’90s Court clouds distance, disagreement; illuminates common passions, intriguing differences
Cold cases make the basis for the cohosts’ warm, occasionally hot, reminiscence on millennial childhood culture.
'90s Court cohosts Lisa Monahan and Andy Clodfelter have met in person once. But you wouldn’t know that listening to the sound quality and enriched discussion on their podcast’s 76 episodes and counting. (Photo submitted by Andy Clodfelter)
Ask a stereotypically cynical elder, and they might cite it as a pitiful product of the participation trophy generation.
One party lost a friendly competition, and the vanquishing opponent effortlessly empathized. In fact, the winner stopped short of scorning her side for simply getting more points. After all, there were good friends, new and renewed, on the losing end.
“I think back to the Pete and Pete episode,” said Lisa Monahan in an email. “That was the hardest loss to see, even if I was the one who ‘won.’”
That statement may sound soft to the uncultured ear. But with all due respect, who here is asking anyone beyond the younger half of Generation X, millennials, or ’90s kids at heart? And who is rightly asking for much more than some fond, unifying nostalgia?
The ’90s Court podcast, which is approaching its two-year mark and started its fourth 25-episode season on Monday, lives up to every fun connotation of its moniker’s first half and none of the latter’s seriousness.
The name alone, especially with the long I as its first vowel sound, may evoke the short-lived Squigglevision show Science Court from Disney’s One Saturday Morning. (That show and block launched simultaneously in September 1997. The series proved not-so-Y2K-compliant, shutting down January 22, 2000.)
While Science Court has not yet made it to ’90s Court, its programming block’s jingle was one of founder Andy Clodfelter’s spontaneous on-air singing recollections. Cohost Monahan was audibly impressed with his precision, and it was not the first time he wowed her that way.
Playful banter takes precedent in this court. In their de facto lawyering roles, Clodfelter and Monahan are more capable and better prepared than Lionel Hutz, yet far less competitive than Jack McCoy.
“You might not get 40 pages of research on each topic, well-scripted dialogue, or a feel-good hit for the whole family,” Clodfelter conceded via email. “But we will bring you mounds and mounds of flavor...so even if the court case isn’t one you’re thrilled about, you’ll have fun.”
From ’90 Court’s inception, there has never been much cutthroat, cut-and-dry prosecution, defense, or debate. Now it is plainly a pair of ’90s culture enthusiasts taking one of two select and related or comparable ’90s culture fixtures; laying out as many findings, memories, and thoughts as they can; and letting the audience decide for the sake of letting the audience decide which one is better.
Compete level took minimal time giving way to laid-back, yet often energetic, nostalgia.
“It definitely naturally took shape that way,” Monahan said. “I think it affords us more time to just hash out everything and have a laugh while at it, as opposed to role-playing like we were really in court.”
“Andy had such a solid idea from the beginning that very little tweaking needed to be done.” - Lisa Monahan
Typically, each self-appointed attorney’s approach does not emit any attempt at persuasion. They do lay out intriguing facts and figures that might enhance an entity’s case, but the speeches are generally what humanities professors wince at as “plot summary” rather than argument.
In lieu of objections, the cohost offers interjections to admire or request elaboration on a factoid or anecdote. Whether it is their “client” or not, they can and will spontaneously reminisce on personal experiences with the topic at hand.
Editorializing is optional, although neither attorney is afraid to highlight what can count for or even against their side. Clodfelter, for instance, was summarizing Oasis when he admitted the visuals in their music videos made him “cringe.”
“Over time the winning/losing became far less important than just making a good episode,” he emailed.
The polls throughout ’90s Court’s social media sphere are still there as a crucial means of fan engagement. Monahan relishes reading a given comment thread, as listeners fervently elaborate on their respective choices.
She and Clodfelter monitor the numbers as much as the letters, but hardly do so to bolster their bragging rights. After all, they are not often, if ever, winning over enough fellow ’90s kids to tip the scale on a given matchup.
