Stephen A. Smith, who really might be the least-talented sports journalist/commentator/head in America (even including Peter King) has finally run out of teets. Last year the Philadelphia Inquirer pushed him out after years of undistinguished service. And now ESPN has finally cut him loose.

This comes as a pretty big surprise, at least to me. Smith appeared to be one of those guys who failed relentlessly upward. It didn’t matter how bad he was at his job, or how small his audience was–there was always an exec somewhere who wanted to push him ahead. Now he’s just about run out of moves. Couldn’t happen to a better guy.

Or wait–maybe this is just the first phase of the mainstreaming of Smith. Here’s what he says his future holds: “[m]y desire to venture beyond sports into the world of news, politics and entertainment has grown.”

He’s already done it on MSNBC. Wouldn’t it be racist not to give Stephen A. another show?

Update: Galley Friend B.W. writes in:

YOUR POST IS A TRAVESTICAL RIDICULOSITY! STEPHEN A. SMITH IS
THE GREATEST LOUD JOURNALIST IN THE HISTORY OF LOUD JOURNALISM! NOT
SINCE EMMITT SMITH’S DEPARTURE HAS THE SPORTS WORLD SUFFERED AN
EQUALLY TRAGIFYING LOSS!

Don’t ask me how I heard about it, but another original copy of Action Comics #1 has been discovered.

It’s being auctioned off by the original owner, a gent who bought it with his brother in 1938. Awesome.

And if that wasn’t enough: You can now pre-order the blu-ray Lord of the Rings for the bargain price of $70.

And . . . scene.

That’s bringing the funny. Jon Stewart and his precious Daily Show can suck it.

The Onion breaks the embargo:

The New York Times newsroom is reportedly still undecided on whether or not to print a recent letter received from Obama, in which the president threatens to kill another helpless citizen every Tuesday and “fill [his] heavenly palace with slaves for the afterlife” unless the police “stop the darkness from screaming.”

This past week I was in Grand Cayman on vacation. It was a wonderful time that went all too fast. Seven Mile Beach was idyllic. Stingray City is a must. And the locals are very helpful and friendly. Eric Ripert’s Blue at the Ritz-Carlton was exquisite, but Casa Havana at the Westin Casuarina was even better. There are many things I will remember fondly about Cayman, like the warm breeze, the fresh fish, and those exotic cocktails.

Speaking of which, at a duty free shop in the airport holding pen, I couldn’t help notice a brand of rum that may be the most politically incorrect and offensive I have ever seen in my life. I report this with all seriousness and concern, with the aim to inform, and not for laughs.

Named in honor of the legendary pirate Richard Le Noir, the rum is called Big Black Dick. Yes, it has its own website–just don’t forget to type the word “rum.” Here’s a partial description of the rum from said site:

Some have described it as stiff, yet tasty.

So, next time you travel to Grand Cayman, get yourself some Big Black Dick. It’s an experience you’ll always remember.

And to think I was just going to write about Pickapeppa sauce.

The news that Kal Penn left House to take a job at the White House saddens me a bit, because Penn’s Dr. Kutner was, for my money, the most realistic TV doctor I’ve ever seen.

In college I spent a ghastly amount of time with pre-med students and in hospitals shadowing and gophering for doctors and I’m here to tell you there are no George Clooneys or Eriq Lasalles or Lisa Edelsteins in the medical profession. Maybe there were once upon a time, but there was an explosion in med school applications in the mid-1980s and by the time I was taking the MCAT in the mid-1990s there were only three kinds of people getting into med school: (1) very smart, socially awkward grinders (the majority); (2) semi-smart people who managed to game the application system (a very small minority); and (3) super-smart, kind-of out-there-odd-balls–like Penn’s Kutner character. (It probably helps that Penn is an Indian guy from New Jersey–a group which seemed to make up a sizable number of the successful med-school applicants I knew.)

My point is, there were no Olivia Wildes or Jenny Morrisons or Jesse Spencers–beautiful, smart, emotionally conflicted, passionate, blah-blah-blah.

So three cheers for Penn’s Kutner–I’ll miss him. And good luck to him in the administration. I’d like to think that during his first week in town he’ll hook up with Charlie Korso for a beer.

One of the greatest T-shirts ever: “Jesus Didn’t Tap Out.”

For all of this past season on NBC, in 30-second slo-mo tender moments, with a piano playing somber chords to allow for reflection, we saw the faces of new friends going and old friends returning, for one last encounter, sharing in a final moment, bidding farewell, facing an uncertain future, together for the last time, saying goodbye to old friends and new, lives that have changed, but so have we, we laughed with them, cried with them, and died with them, while we witnessed new life, and old friends, and for one last time, we say goodbye, a fond farewell.

Yes, ER is at long… last… over.