The Daily News Strikes Out; Gary Matthews Bumbles Along; The Three Most Annoying Voices in Philly Sports; and, one more time, Who Is Rob Brooks and Why He Must Be Fired NOW!!! – Part 4

The Daily News – More Money, Less Coverage

There was a time when The Philadelphia Daily News had one of the finest sports pages in America.  Now, in this writer’s opinion, they’re not even first in Philadelphia.  Beat reporters like Les Bowen lack the insight, the clever phrasing, and authority fans expect, while there has yet to emerge a columnist who can carry Bill Conlin’s laptop. Give me The Inquirer’s Bob Brookover and Bob Ford every time.

Can You Find Phillies Coverage?

We can all agree the current edition of the Phillies has captured the imagination of the city. But let me ask you this:  have you noticed where the News puts Phils coverage? Certainly not on the first sports page. And no, not on the second. More like the 4th or 5th.  But on Tuesday, following the long awaited first game in the Red Sox series, they relegated game coverage to page EIGHT!  That is simply not acceptable. Worse yet, and if you didn’t read the game account you won’t believe this, the contest was NOT reported by beat writer David Murphy, not by Paul Hagen, not by any News sports writer, but by the AP.  There’s more. The piece was less than 400 words.  Ridiculous and insulting. The Daily News disrespects both the team and the fans. So, as a proud Philadelphian, let me respond to the News and this conspicuous and inexcusable omission thusly:  BOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!! Some one needs to be fired. Or taken behind the wood shed and whooped!

Gary Matthews Flunks Another MATTH Test

The abysmal, appalling, atrocious, astonishingly inept work of alleged color commentator, Gary Matthews, just doesn’t get any better.  If you love your Phillies and enjoy watching them on TV, the experience continues to be ruined by his forever incoherent babbling.  Face it, he’ll never get better.  He’s just plain bad, arguably the worst commentator in the entire history of sport.

I’ve written about my ever-growing contempt for his jumbled thinking, and intellectually insulting mutterings for some time now.  But it’s even more important to remind folks that the determination to hire Matthews, along with other horrible decisions, was made by the Phillies director of broadcasting, Rob (I’m the smartest guy out there) Brooks.  It was Brooks who hired (and, after one season on TV, fired) Scott Graham.  It was Brooks who created the last year’s disaster of three men-in-the-broadcast-booth.  It was Brooks who so “cleverly” decided that Tom McCarthy should make in-game “reports,” while mindlessly intruding on the action on the field.

Last night sadly served as another reminder of how aggravating “TMac’s” in game invasions are. 

Maybe you’ll agree with me that one of the most exciting plays in baseball is the drag bunt for a hit.  The batter taps the ball and then we watch fielder, runner, and the baseball in exciting anticipation of who wins the race.  Last night, Shane Victorino dropped a beauty to the second base side of Red Sox first baseman Sean Casey, and legged it out for a single.  It was sheer delight.  But thanks to Rob (Hey look at me – I’m really smart) Brooks, what did we get?  We got a look at TMac, sitting in the stands, rambling on about something eminently forgettable, and were denied the call by Harry Kalas.  It’s revolting.  It really is.

But back to Matthews and some more beauties of illogic and inarticulateness. Here are some of his “best” dim-witted remarks from the last two Red Sox games:

On Pitching:  “Your number one and two have been struggling except for Hamels.” Say wha? Are we just a bit confused, Sarge?  Hamels is clearly the Phils Nunber one starter and he has been brilliant.  Egads.

On getting the “Sure Out”:  With a runner on first and a ground ball to Ryan Howard, Howard considered throwing to second, but then got the “sure out” at first base. Matthews intoned, “You want to take that sure out, but you want that sure double play.”  That’s for sure, Sarge.  Existential thinking there.  Impressive.

More on Pitching:  With Adam Eaton pitching and struggling to keep the Phillies in the game, our ace analyst spoke, “He needs to pitch to allow his team to win.”  I’d not only agree with that, I’d say Matthews has to shut up so my ears can breathe.

