people who did. I saw enough days in the Washington Post newsroom to know that. It's like everywhere else, it has its flaws, but it also has the magnificence of having some power in this country without being beholden to being elected or being beholden to people with money who can buy it and destroy it, which is what Jeff Bezos did. And so it is very simple. It is time to destroy Jeff Bezos financially. I want every democratic would be presidential candidate to today make a statement saying that one of their first acts will be in 2029 upon receiving the oath of office is to go and use the anti monopolistic laws of this country to flatten Jeff Bezos. And I will not make the Lauren Sanchez joke. This is far more important than it will seem practically in the ensuing few days, in few weeks and few months. But every time a newspaper unnecessarily dies, unnecessarily steps off the playing field, unnecessarily goes from democracy dying in darkness. And that's what we're here to prevent to helping turn the lights out to make sure democracy dies faster. Every time that happens, it diminishes us. And so it is absolutely necessary for the Democratic Party to take as one of its goals the destruction of the oligarchs. Say their names. Elon Musk, we are coming for your money. We want you to be selling ice cream outside. Let's see what company has done fairly well in terms of its behavior. Actually, Disney has, for the most part, Disney has, after some initial bad calls, you, Musk, you get to work the the less lucrative shift in a ice cream stand outside of Disneyland. Bezos, you get to clean up after the elephants. And I said I would explain why I was doing this commentary this way and why this was my subject for today. I was originally intending to postpone this episode because I am under the weather. I don't know if you hear it in my voice, but this is probably about all I'm going to have here. So this edition of Countdown is almost finished. I will not promise what happens after the break. It'll be a surprise to both of us.

Winter Olympics Announcer (26:48)

Friday Kick off the Winter Olympics in style with the Opening Ceremony from Italy featuring a special performance by Mariah Carey. Celebrate the greatest athletes from around the globe as they come together to go for gold. The open opening ceremony of the Winter Olympics, redefining this Sport Friday at 8 Eastern, 7 Central on NBC and Peacock.

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iHeartRadio Super Bowl Announcer (28:33)

Sunday iHeartRadio brings you live to Levi's Stadium in Santa Clara for the Super Bowl 60 tailgate concert presented by NetApp. It's the ultimate pre game party featuring an exclusive performance from Teddy Swims. Your front row experience will be on iHeartre radio stations across the country and the free iHeartradio app this Sunday at 3:30 Eastern, 12:30 Pacific. Then after the concert, tune in to the Super Bowl 60 pregame show on NBC.

Keith Olbermann (29:14)

