BARKANNBARKANNBARKANN LOOK-AT-ME I’M MICHAEL BARKANNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNN!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

BARKANNBARKANNBARKANN LOOK AT ME I’M MICHAEL BARKANNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNN!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! SAY IT AGAIN: BARKANNBARKANNBARKANN LOOK AT ME I’M MICHAEL BARKANNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNN!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I’M WRITING THIS IN A FONT CALLED, “BARKANNMEE,” WHERE EVERY WORD IS IN CAPS, BOLD AND IN CAPS, ALL THE TIME, DAY AND NIGHT, 24-7, KNOW WHAT I MEAN? THERE IS NO MODULATION IN THE BARKANN UNIVERSE, ONLY THAT SELF-PROMOTIONAL SHOUTING, THAT PERPETUAL CONCEITED LOOK-AT-ME WINK WINK AINT I THE GREATEST?!  IN THAT GALAXY THERE IS ONLY ROOM FOR THE GLORIOUS GREATNESS THAT IS MICHAEL, MIKEY B, THE BARK, THE BROADCASTER EXTRODINAIRE: MICHAEL THE B GIVING A PERPETUAL SHOUT OUT TO HIS OWN ASTONISHING MAGNIFICENCE.

EVERYBODY LOOK.  IT’S MICHAEL BARKANN, WHERE EVERY WORD IS EAR-BUSTING, WHERE EVERY WORD IS DESIGNED TO DESPERATELY DRAW CONTINUOUS ATTENTION TO HIS OWN WONDERDOUS WONDERIFFIC WONDERFULNESS.  EVERYBODY LOOK SOME MORE. IT’S MIKEY THE B IN ALL HIS PERPETUAL GLORY.  AND YO, KEEP ON LOOKING AT OUR OWN MICHAEL B EXTRAORDINAIRE, THE VOICE OF HIS OWN GRANDIOSITY, THE MAN, THE MYTH, THE LEGEND, THE STAR OF STARS.  HEH HEH HEH.

HEH. HEH. TWITCH. TWITCH.  YAKNOWWHATIMEAN?  THIS JUST IN!  AIN’T I GREAT?

EVERYBODY LOOK AT ME.  THIS JUST IN.  OH, I JUST SAID THAT. HEY, I’M MIKEY B., THE GREAT BARKANNSKY. HEH. HEH.  LOVEMELOVEMELOVEME, LOVEMEALLTHETIME, JUST LIKE I DO.  YEAH, LOVE ME DO, OH THAT’S THE BEATLES, HEH HEH HEH, WELL, THEN JUST GO AHEAD AND LOVEMELOVEMELOVEME, JUST LIKE I DO, TOO.  YA KNOW WHAT I MEAN?!

AH, WE’VE GOT AN EMAIL FROM JOHN IN NEWARK, DELAWARE.  JOHN WRITES, “HEY MICHAEL B., YOU’RE THE BEST.  DON’T HOLD BACK.   KEEP ON KEEPING ON WITH YOUR FANTABULOUS BARKANNMANIA, YOUR BARKANN AND BAILEY SELF PROMOTION.  WE LOVE YOU.  WE CAN’T GET ENOUGH OF YOU.  YA KNOW WHAT I MEAN?!  HEH. HEH.”

ARE YOU LIKE ME?  ARE YOU IMPREGNATED WITH BARKANNMANIA?  I FOR ONE WANT MORE.  I WAS TERRIBLY DISSAPOINTED TO SEE THAT THE MICHAEL BARKANN SELF-GLORIFICATION COMEDY SHOW HAS BEEN CONTRACTED TO AN HOUR.  THAT’S 30 MINUTES LESS WONDERFULNESS 5 DAYS A WEEK.  THAT’S 150 LOST MINUTES WHERE I CAN NO LONGER WATCH IN AWE THE BARKANN GREATNESS AS IT OOZES OUT INTO OUR LIVING ROOMS IN BARKASSMIC HIGH DEF.  HEY, I’VE GOT IT:  LET’S GET A “WE WANT MORE MIKE” PETITION GOING. YEAH, THAT’S THE TICKET.  SIGN-UP HERE.

WE WANT MORE MIKE.  WE WANT MORE MIKE. WE WANT MORE MIKE.  WE WANT MORE MIKE. WE WANT MORE MIKE.  WE WANT MORE MIKE. WE WANT MORE MIKE. WE WANT MORE MIKE.  WE WANT MORE MIKE. WE WANT MORE MIKE.  WE WANT MORE MIKE. WE WANT MORE MIKE.  WE WANT MORE MIKE. WE WANT MORE MIKE. WE WANT MORE MIKE.  WE WANT MORE MIKE. WE WANT MORE MIKE.  WE WANT MORE MIKE. WE WANT MORE MIKE.  WE WANT MORE MIKE. WE WANT MORE MIKE. WE WANT MORE MIKE.  WE WANT MORE MIKE. WE WANT MORE MIKE.  WE WANT MORE MIKE. WE WANT MORE MIKE.  WE WANT MORE MIKE. WE WANT MORE MIKE. WE WANT MORE MIKE.  WE WANT MORE MIKE. WE WANT MORE MIKE.  WE WANT MORE MIKE. WE WANT MORE MIKE.  WE WANT MORE MIKE. WE WANT MORE MIKE. WE WANT MORE MIKE.  WE WANT MORE MIKE. WE WANT MORE MIKE.  WE WANT MORE MIKE. WE WANT MORE MIKE.  WE WANT MORE MIKE. WE WANT MORE MIKE. WE WANT MORE MIKE.  WE WANT MORE MIKE. WE WANT MORE MIKE.  WE WANT MORE MIKE. WE WANT MORE MIKE.  WE WANT MORE MIKE. WE WANT MORE MIKE. WE WANT MORE MIKE.  WE WANT MORE MIKE. WE WANT MORE MIKE.  WE WANT MORE MIKE. WE WANT MORE MIKE.  WE WANT MORE MIKE. WE WANT MORE MIKE. WE WANT MORE MIKE.  WE WANT MORE MIKE. WE WANT MORE MIKE.  WE WANT MORE MIKE. WE WANT MORE MIKE.  WE WANT MORE MIKE. WE WANT MORE MIKE. WE WANT MORE MIKE.  WE WANT MORE MIKE. WE WANT MORE MIKE.  WE WANT MORE MIKE. WE WANT MORE MIKE.  WE WANT MORE MIKE. WE WANT MORE MIKE.

