I hate Dr. Phil. I have many reasons for this. My opinion of him is so low that I feel fair in saying that he gives all Phils a bad name. Actually, it was my parents that gave me a bad name. I wanted to be called Scott. Back to Dr. Phil. Regardless of what college degree he has and how many pounds he helped Oprah lose, he is a crackpot. It is not good therapy to tell people how stupid they are. It may be good television, but it is not good therapy.
As a therapist named Phil I am constantly referred to as “Dr. Phil.” If I had a high opinion of the man and his skills I wouldn’t mind the “fun” my patients have with the name. If my name was Albert and people wanted to call me Einstein, I would be totally cool with that. If I was Leonardo and people wanted to call me DaVinci, no problem. I wouldn’t even care about the Ninja Turtle references. For me, being called Dr. Phil is like a nurse being called Nurse Ratchet or every man named Osama being called Bin Laden. (Yes, there are others in the world with the name Osama. I met one once) Dr. Phil gives mental health a bad name the way Attila gave Huns a bad name.
To clear the good name of Phil once and for all I’d like to challenge Dr. Phil to a therapy Olympics. Some of the gymnastic events would include the mood swings and the Lithium levels. In track and field we could compete in the Ritalin Races. For swimming we could practice drowning peoples sorrows. I say that someone needs to find us a set of identical twins with identical mental health issues and the first man to help their patient wins. That’s right Dr. Phil, I’m calling you out! Bring it on fat man! You seriously don’t want a piece of me! And I want this event televised as a reality show hosted by some Carson Daly clone with rogue-ishly messy hair. Breaking Bonaduce? Puh-lease! I’d snap Danny in two by the second episode. I’m that good.