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Wednesday, May 1, 2013

Book Preview: The Will Clark Interview

The Giants were off that day. It was a Thursday, and they were in
town for a three-game set with Atlanta starting Friday. Will Clark was nowhere to be found by four fifteen, but he finally showed up at around five o’clock. He had this really weird look on his face. I mean, not zany or quirky or anything, just plain weird, like he was on a weird drug of some sort; and this would not have shocked me because it seemed like everybody I had met in San Jose was on some sort of drug.
will clark with a bat
I remember being fairly alarmed at the guy’s actions when I saw him for the first time . . . he just put a knot in my stomach, just very weird. At this point, I had five or six members of the air staff in the room. Laurie Roberts who just loved the Giants, Ass Kisser, Carmine, Miss Piggy, and Lamont, the morning guy who had replaced Perry Stone.
“Hey, sorry I’m late, man. I got so lost!” he almost was yelling,
panicking, snarling.
“No problem . . . we’re live in forty-five seconds. Here are your
-Chapter 21 Living on The Fault Line
“There’s Nothing Louder Than Dead Air”

Thursday, April 18, 2013

Book Preview: “I’ll Kick Your Ass”

Excerpt from the new book from Bob “the Blade Robinson

“There’s Nothing Louder Than Dead Air”

You are properly qualified to do afternoon drive at the rock station if you were out all night with the rock stars and crawled to station the next day. This day in early September, I felt like crap because Tim, Carmine and I were out with Eric Martin of Mr. Big and his wife the night before. His wife was young and beautiful and here’s the bonus, she was friends with the 49’ers cheerleaders and brought two of them along. Of course, we were at Denny’s. It was three in the morning. I had finally had enough of the dudes in the section in front of us staring and making facial expressions at the girls at our table.
I tilted my head up obviously towards them as if to say . . . .
“Keep it up and I’ll kick your ass.”
This big redneck looking dude with his mullet (people still wore them
in 1989) stood up from his booth glaring directly at me, and I stood up and glared back. He made a move towards my booth, and I sat
down as quick as I could. That move saved my butt I believe. He was too drunk, and I wasn’t drunk enough.


Eric Martin of Mr. Big 1989

Eric called me on the air the next day about the previous night’s escapade and said the next time he went out with me he’d bring the 49’ers linebackers instead of the cheerleaders if I was going
to act that way.