Suicide by play-by-play

 My hatred for baseball announcer Joe Buck knows no bounds. I had to physically leave the room last night during the All-Star game because my brain could not stand his incessant prattling. The man would not shut up for even a few seconds, especially when he was mouth-frothingly spewing his inane diatribe about Kenny Rogers’ off-field behavior (that would be Kenny Rogers the pitcher, not the fried chicken entrepreneur).

Hey Joe, I’ve got an idea: why don’t you announce some of the play-by-play action once in awhile? With some spaces of dead air known as “silence” in between? Hmmm? How would that be?

P.S. Hey Monday Night Football: if you want to kill me, assign Joe Buck to do the broadcasts with John Madden. Seriously, that would be great. Then I would no longer fear death, but instead, would WILLINGLY SEEK IT OUT.

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Streetrunner

Our treadmill is still broken and awaiting a new control panel/sensor/capacitor (I assume this is the part that likes to mess with me mentally by randomly slowing down so that 2-3 seconds go by without the distance changing), so we decided to run outside. Here’s how that worked out: Shoes: Oh hey, our mesh exterior lets in ALL the cold air! Face: Um, why are we running into the wind? You know it’s only 30 degrees out, right? And you saw how that giant American flag at the fire station was completely horizontal, yes? Hands: We’re covered with gloves and yet we’re still freezing! Lungs: Uh…you remembered to take your inhaler first, right? Brain: CRAP. Lungs: It’s cool. We’ll just repay you later with a 5-minute coughing fit. Nothing we love better than cold air crackling in our asthma-infected tissues! Legs: No me gusta. Shoes: HA! We became untied already — 3 minutes in. New record! Eyes: How is Jason so far ahead of us so soon??? Jerkwad’s driveway/sidewalk: Hey, hope you enjoyed dodgi
Read more

The Sundance Kid

 There’s been a lot of naming conversations going on lately, about whether people liked their name or their kids’ names, but I have a different question: Who were you named after? A grandmother, a favorite aunt, a sandwich, a dog? According to story #1 (there are two, as nothing is ever simple in our family), I was named after Robert Redford’s daughter. My pregnant mom was at the doctor waiting for an appointment. At the time, the plan was to name me Tiffany. (No offense to any Tiffanys out there, but this is so NOT my personality.) But, my mom read a magazine article about Redford, who mentioned his daughter Shauna…and the rest is history. But! That’s not the whole story. A few years ago, I was talking with my mom about this and she contradicted her very own story with story #2: “I was going through checks at work (she worked in accounting at Target), and I saw a check with the name Shauna and thought it was pretty. So that’s how you were named.” Right. I completely made up my own sto
Read more

Political Upheaval

Memories It’s that time again. Time to watch the candidates go at it. Time for everyone to take sides. Time for those so inclined to declare, “I’m right. You’re wrong.” When we’re in the heart of an election year, a little pit grows in my stomach. (You can’t see it, though, because it’s crowded out by the Oreos.) I just don’t like the way it all plays out. Never have. Facebook gives us a new insight into everyone’s political leanings, too. It’s the perfect forum for posting those sweeping “All conservatives are (fill in the blank)” and “All liberals are (fill in the blank).” Time for the arguments to begin. I can almost hear keyboards across the nation screaming… “I’M RIGHT!!” “NO, I’M RIGHT!!” “NO, I’M RIGHT!!” And just like Pee Wee, I want to scream, “I KNOW YOU ARE, BUT WHAT AM I??” Just to alleviate the tension a bit. It makes me sad. Truly, it does. And do I have a good answer? Nope. I just feel in my heart that we’re missing the point. And what do I think the point is? Love. Acce
Read more