by Sid Yiddish
Listening to the Cubs-Padres game on the radio the other night, I fell asleep in the midst of the fourth.
It happens a lot to me,
But I’m not sure why.
Perhaps it’s the broadcast itself that seems to have a shelf-life of three innings before it goes stale.
Oh man…take me back to the days of the radio broadcast team of Vince Lloyd and Lou Boudreau And good old TV announcer Mr. “Back-Back-Back Hey-Hey” Jack Brickhouse in the latter half of the sixth
And “Drunk-As-Punk” Harry Caray near the end of the eighth.
That is, when color meant color.
And insults were good
And if a name was incorrectly mispronounced, no apologies were forthright or swift
And mistakes in commercials meant laughter and fun
And broadcasters just did their jobs with intelligence
And baseball games were just good old-fashioned baseball games you tuned into on your AM transistor mid-afternoon or late at night
And there was no such thing as
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