Comcast Sports Nuts; The Daily News Needs To Be Better; Amy Fadool’s Foolish “Mikey-Mikey;” and Other Silly Stuff

Barkann, Oh Barkann

Regular readers are well aware of how much I loathe and despise the self-promoting, self-aggrandizing, self-obsessed, me, ME, MEEEE, Michael Barkann, the Monarch of Me.  Lately, however, I’ve tried to take a more distanced view of this pathetic, egomaniacal man.  And, voila!, suddenly it’s all clear. Barkann is afflicted.  He can’t help himself.  He doesn’t even know what he’s doing.  His “act” is so deeply ingrained, it’s taken root and has a life of its own. So, on goes Barkann, on goes Barkann, on goes Barkann.  Hotter than hot, Barkann is nature’s revenge for global warming.

Comcast Sports Net Telecasts

There’s a lot of sloppiness going on and going on often.  It’s become predictable.  I haven’t made notes, but errors in their graphics have become endemic.  Last Sunday, well after all day games were done, they listed the Giants’ record at “6-5,” when every Eagles fan new the Giants had beaten the Cowboys and were 7 -5. All the other channels had the record right.  Another curious problem is the frequent spelling errors.  For example, the Cleveland Browns were labelled the “Bronws.” Charming work behind the scenes.

Amy Fadool

Viewers by now are aware that Fadool won the camper competition to pretend to be a real, life sportscaster, despite the sad infirmities that she has marble-mush mouth, and problems speaking simple sentences.  We all know the many times she’s mangled words or simply had to stop and hit the re-start button.  Seriously, Fadool has had to stop speaking  many times, going back to the beginning to try, try again. Is no one at Comcast embarrassed??

But now, Fadool has reached a new record for low dungeon.  On a recent toss-over from the Monarch, Barkann, Fadool twice referred to him as “Mikey.”  That’s right a double Mikey.  Mikey. Mikey. How humiliating. Do I have to even add, “unprofessional?” Since it’s the end of the school term, Fadool gets a grade duplicating the first initial of her last name, namely, an “F.” It’s time for remedial, Amy.

The Daily News Sportswriters’, well, Crutch

Here’s a copy of an email I sent to Josh Barnett, DN’s Sports Editor, earlier this week.  Naturally, I didn’t get a reply. I have noticed, however, that ensuing articles have dropped the, well, offending well’s.

Dear Josh Barnett,

I don’t know the grammatical term for, well, using the word, ”well,” as a modifier, but I recognize a crutch when I see one. Are your writers’ under orders to, well, use the word ‘well’? If so, they are doing damned well.

In today’s paper, Paul Hagen goes for a “well” in para 8: ”This is odd on a couple of levels.  One is that, well, that’s not usually how they conduct themselves.” Also in today’s paper, now that you’ve brought Bob Cooney into the starting rotation, he got in his own well in the first paragraph.  Good on ya, Bob.  ”It was a setting that hasn’t been present at the Wachovia Center since, well, since iverson was there before.

Sam Donnelon is a more frequent well flyer. but the past and present (and probable future) King of Wells, is, well, Mr.R. Hofmann. Hoffy is hitting about .333 in his weekly columns, good for a ball player, but, well, below the Mendoza line for a sports writer.

I’m having a little fun with you, but really, it’s epidemic and annoying. I’ve thought that the Daily News sports pages have been living off their reputations, well, for several years. Certainly, putting an embargo on all well’s for the foreseeable future would, well, be appreciated.

Oh well,

JJ

A Phantom, Real Life, Let’s Pretend Interview with Chase Utley or An Ode to Utley or Ima Love da UT!

This is a transcript of a real life, not really, I’m pretending, but coulda been true, interview with Chase Utley.  The interviewer writes a blog named, “PhillyMediaSports”, and is known far but not so wide as “JJ.”

JJ –  Tell me, Chase, about the amazing four home run game you just had.

CU – I’d like to thank the Marucci Bat Company for the work they did in making the bats to specifications.  Without them, it wouldn’t have been possible.

JJ – Yeah, but Chase, you’re the one that hit the ball.

CU – That’s something that came about  because of the great job our BP pitcher did today.  He was grooving nothing but strikes.

JJ – Seriously, aren’t you gonna take credit for this amazing accomplishment?

CU – It’s a team game, and with Ryan Howard hitting behind me in the clean up spot, it makes the pitchers throw more fastballs to whoever is hitting ahead of him.

JJ – Well, Chase, all four homers landed in exactly the same section in the right field bleachers.  You must have been totally locked-in.

CU – I have to thank Milt and Chuck for all the help they give me.

JJ – Let’s switch to another topic.  You recently had a few games where you made some bad throws.  Some people thought you were about to get “Steve Sax Disease,” but you seem to be on target now.

CU – I don’t think I ever had any problem throwing the ball, but if I had, Sam Perlozzo would have done a fine job helping me out.

JJ – You’ve put together some amazing numbers, and if you continue at the present pace, you could wind up in the Hall of Fame.

CU – That’s something I don’t think about. We’re just playing one game at a time and trying our best to win every day.

JJ – But surely you’re aware of the incredible success you’ve had.

CU – We are only interested in team success and in winning ball games. As long as Jimmy and Shane keep getting on base, RBI opportunities are gonna be there for Ryan, Jayson and Raul. I just do my best to try to contribute.

