Last week, I ended on a bit of a sour note, expressing discontent toward the sad truth that the remainder of the MLB postseason would be broadcast on FOX. It's not as if I have anything against FOX and its style of coverage (lie). Or that TBS, the other postseason broadcaster, has a dozen Vin Scullys in its booth - though that Ron Darling sure can talk the hell out of that microphone. So why do I find FOX's coverage god-awful? Why do I find myself unable to bear the Joe Buck/Tim McCarver commentary pairing? Do I finally see through the empty words and meaningless stat-quoting of TV "experts"?
I had a very peculiar baseball upbringing, essentially teaching myself everything off the Internet. As I associate myself with the online baseball community, I find it hard to shake off feelings that are commonplace on the web. In this case, the popular outcry is the rant against big sports broadcasters, namely FOX and ESPN. When I was still finding my feet as an Internet baseball nerd, I didn't understand this displeasure at national broadcasting. Surely it was a privilege to have your team on the Sunday Night ESPN game. Why wouldn't you want your club getting national attention? What about the pride you should feel when the national experts, presumably the best in the business, speak of your favorite players?
After a couple of years, I got it. Whereas the focused attacks on FOX are just an example of classic Internet trolling, there is an underlying message to all this commotion. Expert analysis has become monotonous. It's effortless, repetitive, vague and repetitive. And above all, needless. What saves your team's local day-to-day broadcaster from these accusations is the devil in the details. The privilege of following the same group of ballplayers for over half a year allows the NESNs and SNYs of this world to avoid putting out the same generic jargon week in, week out. Of course, I'm not absolving the big broadcasters of any blame, as they are the ones who continue to dish this stuff out.
What does Joe Buck mean when he says things like, "Barry Zito's start in Game 5, I believe, really launched the Giants into coming back from 3-1 down to win the NLCS"? I get that it's a tough job to talk for three and a half hours on national television, but it's your ONLY job, and you're supposed to be good at it, so surely you should put some more thought into what you're saying. When stripped to the bone, that Buck quote is a nothing statement; it's like saying "the rain really contributed to the wet weather today." And please don't get me started on McCarver's lengthy explanation of why he accidentally called Pablo Sandoval "Pandoval."
I suppose what most infuriates the Internet community is the fact that these people get paid huge sums of money for a job they don't do particularly well. Personally, I can't enjoy a game properly without decent commentary. But what gets my goat is the "studio" analysis. You can see that it fulfills a need for a sport like soccer, where there are more complicated tactics and styles of play. Personnel changes in the game require pre-game explanations. Baseball has no such strategies, and the only explanation you ever hear about a lineup change is "righty-lefty matchup" or "he has good numbers against this guy." Does that warrant an entire pre- and post-game charade?
Frankly, the Internet does a better job at all of this. The analysis is more in-depth and the stats more relevant. The whole concept of stat-quoting in baseball, in my opinion, is absolute absurdity. Where else can you get away with saying something like "a .000 winning percentage in their last two games"? Only in baseball, folks, only in baseball.
I can't seem to pinpoint whether this disdain for expert opinion stems from my getting bored of it or something else. All I know is that if it takes an overpaid ex-player in a studio to tell me that I should watch out for Miguel Cabrera if I am a Giants pitcher, then goddammit, I don't want to live on this planet anymore.
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