On Jon Lester’s Assortment of Pitches:  “He has four pitches:  fastball, slider and splitter. OK, let me do some rudimentary MATTH.  Hmmn, that would be THREE pitches, Sarge.  One. Two. Three.

Well, that’s it for me.  It’s sickening enough to listen to Matthews, but it’s become even more stomach turning to recount his gaffes on this site.  So, to protect my mental health, I have to retreat to my policy of earlier this season:  no TV during innings 3, 4 and 5. No more Matthews. Just can’t do it anymore..

Silly Season for the Spoken Word

Mike Missanelli

For those who aren’t paying attention – congratulations!  You haven’t noticed that Mike Misanthropic-nelli is back on the air. I wonder if he’s still angry?  Yes, I’m sure Mikie is terminally apoplectic.

John Clark – Weekend Sports Anchor, NBC10

Calrk is the most high school Harry, rah rah rah, jock sniffing “journalist” in town.  If you want to win some money, make this bet about his next report following an Eagles road game: while he’s blabbing sophomoric homilies, there will be a bunch of Eagles rooters shouting behind him.  Not that Clark is obvious or predictable.  His next original thought will be his first.

 

Jan Gorham – WIP newsreader

Gorham has gotten the longest free ride in town.  She is simply rude, crude, and barbaric.  Gorham reads her copy with a derisive, mocking tone.  Gorham is all about the cult of Gorham. And on the rare occasion when she does an interview, she poaches her unsuspecting subjects and asks demeaning questions for which there are no answers, something along the lines of, “Do you still beat your wife?”  It’s time someone noticed and called her out.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Angelo Cataldi – Vulgarian at the Gates

Of all the dung heaps that stink-up Philly sports, nothing – nothing – could be more insulting, more sleazy, more upsetting than yesterday’s condemnation by that slime, Cataldi, the WIP talk show hack.  Oh, he’s odious.

He made loathsome comments on his “Morning Show” yesterday, impugning both Tim Russert and Tiger Woods.  He tramped deep into the sewage of his mind, beyond his already subterranean limits of decency.  He’s a slime.

Cataldi is so completely full of himself, so puffed up with a sense of his own importance, that he feels no compunction in condemning anyone at all, just for his own amusement.  This Cataldi, this slime, is a real sport.

Once, about 20 years ago, Cataldi had a pedigree.  Now he needs a pedicure of the mouth. Or a punch. Where he once had a measure of respect as a beat writer for The Philadelphia Inquirer, now he resides in a bathtub full of his own mucous secretions.

That he’s loud and full of himself doesn’t mean he’s not entertaining.  He often is. I admit it.  Listening to Cataldi is a guilty pleasure.  I can easily enjoy his harangues at the expense of pompous Philly sports owners, most particularly Jeffrey Lurie, and the mysterious, secretive, creepy Phillies landlords.

His transparent tirades, most often a huckster’s shout to boost ratings, are obvious.  He is – and I say this with a touch of praise – a skilled ratings manipulator.  And oh, is he ever a master of the tease.  He is brilliant at peeling off a tasty morsel, holding it tantalizingly just out of reach, keeping us in his grasp while his bosses sell more soap and sleaze.

But yesterday, Cataldi gleefully tossed out piles of invective at Woods, complaining that he wasn’t really hurt, that he was milking his knee surgery for sympathy.  Surely, Woods was faking it. All that limping? All that grimacing? Using his driver as a crutch? Oh, Tiger Woods, you’re such a phoney. And Cataldi’s new toady, slurping Hugh Douglas, along with the ever pliant Rhea Hughes, gushed in agreement. All together now: he’s faking-he’s faking-he’s faking! Na na na na na.

For anyone who somehow doesn’t know, Tiger Woods won the U.S. Open yesterday, having competed for 5 days and 91 holes on an obviously damaged and painful left knee.  That he hadn’t even walked 18 holes since the Masters in April only underscores his achievement.  On a day when his play was less than brilliant, when he was often doubled up in pain, Woods did what a transcendent athlete does: he persevered and somehow found a way to win.