JJ – Well, Chase, thanks so much for taking time to give me this interview. It was a pleasure.

CU – Oh, don’t thank me.  You’re the one who came up with the questions.

JJ – How true.  I was terrific.

(more to follow)

We Love our Fightin’s, But ……………..

We love our Fightin’ Phils. But here we are in November, with  Christmas wrapping paper and candy canes already in stores, and we’re not quite ready to wrap up the season. No, not yet, not for two more games, both ending in “W’s.” But, there’s still plenty of annoying stuff going on.

One Vulgar New Yorker

Unlike many locals, I harbor no particular disgust for New York fandom.  Ok, I lied, I despise them just like all of us.

During Game 3 of the World Series, I had great seats, six rows behind the Homie’s dugout. And it was great fun for three innings as the boyz led and Cole Hamels was in control. But then, calamity struck, the Yankees pulled ahead, and all the fun was sucked out of the ball yard.

At the exact time that the Yankees took the lead, I became aware of a horrible-sounding voice behind me. I turned around and saw what I can only describe as a truly ugly man wearing a faded blue ball cap, with white “NY” emnbroidered on it, shouting profanities in the general direction of the Phils dugout, and yucking it up.

Where did he come from?  He hadn’t been there before. He was the living, breathing caricature of the prototypical New York fan. Obnoxious with a capital “O.” He was full of himself, loud and vulgar, and was rubbing the Yankees sudden success in our faces. I took it for awhile, but when he began making cell phone calls, bragging that he had “snuck into an empty seat in row 7,” I flipped.  I jumped from my seat, found an usher, reported the dude, and within minutes, whimpering like a girlie man, he was removed from the district.  See ya,twerp. Buh-bye.

Championship Team, Expansion Team Cheerleading

It all started, I think, with the founding of the American Football League. When the league was formed and had second rate players and third rate stadiums, they introduced the clarion”Charge” call, to alert the unknowing local yokels of when to cheer. Fifty years later, the poison has spread throughout sportsdom like swine flu. Now, scoreboard operators and their staffs have become glorified, cheerleading DJ’s. Where I find this most objectionable is when they find the fans too dumb, or apathetic, at least, to know when to cheer.  Scoreboards light up with instructions to “Get Loud,” or “Make Noise.”

It’s the kind of thing you’d expect to find in an expansion town, or at the least, San Diego, but certainly not on the east coast.  That’s why I was horrified to see the Citizen’s Bank scoreboard explode with directions to GET LOUD, and to MAKE NOISE at Game 3 of the Series. All the theatrics of modern faux extravaganza’s came into play: flashing lights, changing colors, exploding stars, all urging us, the ignorant masses, to cheer – as if we were too dumb to know, or maybe too passive to care.  Insulting, unnecsssary,  putrid theatrics, and at the core, disrespectful of the gathered faithful.

Scoreboard

I only want two things from scoreboards:  easily accessible, useful information, and as many replays as possible. Oh, a third desire is to be entertained before the game with highlight packages and mini-documentaries of great Phillies accomplishments.

Instead, what we get in Philly is a scoreboard whose graphics are poorly designed and inaccessible at a glance. It’s busy, confusing and disconcerting. Where is the pitch count?  Oh, now I see it, over there. Where are balls and strikes?  Uh oh, no time to look the ball’s in play. There are a lot of lousy graphic designers out there in the world who have no sense of order or proportion, and apparently we’ve got a contingent of them at the Bank.

One More Thing

A lot of fans got to the ball park early.  I was with a huge crowd waiting for the gates to open at 5:05 P.M. on Saturday afternoon.  For the next two hours, the Phillies Jumbotron featured a swirling mess of incomprehensible activity which, after intense scrutiny, could be deciphered as a kind of space station featuring moving Phillies and Yankees logos. Around and around they moved, over and over again, ad nauseum.  I’ve posted a picture.  Take a look.

WIP’s Howard Eskin and Ike Reese Show

This is painful.  It is not going to last.  We were told that Eskin’s ratings had dropped and that he’d need to have a sidekick to bolster his afternoon drive-time standing. And so Reese won the prize. To my way of thinking this was no prize, it was a demotion. After all, Reese had his own show at 7P.M.

So what have we now?  A mismatch of sub-epic proportions. Eskin completely dominates Reese making Reese an afterthought to the proceedings. Eskin is all too obvious in his contempt for the situation and, instead of inviting Reese’s participation, ices him out. Reese tries and tries to jump in, kind of like Celine Dion trying to upstage Aretha Franklin, but guess what? It ain’t gonna happen. Not now, not later, not ever.

And worse, in a vainglorious attempt to get his foot in the door of Eskin’s superiority, Reese has rendered himself an idiot.  Yesterday, he aimed his full quiver of arrows at Jimmy Rollins, condemning Rollins at length for his poor performance. It was small minded, self aggrandizing, and a pathetic effort to find footing on Eskin’s stage. It was a hollow attempt and it failed. It made Reese all the smaller.

Eskin obviously resents the situation. He sees Reese as an intruder and because of this, Eskin will torpedo the show. This show will not survive. Something must change. But Eskin is too smart and too clever to go down with the ship. I’m betting Eskin has his agent out there right now, scouring TV and radio stations, for a new gig. He surely knows his show is going down and he is going to bail as soon as he can. Vai Sikehema, watch your back.

Sam Donnellon: Bronze Voiced Orator

Yesterday, on Daily News Live, Sam Donnellon, sports writer and bronze tongued orator, had a heh-heh moment at Charlie Manual’s expense.  Are you as sick as I am of these no-longer-ink-stained denizens who still find it amusing to chop down ol’ Chuck for being so “stupid” and “dumb”?  Isn’t it time to put that crap aside?  Manuel has proved to be among the best, if not the very best, manager or coach this city has seen in decades, or perhaps, forever. Chuck rules and we all know it.

