Dan Le Batard
Meadowlark MediaBy Jesse Pantuosco on

Has The Dan Le Batard Show lost its fastball? Many of you seem to think so.

In fact, Le Batard has made a habit of reading listener complaints live on air. How is this for feedback?

“Sorry guys, somebody writes in, show’s just not for me anymore with the increased movement toward political extremism and the choices of guests you routinely have on.”

Another reads: “Can’t do it anymore. Can get political commentary somewhere else. Percentage of sports discussion decreasing with every single episode.”

Le Batard’s outspoken views undoubtedly played a role in his departure from ESPN, preferring the creative freedom afforded to him by DraftKings. And while his show does harbor left-wing tendencies (never more so than during his weekly “Because Miami” segment highlighting corruption in local politics), Le Batard would scoff at being labeled “woke” or “liberal,” rejecting the premise that advocating for basic human decency qualifies as a political stance.

It’s a valid argument, though listeners aren’t wrong in this regard—the show has changed, graduating from the mom-and-pop shop it was (or at least felt like) at ESPN to a rapidly-ascending startup with millions in overhead. Channeling the manic energy of an Adult Swim show, there was something beautifully chaotic about Le Batard in the beginning, a loud, colorful quality, not unlike the bustling city it inhabits. Everything, from the beachfront scenery to the pastel caricatures lining the Clevelander walls (most of them illustrated by Le Batard’s brother), seemed new and exciting, a wonderfully disruptive alternative to the stuffiness of mainstream media.

But the plucky underdog days are over with Le Batard, the troll with the heart of gold, now overseeing his own media empire, the brains behind an emerging podcast network with growing production costs, a new, centrally-located studio in downtown Miami and more employees than Le Batard can count. The show and its various side projects, all property of Meadowlark Media, have never felt more corporate, ironic considering how aggressively Le Batard worked to avoid that label at ESPN, coloring outside the lines even as Bristol undermined him at every turn, reducing the show to two hours before ultimately burying the “marching band to nowhere” behind a paywall on ESPN+.

Bloated beyond all recognition, the “Shipping Container” may as well be a cruise liner in its current overstuffed capacity, a “too many cooks” situation if there ever was one. Between its insufferable Miami bias (irrational Heat and Panthers fan Mike Ryan has been particularly exasperating throughout these playoffs), the daily guessing game of which cast members will be in studio and prolific slacker Jon “Stugotz” Weiner morphing into a parody of himself, the show has a tendency to feel disjointed, blown hopelessly off course in a sea of moving parts.

Still, you have to admire Le Batard’s ambition, leaving the relative safety of ESPN to embark on his own media venture, one that currently encompasses over a dozen podcasts, a three-part docuseries on Apple TV+ (Good Rivals, chronicling the United States’ longstanding soccer rivalry with Mexico) and a newly operational New York office led by recent ESPN defector and frequent show collaborator Pablo Torre.

Le Batard runs an admittedly loose ship, preferring an atmosphere of inclusivity and creative expression. To that end, Le Batard has made a concerted effort to platform women and members of the LGBTQ community, among other underrepresented voices in sports, particularly on Montgomery and Company and Off the Looking Glass, hosted by Renee Montgomery and Kate Fagan, respectively.

Nothing if not a pillar of self-awareness, Le Batard is uniquely attuned to his own blind spots, identifying a tendency to exist within his own echo chamber, surrounded by opinions and ideologies similar to his. However, by incorporating black, white and especially Latino voices, the show’s ensemble cast is as diverse as any you’ll see in sports media.

And though he too often defaults to “gotcha” journalism, unleashing “chaos grenades” on Michelle Tafoya (who, in revisiting her on-air clash with Le Batard, described it as an “ambush”) and Stephen A. Smith, Le Batard, when he’s not being overtly confrontational in an effort to get aggregated, is a brilliant interviewer, invoking honesty, heartfelt introspection and genuine emotion from his guests. There’s real insight to be gained from Le Batard’s riveting interview series, South Beach Sessions, a therapy couch for the industry’s brightest minds, delving into the challenges of fame and its inherent loneliness, searching for purpose and understanding in a fractured world where empathy and kindness are in short supply.