And Cataldi? Cataldi does what a ratings whore does: he infects something good and makes it vulgar for his own egotistical purposes. It was an odorous, transparent attempt to boost ratings and draw attention to his own sad Self.

Here’s an approximation of what Cataldi said:  “Can you name people like Tim Russert and Tiger Woods who can do anything and people won’t complain about them?” In other words, Russert and Woods have been so deified by the press that they can get away with any kind of bad behavior.  The implication is that Russert and Woods could lie, cheat, and steal without ever having to own up to things.  The further implication is that Russert and Woods are too privileged, too high and mighty to have to be accountable for their actions. 

Cataldi’s remarks were revolting. The irony is that all of Cataldi’s accusations apply to Cataldi.  Cataldi has never known what being an athlete is truly about.  Being an athlete is about trying your best.  It’s about willing yourself beyond seeming physical limits. It’s about never giving up regardless of circumstance.  Sport is about the purity of competition, of finding the finest part of yourself.  Of trying your best.  Of playing fair. OK, I know, I know that sounds so corny, so hopelessly old fashioned, but it remains true. It will always be true. I don’t care about the users and abusers of performance enhancing drugs. They don’t negate the highest calling of sport:  to give it all you have all the time.  To respect the sport, to respect your opponent by playing hard and by playing fair.

But Cataldi, the slime, wouldn’t know about that.  His conceit wouldn’t allow it.  And so he attacked Tiger Woods for his own personal benefit and amusement. Cataldi delightedly belittled what most would agree was one of the finest moment in sports:  Tiger Woods relentlessly and endlessly calling on his best, giving his best, in the most pressure packed, dire circumstances, while in visibly agonizing pain.  My God, to watch Woods deal with pressure and physical pain was, in the truest sense of the word, awesome.  It was awe-inspiring, a rare alchemy of genius and courage mixed together, forming a perfect harmony of mind and body.  It was absolutely thrilling to see Woods, in ever deepening adversity, do exactly what he had to do to compete at his highest level – and win! 

There’s more.  Cataldi, the slime, in utter madness, also demeaned NBC-TV political analyst Tim Russert, the much beloved and stellar political analyst, who died of an apparent heart attack on June14th.  Russert was also a great champion.  To besmirch this man within days of his death is both horrifying and unforgiveable. By his own words, Cataldi reveals himself to be a man without ethics.

Cataldi, the slime, is man who says he had a breast reduction operation.  Apparently, his doctor sliced away his decency, too.

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THIS NOTE is being added on the evening after I wrote about Cataldi, the slime.  We’ve just learned that Tiger Woods played the U.S. Open with a torn ACL AND with a double stress fracture of his left tibia. So, what do you say everybody, let’s all tune in tomorrow to Angelo and his sycophants for more accusations about Tiger and his “fraudulent” injury. Let’s listen again to how Tiger was so phony, faking all that pain just to gain our sympathy.  I, for one, can’t wait for all the hijinks, frivolity, and yuk-yuk-yuks at the expense of a truly courageous athlete. 

 

Ike Reese + Bad Signs at the Bank + Fire the Sarge (as always)

Ike Reese – Just Another WIP Jerk

This is being inserted on October 28, 2009. Have you ever heard a more awkward, more uncomfortable pairing on WIP than Eskin and Ike? Oh my, it’s really awful. They don’t fit together at all.  The Esk just dominates Ike, who, after all, is still a rookie and who will never catch up to The Esk’s acumen and savvy. If the ratings were down before the move, they’re going to seem like “up” to me as the Arbitron’s are surely going to plummet. There’s no doubt about it. The suits blew this one.

Ike Reese, former Eagles special teams star, has been an impressive rookie on WIP.  “Ike at Night,” from 7-10PM, has been surprisingly entertaining. Not just another jock boring us with retiree-spouting jock-speak, not just another tongue-tied interchageable sports senior citizen mouthing homilies, Reese has been impressive, displaying a wide knowledge of the national sports scene, while offering cogent commentary, along with a welcoming presence to listeners.