We also know that tortured syntax has no correlation to smarts.  If that were true, Donnellon’s stuttering, stammering, faltering half sentences would mark him as semi-literate, hardly qualifying him for his position as a columnist for a big city paper.

Just for the record, Donnellon remarked (something like), if you listen to Charlie long enough, you’ll eventually get a gold nugget. The implication, of course, is that Charlie ain’t too smart. Just another low blow by a would-be high-brow local sports writer. Stuff it, Sammy.

Raul Ibanez: A Torn Abdomen. Who Knew? Certainly Not Philly’s Sportswriters

Did you see this week’s Sports Illustrated piece on Raul Ibanez?  Seems he has a tear in his abdomen.  I wonder how he can play through the pain?  I wonder even more why our hometown Knights of the Keyboards (Ted Williams’ famous derogatory slur aimed at Boston’s beat writers) couldn’t uncover this information?  The gulf between Ibanez’ pre and post injury production is obvious and we all figured something was wrong, but who really knew? No one told us. This isn’t just a lapse in coverage, this isn’t just a blunder, mistake or omission, this is a major failure to uncover critical information that even a grade B group of writers should have reported. This casts serious doubt on the quality of sports reporting in our town. Apparently, we have a championship baseball team and a bush league group of sportswriters. Bad work, boyz, bad work.

Matthews and McCarthy: The M ‘n M Boys – Candy Coated Nuts; Michael Barkann, Prince of Snides; Closing the Spectrum; Phillies Telecasts; Comcast Sports Net Lets; and a Plethora of Other Sinister Observations

A RECAP OF THE 2009 PHILLIES REGULAR TV SEASON … AND OTHER STUFF OF DUBIOUS IMPORT

MICHAEL BARKANN – A SAD, PATHETIC, LITTLE MAN

I’ve written before about the Great Michael Barkann, a legend in his own spleen. There are some further comments about His Greatness lower down in this blog. But I’m compelled to insert a few more words about this meatball right now, right at the top.

The Phillies just lost Game 2 of the NCLS playoffs to the Dodgers, a painful loss, primarily because of Chase Utley’s throwing error, his second such error in two nights. Now I ask you, is there any more stalwart athlete than Chase Utley?  His work ethic has become legend, and his contributions to the grand awakening of Phillies baseball is well-documented and equally well celebrated.  And rightly so. As our beloved Harry Kalas once exclaimed, “Chase Utley, you are the man!” Is there anyone out there who doesn’t believe that?  Chase Utley, as much or more than any Philadelphia professional athlete, deserves our admiration and respect.  But apparently not when the Great Barkann can score a few smarmy points off of Utley’s misfortune.

Here’s why I’m so agitated.  Because the smug, self-satisfied, self-aggrandizing King Barkann took the lowest, most repulsive cheap shot during “Post Game Live” just minutes ago. After all of King Barkann’s hand-wringing about this terrible turn of events, after all his orgasmic oratory about whether or not Utley had “Steve Sax” disease (Sax, a second baseman for the Dodgers in the 1980s, developed a throwing hitch where he couldn’t accurately toss the ball from second to first base.), Barkann took a cheap shot that makes sleaze look like a prom dress on the most beautiful girl at the ball. During a replay of a routine ground ball to second, which Utley handled in the most ordinary way, throwing out the runner at first, Barkann the Great, with his typical sleazy smirk, exclaimed, scornfully,” Nice throw, Chase!” What a jerk, this Barkann, what a slanderer. Anything to promote yourself, eh Mikey boy. I think I need a Bark-enema, and a long shower.

THE PLAYOFFS: WE’RE BEING CHEATED

No, I’m not talking about our wondrous Fightin’s. And no, I’m not talking about games that are played in 28º Siberian weather, and that last until 2 in the A.M. And no, I’m not talking about announcers who are clueless and boring and who have no rapport with one another. And no, I’m not talking about umpire ineptitude. And no, I’m not talking about the extra commercials squeezed in that delay play. And still, no, I’m not talking about the TBS “Pitch Trax” that pretty much overwhelms the picture, in both size and in the massive, hideous, filled-in-with-red rectangle of the strike zone.  What I AM talking about is how the pageantry of these games is sliced, scalpel-like, from our sight. How we’re denied the pleasure of seeing all wonderful fuss that attends these very special moments in our lives. It’s obscene and intolerable and someone should damn well do something to fix it.

Do we not all love the ceremonial first pitch?  Who, I wonder, will throw out that first ball? And will that person throw like a ball player or shot put it up there like a paddy cake?  And I want to see the player intros.  I want to see them high five each other.  I want to see who tips their caps.  I want to see who writes messages on their hands.  I want to see who pantomime’s a “Hi, Mom.”  I want to know who sings the National Anthem.  I want to see how they are dressed.  And most of all, I want to see how they mangle the song. And I want to see Stealth Bombers flying overhead in formation. And I want to see the starting team run out onto the field. And I want to hear the sound of the crowd erupting with cheers for the home side.

But we’re denied that.  We are denied the pomp and circumstance that helps make playoff baseball so special.  For that, I will not forgive Bud Selig and the denizen team owners.  Let them mess with game time, let them make the game absurd by playing in hurricanes, bitter cold, and snow. Let them have their dozens of extra commercials. Let them do whatever they want to us. But do not let them destroy the unique pleasure that the spectacle of playoff baseball promises, and used to deliver.

THANK YOU PHILLIES

It’s the eve of Game 1 of the NCLS, and I want to express my joy for this team:  their talent, their guts, their character. The biggest surprise? Ruben Amaro’s incandescent, persistent excellence.  Within hours of taking over as GM, he had to make so many crucial decisions, decisions piled up on one another, decisions that couldn’t wait, decisions that had to be right, with just that first chance to get them right.  And that’s what he did, right down to getting Cliff Lee and the surprising Ben Francisco. He had the courage to take icon Jamie Moyer out of the rotation and the foresight to check out and sign Pedro (The Master) Martinez.  Amaro was shrewd and strong and practically flawless.  And then there’s Charlie.  When have so many Phillies fans been so wrong for so long about one man?  Charlie has done the job at least as well as each of us fans could have, and probably just a bit better!  Chuck is our very own Casey Stengel.

