LOTTA BARK, NO

AS THEY stood in the orchestra pit being lifted up to the stage of Radio City Music Hall the only thing missing were clouds of smoke. The “Mike and the Mad Dog” theme would have to suffice.

The surreal nature of the grand entrance of Mike (Sports Pope) Francesa and Chris (Mad Dog) Russo was many moons away from their days inhabiting a basement studio dump in Astoria’s Fan Cave. And miles away from the days they created combustible radio, which fed their egos, inspired their audience, and made them multi-millionaire stars.

With their humble and dysfunctional beginnings well in their past, these Gasbags came to Radio City not so much to capture the old magic. Only a fool would expect that. Like an old band, the timing, hunger, and passion to deliver their own brand of radio madness could not possibly be at the same level it was all those years ago.

Back then they were trying to prove themselves, especially to the ratings Gods. Now, there is nothing left for them to prove. Wednesday was a night for their fans. A night to take all of them, the ones watching live at the Hall, on TV, and two separate radio outlets, on a trip back in time.

T h e y ya k ked for three hours. Inside of that space, depending on who you are, different memories were rekindled. It was a night to tell old stories. Or ask Tom Coughlin and Joe Torre questions they had been asked before. It was a night to see change in both their demeanor and look.

Out in front of a long desk, the artists formerly known as