Latest news with #Brennaman
Yahoo
16-05-2025
- Entertainment
- Yahoo
'Thanks but no thanks.' Marty Brennaman says lifting of Pete Rose MLB ban came too late
With all the accolades Marty Brennaman has received over the years – including the Ford C. Frick Award from the National Baseball Hall of Fame and induction into the Cincinnati Reds Hall of Fame – you might think the legendary broadcaster would have treated the announcement that the Reds are installing a statue in his honor as just the latest entry on a long list of tributes. You'd be wrong. 'It's the biggest thing that's ever happened to me,' Brenneman said on this week's episode of the That's So Cincinnati podcast. 'It's bigger than the Hall of Fame, and people are shocked when I say that.' Brennaman, who took part in the May 14 ceremony at Great American Ball Park honoring Pete Rose, did not hold back when asked about Major League Baseball Commissioner Rob Manfred's decision to lift Rose's lifetime ban seven months after his death. Rose, baseball's all-time hits leader, is now eligible for induction into the Hall of Fame. 'I just feel like they could have done it sooner than they did, and they could have done it while he was alive,' Brennaman said. 'It doesn't do him a damn bit of good because he's gone. Maybe it does for the family, and as I said before, and I'll reiterate a time and again, I have nothing to do with (the family's) decision, and I respect whatever they decide to do. 'But if I were that family, I'd let this whole thing play out, and if he was elected by the 16 members of the committee into the Hall of Fame, and they were officially notified, at that point, I would say, thanks but no thanks. I'm not interested.' During the podcast, Brennaman relived moments in the booth, including his call of Rose's hit to break Ty Cobb's record and infamous conversations on the banana phone. He also revealed whether the statue will depict Brennaman during his 'Poofy Haired Fancy Boy' era or with the close-cropped hairstyle he currently sports – much to the relief of his wife, Amanda Brennaman. That's So Cincinnati, The Enquirer's weekly podcast on what's making news in our community, features a who's who of special guests. Listen to it at Audioboom, Apple or your favorite podcast platform. This article originally appeared on Cincinnati Enquirer: Marty Brennaman says Pete Rose MLB reinstatement came too late
New York Times
22-04-2025
- Sport
- New York Times
Why Terry Francona just couldn't stay away from baseball: ‘I probably love it too much'
They met in the fall of 1978, in the lounge area of a University of Arizona dormitory. Brad Mills was a straight-laced junior baseball transfer from College of the Sequoias, a school near his Central California hometown, where his father was an orange farmer. He introduced himself to Terry Francona, his new teammate and the hotshot freshman first baseman with long brown hair, frayed jean shorts and red Converse Chuck Taylor high tops. Advertisement They've been attached at the replaced hip for nearly half a century since then. They played together in Tucson and with the Montreal Expos. As Francona established his major-league managerial career, Mills coached on Francona's staff in Philadelphia, where they were chased out of town, in Boston, where they ended a famed curse, and in Cleveland, where it seemed like they'd reside forever. No one knows the future Hall of Famer better. Francona says Mills can predict every decision he will make before he utters a word to him in the dugout. They didn't talk much last summer. Mills figured that would change, as it always did, when their alma mater's basketball season ramped up in the fall. Mills wanted to give his friend space as Francona navigated his new reality: retirement. After all, those who know Francona well had struggled to envision him in any environment that didn't include four bases and a mound. 'I don't know what the hell else he would do,' says Rays manager Kevin Cash, who played and coached under Francona. Health concerns convinced Francona to step away after the 2023 season, his 23rd as a major-league manager. He spent his first summer in decades leaning back and watching ESPN in his living room rocking chair, rather than leaning against a padded dugout railing, where he savored every debilitating pang of anxiety during a close game. No, this was a new chapter, one marked by quiet mornings on the golf course. He played four times a week — in Arizona, Hawaii and Mexico. On a rare rainy day, he turned to the top-of-the-line simulator in his garage. Marty Brennaman, the former Hall of Fame broadcaster for the Reds, forged a friendship with Francona during his lone season as a player in Cincinnati in 1987. In February 2024, Brennaman and his wife, Amanda, visited Francona at his Tucson home for four days. Brennaman and Francona golfed each day, and Francona was as focused and calculated as he would be if he were constructing a lineup ahead of a World Series game. Advertisement After purchasing pots and pans for Francona's empty cupboards, Amanda cooked them red beans and rice. Brennaman taught Francona how to ignite his grill, one so fancy Brennaman said it could 'do everything but chew tobacco,' so they could cook steaks. They sat around and sipped gin and beer and talked about grandchildren and curing slices off the tee. When they left to head back to Reds spring training in Goodyear, Ariz., about two hours northwest of Tucson, Brennaman looked at his wife. 