McCarthy & Matthews:  The M ‘n M Boyz – Candy Coated Nuts

Tom McCarthy’s announcing doesn’t make me want to puke, but it sure does make my stomach queasy.  Here’s what bothers me:

1.  His incessant talking.  He never seems to pause to let the game speak for itself.  He never lets the game breathe. In fact, I’ve checked: McCarthy talks more (much more) than the very excellent Scott Franske, Phillies radio announcer.  Our Tom likes to keep the volume turned way up.  BLAHBLAHBLAHBLAH.

2.  Worse, all that talking is at a relentlessly high decibel level.  The activity McCarthy describes doesn’t seem to matter.  Whether it’s a promo or a homer, everything Tom says is LOUUUUD.

3.  T-Mac has lapsed into (unknowingly, one prays) parodying Bob Uecker’s parody in the movie, “Major League.”  A parody of a parody.  Is that a parody, squared?  Remember when Uecker’s character, the announcer Harry Doyle, exclaims, after a wild pitch, ”Jusssssst a bit outside?”  Well, McCarthy has gotten into that ‘jusssssst’ mode and it’s infuriating.  What’s so dismal is that the Uecker character knows he’s playing burlesque with his reporting; Tom doesn’t.

4. Misstatements.  McCarthy miss-reports game action often enough to make it both noticeable and annoying.  It raises questions about his competence. He doesn’t seem to realize that we’re watching, too.  This is not radio, Tommy boy.  We can actually see what’s taking place.  Here are a few examples, examples where I cannot document exact games or innings, but I assure you the information is accurate.

“Raul slides home ” – No, it was Carlos Ruiz.  ”Rollins steals home” – No, it was Chase Utley.  Maybe it’s the “home” part that’s so confusing.

The biggest and most unforgiveable screw-up happed early in the season when Brad Lidge came in to try for a save.  McCarthy reported that in 2008, Lidge had saved 47 consecutive games.  Every single Phillies fan among us knows the number was a perfectly round 48.That is an error that should have caused a bench-clearing brawl in the control booth. I never heard a correction.

And then there are the more common screw-ups, like long fly balls caught on the infield grass, or long runs for balls outfielders just moseyed under, etc.  I don’t ask for perfection, but when you get in wrong, and you know it’s wrong, the call should be immediately corrected. Apparently, Tom is unaware of this.

5. I’ve saved the worst for last.  Yes, I refer here to the odious McCarthy cackle.  The McCarthy guffaw.  The McCarthy knee-slapping-get-red-in-the-face chortle.  Those loud laughs are jarring.  They are completely disproportionate to the stimulant preceding it.  Back in the day, we’d call that being “simple,” as in idiot or fool.  Whatever you call it, it makes T-Mac seem the buffoon.  And yes, it draws attention away from the game.

Put Out an APB (Awful, Puerile Babbling) for Gary Matthew

Oh, don’t you worry, I know I stole Matthews’ “S.”  In fact, this is the last time I’ll ever use the “S” in Matthews.  Why, you ask?  Because he doesn’t seem to know there’s an “S” at the end of Hamels.  Apparently, Matthew has not been told that Cole’s name ends in Hamels, with an “S.”  So, if Cole ain’t getting his “S”, then neither is Matthew.  No “S” for you!!!!

While we’re on the topic of names, Matthew must be the only hard-core Phillies supporter who doesn’t know that JA Happ is not known as JAY AY, but Jay.  The downside to every grand Happ pitching performance is the Matthew post-game interview.  “Tell me, JAY AY, what pitches did you have working tonight?” JAY AY, as if.

The thing with Matthew is that he begins talking without knowing where he’s going.  His brain needs a roadmap.  He grasps the obvious with such clench fists that he chokes obvious to death. (RIP, obvious.) More, he feels compelled to speak after nearly every pitch.  He fills the air with babble.  The result of all this is a world-class incoherence that is as painful to listen to as it is insulting to viewers.  He infects telecasts with nonsense and takes away from the pleasure of watching our boys achieve such wonderful results.

What’s notable here is that Matthew is not stupid, but he IS an ignorant man.  There is a significant difference between stupid and ignorant.  Stupid is a condition; ignorant is a choice.  That Matthew has not noticeably improved in three years’ work only confirms that he is lazy, has no pride in his work and is, indeed, ignorant.

Here are a few “best of” Matthew moments, or “worst of,’ depending on which more accurately describes the Matthewian incompetence.  Let’s call them “The Great Eight.”

1.  Attempting to analyze a long home run by Raul Ibanez:  That’s got a little more distance than it’s goin’.

2.  Clarifying pitcher’s exploits as hitters:  Pitchers are not actually known for being really great hitters.

3.  Explaining the meaning of a “cut fastball”:  You cut that ball so you can cut it.

4.  On winning:  The more games you win, the better.

5.  On choking up on the bat:  That ball is off the end of the bat by his hands there.

6.  Describing Ryan Howard running the bases:  He should be able to move with his feet.

7.  On playing shortstop:  Shortstop is the busiest position.  You have line drives.  You have grounders.  You have pop-ups.

8. On winning road games: In most cases, it’s always difficult to win on the road.

Because he has indelibly proven that he’s an incompetent ignoramus, by the powers invested in me by the blog universe, I herewith proclaim, aver, and attest that from henceforth and until further notice, Matthew is reduced in rank from The Sarge to buck private.

Who is to Blame for the Dreadful M ‘n M Duo?  It’s either Mark DiNardo or Rob Brooks or Both

DiNardo is the Director of Broadcasting and Video services, and Brooks is the Manager, Broadcasting.  Without knowing who’s exactly responsible for what, I blame them both for the horrible decisions made on Phillies telecasts for the past four years.  However, my suspicion is that Brooks was demoted from Director to Manager at some point during this season.  But I don’t know and haven’t asked.

