The Revolution Will Be Televised (on CNBC)

Those days are over. Kernen now lives in the moment, or at least in the half hour, whereas his on-air foil and alter ego, David Faber, looks for stories with more traditional plotlines -- issues where he can dig deeper and tease out motive, conflict, and personality. Along with his morning spots with Kernen, Faber does the "Faber Report" twice a day, at 1:05 PM and 3:10 PM, during which he tries to break substantive news -- in particular, mergers and acquisitions.

"I never took an economics course," says Faber, who seems surprised when he reminds himself of that. Faber is a traditional print reporter -- albeit from the world of weekly Wall Street financial newsletters -- who has adapted TV to his skills, rather than the other way around. He takes handwritten notes while working the phones; he keeps files on stories, which he often goes back to as companies cycle back into the news; he writes his own copy, which he reads from a TelePrompTer during the Faber Report; and he sends the stories out in print over the Dow Jones news wire. When he does his 1:05 PM spot, after three hours off camera, he often doesn't even check his appearance in a mirror, let alone stop by makeup.

Unlike most of CNBC's crew, Faber thinks of his audience as investment professionals -- people who, as investors and spectators, are intensely interested in the dance that companies do when they merge. As soon as Faber finishes his morning bits with Kernen, he goes back to his desk and starts working the phones. This particular morning, a merger is brewing between two companies. Faber picks up the phone, makes a call, and reaches the CEO of a third company in the same business. "I want to talk to you about what's going on today." The CEO happily obliges, the conversation rambles on for 15 minutes, and Faber is the one who ultimately wriggles off the phone.

In fact, if you shuffle through one of the rubber-banded stacks of business cards on Faber's desk, you'll see that 16 of the first 20 cards are from CEOs. He also talks routinely to a fistful of hedge-fund managers, money managers, and other top people at brokerage houses. It's not hard to imagine why people take his calls. "People want our coverage," he says. "And I talk to everyone's competition. I hear a lot of stuff -- a lot of stuff."

Faber, unlike Kernen, still finds the romance of Wall Street appealing. "I'm really happy doing what I do. But I've thought about joining a hedge fund." He shrugs. "I'll tell you this: Of the dozen people I've talked to this morning, I'm definitely the poorest."

As engaging as it is to watch Faber and Kernen's stint on "Squawk Box" (along with the chemistry that the curmudgeonly Haines adds), those spots are also part of what makes work fun for the two men. They tease each other about fashion, hair, cooking, Faber's recent marriage, Kernen's recent fatherhood. They keep lists in their heads of rock stars and movie stars who share the names of corporate executives. "A lot happens entertainmentwise on Squawk," says Kernen. "If that weren't the case, doing this wouldn't be as satisfying."

Intellectually, Faber and Kernen both cock an eyebrow at the financial world in which they live. Faber routinely mocks the brokerage firms' research reports that he summarizes for being obvious, or superficial, or late to the game. Analysts routinely set target prices for stocks that they cover; Faber and Kernen make a sport of pointing out when those target prices are announced after the stocks have reached them. They particularly relish analysts who have "buy" recommendations on stocks at high prices but who change to "hold" when prices drop a few weeks later. Lucent Technologies recently provided a perfect example. "Love it at 80," says Kernen solemnly, "hate it at 55."

They use humor not only to play with the market's excesses but also to warn viewers against potential foolishness.

When Puma recently reported tronger earnings than market analysts expected, Faber and Kernen batted the news back and forth: "You've watched Nike, and you've watched Converse," says Kernen as he floats his hand down, indicating the movement of those stocks -- "but these guys have that technology ... "

"They have that chip embedded in their sneakers ... " picks up Faber. "Yeah," Kernen replies, "that allows you to jump higher -- much higher."

"You can actually anticipate in a basketball game where people are going to guard you," says Faber. "It's the merging of technology and athletics that we've been talking about."

"And Puma was one of the biggest gainers last year," Kernen says. (Actually, Puma was the number-one gainer on the NASDAQ in 1999.) "While Nike and Converse continue to go down, Puma surges!" A Puma stock chart appears on the screen, then disappears, and Kernen prepares to talk about software maker Autodesk.

The camera flips back to Faber. "Wait a minute. You're going to tell them, aren't you?"

"No, I'm not!" says Kernen.

"I can't let you do that," says Faber. "You know, 75% of our viewers right now are saying, 'Whoa! I like that sneaker company!' You gotta tell 'em. I can't let you do that. People remember Puma from the 1970s and the 1980s."

Kernen eyes the camera with a half squint. "Puma is a technology company," he says. The whole thing was a goof -- a riff that Faber and Kernen made up on the spot. Puma sneakers still exist, of course. They are part of the German company Puma AG. "But this has nothing to do with the athletic-shoe company," says Kernen.