Monday, May 07, 2007

ROCKET TO RUSSIA.

I am sitting in my home office, working, when I hear something coming from TBF’s computer. The now-infamous Suzyn Waldman - exclamation - of A Certain Pitcher’s return to the Bronx. (In this house, this individual truly is He Who Shall Not Be Named.)
“I heard that last night on WFAN,” I tell him.
TBF appears in the doorway.
“It’s terrible,” I continue.
“See, people are saying things, and I could say things, but I don’t want people to think I’m an icky guy.”
“You’re not. It’s terrible. It sounds like she’s having an orgasm.”
“That’s what other people are saying, only not so nice.”
“Yeah. Well. It’s terrible. I’m embarrassed.”
“I think you should write about it.”
“Really?”
“Yeah.”

When I first got into all of this, I remember TBF telling me there was a female radio announcer for the Yankees, and that she was, unfortunately, not very good. And part of me feels like, damn, this is one hard profession to want to be in that badly, and then the other part of me listens to the occasional Yankee broadcast and asks TBF, “Do I hate her because she’s announcing for the Yankees, or just because she’s not very good?”

That call yesterday was terrible. It was over the top, excessive, and embarrassing, because all the icky guys out there are going to take advantage of it to make every piggish comment they can possibly make. By all means, show emotion, by all means, convey to the fan listening on the radio the feeling of the moment in the stadium.  By all means, do not be a bland blonde bimbo, freely display your intelligence and personality.

That call, unfortunately, did none of those things.

And now I just want this to be over with, because TBF’s middle finger is going to fall off from his need to brandish it every time we see Clemens’ face anywhere, and now his arrival is going to overshadow anything that happens the weekend after next, even if he’s nowhere near Flushing.

[Audio link via Toasted Joe.]