If Chicago media critic Robert Feder has it right, Randy Michaels got stuck in the mud of a Ohio construction site last Sunday and, when the cops hauled him out, wound up busted for driving under the influence.
Michaels' mug shot topping Feder's blog makes him look like Otis, the bumbling drunk from the old Andy Griffith Show.
But I'm guessing Ben Homel, the person behind the Randy Michaels persona, isn't feeling like life is much of a sitcom.
Randy Michaels is the guy who ruined a classic radio station and gleefully gave its listeners, all of us really, his upraised middle finger while doing so. From the goofy gambling party in Colonel McCormick's historic office to an alleged tryst on the Tribune's outdoor patio, he broadcast to the world he was running the show his way and anybody who didn't like it could kiss his butt.
As I said at the time, Michaels smashed apart WGN like a kid destroying another kid's toys because he never had any of his own.
Ben Homel . . . I don't know about him.
I'm still trying to imagine how he felt when he woke up the morning after his arrest. Did he shrug it off, pop out of bed laughing, knowing he'd be reading disparaging comments about himself in the national press once again but looking forward to yet another moment in the spotlight regardless?
Or did he crawl from under the covers feeling ashamed and humiliated, one sick and sorry part of his heart realizing the life he always dreamed he'd have is just as out of reach as it's ever been?
Makes you wonder, doesn't it?
Behind every arrogant buffoon is a frightened child curled up in a ball, terrified of the monsters in his closet.
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