When MTV Played Videos: A Love Letter to Late-Night Beavis and Butt-Head
Before algorithms, before influencers, there were two idiots on a couch who somehow spoke for a generation. This is a look back at when MTV still had guts, when Beavis and Butt-Head were our midnight philosophers, and when rock videos meant something.
Before algorithms, before influencers, there were two idiots on a couch who somehow spoke for a generation. This is a look back at when MTV still had guts, when Beavis and Butt-Head were our midnight philosophers, and when rock videos meant something.
In the ‘90s, MTV was still dangerous — a little unpredictable, a little punk. You never knew what you’d catch between “Headbangers Ball” and a commercial for JNCO jeans. Then these two idiots appeared: acne, Metallica shirts, and zero attention span. And somehow, that was the attention span of the decade.
Beavis and Butt-Head didn’t just mock music videos — they dissected the absurdity of pop culture without even trying. When they laughed at a Bon Jovi ballad or shredded some random alt-rock band you barely knew, it felt like the world was in on a private joke. And that’s what Gen X did best — laugh at the nonsense while secretly paying attention to the meaning underneath it all.
Those late-night viewings were a rite of passage. We weren’t just watching cartoons; we were learning the language of irony. MTV in that era wasn’t a network, it was a mirror — showing us our boredom, our rebellion, our desire for something real. It was chaos with a remote control, and Mike Judge’s duo gave us permission to laugh through it all.
And the music… man, the music was alive. Nirvana, Soundgarden, White Zombie, Smashing Pumpkins — even the pop garbage had an edge when filtered through Beavis and Butt-Head’s commentary. It was music television the way it was meant to be: unpolished, unpredictable, and soaked in teenage apathy.
Somewhere between then and now, we traded that chaos for “curation.” MTV became reality TV, music moved to the background, and the laughter got replaced with comment sections. But that late-night glow — that raw, dumb, brilliant humor — shaped how a whole generation sees the world today. We’re skeptical, sarcastic, self-aware… and still laughing at the system.
So yeah — this one’s for the night owls who kept the volume low so the folks wouldn’t wake up. For the ones who didn’t need a filter to find what was cool. For the ones who still hear “Breaking the Law” and crack up thinking of Beavis screaming, “Heh… fire!”
When MTV played videos, we didn’t just watch. We remembered.
Authored by Ian Primmer, Co-host — CommonX
The 90’s Home Run Kings: When the Crack of a Bat Still Meant Something
“From Ken Griffey Jr.’s smooth swing to backyard Wiffle ball showdowns, the ‘90s Home Run Kings defined a generation. CommonX looks back at the era when baseball was pure, personal, and played for love of the game — with a nod to Franklin Sports, the gear that started it all.”
There was a time when baseball wasn’t about algorithms, launch angles, or exit velocity — it was about swagger. About flipping on the TV, hearing that crowd swell, and seeing a man step into the box with nothing but pine tar, determination, and a dream.
The 1990s gave us an era of pure magic. You could walk into any backyard in America and hear kids calling out names — McGwire, Sosa, Griffey Jr. — before swinging at tennis balls with a cracked aluminum bat. The Home Run Chase of ’98 might’ve been the headline, but for those of us here in the Pacific Northwest, Ken Griffey Jr. was our guy. The smoothest swing the game has ever seen. He didn’t need the hype or the headlines — he had that effortless smile, the backwards cap, and a natural rhythm that made every home run look like poetry.
Griffey wasn’t just a player — he was a cultural landmark. In the PNW, he turned baseball into an art form, and for a generation of Gen-Xers, he became the symbol of what made the 90s real. The game wasn’t filtered, sponsored, or over-analyzed. It was grit, heart, and the smell of dust on a summer evening.
And every one of us had our own backyard version of that dream — a glove that never quite broke in, a bat we swore was lucky, and a Franklin ball set that somehow survived a hundred neighborhood games. It was the golden age of backyard baseball — before smartphones, before streams, before anyone said “content.”
That’s why we’re throwing it back today — to remember the kings who made the 90s unforgettable and to celebrate the gear that helped build those memories.
The Legacy Lives On
We didn’t grow up chasing algorithms or comparing exit velocity; we grew up chasing fly balls until the sun dipped behind the neighborhood trees. Those summer nights were the real highlight reels — dirty hands, busted knuckles, and that one friend who could launch a plastic ball clear over the fence like he was Sosa.
But for those of us who came up in the Pacific Northwest, one name still echoes louder than all the rest — Ken Griffey Jr. He wasn’t just a player, he was the soundtrack to our summers. That swing was pure rhythm, that backwards cap pure rebellion. Griffey taught an entire generation that cool didn’t mean trying too hard — it meant being yourself, and letting the work speak louder than the hype.
Today, when you pull on a glove or toss a ball to your kids in the yard, you’re not just passing time — you’re passing down a piece of that era. It’s more than nostalgia; it’s legacy. And whether you’re dusting off your old mitt or starting fresh with new gear, Franklin Sports is still out there — same logo, same spirit, same connection to the game we grew up loving.
👉 Check out Franklin Sports gear here — because the only thing better than remembering the 90s is reliving them with your own crew.
