Did you know Cal Ripken saved baseball? Really, he saved baseball. I know that’s not the way you remember it happening at the time, but some guy showing up every day saved baseball. Just keep repeating it, Cal
Ripken saved baseball. What, you still don’t believe Cal Ripken saved baseball? Okay, you’re gonna need to go to one of Bud Selig’s reeducation camps.- Every single non-Yankee fanbase is long-suffering and star-crossed.
- The explosion of steroid use in baseball can be traced solely to Fay Vincent’s overzealousness in pursuing the “epidemic” of recreational drug use, which was in turn caused by the the journalistic epidemic of insisting that recreational drug use in sports was an epidemic.
- Collusion? I’m sorry, you must be thinking of a word that doesn’t exist.
- Joe Torre is largely responsible for the turnaround in George Steinbrenner’s reputation, which is a good thing for some unspecified reason.
- The wild card added more excitement to the game by adding another round to the playoffs. You’ll have to take our word on this, because we won’t be showing any footage from these playoffs.
- Only the 1996 Yankees actually won the World Series. Every other “championship” team just lost theirs so some anonymous opponent could reap the undeserved reward (see: 2001 Diamondbacks, 2003 Marlins).
- Kevin Millar is much more responsible for the 2004 Red Sox’ historic comeback than all the other guys on the team who were actually good at baseball.
- On the one hand, baseball had no serious anti-PED policy until 20 years into the so-called steroid era, and it can not be conclusively said steroids are the sole reason for the offensive explosion of the 1990s. On the other hand, HOME RUNS ARE SACRED AND WHENEVER YOU INJECT STEROID PILLS, BABY JESUS WEEPS HOLY BABY TEARS!
- After the terrorist attacks of September 11, the Yankees’ postseason exploits lifted the hearts of their fans, who before then had almost no media exposure and very little to cheer for.
- Nothing else baseball-related happened in New York, post-9/11 that might have helped people cope. Also, we have always been at war with Eurasia.
- The only thing more disturbing than Jon Miller saying “VORP” and “OPS” over and over again with contempt and confusion would be if he said it while wearing clown makeup.
- Barry Bonds’ titanic home runs are sadly tainted, while David Ortiz’s remain free of suspicion.
- There may have been some teams other than the Yankees and Red Sox in Major League Baseball in the 1990s and 2000s, but Ken Burns’ instruments are not fine enough to capture them.
- Bud Selig has done an excellent job on curtailing all of the terrible things he let happen under his watch for a few decades.
- Jeffrey Maier? Who’s that?
- You know that fantastic, unbelievable thing your favorite team did that blew your mind and reaffirmed your love of the game? Yeah, we don’t have that. Bob Costas needs the air time.
Tag Archives: ken burns
“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.
“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?”
Outtakes From Dick Vitale’s Voice Over Work On Ken Burns’ New Civil War Documentary
“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?”