A Morsel of Good in Perpetual Sea of Bad

On my list of things to be done, a preview of The Tradition, and the 2007 Kansas City Chiefs schedule completely trump homework and wedding planning. But they'll have to wait. On the front priority burner simmers some highly deserved props to this man. In case you don't recognize his likeness, he has called baseball games for a little team I like to call the Kansas City Royals since the team's 1969 inception. I'll now pause briefly for each and every one of you to laugh, guffaw, snicker, chuckle, and snort about the debacle that has been this franchise since the '94 strike. Go ahead -- call them AAA, a joke, what have you. I'll be patient. Done? Okay. Good. Let's be serious for a moment, then. My colleague claims that every man loves his hometown guy, his play-by-play man, the voice of his club. And he has, as usual, dry, undercaressed testicles a good point. I totally concur, nor am I an exception to this statement. I will, however, offer that those in the know agree with me when I say that Denny Matthews rules. He knows the game, he knows the teams, he knows numbers like Asians know wontons. And that's been recognized. I know, coveted reader(s), that you are fully capable of following links, and, well, reading. But I'll spare you the labor on this one. Let's talk company.





Vin Scully, Jack Buck, Harry Caray, Joe Garagiola, Bob Uecker. Those names do anything for you? If not, you proably already killed yourself out of boredom prior to completing paragraph one of this post. If so, then you should know that, for Denny Matthews to be honored with the Ford C. Frick award, he must've done something right in the last 38 years. Probably more than once.





And that's really all I have to say about that. Except that we have, pardon the pun, 100% dropped the ball on a little segment we don't like to call "We Are Hot Chicks." We apologize. It will never, evah evah evah evah, happen again, precious reader(s).




Stay tuned for more things you don't care for me to talk about.