There's been an awful lot of singing on the slopes of Whiteface Mountain during these Olympics, and most of it has been done by the Austrians. This ditty is for Anna Marie Most the of Sunday completed an Austrian sweep of the Olympic downhills. The downhill is the skiing event as far as the Austrians are concerned, and they were so confident of success that the Olympic team had reserved an area house for a celebration center. Leonard Stock and Annemarie Moser Pro did not disappoint and for now the singing will continue both here and in Austria. Keith Olbermann, Lake Placid. A friend of mine just gave me a piece of merch from her workplace and I had a multi dimensional flashback as a result. Cold weather clothing, her company logo over the breast and I was back on 42nd street in Manhattan in late January in the year of our Lord 1980, just before my 21st birthday, weeks away from my second out of town trip as a professional sportscaster to Lake Placid, New York for the Winter Olympics. And my employers had just handed me what they called a sub arctic parka. Only it was immediately clear to me that when the thing got wet it would probably melt. What is this? I asked the United Press International audio office manager, Kathy Turner. I crinkled the parka. It sounded like this, I said. Sounds like. Sounds like rolled up newspaper, kathy Turner said. Somebody told me it's rolled up newspaper. I wouldn't wear it on the beach. Kathy Turner was from Alaska. I still lived with my folks. I took the thing home, really wanting to find an excuse to wear the parka that had a genuinely impressive cool logo over the chest that read the news company upi. My father looked at the parka. He felt it, he crinkled it and he laughed. We'll go to the outdoor outfitter. We got a real one. Are you off Saturday? I'll take you there Saturday. Thank God we went. The number of people who actually trusted our employers and wore the thing in Lake Placid, where the wind chills bottomed out at minus 50 during the 1980 Olympics. That number was very small, but all of them wound up in the same van headed for a ski shop to buy very overpriced real parkas. And we did cut open one of the UPI coats and we were wrong. It was not filled with crumpled up newspaper. It was filled with crumpled up construction paper like you would get in school art class. Anyway, that flashback triggered a whole series of them and the biggest flashback of them all. I got to cover hockey and that was great. I got to cover figure skating and that was great. I got to cover luge and that was great. But I had to cover skiing. And covering the skiing was the primary flashback. The alarm goes off. It is pitch black in my room at the Swiss Acres Motel. It is Valentine's Day and I, I am still drunk. Keith knew he was in trouble, but I was also 21 years old and in fact my 21st birthday had only been 18 days earlier. So somehow I survived. Showered, dressed, packed, and I mean I packed two cassette tape recorders, four sets of batteries, an audio processing machine that weighed like 14 pounds. The 9 volt batteries it took, I think it was a dozen of them. A telephone, a backup telephone, 12 assorted patch cords, two loose leaf notebooks, about eight pens, two microphones, two extra pair of socks. Then I got dressed. Two full sets of thermal underwear, shirts, sweaters, snow pants, snowshoes. Because it was 11 degrees below zero that morning, I got something quick to eat at the commissary and I made it out somehow to the line for the bus from the Lake Placid Olympic center to the Lake Placid Transportation center to Lake Placid's own White Face Mountain, then onto the snow track, the open penned mountain tractor that went up the side of Whiteface Mountain and took me to the finish line of the 1980 Olympic Men's downhill ski final. Still drunk. That is how a reporter covered the Olympics nearly 43 years ago. You drank, you woke up, you went, you stood near the finish line and when the skiers completed their runs, you hiked or wobbled over to them and you took out your microphone or your pen and you interviewed them like 2min after they had finished hurtling towards you down the hill. You could see almost nothing of the race from there. There were no TV monitors. Basically your only clue was the sound of the crowd. That would give you about 30 seconds worth of warning that the skier was coming over the near horizon and you should be prepared to flee just in case he or she wiped out. Also, you were on top of a mountain at the dead point of winter. And whereas it might have been a balmy 11 degrees, in the comfort of the Swiss Acres motel with the wind chill at the base of the mountain, it was 48 below zero and there had already been four inches of new snow since the sun came up, which is where the still drunk part came in handy. My bosses at my first job, the thousand station radio network called United Press International Audio, had decided the night before to teach me how to drink while on assignment. My bosses were the bureau manager for that part of upi. The late Stan Sabik, who had hired me, and Sam Rosen, the sports director of the network, who not only somehow survived being my first boss but today, just 43 years later, is still working as the television voice of the New York Rangers hockey team and is in the Hockey hall of Fame. So I guess my reputation as a tough employee is wildly overrated. Or at least Sam thinks so. Sam and Stan kept me drinking at the motel until 2am knowing full well that I had to get on the 6am bus to go cover the men's downhill. Because it was the two of them who had assigned me to go cover the men's downhill. And bluntly, I was surprisingly pleased with myself that freezing morning