It started with the vanilla man, Scott Graham.  Graham made a grand slam, game winning, walk-off home run sound tepid. That is no easy task. Graham was sent packing after one dismal season.

Then Gary Matthew was hired.  During that first year, these two denizens of broadcast brilliance devised a three-man booth.  They married Harry Kalas, Chris Wheeler, and Matthew into one awful trio.  Even worse, when Harry took his middle-three innings “vacation,” Wheeler stepped out of his analyst’s role and did play-by-play.  It was clumsy and confusing.  But it somehow got worse.

Last year, Tom McCarthy was hired. Our supervisory genius’s learned their lesson and did away with the three men in a booth idea. But still, they were determined to reinvent baseball telecasts.  So what did they do?  They went with a four-man rotation, a quartet of combinations joined together at odd intervals.  What a mess.  There was no rhythm to the reporting of the games.  It was chaos.  Here’s what the genius’s did”  They had Harry and Wheels do innings one and two. Harry and Matthew did inning three.  McCarthy and Matthew did innings four and five. McCarthy and Wheels did inning six.  And Harry and Wheels were, at last, reunited for the final three innings. So there you have it: One game, three announcers, and five combinations. How do you get continuity to announcing with that?  How do you get coherence?  You don’t.  You get chaos.  The chaos of incompetence or of overblown ego, or both.  I think both.

During the season just completed, with the tragic and deeply sad passing of Harry, McCarthy was forced into being lead announcer for all nine innings.  Wheeler got innings one through three, and six through nine, with Matthew sandwich in the middle.  I have no further comment on that.

But what I most certainly do have a comment on is the necessity – the critical necessity – of finding a lead announcer to replace Harry.  McCarthy can have the middle three innings, but under no conditions, NONE – should he be allowed to resurrect his “roving-in-between-pitches” diverting interruptions to the game.  Those painful, boring, everlasting intrusions must not be permitted to sully the telecasts again. So, DiNardo, so, Brooks, so, Dave Montgomery, please get the job done right.

My Own Personal Closing the SPECTRUM Celebration

In a new twist to acknowledge the closing of the Spectrum, I have been honored to be the first private citizen asked to organize a closing celebration, the 483rd in the last 5 months. Please mark your calendars for Mischief Night, Friday, October 30th. You are all cordially invited to join me in the back of the Rite Aid parking lot, South Broad Street, at two minutes before midnight. There will be free swine flu shots for the first 13 arrivals.

THE DARING, THE DASHING, THE CUTIE PIES AT WIP

I listen a lot to the boyz at WIP — in short bursts. I mean I’m a Philly sports fan so I can’t help it. Even 12 step programs haven’t cured me, so I guess I’ll have to admit I’m an addict. Hello, my name is JJ, and I’m a WIP sports addict.

But amid all the station’s hype and self-promotion, there’s some good stuff.  For me, the best work is done by Glen Macnow and Ray Didinger talking Eagles on Saturday’s. Not only is Ray the best of the best at talking Birds football, but the synergy between Mac and Diddy is a joy to listen to.  Their rapport is as important to me as the information and opinions they dispense. Good stuff.

The same isn’t true for Mac and Anthony Gargano.  My perception is that Gargano is a loud mouth who often speaks over Glen and their guests.  It’s not uncommon for Gargano to ruin an interview by stepping on an “interviewee’s” answer.  Inevitably, the thread of the answer evanesces and the juice of the topic is lost.

However, what I’m writing about now is a ‘remote” broadcast Macnow and Gargano did right after the Phillies clinched the Division. I believe it was in the courtyard at One LIberty Place. Apparently the event was well attended. Well into the broadcast, Glen announced they’d be receiving calls from Charlie Manuel and Cole Hamels. From the first words, it was clear to me that it was the once-funny Joe Conklin on the phone. The hosts played it straight, and never told the fans it was a put-on. That put me off. It’s demeaning to the audience. It’s downright devious. It upset me especially because Conklin did his (yawn) same old-same old impersonations, where Charlie is a dummy and Cole is effeminate. Both portrayals, playing to the most obvious kind of crap, upsets me. Not only is it demeaning, it’s old and tired it’s and not close to funny. Conklin’s been milking the same herd of cows forever.  It’s time he moved on.  Maybe to Kensington with Chip “Grab-ass” Snapper.

Comcast Sports Net TV “Personalities” and the First Annual Worst Sports Reader of the Year Award

Mistake prone Amy Fadool is the landslide winner. Congrats, Amy!

Comcast Sports Net apparently had a TV sports reader competition in area high schools, which must be where Fadool was discovered.  In all fairness, Fadool only makes three mistakes.  She is quite consistent in those errors and can be depended upon to produce them in every appearance.  There’s something to be said for reliability. Here they are:

1. Marble Mouthed Delivery.  I feel like I need a United Nations translator to decipher much (mush) of what she’s saying. Or if not a translator, then subtitles, in English, preferably. Fadool apparently prides herself in fast-talking, which is fine by me. But really, she should slow down and practice enunciation: eee-nun-ceeee-aaay-shun.  That would surely increase the probability of communicating something decipherable.

2. Start Over’s.  Unfortunately, television readers are not playing casual golf where Mulligan’s are given. In the TV biz, you’re supposed to be able to read without stumbling.  I have never seen a Fadool broadcast where she hasn’t stumbled, stammered and badly failed to read her lines, and as a result, has had to go back, and do a “do-over.”  It’s so painful, disconcerting, and yes, aggravating to watch. You would think someone at Comcast would notice, and maybe even take her off the air for a while so she can practice. Apparently, she has that Iverson attitude toward practice.

3.  Copy. Fadool’s copy is so cliché driven that even the words and phrases themselves object. I believe the FCC actually has an edict, which permits only 100 platitudes per 30 minute telecast. Fadool appears to regularly destroy that number.

