Concertmaster Meltdown

Then, in September, the orchestra finally changed its audition practices for the first time in 85 years, deciding against allowing relatives to judge auditions. Without her father, uncle, or aunt judging, Preucil's daughter Lexi didn't make the cut.

It's the kind of year that would drive most men to drink, which is exactly what Preucil did en route to England for the orchestra's international tour. On the flight overseas, members say, he got completely wasted and started screaming at the airline attendant. He was also overheard mumbling those laments of violinists everywhere: "Fuck the orchestra" and "fuck all this shit."

For drunken poetry, the judges gave him an 8.7.

Then, on the bus ride to the hotel, Preucil apparently started yelling at the driver that he "had to pee." When the driver told him he couldn't exactly pull over on the highway, Preucil opened the door himself, forcing the driver to slam on the brakes. Embarrassed, the head of the touring committee apologized to the driver. Apparently, Preucil didn't take kindly to apologies on his behalf. "You're an asshole," he told the driver.

In most corners of Cleveland, the episode would be dismissed as Things You See on a Normal Tuesday Night. But orchestra members were aghast. "We always joke that unless you come onstage drunk and pee on the floor, you're pretty much guaranteed job security," says one member. "But this is the kind of thing that gets you fired."

Tour manager Jonathan Martin fumbled for words to describe the escapade, before telling Punch to get in touch with PR — which, of course, never called us back.

Troy Smith does juvie
When Heisman winner and Baltimore Ravens quarterback Troy Smith stopped off for an inspirational speech at the county juvenile detention center last week, his odds of success weren't good. Row upon row of teenagers in blue jumpsuits slumped in cold metal chairs in the center's dismal gym, conducting silent warfare with their eyes. A guard noted that not all the kids could attend, since the center is overcrowded and authorities worry about gang problems.

But then something incredible happened. Smith attacked his audience with an unusual weapon: kindness.

"We miss you, man!" he began. "We need you guys to be future doctors. We need you guys to be future lawyers . . . We don't need you to be here your whole lives."

His voice rose and tears stained his cheeks as he defined Cleveland's deepest need: "We are starving for men."

The audience was hooked. Heads nodded, eyes were glued to the podium. "It's incredible to me how many beautiful young men we have in this building right now," Smith said. "I come here today as a humble servant to you guys."

One by one, he listened as the teenagers stood up to introduce themselves and ask polite questions. There were no jokes, no snide remarks. When Smith asked for their help in defending his hometown, most hands rose in the air.

"My long-term goal is making Cleveland a better place," he told them. "You can call me a hypocrite if it doesn't happen, but I guarantee you it will."

Superman's Propaganda
If you see a mushroom cloud in the days leading up to November 6, don't call 911.  That's just the fallout from two overeager politicians blowing each other to smithereens as they vie for the support of Seven Hills. 

 David Bentkowski — creatively known as "Get Bent-kowski" by those who hate him — is a 35-year-old mayor, up for re-election, who fetishizes Superman memorabilia and still lived with his parents until two years ago. Matt Trafis, his Lex Luthor, is a 27-year-old city council hopeful and the son of former mayor Gerry Trafis, though he presumably has his own apartment.

Throughout his reign, Bentkowski has published the Seven Hills News, which runs compelling stories comparing the mayor to Grady Sizemore and Brady Quinn, as well as photos of his bachelor's pad, which includes a Superman room, which explains why he's still single.

But with election day approaching, the paper's taken a more aggressive tone, reading like a combination jihadist manifesto/12-year-old's diary. The mayor unearths an old Halloween photo of young Matt Trafis posing in an Uncle Sam hat, while his father wears a fireman costume. "The big joke," writes the mayor, "was to dress up like two people they hate: me and firemen." Behold the fury of the mayor's cunning pen!

Yet Trafis has been inoculated against levity as well. He refused to answer questions on the record, then called Punch back five minutes later with a prepared statement, calling Bentkowski's manifesto "outrageous and offensive."