because I had indeed learned how to drink while on assignment. I had somehow found the phone jack for the UPI phone buried under all the new snow, which, of course, was buried under all the old snow, attached the phone to it, gotten a dial tone, called the office, checked the alligator clips with which I would feed the tape, and all was well. Until I went to put a cassette tape into the cassette recorder. I didn't have one fat lot of Good2 cassette tape machines gonna do you without a cassette to stick in one of them. I looked forlornly around the base of Whiteface Mountain, 1200ft above sea level, as we were. There was a surprisingly nice chalet and a decent restaurant, but there were no Radio Shacks or other electronics stores. There was, however, one other radio guy, Jack Briggs from the Associated Press Radio Network, the nominal arch rival to our own UPI audience. I knew Jack a little. He was a nice guy. I went and explained my plight, making sure to blame my bosses for my predicament. Oh, man, he said, his breath turning into first steam and then ice cubes. I'm so sorry, but I can't give you a cassette. I'm sorry. You're UPI and I'm ap How I laughed. That was a great line to say to a rookie reporter still drunk. Thanks. The initiation rituals of his own bosses. The possessor of one great buzz, but zero audio cassettes. Jack Briggs could tell I thought he was kidding. That's when he said, I'm not kidding. Look, look, if my boss, Shelby Whitfield, ever found out, he'd fire me. I suddenly wasn't drunk anymore. Not at all. My. My boss Will Will. Will fire me. Briggs was adamant. I can't run the risk of Shelby finding out. I have to confess. I shouted. How the hell is he gonna find out? Jack, I think Subconsciously, I was hoping to create an avalanche, which would have been a better solution than the one I was faced with. I said to him, there's you and there's me, and we're on top of a goddamn mountain. And Shelby Whitfield, your boss, is in Washington, D.C. and he's a drunk. And he's probably more drunk than I am. And he'd probably thank you for helping me to drink more. Briggs would not budge. I told him I would pay him. I told him I would give him the cassette back after I fed my boss the interviews over the phone so there'd be no evidence and he wouldn't even have to do any interviews. No. Good. I'm sorry. And I know you're going to tell this story about me for a while. Well, as he walked away from me, I shouted after him forever. Turned out there was no Radio Shack and no camaraderie, but there was a West coast newspaper reporter atop the mountain who heard some of this conversation. I guess I yelled a little loudly at Mr. Briggs. Some guy standing next to a St Bernard told me to quiet down. He mentioned something else about the avalanches, or maybe I dreamed that part. I don't know, know. Anyway, the west coast newspaper guy said he had a micro cassette machine and he would loan it to me and I could give it back to him at the media center that day or the next one. But I had to do him a favor because there was this really cute reporter in our UPI bureau and he really wanted to be introduced to her. And I said, I can promise you nothing but a handshake. And he understood, and that's how I did not get fired. But of course, a story like this has punchlines, and this one has two of them. The first is two years and a couple of months later, Shelby Whitfield asked me to lunch. He had left the Associated Press to run the sports department at the ABC Radio Network back when that was not only a thing, but a big thing. We went to a terrific New York City Chinese restaurant near ABC called Shun Li, and Shelby Whitfield interviewed me for a job when that kind of job paid $80,000 a year, and my very nice studio apartment in a very nice part of town cost less than $500. A month later, in an interesting twist, I found out that jobs didn't exist. I was mentioning the interview in a press box somewhere, I think Madison Square Garden. And there was another kid reporter named Howie Rose. And Howie is still working. He does the New York Mets games on the radio. And how he said, wait, they. They interviewed me for that job last year. It's just an excuse for that damn Whitfield to go drink his lunch on ABC's tab. Anyway, before we started the interview for the job I did not know did not exist at abc, I told Shelby Whitfield, the White Face Mountain, can I borrow a cassette? Jack Briggs story. And Shelby's exact reply was, how in the hell was I gonna find out there was you and there was him and you were on top of a goddamn mountain and I was in Washington. Only he didn't say, goddamn that Briggs, he added, always trying to suck up to me. I gotta tell you something. I actually once promised I wouldn't tell you if we ever met this when the Olympics were over, he came back to the office. He told me what happened. He expected me to be happy or give him a bonus or something. And I called him a little snitch. Only Shelby didn't say snitch, just a word that rhymed with it. The other Punchline is from 1992. And remember, this happened at the 1980 Olympics. I go to work at ESPN and come in a little early to launch their radio network. A story I've told here before, and there's. I find a friend of mine since my radio days who I had not seen in a year or so, and he says, hey, last month I was at an NBA game in Washington. I ran into Jack Briggs. He heard you were going to espn. He asked me if you were still telling that story about the time you got stuck on Whiteface Mountain without a cassette, and he was the only other reporter there and he wouldn't give you a spare. And I told him you were and I smiled and I replied, I hope you remembered to use the word forever.