You tried hard, Amy, but tryouts are over.  In the words of “The Donald”, Yer Fired.

Derrick Gunn

Having assaulted Fadool (fairly, I believe), I want to hand out some kudos’s to Derrick Gunn. He’s the top of the tops. His Eagles player interviews are splendid.  He asks good questions, he asks tough questions, questions which are not always easily asked, and he will follow-up when he’s not satisfied that he got a straight answer. At the same time, he’s engaging, smart and informative. The player’s obviously respect him and know that Gunn’s respect always accompanies even the toughest questions.  Bravo Gunner.

Ron Burke

For my money, Burke is the most underrated Comcast reporter.  He’s smooth and calm and often understated. (The anti-Barkann.) That doesn’t mean he’s boring.  No, he is right on top of things, and gives full, reliable and meaningful reports. He wears well.

Michael Barkann

DID I SAY BARKANNNNN?  OH YES, I DID INDEED SAY BARKANNNNN.  WHY?  BECAUSE I CAN’T GET ENOUGH BARKANNNNN, JUST LIKE BARKANNNNN CAN’T GET ENOUGH BARKANNNNN.  I’VE GOT BARKANNNNNNMANIA.  TOO MUCH BARKANNNNN IS NEVER ENOUGH BARKANNNNN.  YA KNOW WHAT I MEAN?  TWITCH. TWITCH. SMIRK. SMIRK. HEY MIKEY BEE, YOU’RE THE BEST, JUST ASK YOURSELF.

JOE TORRE – JUST WONDERING

Ever notice Joe Torre wears a watch during games?  Ever notice his back right pocket droops down thanks to the weight of an overstuffed wallet? Hey, managers are field personnel, so I recommend that Torre leave his personal effects in the locker room, just like everyone else in the dugout and on the field.  It just doesn’t look very sporty.

Where have you gone, Ed Moran?

Buy Brad Lidge: 50% Off His Regular Price

I went to Modell’s this morning to buy the Phillies Division Championship hat, which, by the way, is quite coolio. While I was waiting to pay, I saw three Phillies jerseys for sale on the wall behind the cashier:  Ibanez, Lidge and Werth.  The Ibanez and Werth jerseys were full price.  However, there were multiple yellow tags adorning the Lidge jersey, which, upon closer review, indicated it was available at 50% off.

That 50% off price is actually a fine bargain.  Consider that Lidge has blown 11 out of 42 save opportunities so far in the 2009 season.  That’s a blown save rate of 26%.  So, when you figure that his shirt sells for 50% off, that’s an almost double savings compared with his blown save ratio.  Just another example of Modell’s watching out for the fan.

Gary Matthews : Dolt

We Fightins’ fans exhaled last night when Ryan Madson sent Hunter Pence back into the night with a 97 mph heater. The Home Boyz need one more game to clinch their 3rd straight Division title. In a way, I’m happy the slogging has been so tough; it makes the winning all the more tasty.

Because of the importance of the games, I’ve broken a personal rule and kept the TV sound ON during the middle three innings.  That, of course, produces intestinal gas due to the verbal gas that the windbag dolt  Matthews discharges with his stupid soliloquies.  Last night, during Jason Werth’s 5th inning at bat, the dolt Matthews belabored the point that Jason bails a bit when he faces a right handed pitcher. Well, as it happensWerth was facing a right handed pitcher, Wesley Wright, and as Matthews babbled, Werth smashed his 35th home run of the season – and 95th rbi – into the right center field stands. Rather than celebrating the home run – a critical home run that gave the homies some cushion – the dolt Matthews continued to point out Werth’s imperfection.

So, research junkie that I am, I looked up the dolt Matthews’ stats and found the following.  Only 3 times did the dolt Matthews hit as many as 20 home runs, topping out at 27 in 1979.  He managed as many as 90 rbis only once.  Hmmn, let me think about this:  the dolt Matthews unrelentingly criticizes a man who has hit 8 home runs more than he ever did and who has driven in 5 more runs than he ever did.  And that’s with 5 games still remaining to be played this season.

I guess the game has gotten easier for the dolt Matthews.  Or maybe he’s just an incoherent, ignorant ignoramus.

Dave Spadaro – Philadelphia Eagles’ Loyalist and Impresario of Sycophantocracy

We all know about Spadaro, Eagles’ apologist and propagandist.  We all know about Spadaro, Eagles’ magic elixir salesman.  We all know about Spadaro, Eagles’ tent revivalist. We all know about Spadaro, weepy Eagles’ grubber.  We all know about Spadaro, clumsy Eagles’ deconstructionist.  But now we know something new about Spadaro:  He’s off his ever lovin’ rocker.

Apparently, for all this time, Spadaro has been a resident of Tweedledeeland, parked in a cul de sac of his own warped inter-planetary hallucinations.  Listen to this.  Today, on WIP, if I heard it right, Spadaro revealed for the first time that he is promoting a change to the Wildcat formation, popularized last year by the Miami Dolphins and adopted and taken to new extremes by Andy Reid this season.  Spadaro, in sophistic fealty to Reid, wants to rename the Wildcat as the EAGLE or EAGLECAT.

Dear Lord.  Spadaro has finally succumbed to the ooze of his syrupy mind.  Still, every crazed idea presents an opportunity to belittle the architect.  And this is such a delectable opportunity.  Therefore, in recognition of Spadaro’s ode to absurdity, let me take the EAGLECAT to its (ill) logical conclusion.  From this time forth, let the following football fouls be known thusly:

from false start to false Eagle

from offensive interference to offensive Eagle

from unnecessary roughness to unnecessary Eagle

from delay of game to delay of Eagle

from grasping a face mask to grasping an Eagle

from illegal forward pass to illegal forward Eagle

from illegal use of hands to illegal use of Eagle

and best for last –

from illegal formation to illegal Eagle.