'He's never coming back,' he told her. 'He's never going to put on a uniform again.' At no point did Francona hint at the possibility, and Brennaman felt he knew him as well as anyone. Francona estimates he's undergone at least 45 surgeries. He's had heart-related health scares, ICU stints and, for the last few years of his tenure in Cleveland, was either hospital-bound or hobbling around. But last year, he had dropped weight and recovered from his latest round of surgeries, this time a shoulder replacement and double hernia procedure. The time away re-energized him. Even his golf buddies couldn't believe how well he was moving around the course. Between rounds, he watched his beloved Arizona Wildcats from courtside seats and traveled east to babysit his six grandkids. He was enjoying the tranquil, late stage of life that most anyone would welcome — the same life those who know him best thought he could never accept. They were right. It wasn't enough. 'Nothing is like the ninth inning of a baseball game,' Francona says. He needed to be back in the dugout, agonizing over a late-game pinch-hit decision with his stomach lodged in his throat. That fine line between agony and glory has a magnetic pull on him. This baseball lifer with nothing left to accomplish, no elusive feat to pursue, no reason to race back to employment, simply cannot stay away. Advertisement Francona ranks 13th on the all-time manager wins list, and every name ahead of his — luminaries like Leo Durocher and Sparky Anderson — resides in the Hall of Fame, or, in the case of Dusty Baker and Bruce Bochy, should one day. Francona's legacy persists through a cadre of former understudies, such as Cash and Royals manager Matt Quatraro, but it's not enough for him to watch his disciples thrive. At 66, with figurative and literal scars from nearly 4,000 games as a manager and 700 as a player, he can't quit that ninth-inning high. The onus of another grueling season appealed to the man who never wanted to know another way of life. To those who understand him, it's equally surprising and predictable. Mills crawled into bed one night in late September. At 10:30 p.m., his phone buzzed. His son had texted him a headline about Francona becoming the new Reds manager. Ten seconds later, another buzz. 'Hey, we just became Reds fans,' Mills' brother-in-law texted. Mills, befuddled, sent his lifelong baseball companion an exploding mind emoji. 'What's this?' he wrote. Francona replied almost instantly. 'I couldn't help myself.' Francona's father, Tito, spent the final years of his life in a 1,500-square-foot century home perched atop a hill in New Brighton, Pa. From his back windows, he could view the action on a middle school baseball field. Baseball was Tito's life. He played for nine franchises over 15 years, including a six-year stint in Cleveland. The sport was embedded in his son's DNA. 'From the minute I could walk,' Francona says, 'I never thought of (baseball) as a job.' He spent summers developing his skills on the diamond and following his dad. Tito's workplace eventually became his son's sanctuary. 'When you grow up in a baseball clubhouse like he did, it's home to him,' Cash said. 'I think he doesn't want to move out of his house. That clubhouse is his space, his comfort zone.' Advertisement Three times, Francona has tried to escape. Three times, he locked himself back in and buried the key. In 1991, as a decade-long MLB career as an injury-plagued, singles-hitting savant sputtered and his knees begged for mercy, he failed to break camp with the St. Louis Cardinals. He went home, sprawled out on the couch, binged reruns of 'Gilligan's Island' and half-heartedly studied some real estate textbooks. Really, he knew he was meant to be on a baseball field, not entering a new field, especially one that required more schooling. In college, he had once hastily marked all 300 answers on an exam as true, hoping he'd get at least half correct, and, more importantly, allowing him to hustle out of class and head to his haven, where Arizona baseball had a game that afternoon. Six weeks into his uncharted life 34 years ago, Francona received a call from Buddy Bell, his former Reds teammate and roommate on road trips. Bell recruited him to Sarasota, Fla., to launch his coaching career in the White Sox farm system. It didn't take much convincing, even though he'd be earning a pittance and making long bus rides between overlooked, minor-league towns. He didn't have another summer free until 2012, following a messy departure from the Red Sox. He joined ESPN as an analyst, and as the season wore on and he visited clubhouses to collect intel for broadcasts, he found himself missing the banter, the camaraderie, the rhythms of a 162-game journey. By October, he agreed to become Cleveland's manager. In late April 2023, during his 11th season at the helm with the Guardians, Francona caught up before a game with Colorado reliever Daniel Bard, who pitched for him in Boston. Bard recalled an outing during their Red Sox days in which Bard got shelled. Francona approached him in the outfield the next day during batting practice, playfully jabbed Bard in the stomach and asked if he was ready to pitch again that night. Bard needed that vote of confidence. 