Category Archives: Media Morons

"Classic" Scratchbomb, Basketball, Media Morons

“Classic” Scratchbomb: Outtakes From Dick Vitale’s Voice Over Work On Ken Burns’ New Civil War Documentary

As March Madness continues, let’s take a little trip down memory lane with Dickie V to this post from March 13, 2007.

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“Okay, Mr. Vitale. The tape is rolling. You can start your reading whenever you’re ready.”

“First of all, I wanna say this is an honor. Doing voice over work for the
great Ken Burns. I mean, New York, The Civil War, The Brooklyn Bridge,
baby. You can’t beat that with a stick. It’s unbeatable, just like DiGiorno pizza. It’s not delivery, baby!”

“Thank you, Mr. Vitale. Now, whenever you’re ready.”

“Okay, baby, let’s do this! Civil War Part II! It’s awesome with a capital Appomatox, baby! We’re gonna make a Bull Run at another dozen Emmys! And lemme tell you, that violin theme song, whatever it’s called, that is undoubtedly the most moving piece of music ever written for television. If that doesn’t make you get all misty eyed, you gotta be made of stone, baby!”

“Okay, now if we could get to the script…”

“And my main man, Shelby Foote, with all of his poignant insights and Southern aphorisms. That man is a living legend. I’ve been around the block a few times, and lemme tell you: I’ve never seen a man who could drive home a bitter truth like Shelby Foote. He reminds me of another Southern gentleman: Coach K, baby! Never mind their late season
swoon–the Blue Devils are going to the Final Four! That’s right, folks, you heard it right–the Final Four is gonna be Duke, Ohio State, Florida, and Duke! I’d love to hear Shelby Foote’s bracket picks.”

“He’s dead. Please start your reading.”

“That’s a tragedy. Almost as bad as Syracuse not getting a tournament bid. I had Jim Boeheim over at my house and he had a good cry while we watched ‘Hoosiers’. Gene Hackman. Dennis Hopper. The quintessential sports movie. That high school basketball team coming back to win the state final, that’s a Cinderella story for the ages, baby! Kinda like how the Union stormed back to defeat the South. Ulysses S. Grant, baby! Grant and General Lee coming together to turn back the evil forces of Boss Hogg…”

“There’s a million things wrong with what you just said, but I’ll ignore all of them if you’ll just start your reading.”

“Listen up–I gotta mention my good friends at Boost Mobile. Sign up now for Dickie V’s Dipsy Doo Dunkeroo Bracketology Knowledge-y, and you can win tons of prizes. Hats. Shirts. Hats. More hats. It’s great! All you gotta do is text them your phone number so you can be harassed with messages for the next seven years, baby…”

“If you don’t start reading right now, I’m going to cut off oxygen to the sound booth.”

“Okay baby, let’s get rolling! Cue that weepy violin music, baby!”

“There’s no music. For the love of Jesus, please read.”

“*ahem* ‘My darling Melissa: Words can not express my longing for you. My pen trembles when I call to mind your alabaster skin, your soft amber curls, and the warmth of your smile. Know that you are in my thoughts every waking moment of every day. And know that when I lay my head down on a hard, unforgiving Army cot, the only thing that can soften the scratch of the canvas and bring on the sweet respite of slumber is to whisper your name. I feel it wrap around me as if I were an infant being swaddled and cradled to his sleep. Oh Melissa, would that I could promise to return home soon. Would that I could promise to return at all! But that is for Providence to decide. All I can do is pray that He shall see fit to return me to your arms. If He does not, then know that we shall see one another again in the sweet by and by. And know above all, that with my last breath, with my dying words, I shall utter but one phrase and be at peace:’ Coach K, baby!”

“The script doesn’t say that!”

“I know! I’m bringing my own Dickie V flavor to the material! It’s what the kids want!”

“Do any of you sound engineers have a taser?”

Media Morons

NY Post Pot, I’d Like to Introduce You to Kettle

The Wife alerted me to the hilarious, completely unsubtle cover of today’s NY Post:

nypost_aig.jpgC’mon, Post, you can do better than that! At least come up with some clever pun. You just stated what everyone is thinking.

I also love the irony of a paper owned by Rupert Murdoch calling anyone a greedy bastard. The term “greedy bastard” definitely applies to the clueless morons at AIG, but it should also apply to a man who owns every media outlet in the known universe.

This has to be the least imaginative Post cover since this trio:

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Pundidiots, Sports

God Grant Me the Serenity to Stop Listening to WFAN

boomer-carton.jpgA while back, I shared my New Year’s resolution that I would no longer listen to WFAN (other than Mets games and Steve Somers). Unfortunately, as happens with most New Year’s resolutions, I’ve chipped away at mine until it’s compromised into oblivion.

For instance, when I get in the shower in the mornings, I feel compelled to turn on the radio, and tune it to WFAN while doing so. Even though WFAN’s morning show–Boomer and Carton–is god awful.

Check that: Boomer Esiaison’s not bad, but lord, Craig Carton sucks hard and long. The guy was spawned in the same secret frat boy lab where they genetically engineer morning zoo radio hosts. He’s got the same stupid, misogynistic, homophobic, and proudly ignorant opinions about sports–and life–that you can hear on any morning show in any city.

So why do I listen to it? I don’t know. I wish I could tell you what compels me to listen to something that just makes me angry and starts my day off on a bad foot. But so help me God, I don’t know.

This morning was the absolute nadir, though. As was just getting ready to leave the bathroom post-shower, Carton started talking about how he was “worried” about David Wright after watching him in the WBC.

I knew exactly what Carton was going to say: That David Wright isn’t “clutch”. That’s been the popular Angry Mets Fan Meme ever since last September. Why? Because everyone remembers Wright not driving in one run in one particular game against the Cubs down the stretch, so therefore he’s not clutch.

Mind you, all this handwringing ignores the fact that Wright’s stats in “clutch” situations (loosely defined though they are) are very good over the course of his career. But the kind of people who get upset over Wright’s supposed un-clutch-ness are not the types to be swayed by evidence and logic.

It also didn’t help that Carton’s radio-mate Mike Francesa spent the entire off-season pounding the completely baseless “Wright Ain’t Clutch” point over and over again, while also begging the Mets to trade him so they could “break up the core”.

(And then Francesa had the nerve to be offended when Wright didn’t want to talk to him during his visit to Port St. Lucie. I was gonna say Francesa’s got some chrome-plated balls, but it’s more likely they’re fortified with Diet Coke and Funyuns.)

Again, I know exactly what Carton’s going to say. So do I turn off the shower radio and go my merry way? Of course not. I go into my bedroom, turn on the clock radio, and tune it to WFAN and hear him say exactly what I know he’s going to say. Even though I know it’ll just make me angry.

As I listen and seethe in my bedroom, The Wife walks in, hears that I’m listening to WFAN, and scowls at me. And I feel like a drunk who got caught sneaking a belt of vodka from a secret bottle in his sock drawer.

She reminds me of my resolution, and I give the lame retort that it was okay because Carton was talking about the Mets (even though, as I said, he wasn’t exactly breaking big news). And again, I feel like the drunk who attaches more and more conditions on his teetering sobriety. “Yeah, baby, I know I said I wouldn’t drink no more *hic* but see, it’s okay to drink on a Tuesday cuz it is! *hic*”

Can anyone out there help me with this problem? Seriously. I recognize that I am powerless against my addiction.