Almost inevitably, the cases are cold. When ’90s Court launched, all eligible material was no younger than 19-and-a-half years. The target listeners either have a built-in grasp and a take on the week’s topic, or they don’t.
“I think if the listeners know the two things we’re covering, they already know their answer to who wins,” said Clodfelter, “and if they don’t know one or both of them, we want to share details about it with them.
“And hopefully be even remotely funny in the process.”
Just like on the 1998 upstart Whose Line Is It Anyway?, any points the cohosts subjectively rack up mean nothing. If anything, at least in extenuating cases, they are inclined to sympathize with the defeated.
Monahan diplomatically asserts that Clodfelter’s clients have won more polls. Clodfelter holds that Monahan tends to score the all-time wider margins of victory, including the most outstanding upset in both of their books.
“Upset” holds a twofold connotation vis-à-vis the Pete and Pete episode, as Clodfelter has reiterated his residual heartache over it.
Monahan “won” that January 27, 2020 edition with Boy Meets World, despite spending an hour-plus openly favoring the other side. For the pair of podcasting colleagues whose connection was built largely on a common fondness for ’90s Nickelodeon, The Adventures of Pete and Pete seemed like a logical top dog going in.
Monahan and Coldfelter were implicitly prepared for the latter’s client to win that week, even before they started recording. They warmed up for the case by listening to the legendarily catchy, unintelligible “Hey Sandy” — Polaris’ theme song to Pete and Pete. They had not so much rigged the matchup as assumed the masses would.
“You might not get 40 pages of research on each topic, well-scripted dialogue, or a feel-good hit for the whole family. But we will bring you mounds and mounds of flavor.” – Andy Clodfelter
During her turn, Monahan said Boy Meets World was “less fun” by virtue of being “G-rated” despite some dark storylines one only notices retroactively.
During his turn, Clodfelter piqued Monahan’s excitement by mentioning Mr. Tasty, the one-off ice cream man who represents summer’s annual entrance and exit in the brothers’ Pete’s hometown of Wellsville. Later on, Monahan reaffirmed “my vote for Pete and Pete,” when Clodfelter mentioned a throwaway gag from a beach scene in the same episode.
“Each (episode) was like a mini-movie,” Clodfelter noted, adding to his bona fide case.
“Boys Meets World was so heavily on the continuity train,” Monahan said, unlike Pete and Pete, whose charm was a dearth of connection between two storylines.
“(Pete and Pete) still holds up very much today,” Clodfelter concluded, “and it’s received a lot of high praise.”
“Yeah, sorry,” Monahan asserted, “Pete and Pete sounds way better.” Then she admitted to having enlisted Pete and Pete to oppose her client.
“I’d be surprised if Boy Meets World wins,” she concluded, “but you know what?...”
Despite the last-minute acknowledgment that anything could happen, the ’90s Court jury’s verdict was no less startling.
“Like, how did people not like that show as much as we did?” Monahan pondered in her email. “Maybe it wasn’t as popular as we thought.”
But now she and Clodfelter can take pride in their own popularity. The ’90s Court Apple page bears 40 reviews and 62 ratings thus far. All are a perfect 5.
Besides the obvious nostalgic hook, listeners appreciate the cohosts’ chemistry, the loose tone, the irresistible goofy behavior perfectly becoming of this age group back in the period in question, the breadth of topics, and the candor as to one’s knowledge and opinion of the topic at hand.
The way the audience quantifies and articulates their appreciation fittingly reflects the sweet, savory balance of similarities and differences in the cohosts’ backstories. It also represents a social triumph, a dollop of delayed gratification deep into adulthood as they recall (mostly) the highs and (sometimes) lows of childhood.
“We had such different experiences in the ’90s,” said Clodfelter, “and yet not that different at all. There are so many things that were so important to me that Lisa knew nothing about, and vice versa.