'You have no idea what that meant to me,' Bard told him. Advertisement But that moment opened Francona's eyes to something else. He hadn't ventured to the outfield during batting practice in years. More than any aspect of his job, he cherished those sorts of interactions with his players, but his health and his declining mobility had limited how often he could engage. 'I walked away, like, 'F—,'' Francona says. 'It hit me hard.' For weeks, he wrestled with his future. He'd stumble into bed at night and contemplate whether he could continue. In August, he reached a decision. He would step down at the end of the 2023 season and said he couldn't envision himself managing again. 'It probably killed him more to be away from baseball than to be at it,' said Guardians outfielder Steven Kwan. Once again, his break lasted less than a year. He says it was healthy not to have the gravity of a win or a loss hanging over his head each night. 'At the same time,' he admits, 'I missed it.' 'That fuel is the most addictive drug you can have,' Kwan says, 'just to be able to be the top at your sport and be the best in the world. How can that not fuel somebody?' Part of it is Francona's competitive fire, whether he's angling to win a World Series game, a nondescript Tuesday game in April, a round of golf or a board game with his grandkids — 'I'll probably cheat so I can win, because they're smarter than me,' Francona says — and part of it is the passion for the game he inherited from his father. His love of baseball has endured since he was a toddler in a Cleveland Indians uniform, waiting to watch the spectacle that has always had a spell on him. He keeps coming back, baseball's most reliable boomerang, unable to resist the grind, unwilling to accept a paradisiacal golf course as his new reality. The dugout remains his Eden. 'Somebody asked me if I have perspective (after a year away),' Francona says. 'I'll never, ever have perspective. I know that.' Brennaman, 82, retired from broadcasting following the 2019 season. Like Francona, he knew the wear and tear that spring training, a 162-game season and, often in Francona's case, postseason play can take on the body and the mind. Since retiring, Brennaman and his wife have traveled the globe. They've taken trips to see old friends, visit exotic countries and play the finest golf courses in the land. If anyone knows the perks of retirement, it's Brennaman. But Brennaman also knows Francona. Advertisement If — and as much as Brennaman thought this was only an 'if' — Francona ever wanted to give managing one more go, Brennaman knew this was a team that could thrive under his old friend's leadership. Brennaman still lives in Cincinnati and serves as an ambassador of sorts for the Reds. He knew they were the right landing spot if Francona wanted to leave behind his new life of salads and sand traps. Cincinnati, with young talent and modest, small-market expectations, had plenty of parallels to his previous stop in Cleveland, where he spent 11 years as manager. When Brennaman picked up the phone on Sept. 22, 2024, he was convinced Francona had no designs on managing again. He deemed it 'a shot in the dark.' But he had to be sure. 'Are you ready to come back?' Brennaman asked him over the phone. 'Ready to come back where?' was the response. 'Are you ready to come out of retirement?' Brennaman asked. But Francona wasn't following. 'The Reds fired David Bell today,' Brennaman told him. 'Now, I'm going to say it one more time real slow because sometimes you have trouble understanding English. Are … you … ready … to … come … out … of … retirement? Or at least talk to somebody?' 