That’s why it was so incredibly disappointing to hear him disparage Phillies pitcher, Tom “Flash” Gordon, in the most trashy and despicable way.  Nice work, Ike.  Congratulations for passing muster as just another tool of WIP, radio talk show station of idiots for idiots.

Last night (June 11), Gordon came into pitch the 9th inning of a 2-2 game against the Marlins.  Gordon was wild, loaded the bases, and gave up a devastating walk-off grand slam to Dan Uggla.  The Phillies lose. The Phillies lose.

How did Reese respond to that moment of misfortune? By referring to Gordon as Tom “Flush” Gordon. I thought I misheard until Reese said it again, and over again. Tom Flush Gordon – what a knee slapper. Ho-Ho- Ho, Ike. So Clever. So Brilliant!  Welcome to the dirty toilet bowl of WIP pre-pubescent humor. Ah, WIP, first in our hearts, last in our bowels.

Well, not only did Reese earn his Vulgarity stripes, he earned a cluster for accompanying his “Flush” slur, conspiring with his engineer by playing the sound of a toilet flushing. And let me tell you, Dear Reader, it was an ever so long flush – really, really, really loonnnnggg. Ho-Ho-Ho, Ike. Wow-Pow-Zowie. Oh, such unadulterated comedy.  Such willy nilly silliness. Such a nifty imagination. Belly laughs all around.  Ah, Ike, you coulda been a “contendah.” I suppose WIP will now launch a campaign along the lines of “Be Like Ike …. and Don’t Forget to Flush!  And Don’t Forget to Wipe!!” Oh, Oh, Oh, My, My My, I’m funny, too.  Just like Ike.

Visual Clutter at the Bank (Click on photos above.)

When I attended a recent Phils game, I was struck (in the eyes) by some pretty awful images.  The big scoreboard is so crowded that you don’t know where to look. The visual stew is inedible, just like those Hatfield doggies. I mean, take a look at that jumble. Stars, number signs, text all over the place. Everything bumping into everything else.  What’s the point of writing the pitcher’s name twice, the second time in caps? Just for fun, try looking up from the game action to locate the balls and strikes numbers. Try to spot them before the next pitch. Bet you a Hatfield doggie you can’t.

Oh, and where do you have to look for pitch speed?  Deep in the rightfield corner, where those numbers are surrounded by more visual clutter – a phalanx of out of town MINOR LEAGUE scores.  I’m not talking about just Phillies farm teams, but a whole array of teams I’ve never heard of and wouldn’t ever want to hear of.

Call me picky, but another thing I don’t like is that the pictures of the opposing team players are shown in their home uniforms.  What’s with that?  They are not our homies. No, they are visitors and their photos should be in their grey road unis.

But if you’re looking for something less opinionated and more of an undisputed fact, take a walk down Ashburn Alley and check out the sign with an arrow pointing to the “Mens Restroom.”  Hello.  May I have an apostrophe, Pat? As in MEN’S. Or take a look at the SECTIONS numbers. There’s a useless comma after 111, and the 148 isn’t centered under the 111.  Not just sloppy folks, but stupid and incompetent.  Makes you wonder about management’s attention to detail.  Makes you understand why the Triple A iron Pigs are stocked with cast-off 35 year olds instead of promising players in their early 20s.

Fire Gary Matthews (Have mercy on our ears)

The stumbling stupidities and inane idiocies of Gary Matthews continue to pile up.  Rather than to re-count another long list of useless and dim-witted narrative, I’ll offer my first Viewer Challenge.  Take a listen to what words Matthews emphasizes as he speaks.  It’s almost always the wrong WORD.  Moreover, he’ll often pause for emphasis before “actually” emphasizing the wrong WORD.  Give it a try, and I’ll list a few of my own Matthews’ gems in my next post.

P.S.  Just in case you think I forgot, I ask you, “Who Is Rob Brooks and Why He Should Be Fired NOW!!”