Talk about the quintessential illegal Eagle.  Oh my dear Spadaro, thank you for the EAGLECAT.  Al Michals, are you listening?

More Noise From Boyz; And (As Always) Fire Gary Matthews ASAP

More Noise from Boyz

I know we all have radio and tv voices we can’t stand.  Voices that make us cringe, or want to throw up.  Voices we can never mute quickly enough.  Voices that should be silenced in the public welfare . Or ex-communicated to Cleveland.

So, what is upsetting me today?  Why it’s the engineers and producers who’ve begun injecting themselves into radio and television broadcasts.  It’s horrid, puerile, beyond immature, silly, infantile, utterly stupid and insipid.  These dudes are now introducing sound effects on top of the talkers. I heard the first  such intrusion on the Glen Macnow-Anthony Gargano “Mid-day Show” on WIP.  Whoever produces the show began launching sound effects, like grenades, into the the on- air gabbing.  Beyond interrupting the flow of conversation – such as it is – it’s absurd, and entirely annoying.  As days have gone on, the intrusions have become more relentless, more encompassing, more obtuse, more dim-witted, and yes, utterly stupid.  It has spread like a California conflagration.  Listen long enough and you’ll have to leave your home.  Listen long enough and stay in your home, and you risk burning your ears to death.

So, yes, it’s begun to spread like the Swine Flu virus.  Cataldi’s boy picked it up. Barkann’s boy followed suit.  And most troubling of all, our beloved Phillies broadcasts have also, sadly, fallen victim to the same brutish, boorish behavior.  Now chimes and buzzers go off during Chris Wheeler’s Seventh Inning “Guess the Boring Trivia Question” segment. Do we really need more noise in our society?  Do we really need more inanity? Do we really need more mindless twaddle?  Wow, that’s it.  They are twaddling us to death.  It’s a twaddle conspiracy.  It’s a right wing conspiracy …. no, no, I mean it’s a left wing conspiracy, or  no, it’s an across-the-aisle, bi-partisan conspiracy designed to further erode the American spirit.  Whatever it is, it’s coarse and it’s working.  And it should be stopped.

Maybe we should all gather at City Hall, at a specific day and time, and in unison, with all the outrage we can muster, shout: BLAH BLAH BLAH BLAH, BLAH BLAH BLAH BLAH, HEY HEY, GOODBYE.  Maybe we should resurrect a sixties-style march and take over the broadcast sets of the offending engineers and producers.  Maybe we should form a political action committee to silence these evil doers.  Get a couple of lobbyists.  Pay off a few pols. Hire a world-class publicity agent.  Hell, hire an advertising company.  Let’s put together an all-out assault to quiet these jerks. Let’s form up and let’s call ourselves SHHHHH.  C’mon people, smile on your brother, everybody get together, let’s love one another right now. But enough rubbish. Enough!

Sports Pages – The Inquirer v. The Daily News

No further evidence is needed.  It’s now clear that The Daily News sportswriters are inferior to those at The Philadelphia Inquirer.  Or, put another way, the Inquirer has far surpassed the Daily News and left them in second and last place in the city. And they’re pulling away.  Please check back. Analysis to follow.

Fire Gary Matthews & Limit Tom McCarthy or Who Will Replace Harry Kalas?

If he could have, who would our beloved Harry Kalas picked to replace him?  Not Tom McCarthy, at least not as the lead TV announcer.  I think McCarthy, under the unexpected pressure of Harry’s death, has acquited himself quite well.  He has proved to me that he has a place in Phillies broadcasts:  the middle three innings, not the six around them.  McCarthy does his homework and is well-prepared. He gets an “A” for trying to get Sarge (Gary Matthews) involved in the broadcasts and to induce him to become verbally coherent – as impossible and unrewarding a task as ever foisted on a broadcaster.  But McCarthy just has one volume, one tone:  loud.  There is no nuance in his telecasts.  Moreover, he is not a baseball story teller, he doesn’t let the game come to him.  In essence, he talks too much, talks too loudly, often times shouting in a sing-songy tempo, and tends to overwhelm the game.  And, yo, McCarthy’s thunderous, cackling, out of proportion laughs are iced-gatorade-poured-on-the-back annoying.

So, if not Tom McCarthy, then whom? I submit that this critically important task cannot be entrusted to Rob Brooks, the Phillies manager of bad broadcast hires, and equally bad (very) broadcast booth assignments. It was Brooks who brought the forgettable Scott Graham to the Phillies telecasts.  It was Brooks who broke-up that wonderful, simpatico broadcast relationship betwen Harry and Larry Anderson.  ”L.A.” had the impossible task of replacing a legend, our Richie Ashburn, and doing so without any  experience.  And yet, he did, and did so admirably.  It was clear that the Harry-L.A. team clicked.  But, apparently Anderson angered Brooks by not always commenting upon the TV graphics displayed countless times during a broadcast.  Tsk, Tsk, Larry.  Your work made be genuinely terrific, your rapport with Harry quite wondrous, but you don’t obey well enough  The one thing I can say for Matthews is that no matter what he’s saying he always stops to read the graphic., no matter how horribly it interrupts the flow of the game.  Nice, lad, that Matthews, so well-behaved.

More. It was Brooks who made a tangled mess of a constantly rotating booth with three people in the booth, then four people, all vying for the microphone, all talking over each other. I’ve written about this often, but the new hire is such a supremely important decision, one that could affect Phillies telecasts for the next quart4er cetnruyy or more, that Brooks must sit this one out, be transferred to a new position, or be axed.  The one thing he cannot be trusted to do is to lead the way for a new main mouthpiece.  Nor can he be trusted to set-up the broadcast rotation in a way that lets the game be what’s important, as oppsoed to Brooks’ transparent and failed attempts to reinvent television baseball broadcasting.  And just to make us all feel comfortable, I say Rob Brooks….BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Robbie, can ye hear me?

Let’s get this right and let’s start by canning Brooks.