'Well,' Francona replied, after a pause, 'I never say no to anybody.' Especially when the invitation includes a potential seat in the dugout. In August, Francona started to mull his future. He didn't specifically have managing in mind, but he thirsted for baseball. As his track record illustrates, when he ponders a return to the game, there's nothing that can stand in his way. Brennaman played matchmaker. He asked Nick Krall, the Reds' president of baseball operations, if Francona was on the club's candidate list. Two days later, when the Reds traveled to Cleveland, Krall and GM Brad Meador initiated their homework on a target who hadn't offered any indication he was serious about managing again. Advertisement Francona doesn't have an agent, so Krall called him directly on Sept. 28. Francona was rooting on Arizona's football team in Salt Lake City during their upset of No. 10 Utah, and he had enjoyed a few alcoholic beverages. He asked to put off the conversation for a day. When they eventually connected, Krall and Meador told Francona they would fly to Tucson the next day to meet in person. With Krall submerged in the old, broken-down couch in Francona's living room, Meador beside him and Francona in his rocking chair, it didn't take long before all three knew Francona wanted to reside in the home dugout at Great American Ball Park. Golf could wait. His grandkids could visit Cincinnati. He'd catch up with the Wildcats in the fall. When Francona arrived at spring training, Robyn Cohen, the team's mobility director, introduced herself and told Francona, 'I think I can help you.' Francona was confused. 'Well, I see you walking, and it hurts me,' she added. 'You should've seen me about three years ago,' Francona told her. 'This is about as good as I've been in 12 years.' Now, in addition to daily morning workouts in the SwimX machine, Francona does Pilates. Anything to help him survive another 162. The 162-game schedule is the team sport's version of a marathon, with the distance being both the challenge and the appeal. The grind is what forced Francona away, but also what pulled him back. Those who know him best didn't see it coming, but they couldn't imagine him anywhere else. 'Some of us, like myself, probably love it too much,' Francona says. 'I mean, it's just … I don't know how to change it. I just love it.' (Top illustration: Will Tullos / The Athletic; Photos: Emilee Chin / Getty Images; Ric Tapia/Icon Sportswire via Getty Images; Jed Jacobsohn / Getty Images)
Yahoo
13-04-2025
- Entertainment
- Yahoo
Brennaman is persona non grata after homophobic slur and other opinions you read the most
(In this column, Opinion Editor Kevin Aldridge briefly recaps the most-read letters to the editor and guest columns on this week in case you missed them. You can read all these opinions in their entirety by clicking on the links.) Thom Brennaman's return to the local radio airwaves was cheered and jeered by Cincinnatians. Brennaman has been hired by radio station 700 WLW, nearly five years after he lost his job as the voice of the Cincinnati Reds for saying a homophobic slur on-air during a game. Brennaman has been working to rehabilitate his reputation and career as a broadcaster ever since. WLW gave him a second chance to do what he loves, hiring him to take over the station's weekday drive-time show from Mike McConnell, who retired. The station's decision was applauded by some and criticized by others. Mel Shuller of Montgomery said WLW was tone-deaf for hiring Brennaman in one of the most-read letters to the editor this week. "While Brennaman has said that he is sorry for his homophobic slur on an open mic while doing a Reds game broadcast in 2020, I believe he is only sorry that he was caught," Shuller wrote. "When someone shows you who they are, believe them the first time." In his letter to the editor, Jeffrey DePuy of Maineville called Brennaman's hire "extremely disappointing." He said while Hall of Fame broadcaster Marty Brennaman is Cincinnati royalty, his son is persona non grata. "I love listening to WLW in my truck going and coming from work on my 40-minute commute, but if Brennaman is the new morning host now, I'm probably going to be switching to another station," DePuy wrote. Others welcomed Brennaman back to the Queen City with open arms. Jenny Johnson of Blanchester wrote that Brennaman "will be a great addition to the 700 WLW team." And Glenn Harmeyer of Colerain Township reminded readers of the price Brennaman has paid for his mistake. "He lost his job immediately after making his comment that was never intended for the public airwaves. His life, and the lives of his family, changed drastically after that incident, and he has struggled to get back into the radio broadcasting business," Harmeyer wrote. "I wonder if Brennaman's critics have ever said anything that they regretted saying, lost their job because of it, or had their lives and the lives of their families changed forever?" More: Williams: Thom Brennaman's return to broadcasting on 700 WLW is a 'big deal' Jan Kuhn of Erlanger asked a simple question in her letter: "Aren't we as a country known for giving individuals a second chance? "For those criticizing this hire by WLW radio, I say to you, take a look at your own life, as no one is perfect. Are you?" I, too, weighed in on the Brennaman hire, saying he should get a second chance but still has work to do to rebuild trust, especially with the LGBTQ community. Some LGBTQ persons are indeed skeptical about whether Brennaman has truly changed; it's also fair to point out that he does have some supporters in the gay community as well. Send me a letter to the editor or op-ed with your thoughts about whether Brennaman deserved a second chance. Was it a smart hire by 700 WLW, and does it make you more or less likely to listen to the station? Do Cincinnatians need to forgive and move on? I can't wait to hear from you. The Cincinnati Bengals' Paycor Stadium lease with Hamilton County is one of the biggest stories of the year. The deadline is looming as the current lease expires on June 30, 2026. Bengals Executive Vice President Katie Blackburn recently said the team wouldn't rule out relocation if a deal can't be reached. 