Winter Olympics Announcer (42:16)

Friday, kick off the Winter Olympics in style with the opening ceremony from Italy. Featuring a special performance by Mariah Carey. Celebrate the greatest athletes from around the globe as they come together to go for gold. The opening ceremony of the Winter Olympics.

Keith Olbermann (42:37)

Ilia Malini, redefining this sport Friday at.

Winter Olympics Announcer (42:41)

8 Eastern, 7 Central on NBC. And Peacock.

Public Investing Advertiser (42:45)

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iHeartRadio Super Bowl Announcer (44:01)

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Keith Olbermann (44:38)

James Thurber had many full time jobs. He was a street reporter for the Columbus Dispatch and later the New York Post, and he was an editor of the New Yorker long before he was a writer or cartoonist there, and people kept trying to make him into a radio star, leading to a short story which is understandably one of my favorites. A lot of it speaks of broadcasting in another world and of course another century. But it is amazing how much of what you will hear now is still true today. From the May 5, 1934 edition of the New Yorker, how to Relax While Broadcasting by James Thurman the evening I went up to the studios for my first radio broadcast, I got off by mistake at the 16th floor instead of the 17th. I decided not to wait for the elevator but just run up the stairs to the 17th floor, because elevators in broadcasting buildings are always crowded with small Italian musicians carrying cellos. And furthermore, when the UP sign above the elevators in these buildings lights the operator of the car that stops where you usually say says down. And before you can think you find yourself on the first floor again without any way of getting back up because you surrendered your pass to the man at the desk in the lobby the first time you went up. I walked to a door on the 16th floor marked stairs and stepped out into a cold, dark staircase shaft and walked up one flight. I found that the door on that floor wouldn't open. It was after 7 o' clock in the evening and the door had been officially locked. I hurried back down to the 16th floor and discovered that the door there had locked behind me too. I began to beat on it and kick it from far off. A faint voice came to me finally saying, cut that out. The only thing to do was walk down 15 flights to the main floor, which I did. But the door out into the lobby was also locked and nobody answered my screams and poundings. Screaming and pounding is not radio, as the broadcasting people say. I went down into the basement, which was dark and gloomy and hunted for the elevator shaft. I found it, but there was no bell to push. So I sat on an old chair until the car came down. The operator was surprised to see me and asked me for my pass. I told him I didn't have a pass. He thought a while and then asked if Mr. Heyman knew I was down there. I said I didn't think so. He was pretty much alarmed by that. But he took me up to the 17th floor after warning me never to come down to the basement again without a pass. There was Nobody on the 17th floor who understood my case. Although the people I talked to were patient and courteous. They said the 17th floor was entirely given over to the business department and had no studios or microphones. What I probably wanted was the 27th floor. Up there I found some people I had met before, but they were pretty busy and seemed to think it was the wrong night. I sat down in a chair and presently a man came up to me and asked me If I was Mr. Todherer. I said I wasn't sure and he said to follow him. I was shown into an office where there were some officials I knew and some friends of mine. One of the officials was denying a story somebody had been telling about a man who fell dead in front of the microphone. It seems he had merely had a stroke. In a little while I was led in a solemn march to a small and lonely studio, heavily draped and silent. I took out a cigarette but saw a sign saying no smoking. So I put the cigarette away again. Some men in the Glassed in control room, began to look at me. I could see their lips move, but I couldn't hear anything. A man tiptoed into the room where I was and shook hands with me and tiptoed out again. He never came back. I walked over to a regular microphone, such as I had talked over once or twice before and had got used to. But somebody led me away from that, said I was to talk over a table microphone because it would help me to relax. This turned out to be a table about the size of a card table, with a microphone set innocently in its center, face up, more or less like an ashtray. Its studied simplicity caused me to tighten up slightly, and I mentioned this to a man. Be at your ease, he said. I stood over the table, grasped its edges firmly, and leaned down toward the microphone. Someone grasped me. No, no, he said. You just sit down at the table as if you were sitting in a chair at any table and talk. I sat down, trying to remember how I sit in a chair at a table, especially a card table at which nobody else is sitting. Relax, said someone with a note of command. I slumped back in the chair and placed on the table the papers I was going to use and began fussing with them. Shh, somebody hissed. Don't rustle them. This is a very highly sensitized mic which picks up every slightest sound. It would sound like a waterfall if you rustled them. I began to drum my fingers on the tabletop, but a courteous official put his hand on mine and stopped. That tapping would sound like cavalry crossing a bridge to your listeners, he explained. Just take it easy. I leaned back in my chair and adjusted my tie, doubtless giving the effect of someone trying to take a leather belt away from a bulldog. In a moment, an announcer came in and said we were all ready to go. Okay, I said, standing up. Let's get out. He smiled with calm assurance and said, no. He meant that we were about to start the program. Everybody but him tiptoed out of the room. I sat down at the table again. I could see them all watching me from the control room. Somebody in there raised his hand sharply and let it drop sharply. I expected to hear the faint hiss of lethal gas escaping into the chamber, but instead the announcer started to talk. I creaked nervously in the chair at this, and the listeners heard, along with his calm announcement, the sound of a buckboard falling over a cliff. Finally, he pointed a finger at me. I sat bolt up and began to talk to the ashtray. When it was all over, everybody tiptoed, whisperingly into the room and congratulated me on being only five seconds too slow. Not bad for a beginner. The record is 1 500th of a second. I got up and started out of the room, but a man followed me and took me by the arm. Where are you going? He asked. Let's all go out and get a drink, I said. But you haven't got time, he said. All this has just been the rehearsal. I must have tightened up horribly at that, for he said soothingly, take it easy. You got plenty of time to relax in. He looked at his WristWatch. You got four minutes. How to relax while Broadcasting By James Thurber. Countdown with Keith Olbermann is a production of iHeartRadio. For more podcasts from iHeartRadio, visit the iHeartRadio app, Apple Podcasts, or wherever you get your podcasts.

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iHeartRadio Super Bowl Announcer (53:10)

Sunday, iHeartRadio brings you live to Levi's Stadium in Santa Clara for the Super Bowl 60 tailgate concert presented by NetApp. It's the ultimate pre game party featuring an exclusive performance from Teddy Swims. Your front row experience will be on iHeartradio stations across the the country and the free iHeartradio app this Sunday at 3:30 Eastern, 12:30 Pacific. Then after the concert, tune in to the Super Bowl 60 pregame show on NBC.

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