They say you better listen to the voice of reason
But they don’t give you any choice
’cause they think that it’s treason.
So you had better do as you are told.
You better listen to the radio.
— — Elvis Costello, “Radio, Radio”
In the studios of KUCI-AM, star shock jock Mac Daddy McPaddy is throwing down, bringing the Big Sound from the Big Town, over the pro peloton’s desire to stay tuned to race radio.
“I’m ashamed to listen to the lot of yis, weepin’ over yeer race radios like a wee girl who’s lost her dolly,” sneers Mac Daddy into his microphone. “Go an’ ask yeer mammies for the loan of their iPads, why don’t ye … an’ then watch us ban those as well!”
“Uh, Boss?” whispers his producer.
“Yis are all tools an’ fools an’ dopers so!” shrills Mac Daddy. “Ye had yeer chance to speak up and if we wouldn’t listen to ye it’s only ’cause yis are a shower of feckin’ eejits. Do ye not know that the telly people find yis as enjoyable’ as a bad pint at the pub?”
“Psst! Boss!” hisses the producer.
“Wait ’til y’see what I’ve planned for yis next!” bellows the gleeful Mac Daddy. “Steel bicycles! Wooden rims! Flip the wheel round to change gears!”
“Boss!” pleads the producer, waving his arms in the control room.
“Carryin’ yeer spares wrapped ’round ye like the lovin’ arms of yeer ould boyfriends in the team cars!” shrieks Mac Daddy.
“Excitin’ racin’ for a change!”
“A chance for once to use yeer brains, poor as they are!”
Mac Daddy McPaddy puts one hand over the mic’, turns his scarlet visage to his producer and snarls, “What is it? What d’ye want? Yeer drivin’ me witless!”
The producer sighs, slumps, then abruptly straightens.
“They can’t hear you. Remember? You took away their radios.”