'We could, I guess, go wherever we wanted after this year if we didn't pick the up option up," Blackburn said. "So, you know, we'll see." Those comments did not sit well with Mark Zoller of White Oak, who took the Brown family to task for threatening to "hold Hamilton County and the taxpayers hostage" once again. His letter to the editor was the most-read opinion this week. "The Brown family should be eternally grateful to Cincinnati, but instead, they threaten to leave unless we pump millions of dollars more into their family business," Zoller wrote. "It is an expensive game that we can't continue to play." More: Bengals Beat Podcast: Getting ready for the 2025 Draft Michael Bruckmann of Colerain Township agreed that Hamilton County can no longer afford to keep the Bengals. Bruckmann said Hamilton County shouldn't have to foot the bill alone. "The Bengals are a Tristate team, and the Tristate should pay to keep them," he wrote in a letter to the editor. "Ticket holders come from all the surrounding counties, and all the surrounding counties abutting Hamilton County should have a sales tax to help pay for them." What do you say about Who Dey? Can Hamilton County afford to lose the Bengals? What do you think about Blackburn's comments about relocation? Should surrounding counties help pay to keep the Bengals here? How much confidence do you have in Hamilton County officials to get a fair deal for taxpayers? Send us your thoughts in a letter or guest column. Two months after a group of neo-Nazis held a demonstration on an I-75 overpass near Lincoln Heights, the mayor of Evendale wrote an op-ed about how he has been working to create lasting, tangible change from the ugly, hateful incident. Evendale was heavily criticized for the way its police department responded to the incident and how village officials handled the subsequent scrutiny. Mayor Richard Finan acknowledged they didn't handle things in the best way possible and offered an apology. "We recognize that the events of Feb. 7 not only caused pain but also raised questions about how we, as leaders, chose to respond when faced with such vile actions," Finan wrote. "We needed to be connected, empathetic, accountable and, when necessary, contrite. We were not... We should have first demonstrated our concern and our caring, which our community has in abundance. We apologize for this and are committed to learning from this experience." You can read the mayor's full commentary here. Lastly, in case you missed them, here's a chance to catch up on a couple more of the most-read opinions this week: Op-ed: I lost four friends and Cincinnati lost four giants Op-ed: My friends talked with JD Vance. They took a chance to speak truth to power Letter: Bengals' Ja'Marr Chase might be fast but he's slow on Cincinnati's Cajun cuisine Op-ed: Developing in Cincinnati is hard enough. Don't make Hyde Park another red flag As always, you can join the conversation on these and other topics by sending your thoughts to letters@ Letters of up to 200 words may be submitted and must include name, address, community and daytime phone number. Op-eds are submitted the same way, except they should be 500-600 words and also include a one-sentence bio and headshot. Submissions may be edited for space and clarity. If you need some tips on how to write an op-ed, click here. Opinion and Engagement Editor Kevin S. Aldridge can be reached at kaldridge@ On X: @kevaldrid. This article originally appeared on Cincinnati Enquirer: Second chance for Brennaman is overdue; Bengals too costly to keep
Yahoo
08-04-2025
- Entertainment
- Yahoo
Everyone deserves a second chance, but Thom Brennaman still has work to do
