Tuesday, July 10, 2007

I want my sanity back, back, back

There’s an old joke about a suicide hotline mis-printing a phone number directing those contemplating taking their own life to the Nike HQ, where the phone was answered “Just Do It.”

Fortunately, after the derby last night people weren’t dialing up Nike because three hours of Chris Berman’s impression of the Chili’s rib song, interspersed with references to Magglio and Stitch Ordonez would be enough to make anyone think that a beer bottle to the skull was a suitable end to the night.

I was smart enough not to punish myself, but my colleague on the show, Rebecca wasn’t (not entirely out-of-character, either). So as she subjected herself the mind drubbing that was Boomer, she kept count of how many times he broke into his signature call.

First round: 46 (including swing-off)
Second round: 68
Finals: 7 (not including discussion about what type of homer constitutes which type of backiness).

So in a three-hour broadcast, that makes the total 121 utterances of insanity. 11-squared repetitions of retardation.

That’s 40 times per hour. Including commercial time, that’s once every 90-seconds. If you happened to tune out during commercials, you’re closer to once every minute.

It’s not a signature call, Chris. Not every 90 seconds. Every 90-seconds, it’s annoying. If someone was playing the “Berman Drinking Game” they’d make Pat Summerall and Mickey Mantle look like owners of healthy livers.

If Berman were directing the Electric Slide for just one person, the static electricity generated by the person taking a step back every time Berman said the word would have ended California’s energy crisis.

I’m less tired of hearing bad-Bill-Clinton-sexual-relations imitations. I’m less tired of seeing stories about Paris Hilton and Jail. I’d more readily sit and watch “Quite Frankly” for three hours than the Home Run Derby with Chris Berman.

ONE HUNDRED AND TWENTY ONE TIMES.

If you cut one John Kruk hair every time Berman broke out into BACKBACKBACKBACKBACKBACKBACKBACK, he’d look like Dr. Evil before the finals even started.

Allow me, Chris, to address you for a moment in your own terms.

KNOCK IT OFF, KNOCK IT OFF, KNOCK IT OFF, KNOCK IT OFF, KNOCK IT OFF, KNOCK IT OFF, KNOCK IT OFF, KNOCK IT OFF, KNOCK IT OFF, KNOCK IT OFF, KNOCK IT OFF, KNOCK IT OFF, KNOCK IT OFF, KNOCK IT OFF, KNOCK IT OFF, KNOCK IT OFF, KNOCK IT OFF, KNOCK IT OFF, KNOCK IT OFF, KNOCK IT OFF, KNOCK IT OFF, KNOCK IT OFF, KNOCK IT OFF, KNOCK IT OFF, KNOCK IT OFF, KNOCK IT OFF, KNOCK IT OFF, KNOCK IT OFF, KNOCK IT OFF, KNOCK IT OFF, KNOCK IT OFF, KNOCK IT OFF.

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