“And I think that’s been the coolest thing is getting to learn about this other person’s life that started at roughly the same time and yet looked just different enough. While we vary on a lot of stuff regarding shows we watched, music we liked, shops we went to, I think we both had a lot of very similar experiences in regards to ‘the struggles of being cool or accepted.’”
Lisa and Andy Are Good For This
Born four days apart in 1985, and based 1,030 miles apart, Clodfelter and Monahan consider each other long-lost siblings. They have met in person once, in December 2019. They intended to record an episode in person while Monahan was visiting Illinois between Christmas and New Year’s, but mild illnesses to both confined their get-together to coffee and dinner.
“If we are able to record in person sometime in the future that would be awesome,” Monahan said. “But the Internet has made long-distance podcasting crazy easy in the meantime.”
To that point, Monahan lives in Pflugerville, Texas (a suburb of Austin), and Clodfelter in Champaign, Illinois. Their crossing of paths as thirtysomethings is a classic embodiment of ’90s innovations, namely online communication, growing up alongside ’90s kids.
Social media was how Monahan established what Clodfelter calls a “very vague connection” with Mary Enright, a fellow Illinois resident with whom he piloted his first podcast.
From the latter’s minivan, Clodfelter and Enright ran Mary and Andy Aren’t Good At This for one 17-episode season. A tongue-in-cheek tagline labeled it “the comedy advice and self-care podcast that will change your life.”
“It was a fun show,” he said, “but pretty much a local thing for people we know.”
When its four-month run ended, Clodfelter’s first podcast lent a sturdy bridge to his next. (The first installment of ’90s Court is syndicated at the top of Clodfelter and Enright’s joint Apple archive.)
A new day job for Clodfelter created scheduling conflicts with Enright, but with new time slots open, he needed another way to dispense his energy. Preferably something with a broader geographic appeal.
In the July 24, 2019, finale, he teased the concept for a new podcast, which he had already brainstormed with another friend. Among other details, he unleashed the title in the process.
“I. Am. Pumped about this idea,” Enright replied, almost sounding like she would be participating herself.
As if that statement alone did not establish her as a founding ’90s Court booster, Enright listened as Clodfelter shared more of his vision, then rhetorically asked, “Who doesn’t love that?”
Clodfelter laid out upfront that the format could unfold as an actual debate or just casual reflections.
“Super cool,” Enright concluded before the two moved on to carry out their last episode.
As for his new venture and new cohost, Clodfelter had a leading candidate out of a handful. Monahan was among the geographically distant acquaintances in Enright’s network, and Clodfelter gave her a follow after fielding a comment on Mary and Andy Aren’t Good At This. “Had he not been so into podcasting and making me laugh on his show with Mary, we’d never meet!” said Monahan.
“Oh, Andy knows I don’t play around with my opinions. In fact, sometimes I purposefully choose to represent a movie, show, whatever in court that I actively don’t like just for fun.” – Lisa Monahan
As he scouted Instagram, in particular, Clodfelter’s then-present and unbeknownst-to-him-future podcast partners’ similarities snowballed before his eyes. To put Monahan to the test, he sent her a direct message, breaking the ice by asking her thoughts on Pokemon.
“She nerded out wildly, and I immediately said ‘That’s my cohost’,” he recalled. “So I told her why I was asking and mentioned the format of the show, she was in, and the rest was history.”
Of course, the most cultured U.S. ’90s kids are not red-blooded, but orange-blooded Americans. Or, perhaps, green-blooded, as in slime in the veins. (Out of ’90s Court’s first 76 episodes, six have involved at least one Nickelodeon entity. Four have been intramural showdowns pitting two ’90s Nick shows.)
To that point, Clodfelter all but sealed the deal for Monahan by reciting what he calls “a real earworm” from the old Nick in the Afternoon programming block. The host of that block, Stick Stickly, used to invite viewer mail in singsong as follows.
Write to me, Stick Stickly, P.O. Box 963, New York City, New York State, 1-0-1-0-8.
