Real and Barca dance the night away this weekend and now I’m debating whether or not to subscribe to Gol TV. While my viewing habits tend to lean toward the Prem and all things English, I believe La Liga is pound-for-pound (monetarily speaking of course) the better league. Period. The play is better, the fixtures more exciting, the atmosphere brilliant. So dear non-existent reader, why would I hesitate in getting the premier station for La Liga fixtures throughout the year?
His name is Ray Hudson. Many people love him, mostly Americans who can’t sustain interest in football without having a few forced, glory-hunting signature phrases attached to even the most mundane of plays. He is identified on his wikipedia page as a ‘color commentator,’ a uniquely American contrivance that suits the American need to have sports mashed in your face like a handful of lit cigarettes. His accent, which is somewhere between Scottish and Dutch, is forced through his maw like a bowling ball in a wood chipper, and it blares out constantly throughout the game, interrupting developing action with ‘hhurs!’ and ‘watch-outs!’ like a suburban father monitoring his rambunctious children while snorting line after line of crystal meth off the picnic table.
Sometimes I daydream and imagine him leading a Gallery tour in La Musee D’Orsay, “Ach, that Mattisse is magisterial in his motions, WATCH OUT!! Those brush-strokes slice through the canvas like a ninja-star through a potato!” I would take that tour. But would I pay to hear him wax on like a banshee through the Super Clasico? Cable is expensive enough, and as yesterday’s post points out I don’t need anymore reasons to dislike football. Maybe I could turn the sound off and listen to Charlton Heston read from Leviticus. At least it would be more subtle.