Monday, May 18, 2009

Halleluiah! Halleluiah!

LEST WE FORGET. Google had the following two sports stories stacked one over the other this afternoon. Too perfect.

I admit it. I had stopped believing in Hope & Change. I'm a new convert. Suddenly, almost unbelievably, the two biggest clowns who drenched the airwaves with their slobbering idolatry of Brett "The Weepily Unretiring" Favre are gone. John Madden has gone home to the mutation ranch where they grow those eight-legged, seventy-pound, man-loving Tom turkeys, and now, today -- booyah -- Tony Kornheiser is entering the unstoried, unfabled, unlegendary past of ESPN Monday Night Football.

The hat trick will be officially registered when Mrs. Brett Favre finally gives in and allows the world's oldest junior high-school jock asshole to reside on the same acreage with her in Lower Stupid Pickupville, Wisconsin.

That hasn't happened yet, but we're celebrating anyway. We have a Vision. A vision of Monday Night Football that is about the game actually being played on the night it is broadcast. When the announcers will  find something, anything on the actual field of play, to talk about besides Brett Favre and Michael Vick or, when they're being especially clever in their knowing way, Michael Vick and Brett Favre.

There was a time when we thought nothing could be worse than Joe Theismann and whatever made-up storyline he clung to diarrhetically through thick and thin, usually having to do with what a brilliantly prescient football mind belonged to one Joe Theismann, who graduated from Notre Dame, don't you know, and could reduce any football game to the one-note plot he had dreamed up in his hotel room the night before, regardless of what was actually happening on the field.

But then came Tony Kornheiser. 


[Thank me HERE for my beneficent omission of the endless list of broadcast crimes perpetrated by this pompous pseudo-intellectual's incessant outrages against every conceivable prior definition of the sins of repetition, loving the sound of your own voice more than life itself, and frankly nauseating homoerotic hero worship of the league's two most repellent permanent adolescent jerks. In NFL history. Ever. By a long, lo-o-o-o-o-ng way.]


Now he's gone. Maybe Grudin will be awful, boring, obnoxious. All we know for sure is that he can't possibly be as bad as Tony Kornheiser.


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