Matthews Mutterings, McCarthy Meanderings and Hot Dogs at the Bank, Or, Who Is Rob Brooks and Why He Must Be Fired NOW! (Part 3)

(Updated June 10th))

Today I’m going to offer you a hodge podge of opinions, from Gary Matthews and his serially deficient mumblings, to two other broadcast “giants,” Tom McCarthy and Scott Palmer, to puerile “antics” on WIP radio, and finally to those horrible, hideous, heinous Hatfield hot dogs at the Bank.

Matthews and McCarthy – The Boobsey Twins – Brought to You by Rob Brooks, yes the very same Rob Brooks as in, “Who is Rob Brooks and Why He Must be Fired NOW!” (Part 3)

I can’t help myself.  I used to turn off Phillies telecasts from innings three through six to avoid the idiot mutterings of Gary Matthews and the vacuous meanderings of Tom (T-Mac, as if) McCarthy.  But now I load up on painkillers and listen to these two poor excuses for announcers, wondering, masochistically, I admit, what they’ll say to annoy me.

Here are three Matthews’ beauties from today’s (June 8th) game in Atlanta:  Beauty #1 – In the bottom of the first inning, Braves first baseman Mark Teixeira homered and Matthews’ gave this highly original commentary: “We’re talking sraight away deep centerfield that ball was hit.” Wow, the sheer, raw brilliance of that observation was both sheer and raw.   Beauty #2 – With Shane Victorino on second base and one out in the top of the second inning, Chase Utley popped up.  Matthews’ reaction:  “Remember you want to hit a deep fly ball.” Yeah, Sarge, a deep fly ball would be super fine, but call me nutty, I’d prefer a base hit.   Beauty #3 – Commenting on Ryan Howard’s slowness afoot, Matthews muttered, “Once he starts running it’s OK, it’s just that he starts slow.” Deep, Matthews, deep.

No doubt I’d have more to report, but I passed out on the sofa and didn’t wake up until Matthews was relieved for the day.

Now to McCarthy.  You know that he still make those tiringly banal reports that so aggravatingly intrude on game action.  Our T-Mac’s favorite ploy is to sit in the stands with the proletariat and ramble on about nothing important.  What’s so odd is that no one sitting near to McCarthy seems to notice our T-Mac is speaking into a microphone and looking into a television camera.  It’s all so cinema verite.  As if they weren’t coached.  It’s such a fraud.

While I’m thinking of it, would someone please tell McCarthy that he’s broadcasting on Television, not announcing on radio.  He doesn’t have to talk incessantly.  Let the telecast breathe Tommy boy, it’s the least you could do. And, oh yeah, perhaps someone could remind Matthews that HE doesn’t have to talk between each and every pitch. My God, these guys are painful. Their work is the equivalent of hump-backed liners, or better yet, of fouling off a strike three bunt attempt.  Oh, how glorious would it be to say to these two:  you’re both OUTTA HERE!

P.S. For those of you who haven’t been keeping up, Rob Brooks is the Phillies director of broadcasting.  The long, skinny finger of blame sits in Brooks’ lap, for he is the ‘genius” who’s foisted the M & M boys upon Philly fandom, and I don’t mean Maris and Mantle.  I hope Sarge and, ahem, T-Mac, will hold the door open on their way out so Brooks can accompany them.  Hey, how about a trade with the Mets?  These guys for an announcer and a hot dog (see below) to be named later.

Scott Palmer – Mr. Obsequious

And speaking about ineffectual TV talkers, have you ever watched the Phillies Sunday pre-game show with Scott Palmer?  The achingly sincere Palmer, a Phillies employee and homer cheerleader, is a cliché ridden hack.  I find it so annoying that this show is produced by the Phillies themselves.  That makes it an advertisement, an infomercial.  It should be labeled as such.  In fact, it you ask me, the ingratiating Palmer is second only in jock-sniffing skills to the Eagles front man, Dave Spadaro.  These toadies, these sycophants, these fawning and obedient ass kissers couldn’t be more annoying. I’d rather play with a sharp knife and listen to Matthews read the dictionary over a loud speaker than be subjected to these two.

Smarmy, Scott, smarmy.  Absolutely smarmilicious.

