Not Entirely Baroque

Kelly Jane Torrance obviously does not listen to Washington, D.C.'s WGMS, which she claims is "pioneering a dumbing-down of classical radio in America" ("Rhapsody in Blue," Nov. 7). The station does play entire symphonies and concerti, in the "103 Commercial Free" block in the morning from 9 a.m. to 10:43 a.m. and in the "Dinner at Eight" stretch from 8 p.m. to 9 p.m. In addition, they sometimes play shorter symphonies and concerti after 9 p.m. and on holidays. The station also has an affiliated all-vocal Internet station, at www.vivalavoce.com, and has just started podcasting interviews with classical personalities.

Granted, much of the time WGMS plays very short segments of music frequently interrupted by commercials. But they haven't entirely sold out.

Martin Morse Wooster
Silver Spring, MD

Trained to Kill

Mackubin Thomas Owens's thoughts regarding the use of our military in domestic service was of great interest, but despite the appropriate headline--"Fighters, Not First Responders" (Oct. 24)--he dealt only superficially with the notion that the military should assist in natural disaster relief efforts. To use a sports analogy, if a man has trained for years to be a heavyweight lifter in the Olympic Games, it would be nonsensical to ask him on short notice to participate in the ping-pong competition.

Lt. Col. Chris Hughes, while serving as commander of the Second Battalion, 327th Infantry of the 101st Airborne, described his Iraq mission in Edwin Black's Banking on Baghdad: "Our mission is simple. We are the guys who knock the door down and kill the enemy. We get around the battlefield in Blackhawk helicopters, make contact with the enemy, and kill them. We're the ones." To use such magnificent warriors in any other role than the one for which they have been trained is, or should be, unthinkable.

Ted Kirby
Flat Rock, NC

Get a Life, Losers

Reading Stephen F. Hayes's "Fantasy Life" (Casual, Oct. 10), I was transported once again into the loserdom within which former dorks-turned-hip professionals finally find their niche in the sports world. When I was between the ages of eight and twelve, my existence revolved around the intoxicating arcana represented by baseball, basketball, and football statistics. My reading was confined to Sports Illustrated, The Sporting News, and Street and Smith's indispensable guides. Fortunately, I discovered girls, enjoyed my brief time as a high school athlete, and moved on. Though my obsession with sports endured, I could never take diversions like Rotisserie baseball and Fantasy Football seriously--for, as anyone who has played sports at an elite level or who intuitively understands their nuances knows, "not everything that can be counted counts, and not everything that counts can be counted."

Though I'm reasonably certain Einstein wasn't referring to the inanity and pointlessness of Fantasy Football when he made this remark, I can hardly think of a better context. Of course, growing up in Las Vegas, as I did, my jaundiced view of these Roto-geeks and Fantasy freaks may perhaps stem from the boneheads who, when asked who won the Cowboys-Giants tilt, will dispassionately deadpan "the G-men covered" as though this told you everything you wanted to know. If you must wager on games or athletes, go to the track. They don't call it the "Sport of Kings" because it consists of over-caffeinated MBAs (who as gradeschoolers were unmercifully tattooed with those ubiquitous red rubber balls in P.E.), hunched over their laptops mulling which second-string quarterback to pick up before the trading deadline.

Matthew C. Seaton
Tucson, AZ