Jock-ularity

DAVID WELLS IS LATE. The Babe Ruth–size Padres pitcher and San Diego native son is supposed to call the morning sports talk show on the Mighty XX (1090 AM). Cohost Scott Kaplan keeps plugging Boomer’s appearance. Off the air, producer Marty Caswell says she’s left multiple messages on Wells’ phone.

Off the field, Wells—a late-year pickup by the playoff-bound Padres—is known for his hard-party-boy antics. There have been memorable fights and forgettable drinking nights. But today is special. The Padres are in the post-season in back-to-back years for the first time in team history. Everybody’s talking about it—the bandwagon has quickly refilled. Surely, Boomer will want to get on the air and add his 2 cents on this seminal day.

A table here in the station’s showcase studio at Petco Park is littered with water bottles, Starbucks cups, energy-drink cans and pages of sports statistics. Kaplan and cohost Billy Ray Smith are wearing baseball jerseys that bear their own illustrated visages. Something nearby smells like damp feet. Eau de locker room, if you will.

Jim Harbaugh is calling in. The former Chargers quarterback and current coach at the University of San Diego is talking about his gridiron gang’s exciting year. “Captain Comeback” agrees with Smith. Both believe Chargers coach Marty Schottenheimer correctly went conservative, even though the team suffered an agonizing loss to the Baltimore Ravens in week four of the NFL season.

Kaplan cringes. He is the everyman to the hulking former athlete personified by Smith (shake his hand and risk carpal contusion). Like most of their callers, Kaplan believes Schottenheimer crawls into his conservative shell too often—leading to too many fourth-quarter come-from-behind wins by opponents.

“Why are they running the ball on second-and-20?” Kaplan bleats, exasperated.

“Ah, the offensive musings of Scott Kaplan,” mocks Smith.

“It was the perfect game plan for that game,” interjects Harbaugh.

“So nice to have a football expert weigh in,” Smith says with a grin.

Still no call from Boomer.

Geoff Blum does call. The Padres shortstop for most of this 2006 playoff run won a World Series ring last year with the Chicago White Sox. He decides against wearing it to the clubhouse for the home playoff opener against the St. Louis Cardinals. Ever the contrarian, Kaplan complains that Blum ought to show off the bling to current teammates. A thoughtful dialogue about jewelry ensues.

Apropos of nothing—yet significant of the juice sports talk radio can hold— Mayor Jerry Sanders is now on the line as a guest.

“Jerome!” is how Kaplan greets our mayor. “Are you coming to the game today?” Sanders is not.

“So the mayor can’t get a ticket? We’re giving away two—want one?” Kaplan grins beneath a low-slung Padres baseball cap. Sanders indicates city business pertaining to a settlement with the Securities Exchange Commission will interfere with his ability to watch a baseball game.

“Leave him alone,” Smith commands Kaplan. “As we speak, he’s got guys in black suits and briefcases standing in his office.”

Kaplan wants to know if Sanders has wagered fish tacos with the mayor of St. Louis on the outcome of the Cardinals series.

Nope, says the mayor, who later does bet his St. Louis counterpart.

Kaplan: “Hey, as a ‘strong mayor,’ can you overturn calls on the baseball field?”

A mayoral chuckle ensues.

Kaplan: “Hey, I saw you on TV— they’ve been powdering your forehead. You look sweet.”

Next, Kaplan wants to know who thought up the Friar Friday idea, in which the mayor proposed the local citizenry support the Padres by wearing team colors to work. “Did the city council vote on that?” he asks.

“Did you clear that with [City Attorney] Mike Aguirre?” belts out Smith. “Did Aguirre insist it had to be on a Thursday?”

The mayor of San Diego puts up with this for a full 10 minutes. And then he goes back to work.

And still, no Boomer.

SCOTT KAPLAN WORKED in New York City radio for six months on the original Sports Guys team. He left in the fall of 2000 over creative differences and migrated to San Diego. He was hired by XTRA 690, the precursor to the Mighty 1090, which now goes by the moniker Mighty XX.

Billy Ray “BR” Smith was a two-time All-American linebacker at the University of Arkansas, and he played for the Chargers from 1983 to 1992. He’s a TV personality who can be seen locally on Cox Channel 4 and Fox. He also works Saturdays covering college football in Los Angeles for Fox. His wife is Kimberly Hunt, news anchor on local independent channel KUSI.

Kaplan and Smith have been radio partners for five years. It’s inaccurate to say they pair like water and oil. More like matzo ball soup and hominy grits. But somehow, the pairing of Joke Boy and the Jock is a hit. About 45,000—mostly men aged 25-54—tune in each week, says vice president of programming Bill Pugh. The show has a cult following. The cult is called Great Friends and includes guys named Fat Tony, Ex-Con Anthony and Gary from Ego Trip.

Great Friends get to ride the Scottand-BRshow customized bus to promotional events. They celebrate Happy Hour at Dussini’s. And win the chance to take batting practice on the field at Petco Park. In sum, being a Great Friend is . . . great.

The show that collects these Great Friends is hard to pigeonhole.

Smith: “Our show is about good communication. I know when Scott stops to take a breath, I get to talk.”

Kaplan: “I always say our show is not a sports show. It’s a comedy show that uses sports as a way to be funny.”

Back when Kaplan went on-air trying to win a full-time job working with Smith, the Daytona 500 was going on. Neither knew anything close to insightful about the major car race. Smith picked up a guitar and played a Tracy Chapman song. Kaplan began imitating the songstress, singing the lyrics to her hit “Fast Car.” That’s how they covered the Daytona 500.

NOT LONG AFTER Mayor Sanders leaves the Mighty XX airwaves, Kaplan mentions that the mayor of St. Louis is named Francis. This leads sound-board operator Ryan Schulze to play a classic line from Stripes, in which a crusty sergeant intones, “Lighten up, Francis.” In the movie, that line is preceded by another, which Kaplan repeats: “Any of you homos touch my stuff, I’ll kill ya.”

Nobody cringes. Nor does an eyebrow rise when Kaplan says he’s “losing his ass” betting the horses at Santa Anita. The only time anybody is chastised for language is when a caller exclaims, “Oh, s---!” when he muffs a trivia question trying to win those playoff tickets Mayor Sanders politely turned down.

Kaplan, we find out, did not work the day before. He was celebrating Yom Kippur. Smith wants to know what he did all day.

“Prayed,” he says, “and listened to a lot of old people in temple singing words; I had no idea what they meant.”

Kaplan lets his audience know he thinks Padres pitcher Chris Young looks like Gomer Pyle. He talks about a sports story in the Union-Tribune in which the word “manure” is used in parentheses, only he thinks the person probably said “horse fecal matter.”

Kaplan later says he’s considering holding a baby-naming contest for the fourth child he and his wife are expecting. He wonders if he could get $100,000 for naming rights.

“I like the name Ciabatta—like the Jack in the Box bread,” chips in Smith.

A friend sends Kaplan an instant message. Off the air, Kaplan shares: “It says I could probably get $100,000 for Mohammad or Osama.”

Smith: “Maybe more for Osama bin Kaplan.”

The show, which began at 5 a.m, ends at 9:30—going a half-hour longer than usual. Even with the overtime, Boomer never calls.

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