WIP Radio – A New Low for High Ratings

Have you noticed the new segment on “Angelo and the Morning Crew”?  Each morning we’re subjected to the toilet humor of something they call, “Boner of the Day.” Oh, these boys are so clever. The innuendo is so unexpected. I know it keeps me on the edge of my theoretcial (toilet) seat.

Last week, during one of their more memorable Boner segments, someone referred to Dick Cheney. Dick?  Do you get it? Oh, I was overcome with hysterics. Such hijinks! Such crazy shenanigans!!

The thing is, I’m not at all against toilet humor.  What does offend me is dim-witted, STUPID toilet humor.  What’s even more offensive is UNFUNNY, dim-witted, stupid toilet humor.

Hatfield Dollar Night – The Worst Wursts Ever

I went to a Phils – Reds game last week and loved the energy in the stands.  It was as electric as I’ve experienced in a long while.  It was so much fun to be in the ballpark and watch our hometown boys chalk up another win.

Naturally, I took advantage of the One Dollar Hatfield hot dog offer. After my first bite, I had to spit it out. It was, in a word, wretched. I wanted to puke. I am not exaggerating. It was just horribly, horribly putrid.

The doggies are wrapped in aluminum foil for speedy, high volume delivery to us suckers. But the foil has the effect of moisturizing the contents so that the roll is damp and soggy, while the dog is furrowed like a Sharpee’s brow, and is utterly inedible. Silly me, I bought two.  

The food at the Vet was always rank, but this new menu has been getting lots of props.  So, having coughed-up the frank, I next tried a Philly cheese steak. I was pleased to see that the servers were Not wearing gloves and thus had hope that their bacteria-infested hands would add a pleasing flavor to my steak.  Alas, the meat was horrid and I spit it out, too.  I will say, in all fairness, the roll was somewhat tasty. 

I cleansed my palette with a pre-poured Coke which was more watery than a mid-west flood.

But, having the choice between good food and a Phillies loss, or “reguritant” food and a home team victory, I’m sucker enough to prefer the latter.  Go Phils!

 

 

 

 

Phillies Telecasts: A Little Bit of Joy and a Whole Lot of Pain

There are terrific reasons to watch the Phillies on TV.  Even after all these years, Harry Kalas is still a treasure. And though he attracts a chorus of haters, I like Chris Wheeler and I enjoy his easy rapport with Harry.  Best of all, we finally have a team worth watching, featuring three of the best payers in the game.  You know who they are: J-Roll, Chase, and Ryan.

Still, there are a host of reasons why watching Phils telecasts induces earaches, nausea, and vertigo.  I watched today’s game (v. Marlins, June 1^st) with extra care.  As a measure of my fastidious attention to duty and my selfless disregard for my own mental health, I even endured the mutterings of Matthews, Gary, that is, the Sarge of yesteryear, but now a meandering nincompoop who should be reduced to buck private and tossed in the brig. I mean when Matthews wobbles and limps toward the heart of the matter, he invariably winds up at the liver. Oh, pain.

And there’s a bunch of additional aggravation one must endure during every telecast.  One of the things that most rankles me is the inconsistent posting of the miles per hour pitching graphic.  It’s maddening.  We’ve become used to certain on-screen data. In fact, we’ve come to depend on them as aids in watching a ballgame.  The measuring of pitch speed provides useful, and sometimes dramatic, information.  Remember when the Phils first got Billy Wagner and the roar that would ensue when the speed gun rated his fastballs at 100 MPH?  Imagine how much less fun watching those pitches would have been without the posting of the radar gun results.

But for careful observers, there’s another great reason for enjoying the MPH graphic:  noting the difference in speed between a pitcher’s fastball and change-up.  It not only informs the game, it reinforces just how hard it is to hit a baseball.  When a batter faces a 95 mph fastball, followed by a 75 mph curveball, well, it’s amazing these guys can adjust and put a good swing on the pitch, let alone hit it. Of course, in this city of perennial losers (We all know there hasn’t been a championship here in 25 years.), there’s always something that blights our hopes, our dreams, our simple pleasures.

