‘Dream Job’ Puts Tools of Trade in Wrong Hands

Talking about sports anchors and the precarious act of mixing humor and highlights on the air, Dan Patrick once remarked, “Just because Dad leaves out the power tools doesn’t mean you have to play with them.”

Smart words. Telecommunication majors and aspiring sportscasters would do well to heed them, to memorize them, to remember that the path to the big leagues isn’t simply about who speaks loudest and carries the biggest shtick.

Because, kids, if you don’t know what you’re doing, somebody is going to get hurt ... and, hmm, hey, (you can see the light bulbs flickering above executives’ heads at ESPN HQ) you know, that sounds like an idea for a reality series to plug the Sunday-night programming gap between football and baseball seasons!

Welcome to ESPN’s “Dream Job,” a.k.a. “The Bristol Chainsaw Massacre.”

“Dream Job,” a six-week series involving 12 Stuart Scott wannabes competing for a one-year contract as an ESPN anchor, debuted Sunday evening. Chances are, not every member of the intended target audience saw it. Chances are, some still had their televisions in the repair shop after chucking coffee mugs through the screen at that obnoxious “rama-lama-ham-jam” guy on the “Dream Job” promos.

Nice try, but that obnoxious guy, a 30-year-old self-described “writer-comedian” (uh-oh) named Nick Stevens, still made it to the set for the opening show. You can’t stop him, you can only hope to contain him.

Here was Stevens voicing over a highlight of a last-second jump shot missing the rim and banging off the backboard: “Make the basket, don’t find the plastic!”

Here was Stevens narrating a crash at last year’s Indianapolis 500, which sent Dan Wheldon’s car into the wall, somersaulting in the air and landing upside down, with metal parts strewn across the track: “He flips himself like a Waffle House flapjack! ‘Oh, help me, I’m a race car driver, get me outta here.’ He would be OK, folks, don’t worry.”

And here was Stevens mocking Indy 500 champion Gil de Ferran as he tearfully celebrated his triumph: “Oh, that’s right, he was excited. He drank his milk. It does a body good. Yep, those are man tears.”

Where did I put that coffee mug again?

After Stevens and five other cohorts took their shots at two highlight packages each, they were escorted by Scott, the show’s host, to face the verdict from a panel of judges, a la “American Idol.” The fearsome foursome: Tony Kornheiser of “Pardon the Interruption,” Kit Hoover of “Cold Pizza,” Washington Redskin linebacker LaVar Arrington and ESPN Vice President of Talent Al Jaffe.

Kornheiser said he was glad Stevens hadn’t reprised “rama-lama” during his test run because “I’ve hated that since I’ve seen it for about three months now.” Kornheiser cautioned Stevens about “a smug factor” and advised him to “pull back a little bit,” and could somebody at ESPN maybe get that down on a memo and pass it around?

Jaffe said Stevens “didn’t sound like an anchor” and acted instead as if he were “telling a story to little kids.”

Stevens got off easy. He was permitted to proceed to the next round. Sunday’s task was to vote one contestant off the show, and the first player cut was Chris Williams, a 31-year-old attorney who stumbled over the names of hockey players and segued awkwardly from too-cute remarks about a Barry Bonds “Michael Jackson-style moonwalk-off home run” to a reference about Bonds leaving quickly to spend time with his terminally ill father.

Jaffe: “Very difficult to make that transition from screaming and yelling about the end of the game, and then going to a serious subject with the Bobby Bonds tumor. You’ve really got to watch that. If you’re going to do a tumor story like that, you’ve got to just cool it at the end of the highlight.”

Which is not to say questionable taste was summarily discouraged. Two contestants received praise from the judges for spicing up their highlights with jokes about diarrhea and an erectile dysfunction drug.

Aaron Levine, a 21-year-old Stanford student, turned a long punt return by Philadelphia Eagle Brian Mitchell into, “Mitchell’s only problem now is that he’s got [pause for effect] a big case of the runs!”

Maggie Haskins, a 21-year-old Brown student, concluded a report on Serena Williams’ winning her fourth consecutive Grand Slam title with, “And, of course, Serena must be careful. As the makers of Cialis have warned the country numerous times, four straight of anything good might require a trip to the doctor.”

All right. Here was a chance to teach a couple of overeager kids a lesson about what doesn’t belong on a national network sports newscast.

Haskins got four thumbs up from the judges, with Kornheiser decreeing, “You saved it at the end. Any Cialis reference is good with me.”

Hoover told Levine she “loved ‘the big case of the runs.’ ”

Jaffe said he also liked the line, which is about as troubling as it is telling. Scott told viewers earlier in the program that Jaffe had hired every ESPN on-air personality since 1987. So now you know.

It took Scott, Mr. Booyah himself, to actually say what had to be said: “Man, you can’t be talkin’ about ‘runs’ on TV.”

Levine and Haskins weren’t born when ESPN debuted in 1979. An entire generation has grown up watching “SportsCenter” and, intentionally or not, “Dream Job” distills what that influential program has taught them about “television sports journalism.”

In 25 words or less, Haskins put it this way: “Sosa hits a long deep drive ... insert catchphrase ... the Cubs win!”

Pandora’s toolbox has been opened. The kids can’t stay away -- they can’t help themselves -- and the adults won’t stop the carnage. Are you kidding? At ESPN, at 25, that’s called entertainment.