In the Opening Day edition of the venerable (and clearly vulnerable) Denver Post
, the cover of the Life & Culture section boasted a feature on “The Ultimate Visitors Guide to Coors Field,” which prominently pictured…a lovely photo of Citizens Bank Park in Philadelphia
. Home of the Phillies. Nowhere near Denver.
Readers must have wondered how this error happened — the scoreboard says Phillies, as does the area behind home plate. And that’s definitely not the Denver skyline on the horizon.
But it’s no mystery. Errors like this could be the result of the purposeful and reckless draining of the talent and passion and commitment of the folks at the Post
. This is what happens when hedge-fund asshats run a newspaper: They care more about how high the dollar bills stack than anything having to do with journalistic integrity. Between massive layoffs
, moving the city paper out of the city
, and a dedication to profitability above all else
, the Denver Post
isn’t being given the resources to do its job. Mistakes are going to be made. Accuracy will suffer.
If Denver accepts a city newspaper that mistakes the Phillies' field for its own, what else will we shrug off? What happens when America accepts bad information as fact? Shortcuts, probably — like these seven.
7. Any Mountains = Julie Andrews From The Sound of Music
The generic, all-purpose hills are alive.
If you've seen one mountain, you've seen them all. It's a mountain. It's rocks and dirt in one big pile. At least this photo has the additional benefit of making you think of musicals and raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens and, you know, opposing Nazis instead of calling them "very fine people."
6. All Craft Beer and/or Pot = Snake Juice
If it's an inebriating substance, let's just throw up a still from Parks and Recreation
and call it a day. There is no problem that a good Ron Swanson reference
5. All Russian Leaders = Ivan Drago
We're returning to an era in which America has real, serious reasons to fear Russian aggression, whether it's through attacks on our election system or giant mutant blond boxers who care nothing for American heart. Enter Dolph Lundgren. Never mind that Dolph is Swedish. This is about the eye of the tiger. The thrill of the fight. Rising up to the challenge of our rival. Not being able to tell the difference between Dostoevsky, Lenin or Putin. And, frankly, not really caring.