Why can’t the Phillies seem to figure out this MPH graphic?  Why must they be so unfailingly inept?  On one pitch, it’s visible, and on the next, it’s not.  Or it’s visible for a half inning and not the next.  Or it’s visible for seven pitches and not the next two, and then visible again.  Or it’s visible for 8½ innings, but disappears when Brad Lidge comes in to save the game in the bottom of the 9^th.  

The bungling is astounding, aggravating, infuriating.  I mean here we are well into the new millennium, deep into the digital age, and the Phillies can’t figure out how to present a simple graphic. ESPN can to it.  FOX can do it.  Even the folks at TBS can do it.  But not our Fightin’s.

So. I made notes during the first three innings of today’s game with the Fish, and here’s my report on the displaying, or non-displaying, of the MPH graphic:

Top of the First –  Graphic not displayed for first 6 pitches. Graphic IS shown for the 7th pitch.  Then, graphic not shown for the final 5 pitches of the half inning.  Absurd!

Bottom of the First – Graphic displayed 9 times, not shown 7 times.

Top of the Second – Graphic displayed on every pitch.

Bottom of the Second – Graphic displayed 14 times, not shown 2 times.

Top of the Third – Graphic shown on all but one pitch.

Bottom of the Third – Graphic shown on all but one pitch.

What about this one?  Here’s what our TV brain trust showed us (or didn’t) during Jimmy Rollins’ at bat in the fourth inning:

Ball 1 –    No Graphic
Ball 2 –    Graphic is shown
Ball 3 –    No Graphic 
Strike 1 – Graphic is shown
Strike 2 – No Graphic

Rollins popped out on the next pitch which, in an odd allegiance to contrapuntal rhythm, the graphic was shown.

Note to Phillies executives:  Don’t you guys watch?  Is there no oversight of your telecasts?  Do you not mind being so transparently incompetent?  I guess we all know the answers.

And now for a new feature of Philly Media Sports (PMS) blog: “The Matthews Idiotic Analysis (sic) of the Game:” OK.  In the second inning, Jimmy Rollins reached first on a throwing error by Jorge Cantu, the Marlins third baseman.  Here’s Matthews’ ultra insightful commentary, and I quote:  “One of the reasons J-Roll got to the bag is that he got there quickly.”  Oh, how deep is that?  How astoundingly stupid can a man be?  How insulting to the intelligence of even the most casual fan. How utterly and exhaustingly inept.

Here’s another topic I’ve addressed before: Tom McCarthy’s annoying, banal intrusions on the telecasts.  Several times a game – DURING game action – the camera cuts away to McCarthy, who is usually hidden somewhere in the distant reaches of The Bank, sitting ever so chummily among the fans, yodeling about something of bewildering inconsequence.  These unwelcome upsets to the continuity of the broadcast intrude well into the unfolding of the game.

Here’s the latest and clearly the worst, most awful example of McCarthy’s hideous encroachment.  (Of course, when I say McCarthy, I’m well aware he’s merely the front man for Brooks’ appallingly bad decision making.)  Let’s go back to Rollins getting on base on Cantu’s throwing error. Well, J-Roll wound up on second on the play. Next, Shane Victorino hit a long fly to center field, and Rollins tagged and went to third. The throw was off, and was recovered by the Marlins pitcher, Andrew Miller, who promptly threw the ball away, allowing Rollins to score.

So, fans, what do you think was telecast during the play?  Right you are. The camera was focused on McCarthy, who had just begun another nothingness of a report.  All of a sudden, the on-field fireworks exploded and in a flash, Rollins scored a run on the duet of Marlins misplays. 

The camera hastily turned back to the field of play, while our Tom belatedly attempted to describe the action. Meanwhile, poor Harry was bewildered, most likely by the switch to McCarthy, and admitted he didn’t see the play, that he didn’t know what happened.  Luckily, Wheeler saw it and rescued the run.  Whoooee. Thank you so much, Rob Brooks, for embarrassing your entire TV crew and for bastardizing the content and flow of the game.

The disconnect continues.  Our boys are in first place in the National League East, and our telecasts are stumbling over rats in the basement.