Back in the early 1970s, in something of a reaction to the acid-laced excesses of late 1960s psychedelia, the singer/songwriter came to musical prominence. Sensitivity and folk/rock were the names of the game. Artists such as James Taylor and John Denver led the way in a sensitivity-laden barrage of non-threatening crooners fingerpicking and heartstrings-strumming their way into audiences’ hearts nationwide. In retrospect, the genre was a kowtow to feminism’s first wave, guys doing their best to prove they too had feelings while turning down their amps and their as-yet-unnamed toxic masculinity.

And then there was Jim Croce.

Croce, who died in a 1973 plane crash just as he was firmly establishing himself as the singer/songwriter alpha dog, was different from his contemporaries. He could, and did, pen and croon songs about love lost with the best of them, if not better.

However, there were many facets to Croce that his contemporaries lacked. Croce could also write authentic humorous stories of local tough guys getting their comeuppance, love songs that weren’t too embarrassingly sappy to dedicate out loud, and relationship observations which included the novel concept that sometimes when things fall apart, the woman is at fault came into play.

It immeasurably helped that Croce was a man of the people, someone who listed truck driver and construction worker on his hardscrabble résumé. Croce also valued family; a letter he sent his wife Ingrid that, in bitter irony, arrived after his death commented he was preparing to lay aside his music career in favor of staying home with her and their son.

Croce came to mind while reading an August 23rd Jason Whitlock op-ed over at The Blaze decrying the macho-drenched false masculinity of Barstool Sports’ Dave Portnoy and former kickboxer Andrew Tate.

Portnoy, the founder of Barstool Sports, and Tate, a kickboxing champion turned TikTok influencer, are the latest undeserving benefactors of an unholy mission Democrats and feminists devised 60 years ago to demonize manhood.

Portnoy built a sports media empire pretending to be a fearless ESPN disruptor standing against the wokefication of sports and American culture. It’s now clear he’s a total fraud and sellout. His lone interests are money and access to barely legal women. He sold Barstool to a gambling company for hundreds of millions of dollars, and now Barstool is every bit as woke as ESPN.

One of the fundamental differences between Jim Croce and the Dave Portnoys of this world is their view of women. To Portnoy, women are walking sex dolls designed for pleasuring men. Croce sang and lived a different directive, one of honesty and respect even when things went awry. In his songs and life, Croce was unafraid to both tell the truth and take the hit, when needed, walking away bloodied but unbowed and uncompromising. There would be a tomorrow, and Croce refused to stew in today’s losses.

The cartoonish excesses of Portnoy are, to a degree, understandable. They are the misguided reaction to an increasingly man-hating culture, one void of self-awareness regarding its nihilism raging against its utter failure at playing God. The Portnoy school of “thought” contains no substance. It is utterly clueless regarding the truth of true masculinity starting when a man embraces the Man from Galilee.

Authentic masculinity protects and leads. Authentic masculinity walks the talk (reference Ron DeSantis); poseurs talk the walk (reference Lincoln Project). Authentic masculinity sees lovemaking as a seal of commitment, while false masculinity believes making love is nothing more than getting laid. So, where are the real men? Not where, or who, the Dave Portnoys of this world think they are.