Le Batard has always walked a tightrope, embracing the degree of difficulty required in his thankless job as the ringleader of a show that oscillates between irreverent and profoundly serious. Striking the right balance between those tones is a high-stakes juggling act, one that few shows are equipped to handle, but Le Batard largely pulls it off, thanks to a game supporting cast of neurotic characters led by the show’s resident puddle of insecurity, longtime producer Billy “Guillermo” Gil.

The most relatable and reliably funny member of the show’s Shipping Container, Gil’s business card may as well read “Stugotz Sherpa,” dragging his blissfully unprepared cohost (his voice and overall health deteriorating from a hectic travel schedule revolving around Dead shows and “lacrosse-mitzvahs”) from Zoom call to Zoom call on God Bless Football, a keg party presented in podcast form with Chris Gronkowski, blast-from-the-past Joba Chamberlain, and defense attorney Carl Douglas among its many recurring guests.

Architect of the show’s signature “Useless Sound Montage,” a weekly staple during football season, Guillermo recently revealed his anxiety about preparing for an upcoming doctor’s visit that might require him to take his shirt off, only to cancel said appointment after falling short of his fitness goals. Longwinded and perpetually bewildered by the minutiae of everyday life, Guillermo’s neuroses are a shining example of what makes him such an endearing part of the Le Batard universe, habitually derailing the show with his absurd tangents, none of which have much to do with sports.

Le Batard wouldn’t work without its comic backbone of shameless self-involvement, making frequent use of callbacks and catchphrases that appeal to the show’s longtime fans. Here, the show’s lack of polish works to its benefit, deriving consistent humor from the failings of cast members like the charmingly inept Chris Cote, a likable but wholly unqualified nepo baby (his father, Greg Cote, is one of Le Batard’s oldest friends and colleagues from the Miami Herald) who, on one memorable occasion, took an eternity to record a simple ad read for Sheets and Giggles.

Sports may be the common thread (John Skipper and David Samson are a wealth of knowledge in that regard, offering enlightening commentary on the business side of sports whenever they share a studio together), but the show is always at its best when the room is riffing, cracking wise about everything from Aubrey Plaza to the “Sodfather,” whose unhinged musings about the field conditions at this year’s Super Bowl made for as big a viral moment as the show has ever had.

https://twitter.com/LeBatardShow/status/1628910787585617920

Le Batard is still the show’s beating heart, a charismatic straight man who’s never been afraid to take big swings, whether it’s commissioning a musical or a 24-hour marathon bursting at the seams with celebrity cameos (Charles Barkley, Jim Rome, Pat Riley, Bob Costas, Neal Brennan, Method Man, Pat Sajack and Adam McKay all stopped by for visits). As much as the show has changed, it’s also stayed the same in many ways. Wildlife expert Ron Magill continues to be a weekly fixture while Greg Cote remains mystified as ever by the hard network out. Stugotz, his sausage fingers yellowed from years of bodily neglect and a worsening cigarette habit, is still a con man at heart, a born schemer with a wormlike ability to wriggle out of lies (except when Le Batard calls his bluff by invoking a surprise polygraph test).

Though some of the show’s newcomers—Samson, in particular—have been met with resistance, others have emerged as fan favorites, including the relentlessly wholesome JuJu Gotti, a beloved social media coordinator who is slowly becoming the show’s moral compass. The fanbase can be demanding, entitled in its expectations for a show they feel a part of, but, when push comes to shove, the Le Batard community bands together like few others, recently raising over $30,000 in funds for Alex O’Keefe, a struggling TV writer affected by the strike.

Does every joke land? No (cue the obligatory Liam Neeson clip). Are the show’s victory laps excruciating? God yes. But there’s a flawed, uniquely human quality to The Le Batard Show that still resonates, an honesty and candor unusual for the sports podcast space. It’s why I’m still aboard the pirate ship, and will be until the bitter end.

About Jesse Pantuosco

Jesse Pantuosco joined Awful Announcing as a contributing writer in May 2023. He’s also written for Audacy and NBC Sports. A graduate of Syracuse’s S.I. Newhouse School of Public Communications with a master’s degree in creative writing from Fairfield University, Pantuosco has won three Fantasy Sports Writers Association Awards. He lives in West Hartford, Connecticut and never misses a Red Sox, Celtics or Patriots game.

View all posts by Jesse Pantuosco