National Broadcast Mercs Must Die!

Let it be known that I love baseball more than I love you; unless you’re my daughter and then it depends on the day and our playoff status. I’m currently on cloud 9 (Matt William’s uni #) that my SF Giants are in the pennant hunt and currently tied with the Philadelphia Loud Mouth Fans with No Class or Common Decency...or whatever their team name is.

All season I’ve had the privilege of listening to the best broadcast team on radio or TV bar none. I’ve been all over this US and watched/listened to games from coast to coast and we have the most knowledgeable crew from top to bottom. They are so good I’ve become more spoiled than the college girls Barry Zito romances between starts (allegedly).

Which brings me to the crux of my rage. National Broadcasters suck. The End. The obvious favoritism toward the Phils on the last two broadcasts has rocketed well past shameful straight into a bean dip bowl of ridiculousness. In the first place these guys seem so convinced the Giants are just going to roll over for the Phils that it seems they didn’t even bother to learn the most basic stories of interest for the Giants.

The Phils are batting and they talk about the Phillies batters despite Lincecum dealing like a mad man and when the Giants come to bat what do they talk about? The Phillies pitcher! As if the 30 minute segment on Halladays complete game shut out wasn’t enough now we have to hear about it constantly when the Giants are up to bat?!

Cody Ross hits two home runs and they don’t murmur a syllable about how his acquisition was a strategic move to block him from the Padres; they don’t mention his previous heroics or the fact that he recently had a kid even. Nope, Cody Ross gets the first hit off Halladay in the playoffs for the lead in the first game of the series and all they can talk about is how great Halladay is and how he seldom makes a mistake to location and how delicious his dick is when they blow him before the game.

The lack of respect for west coast sports is utterly ridiculous and has to stop. Hey Tim McCarver, I know you’re older than Joltin’ Joe’s jock strap but would it kill you to learn what Google is and maybe learn something about a Giant beyond what’s in the media guide?! We all know Bochy used to manage the Padres! You have unfettered access to these athletes before the games start, how about putting down the blow dryer and asking them some interesting questions so we can get some insight?!
 

Joe Buck's 'O' Face

Don’t even get me started on that pompous prick Joe “My dad was GREAT at this” Buck. Is there anyone on television more delusional about his hairline and actual talent this side of Donald Trump?!  It’s pronounced Ooo-ree-bay; not Yer-E-bay you boring, talentless hack! I wouldn’t use Joe Buck for firewood much less entertainment or information.

I’ve given up on national broadcaster mercenaries and I can’t even synch up on the radio either because of the damn TV time outs and all the other advertising bull shit. I think I’m going to watch the rest of the games with the Flash Gordon soundtrack playing and double my beer intake. It’s the only way I can cope with the stress of Giant’s playoff baseball. Go Giants!

Brannan Brundle Adventure Log: V:3 E:1 Golconda Looms

Brannan Brundle Adventure Log*
Vol. 3 Entry 1
Golconda Looms
I see troubling times ahead but occasionally a ray of light shines out. I head back to Golconda with a heavy heart due to recent troubles but I have hope I can do some good with like minded heroes. I act as I always do as the guard captain for the usual spring shipment of our fine cheeses but my true mission is to infiltrate the ranks of Hydra Company. My monk brethren have requested I join this group of heroes and validate their virtue. Golconda sinks further into decadence and evil and the church will require heroes of great strength if we are ever to take back this once virtuous city.

I have seen the caravan through to Golconda with a minimum of course. A few monstrous humanoid attacks and some misguided bandits who I had to teach the error of their ways with my morningstar. My brothers acquitted themselves well in the battles and our shipment of fine cheeses have been delivered safely to the market and supplies have been acquired. I await the arrival of my contact in the Hydra Company.

*I'll be blogging on the adventures of  the current Golconda DnD campaign, sometimes with images once I get unburied as a regular feature of the blog in addition to the transit, pop culture and general life rants.

PAX Quick Hit: Food Fail 2: The French Toast is a Lie!

I'm gonna say it, I love breakfast, specifically the carbtastic additions like pancakes, waffles and french toast. My cinnamon sugar french toast and brown sugar waffles have made grown men weep and stopped at least 2 wars. You can't imagine how happy I was on my return leg in the Seattle airport, after struggling through security and losing my commemorative, vibrating grenade stress toy, to see on the menu at the cafe by my gate one of my favorite preflight meals: french toast!

I was lured in with promises of sweet maple syrup, light, soft bread dipped lovingly in farm fresh eggs. With visions of deliciousness dancing in my head I happily ordered such fare from my overly perky waitress and waited. There I sat licking my chops and enjoying the anticipation of the moment.

Before I knew it they arrived and  my heart sank like the Niners playoff hopes.

Abomination!

WHEAT BREAD FRENCH TOAST!
I didn't pay $11 for breakfast to get a ghetto last resort meal! Wheat bread is used in french toast only under duress or if you're trying to be a pretentious prick. I think we know which option this cafe was going for.

I don't really have a problem with this cafe trying to dress up their french toast with some hippie wheat bread with more nuts in it than a Haight Ashbury bath house but give a brother some warning. If they said on the menu that it was wheat bread than I'd have passed it over in favor of the breakfast buritto and you all could have enjoyed a rant on how the tortillas you get at restaurants are an affront to humanity and we should all storm every cafe that serves these anemic flour papers with pitch forks and torches. <----longest sentence ever.

I did however enjoy the orange.

Giants Win the NL West! How the Giants Made me a Better Dad

World's Greatest Giants Fan!

On Sunday the SF Giants ended my seasons long torture and finally put the Padres down like the broken dogs they truly are to win the NL West pennant for the first time since too damn long ago. I hope Barry Bonds saw it from his Giant House, on top of a Giant pile of money and wept Giant tears! Ironically enough this team reminds me of the cursed Angels team that beat my Gigantes the last time they went to the World Series (I hope Dusty Baker feels guilty forever and gets pelted with Don Robinson bobbleheads whenever he visits ATT Park).

My favorite Giants memory is oddly enough not on the field. No foul balls or homeruns caught yet (seriously, I've been to like 60 games and not even 1) fun encounters with players  and none compares. My favorite Giants memory revolves around my daughter and my dad.

It was the last season the Giants played at Candlestick and my mom and dad and I decided to take my daughter to her first Giants game. She was so little back then and was quite a trooper. It was a typical freezing night game but it was after the last out was recorded in my program that my memory kicks into extra innings.

We were walking across the maze that was the 'Stick's parking lot with my dad holding my fast asleep little daughter in his arms. It was chillier than the $6 beers and more dark than a public place should be at that hour when it happened. My dad didn't see the small chain hanging at shin level that connected two pylons that were used to direct traffic. To this day I have no idea why that parking lot was strewn with tripwires; it's a parking lot, not a vietnamese jungle.

My dad hit that hazard at full tilt and as he started to trip and fall with my daughter in his arms time slowed to a 162 game grind. I reached out to him as he twisted to protect my daughter. He teetered over the edge as I caught up to him and he managed to stay upright. In that split second I saw what it truly meant to be a father.

Up to that point I was floundering as a dad and didn't truly understand the depth of raising a child but seeing my dad willingly sacrifice himself without a moments hesitation or thought truly drove the gravity of fatherhood into my brain and that moment wouldn't have happened if it weren't for my dad's bravery, our devotion to our team and Candlestick Park's ridiculously stupid parking lot.

Thanks for 35 yrs of ups, downs, homers and K's SF Giants. And thank you for opening my eyes to how truly important the world's greatest Giant's fan is to me.