Thank you for sticking with Joe Buck Live, starring me, Joe Buck, as Joe Buck, the humble middle American sportscaster who rose to the pinnacle of the sportscasting world by sheer grit and determination and being the son of a legendary broadcaster. In my next segment, we discuss the intersection of celebrity with sports. Has it gone too far? Is there any way to stop it? And what’s the deal my hair? To discuss this compelling topic with me, here is the renowned social commentator Artie Lange.
/spews filth and gay jokes for ten minutes
America, I apologize. When I invited Artie to be a part of my show, there was no way I could have known he would act like this.
What are you talking about? I always act like this.And I share your OUTRAGE and DISGUST that someone would behave like this on national television.
C’mon, this is HBO. Is what I said any worse that seeing Phil Leotardo’s head crushed by an SUV? Or any more horrifying than Sarah Jessica Parker’s head?
Hopefully, my next guest will stick to the topic and elevate the level of discussion. Please welcome the Distinguished Professor of Sports Anthropology at Cornell University, Miss Typhoid Mary.
*cough*
/room fills with deadly bacteria
I apologize to my studio audience for infecting them all with a hideous disease. But honestly, how could I possibly know such a thing would happen when I invited Typhoid Mary to my show? I’m certain that my next guests will do a better job of keeping the decorum at a family-friendly and less-life-threatening level. Please welcome two bonobo chimps.
/fling feces
/engage in ritualistic homoerotic behavior
/fuck each other violently
That is just unacceptable. I apologize again, America. Nothing could have prepared me for these primates’ behavior, other than decades of zoological research. I’ll have to go back to my original plan: I’ll place these pressurized cans of solvent next to a lit acetylene torch and a pile of oily rags. I’m sure this group can stimulate a lively adult conversation.
FOOOOM
Category Archives: Pundidiots
God Grant Me the Serenity to Stop Listening to WFAN
A 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.
The New York Douchebag Sportswriters Guild Decrees Eric Mangini’s Fate
As chairman of the New York Douchebag Sportswriters’ Guild, I, Mike Lupica, call this meeting to order. First item of business, all praise and worship be due to Gorlaqk the Dread.
Hail Gorlaqk!
Indeed, Murray Chass. Second item of business, it looks like Eric Mangini might have a job interview with the Cleveland Browns. Do we think this is the next best move for him? The floor recognizes Phil Mushnick.
No. Not only did he lead the Jets to a disastrous end, but he didn’t heed a word of our invaluable advice!
Shall we cut him any slack because that advice varied wildly among all of us from minute to minute?
Surely you jest! There is only one honorable thing for Mangini to do: take his own life.
My mustache and I agree. To go on living would do nothing but bring shame upon his ancestors. It would also make it seem as if our pointed barbs did no damage to his fragile psyche–which surely cannot be true!
I concur, Bob Raissman. So we’re agreed that Eric Mangini can only truly find peace in the icy grip of the grave. The question follows: What would be the best method?
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