“We may have had different favorite shows, but our love for all things ’90s Nickelodeon is unrivaled,” said Monahan. She added, “nothing made me happier than hearing (Clodfelter) sing the Stick Stickly address song.”
And so, five days after Mary and Andy Aren’t Good At This ended, Monahan and Clodfelter’s shared dives into their personal and collective cultural history began. Besides the aforementioned, then-nascent Pokemon franchise and bunch of branches from the Nick tree, they have covered a comprehensive range of decade-defining topics:
Disney Renaissance films; PBS Kids; NBC’s Must See TV; horror or action movies that millennials might have been a tad young for at the time; toys; snacks; fashion; Nintendo 64; gaming; gadgets; grunge rock; and the way many of these things were advertised. For this week’s Season 4 premiere, they pitted two defunct establishments that peaked in the ’90s in Blockbuster Video and Border’s bookstore.
And that’s just the case portion of the podcast. As many as 30 minutes go to a weekly “things” segment, where the cohosts combine to bring up and break down two more obscure, less related slices of ’90s culture. (Monahan once made Stick Stickly hers.)
The chief change there was that the “things” started as a post-case capper, then switched to functioning as a warmup act.
“Andy had such a solid idea from the beginning that very little tweaking needed to be done,” Monahan said.
Weird, wild, and wistful
Since hitting its stride, ’90s Court plays out like game day in a youth sports utopia, where opposing coaches are just as inclined to applaud each other’s team as their own. Although they will also firmly, but fairly, call anything out if it doesn’t play fair in their view.
Well, maybe the cohosts’ PG-13 (occasionally R-rated) vocabulary would not be quite right for an after-school setting. Then again, millennials proverbially donning their ’90s shoes might think of Clodfelter and Monahan as cool adult supervisors who let slide what their parents and educators never would.
Regardless, with the brimming variety of weekly case matchups and warmup “things” from each cohost, the show’s execution resembles the mission statement of Wild & Crazy Kids. Virtually speaking, it goes anywhere and does anything to ensure ’90s kids and kids at heart are having fun.
The dressing that draws loyal listeners, even if they are picky about their nostalgia menu, is what makes ’90s Court, by its own assertion, “spicier” than its peers. The language is certainly bluer than that of any program the creator’s and targets’ parents would have wanted them watching in the ’90s.
In just about every episode, casual cursing and slang when paraphrasing dialogue or synopsis evokes Drunk History. Besides the subject matter, the chief difference from that 2010s TV toddy is Clodfelter and Monahan’s delivery, which suggests a touch of caffeine or sugar, if anything tangible.
More likely, it is just spiritual spice fresh from a shaker off the ’90s nostalgia rack.
“I assume it’s just that we let it all hang out on the show,” mused Monahan. “I do all the editing and try not to edit anything out at all — what we say is what you hear, for better or for worse.”
As long as it’s getting laughs and refreshing fond memories, it’s for the better.
“I consider ’90s Court to be comedy above all else,” said Clodfelter. “Sure, we cover some amazing and hilarious stories, but Lisa and I get super weird on the air.
“And we don’t sugarcoat (Lisa, especially) when we think that something we’re covering was just awful.”
Boy Meets World was the least of those instances. Earlier this year, when their January 18 debate pitted two PBS Kids classics, Monahan acknowledged her antithetical approach upfront. She was ostensibly there to proselytize Wishbone against Andy’s The Magic School Bus. But that would have meant playing devil’s advocate, which she had no interest in doing.
“We end up tapping into memories of friendships, struggles, relationships with family, and I think that brings us together more than anything — empathizing and growing in understanding of one another.” – Andy Clodfelter
Instead she dove into brutal honesty and prosecuted the show for all of the conceptual absurdities that keep it from holding up. At any rate, in additional candor, she wondered why any kid with cable would have chosen PBS over Nickelodeon.
