Shouts And Mallomars

Bonnie Bernstein

bonnie bernstein

bonnie bernstein
New York, New York,
November 02
Starving Writer
Quirky, Edgy Authoress, Phanatically Baseball Lite. Writing the great American smutty memoir. Bonnie's words can be found in places like TheFix, YourTango, Modern Love Rejects, Salon, Petside, Babble, Perils of Divorced Pauline, Newsday and NYResident. Lisa Belkin wrote about Bonnie in Motherlode and Anderson Cooper interviewed her. Follow Bonnie on Twitter: bonnieb_writer


Editor’s Pick
APRIL 13, 2011 12:43AM

I Know Where I Stand With Craig Carton, Next To A Radio

Rate: 3 Flag
I will return to the Mets when Turk Wendell comes back to mount the mound at Shea Stadium, as one of the Men in Black, to pitch for the love of my game. I became a Phillies fan when Turk went down the Jersey Turnpike circa 2001. I know my baseball better than my hair color. The men in my life who once doubted my sports knowledge admit defeat.

I am a divorced woman in my forties living a solitary suburban life. With no decent proposals, including seeing Turk hurl baseballs, to hold my interest or anything else of me, I have developed a school girl crush on Craig Carton. He says he once was a back up third baseman for the Phillies minor league system. Now he is my radio man from the FAN. I am always game to go for a radio wave ride with Craig.

I have been without a relationship for over three years. I do not count the illegal alien, from Kazakhstan, who I met on Ludlow Street, in lower Manhattan. He never held my hand, but wanted to marry me. Or the old friend who dutch treated me to a meal in Hell’s Kitchen. Forget the Lower East Side cub who wanted a cougar until the sun rose. Before I go to bed alone, as I have given up on real men, I make sure the am/fm alarm clock is set to Sports Radio 66 WFAN NY at 5:55 AM. As I slumber, I dream of my cowboy. Craigy once said he gets turned on by a woman in a jersey. In the morning, I get all dolled up wearing one. It has become my obsession, to quiet my dogs, so that Craig Carton’s voice will be the first I hear every morning.

It is a love hate relationship, unlike the man who knew nothing about baseball but everything about how to break my heart by not returning my hopes. Radio lover does not tell me I need to lose weight. I do not tell him to stop looking at other women. Sometimes I do get a bit miffed when he talks about his “tournament of babes.” Out of jealousy, I change the station. I know he is married and I am trying to learn to share him with another woman. I do not need to hear C.C. get all excited when it is not about moi. Though, like a good airwaves companion should be, I always come back to Craig.

I, occasionally, need a break from yelling at my radio husband. I do not appreciate his attempts at guessing a woman’s bra size. I have been known to screech at the radio. The other day, a neighbor asked, “Everything all right?”

As my marriage unraveled, Shea was my sanctuary, a place where I was respected for my baseball knowledge. I was given the name Mrs. Wendell by the stadium’s ushers, when my now twenty three year old son and I would go to games. I started off life, just like Craig, a Mets fan. In 2001, we stopped having team common ground. A girl from Queens, I left Shea for Vets Stadium via the Jersey Turnpike and never turned back. Now unmarried, I am wedded to my Phillies.

I took a lot of flack for being a fan of not just an out of town team, but one that has infuriated my hometown. A baseball friend will not talk to me. My ex-husband introduced me to Yankee Stadium. I would later call that place purgatory because I wanted to be elsewhere.  My child taught me about this nation’s pastime. He is an AJ Burnett fan.

I do not think about what my voice over husband looks like. I imagine his appearance is just fine. It is Craigy’s voice that gets my heart intoxicated. Never saw him on television, cable bill would climb too fast with those emotional moments. I do not know if another man can do for me what his wild vocal musings do. I just want to run my fingers through his voice. I wonder if he knows we have pillow talk every morning.

After what seems to have been way too many times calling for a sane person, I got through to my radio hubby. On hold for twenty minutes, I was going to have a boom box interlude, my version of phone sex. Shaking, with phone to ear, I smacked my lips with gloss in anticipation. It was Craigy, me and millions of listeners, my very own public booty call. He pegged me a “dopey Phillies fan.” By waiting so long to speak with my radio husband, I deserved that commentary on my life. He demanded I blow him a kiss. I obliged. He kissed me back. He told me to call anytime.

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Brilliant writing. I feel your passion. Congrats on the EP as well. Rated.
Very funny. I say stick to your radio lover -- for now.
Now that you've gotten to first base with the man in your life, the next step is to Talk Misty to Him.
A very uncomfortable read. Craig Carton is a self-absorbed punk with an adolescent sense of humor and a face like Bat Boy.
I hate Craig Carton with the fire of a thousand suns. I hate his vulgarity, his reduction of women to objects, his misogyny about his wife, and most of all I hate him for the things he said about Mary Jo Codey's postpartum depression -- remarks that got him fired from his last show.

That said, what do I listen to while driving to work?


Boomer and Carton on the FAN.

Carton is an @**hole, but he is a GREAT morning zoo sports radio guy. I listen. I can't help it. But I hate myself every day when I arrive at work because of it.
Quality! I'm a Phillies fan to so I'm probably biased, but this is absolute quality
thank you everyone for your kind words -- and brilliantatbreakfast wow i love it thanks for that honesty so well said!
Its not the prettify that consumer unoriginality be completely clustered with communicator's views any penalization. So this is what happened with me, anyways its a unhallowed try, I get it. Thanks nip jobs