Tony Kornheiser (55:08)
Before we get to the mailbag, let me just say, you know my temperatures rise in the jukebox blowing a fuse Heartbeat and rhythm My soul keeps singing the blues Roll over Beethoven Tell Tchaikovsky the news. That's a great, great song. I stole from it once. I said roll over. Valvano tells you the news. Just great. Thanks to our guests today. Chuck Todd, David Remnick, thanks as well to today's sponsors. Remember, you can listen to us on Apple Podcast, Spotify Audacy if you get showed through Apple. Please leave us a review from Andrew in LA and then we don't this is a downer. I'm going to say it's a downer and it's an acknowledgment of something consequential that happened a couple of days ago. And this is the only one we're going to read. I know that the podcast is generally lighthearted haikus about non pressured monkeys, customer wait times, songs about 44 year old quarterbacks, endless reminiscences about endless times and bunkers, but reality hit me in the face this morning. When I was a boy, my parents were close friends with Carl and Estelle Reiner. During the show of show days, I wasn't close with Rob Reiner because being two years older than I saw me as a little kid, Rob's, Carl's and my paths crossed occasionally in LA as we supported similar causes and Rob and I recognized our shared heritage. To hear that his son may have murdered him and his wife is a jolt I did not expect to read of someone I have almost known for 70 years. Go that way. Everybody feels this. Everybody feels that, yes. From Nick LeFave in St. Paul, Minnesota. I've been watching PTI since day one. I've discovered this high quality podcast during the first year of the pandemic. Lucky enough to get a few emails read on the air. You're welcome to share this one at all as well, but it's not the intent behind it. I began refereeing hockey when I was 12 years old. My other brother was a referee. We both played along with our dad. It was our favorite sport. Like so many fathers and sons, we spent countless hours at rinks and on the road to and from those rinks. We talked about how we played and dad would give his two cents. We talked about how we officiated a game and dad would give more than his 2 cents. Even when it was his sons. Dad never quite trusted the refs. In 2001, I graduated college, moved across country, stopped playing, continued to ref without planning it. My father and I fell into a habit where I would call him while driving home after games. He liked hearing if there were any interesting calls, if there was any fun chatter with the players, or if I had to toss a coach. Those were his favorite stories. But the hockey game was just an excuse to talk. We'd always transition to family, live politics, movies, whatever. Some of our biggest laughs, biggest advice happened during those calls. Usually the games were at night. Dad kept me company the entire drive back, which was sometimes more than an hour. I called him the voice in the dark that got me home. I'm writing this now because it's a five year anniversary of my dad passing that day. I was racing 400 miles to the hospital when my sister called and said, I need to say goodbye right now. I wasn't going to make it in time. Pulled into a gas station, we had our last conversation, fittingly over the phone. It was good talk. He was lucid to his oxygen mask. He apologized. Not being able to watch my kids grow up, I thanked them for teaching me how to be a good father. That's hard for me. That was goes on. I wanted to get to that part. Late night in the season, while getting into a car after a game, I saw an alert that the Tony Kornheiser show had a new episode. Without giving it much thought, I hit play. As I started driving for the first time since I started refereeing, I wasn't sad. On the drive home, I was laughing. I don't remember if you were complaining about a busted RV on your block, varmints in your garden and wander Swearo, but you were definitely complaining about something and I was laughing. Nothing will ever replace my dad. He was my best friend. But it always does, as it always does. Time has softened my loss. The show continues to be a joy and hearing you and Michael truly enjoy your time together as father and son helps me remember and appreciate my dad. It's very lovely. That's lovely. Nick Lefave in St Paul Darrell Holiday in Medante, Ontario in Canada Oro Medante in Canada. Over the years that I was serving as an educator, I could only find the time to enjoy PTI with you and Wilbourne as part of my nightly routine to wind down from the day's events. But in the past three years since I've retired, I've added the podcast to my regimen. Whether the topic is golf, mice, moths, customer service, potato farming, or Chessy the dog, you and Michael and Nigel never failed to bring a smile to my face as I happily follow along in my car while I walk around the neighborhood. In the spirit of the season, I want to do express sincere thanks for the joy that you spread among all littles throughout the year. Isn't that nice, Bianca? Merry Christmas. All my best in the year. That's nice. Coming 2026 from Phil Destito in Rome, New York, which is upstate. You had a run in with a mouse over the weekend. So did we. Could this be another attempt at the start of the animal revolution? Unlike your situation where you heard noises coming from the kitchen, I was alerted to our mouse by the traditional method of my wife screaming for me to There was a mouse in our son's room, climbing up the curtains, arming myself with two saucepans and a marshmallow roasting stick. Had my wife close the door and seal me in. The hunt was on. He was on top of the windowsill, perched, watching me with a look on his face as if to say, how you doing? I tried trapping him in the corner with the saucepan, but he leaped from the windowsill down to the floor, landing on all fours, by the way, and dashed for the safety of the bookcase. I was able to corner him again and tried to get him out with the marshmallow stick, to no avail. In preparing for my next attempt, he made a break for the closet with a stick stretch and a dive. I trapped him in the saucepan, getting cardboard underneath the pan. I carried the mouse out front, threw him into a snowbank. That's the last we'll see of him until the snow melts in March. Maybe April. Maybe Happy holidays to you.