“Oh, Andy knows I don’t play around with my opinions,” Monahan said with a smile. “In fact, sometimes I purposefully choose to represent a movie, show, whatever in court that I actively don’t like just for fun.”
That custom goes back to the podcast’s formative months. The pilot episode, with self-proclaimed “amateur storm chaser” Monahan passionately defending an underdog Twister and an equally competitive Clodfelter touting Independence Day, did play out more like a conventional debate.
But a month later, when Monahan had Space Jam in her corner for Episode 5, she said at the top of the case, “Mine should be put to death.” She had not even revealed her side of the matchup at that point. When she did, she called the Michael Jordan/Bugs Bunny double act “an animation versus live-action movie that nobody asked for.”
Conversely, there are times when no one, including the cohost speaking at the moment, asks for a personal flashback, but all are happy to have it pop up. When talking Free Willy, Clodfelter begged preemptive pardon for “interrupting the court case” so he could digress to describe the occasion and site of his first viewing of the film.
A deluge of details from a boyhood birthday party, of which the movie was a part, came gushing back. The games at the arcade adjacent to the cinema, the pizza party, the ice cream cake, the works.
And then there was the refresher on water snakes. Today the slippery, squeezable bags of liquid are repeat items on listicles rounding up ’90s fad merchandise that could never catch on in this century.
Other items on such listicles, like Polly Pocket and the Balzac Balloon Ball, have constituted Monahan or Clodfelter’s “thing” of the week. Bop-It and Skip-It faced off in a court case.
But for lack of a better phrase, water snakes slipped Monahan’s mind until they were Clodfelter’s thing.
“It was such an odd time,” she said, “just having these weird, soft, rubbery tubes in our backpacks for no apparent reason other than they were ‘cool.’”
You know this is not meant to resemble a real court when narration draws no objection.
“We end up tapping into memories of friendships, struggles, relationships with family,” said Clodfelter, “and I think that brings us together more than anything — empathizing and growing in understanding of one another.”
Crafty moves
Through their medium, Clodfelter and Monahan’s kinship has found natural kindling. As such, the discussion and cathartic memory refreshment cannot help but continue beyond the recording.
“I definitely forgot how much I was into wrestling as a kid,” said Clodfelter, “and connecting with some of our fans has brought those memories back in full force.”
Unspoken feedback is upping the volume as well. In February, the cohosts received a set of radiant green, orange, and yellow renderings of their logo in handcrafted wooden frames. Sharing the fan art on Facebook, Clodfelter called it his first handmade present since childhood.
Now the two are returning the favor to their base with their own lineup of “swag.” Unlike its cases, ’90s Court’s virtual gift shop does cast a net for everyone from parents to babies. Its emblem and “Stay Rad” slogan adorn long-sleeve T-shirts, sweatshirts, coffee mugs, and onesies.
“We were slow to release merchandise,” said Monahan, “but we have a pretty solid following that wanted to rep a show they love. We were thrilled to see people liked the show enough to sport some gear out in the wild.”
Back in the confines of home, Monahan, a proud mother of three, is imparting the podcast’s subjects to her brood. It is safe to assume she does so in more sanitized terms, although she still feels her agreement or disagreement with a given entity.
Instilling the exact same preferences to her kids is a work in progress.
“Much to my dismay, they seemed to like Wishbone,” she said. “But I’ll work on them for more of the original Nicktoons shows.”
Fatherhood is still in the future tense for Clodfelter, but he has his game plan (emphasis on game) for spreading the spirit of the ’90s to present-day children.
“I think it’s cool to see how video games evolved and grew,” he said, “and I think the next generation needs to know about it.”
Shifting gears to TV gems, he added, “Are You Afraid of the Dark? and Legends of the Hidden Temple,” a classic Nickelodeon horror anthology and adventure game show, respectively. That is where a moderate dose of parental pressure will actually come into play.
“My future kids will be forced to watch both of these constantly.”
Follow Al Daniel on Twitter @WriterAlDaniel and browse his full feature-writing portfolio here