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muckefuckLast night was a test of my multitasking. I enjoy watching the playoff games, but even the most rabid fan has to admit there's a lot of downtime. Trouble is, it's very chopped up and only partly predictable. I'm good at estimating how much time it takes for a pitching change, but that still leaves a lot of small delays--broken bats, checks on base runners, conferences on the mound, batters stepping out of the box, etc. etc. that add up to a sizable chunk of the four hours or so it takes for a game.
Ideally, I could simply leave the audio on while I turn my attention elsewhere, perking up only when something truly engrossing gets going. But that's impossible to do any more now that commentators no longer actually call the game. Between the banter, the irritating interviews, the incessant replays, and checking in with the chuckleheads on the field, it's easy to lose track of which side is batting, let alone who's up. Even worse, we've drawn the short straw again this year, which means the AL gets the TBS team and we're stuck with Joe "Debasing My Father's Name" Buck and Tim "I Don't Actually Need To Learn the Players' Names" McCarver.
How bad does it get? Apparently, Giants pitcher Madison Bumgarner comes from a small town in North Carolina where there are a lot of other Bumgarners. I know this because Bucky and McGaffe brought up at least three times during the game last night; one time they even had an illustrative on-screen graphic. I've survived by making very liberal use of the mute button.
One activity that does complement watching baseball very well is laundry. The laundry room is just down the hall from the tv room, and folding is something you can drop at any moment. I was also able to make a surprising amount of progress in Kosztolányi's Skylark during the commercial breaks, in addition to keeping up with Facebook and running upstairs a couple times to clean up from dinner. We'll see what I'm able to get done tonight.
Ideally, I could simply leave the audio on while I turn my attention elsewhere, perking up only when something truly engrossing gets going. But that's impossible to do any more now that commentators no longer actually call the game. Between the banter, the irritating interviews, the incessant replays, and checking in with the chuckleheads on the field, it's easy to lose track of which side is batting, let alone who's up. Even worse, we've drawn the short straw again this year, which means the AL gets the TBS team and we're stuck with Joe "Debasing My Father's Name" Buck and Tim "I Don't Actually Need To Learn the Players' Names" McCarver.
How bad does it get? Apparently, Giants pitcher Madison Bumgarner comes from a small town in North Carolina where there are a lot of other Bumgarners. I know this because Bucky and McGaffe brought up at least three times during the game last night; one time they even had an illustrative on-screen graphic. I've survived by making very liberal use of the mute button.
One activity that does complement watching baseball very well is laundry. The laundry room is just down the hall from the tv room, and folding is something you can drop at any moment. I was also able to make a surprising amount of progress in Kosztolányi's Skylark during the commercial breaks, in addition to keeping up with Facebook and running upstairs a couple times to clean up from dinner. We'll see what I'm able to get done tonight.
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