"There but for the grace of God, go I." I thought about those words while sitting at my computer to type this column about Thom Brennaman's recent hiring by 700 WLW, almost five years after he used a homophobic slur on air as the broadcast voice of the Cincinnati Reds. The phrase is meant to express sympathy for others in difficult situations, acknowledging that we, too, could find ourselves in dire circumstances without the benefit of God's grace and mercy. In other words, "Let him who is without sin cast the first stone." As a man of faith, I'm hard-pressed to argue that Brennaman shouldn't get another shot. He's paid a heavy price since his hot mic moment and has repeatedly apologized. Whether Brennaman is truly repentant and a different man than the one who called a certain unnamed city the "f-- capital of the world" remains to be seen. Redemption is not a destination, it's a journey. Some remain skeptical, particularly in the LGBTQ community. Brennaman reached out and met with various LGBTQ leaders in Cincinnati in the wake of his suspension and subsequent firing by the Reds and Fox Sports. He said, at the time, that he wanted to better understand how hurtful his words were to LGBTQ persons. It might not be long before Brennaman's newfound LGBTQ sensitivities are tested on WLW, a right-wing chatterbox not exactly known as being a bastion of gay rights. Let's not forget this is the same radio station that gave host Bill Cunningham a pass after homophobic comments were made on his show during an interview with then-West Virginia University basketball coach Bob Huggins in 2023. The two had a good laugh about an incident in which "rubber penises" were thrown on the court during a Crosstown Shootout game between UC and Xavier. Cunningham joked about the game being "transgender night." Never mind, Huggins later called Xavier fans "Catholic f--s." Neither Cunningham nor the station's management assumed responsibility for the cringeworthy affair. Those are the shark-infested waters Brennaman now finds himself swimming in. It'll be interesting to see how his show develops and if this self-described "Trump-supporting Republican" can avoid getting bitten again while talking third-rail politics with that crowd. Brennaman's politics are his politics, but it's reasonable to wonder how he might reconcile his attempts to make amends with the LGBTQ community with his support of President Donald Trump, whose all-out assault on gay and transgendered people has been unrelenting. Then again, maybe Brennaman sees his own comeback story in Trump, a man notorious for saying and doing disgraceful things who was given a second chance by 77 million Americans. Second chances are funny like that. Whether someone deserves one or not is a complex question with no universal answer. The markets of public opinion and the business world often determine who gets second chances. In Brennaman's case, the two are entwined. You don't get a second chance in the broadcasting business unless people think you have an appeal that warrants it. In all likelihood, WLW weighed the benefits of Brennaman's name (he's Marty's kid, for God's sake), he's got built-in popularity in the Queen City, and he is a pretty darn good broadcaster (homophobic slurs aside). That made it worth the station's while. Editorial: Brennaman should be fired; our role is to forgive Plus, it's a low-risk hire for WLW. Anyone that outraged by Brennaman's employment probably isn't a regular listener anyway. And WLW can always say anyone who complains too much is "woke." There are some things you can't come back from professionally. Brennaman's homophobic slur doesn't appear to be one of them. People make mistakes. They say stupid things. None of us should be defined by our most embarrassing moments. Forgiveness is something we are called to do. If you believe Brennaman deserves a second chance, then remember to extend that same courtesy the next time someone you might like a little less, without as prominent of a name, messes up. Letter: Radio station's decision to hire broadcaster who used homophobic slur is tone-deaf Brennaman has said he is hungry to earn the listeners' trust. I think he's learned a costly lesson and recognizes that another slip-up would likely be his last. I, indeed, hope that Brennaman is who he claims to be and that he better understands the power and privilege of the platform he's been granted again. He could be an example to others of how to turn your worst moment into a force for good and positive change. Right now, all we can do is wait and see − and listen. Opinion and Engagement Editor Kevin S. Aldridge can be reached at kaldridge@ On X: @kevaldrid This article originally appeared on Cincinnati Enquirer: Radio host's return post-homophobic slur tests growth, grace | Opinion
Yahoo
07-04-2025
- Politics
- Yahoo
Radio station's decision to hire broadcaster who used homophobic slur is tone-deaf
In Jason Williams' column in Friday's paper ("Welcome back, Thom Brennaman," April 4), I read that Thom Brenneman was hired to replace Mike McConnell for the morning talk slot on WLW radio. While Brennaman has said that he is sorry for his homophobic slur on an open mic while doing a Reds game broadcast in 2020, I believe he is only sorry that he was caught. Williams stated that Brennaman was a "Trump-supporting Republican," which, to me, explains his behavior. The Trump administration's anti-LGBTQ policies explain why Brennaman is supportive of Trump. Editorial: Brennaman should be fired; our role is to forgive When someone shows you who they are, believe them the first time. Mel Shuller, Montgomery This article originally appeared on Cincinnati Enquirer: Station hiring Brennaman after homophobic slur says a lot | Letter
