Hey Mike Lupica, where you at?

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So one thing that’s struck me about the massive Daily News bloodletting is this: Where the hell is Mike Lupica?

The star columnist and noted career crusher (of those he feels threatened by) has been oddly silent since we learned the paper’s plan to shit splatter half the staff. Not a Tweet, not a radio interview, not a trademark little rant that ends with him promoting product. Nothing. Nada. Hell, on Twitter he still identifies, first and foremost, thusly …

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I’m actually taken aback, because—if nothing else—Lupica’s name is synonymous with the paper. Like him or hate him, he’s been a big read for decades; the 10 letters more identifiable with the Daily News than any other scribe. So you’d think, as his yacht sinks into the Hudson River, Lupica’s whiney little mouse voice would squeak one last time. No, it’s not his character to stand up for peers; to argue on behalf of John Harper and Frank Isola and the other two dozen (or so) sports colleagues sent packing.

But, Jesus Christ, the cowardice here is jarring.

You’re Mike Lupica!

You shoot from the lip!

You bring the heat!

And now, when push comes to shove, you’re alone in your Connecticut home.

Terrified and quiet.

PS: Actually, he’s Tweeted once today. And it’s a slam of Sean Spicer. Which is fine—Spicer’s a joke. But THAT’S what you have to say? THAT’S it? #fraud

PPS: Holy craps. He just Tweeted again, as I was writing this. About Yanks-Red Sox. Lupica, your paper is imploding. Show something, man. Show … something.

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