There is something to the notion that almost anything can be funny if placed in the hands of the right practitioner.

And then there's Beau Duran's phone call to Flynn Kile during the Cardinals-Diamondbacks series, in which a Phoenix radio disc jockey asked the widow of Cardinal pitcher Darryl Kile if she was bringing a date to the game.

	KUPD removed this bio of shock jock Beau Duran from its Web site Friday and placed a "suspended" stamp across his picture. Station officials were unavailable for comment.

Wrong guy. Wrong idea.

And then there's Chuck Artigue, Duran's boss, who apologized but otherwise initially declined to discipline Phoenix's new king of comedy, saying, "There's a thousand things that morning shows do that are far more concerning.''

Again, wrong guy. Wrong idea.

We spent several minutes trying to find an example where calling a widow three months after her husband's death made for hilarious radio, or hilarious anything else, for that matter. Then we realized it didn't matter. It only showed why some people's careers stop where they do.

Now the Cardinals are understandably outraged, being the protective lot they are. Manager Tony La Russa all but demanded Duran's firing in a tirade that matched his famous 45-minute stem-winder ripping Jose Canseco after the 1992 trade that sent Canseco to Texas.

But he is shooting the fly with the surface-to-air missiles here. I mean, the moment's passed, Flynn Kile understands that mindless cruelty does not endure, and Beau Duran is still known as the guy who couldn't come up with anything better than, "Hey, let's call Darryl Kile's wife and tell her she's hot.''

Morning radio is an indelicate but sophisticated art form, and a few folks have figured how to be funny, informative and offensive in various combinations.

The problem is that the good ones have spawned gruesome imitators who can do offensive but miss on the other two. Most of the imitators call their show "The Morning Zoo,'' or just use their last names as though anyone cares who they are.

And a few break out of their anonymity by seeking out ideas that are so stupid that they don't even offend. This is several of those examples.

We could muster more outrage if we didn't think that Flynn Kile could identify a nitwit when she hears one. Since Beau Duran is unworthy of her discomfort, we can only assume that her annoyance lasted only long enough for her to realize that the 46-chromosome minimum isn't for everyone.

But then there's Artigue, the boss who said Sunday that he didn't think Duran's stunt worthy of inclusion in the top thousand "more concerning'' stunts in morning radio history.

Ignoring his strangled syntax, we'd like the list of the thousand that top this one. We'd also have liked to know why he thought it wasn't too stupid a stunt to warrant some sort of punishment, and we'd also have liked to know why he was the one doing all the apologizing.

Then we realized that it didn't matter, either. They deserve each other, in Phoenix, trying to make sense of how they wrecked their careers and reputations on a stunt that wasn't funny enough to have cleared even the most rudimentary staff meeting.

Their ratings may not even show it. Morning radio is not unlike the frog in that even the worst of it survives nearly anything its talent can do to it -- sort of like baseball itself, when you think of it.

But they'll always be known as the guys who thought phoning Flynn Kile and asking her if she was bringing a date to the game was a funny idea, and they'll know that it's the reason why they remained in Phoenix until someone found a less deserving market for both of them.

And if, despite it all, they not only survive but also continue their bold march to the middle of the monkey ladder, they'll still know how stupid they can be. And that's enough to keep them both up at nights for awhile.

Ray Ratto is a columnist with the San Francisco Chronicle and a regular contributor to ESPN.com