Auto-Tune the Sports
Via nearly every media outlet with a “smugly bemused” setting, we get word that the BCC has developed software to allow on-line viewers to vary the volume of the on-court grunting at Wimbledon. Each individual viewer can control their own experience, by dialing up or down either the court-side mic or the commentary from the booth. Yes, finally you can tune out all that useless grunting and just concentrate on the sound of women heavily exerting themselves.
And we say it’s about time! It’s been over thirty years since NBC broadcast a commentator-less NFL game, and the technology finally exists to permit each individual to decide what they want to hear. If I can filter my on-line news to just stories about grunting women, why can’t I do the same with my sports? Or, better, why limit such critical technology to tennis, instead of real games? Why limit it to just the sound?
Imagine the future:
You control the mix of the dugout microphone, as you listen to baseball players spit, plan wife swaps and assault water coolers!
You control the amount of drugs in any particular Tour de France rider’s system!
You control how much effort LeBron puts into the fourth quarter of a Finals game! (Buggy. Currently stuck on 0.)
You control the length of basketball players’ shorts, the height of their ‘fros, and color of the ball! (1976 Nostalgia Package extra.)
You control the duration of the NBA and NFL lock-outs! Ha. Just kidding. Suck it up, losers.
You control how many angry e-mails we get, as that single sentence back there is the entirety of our Tour de France coverage!
You control the length of Brian Wilson’s beard! (Current options: Pirate, Viking, Homeless Drifter, Howard Hughes, Tim Linsecum But Turned-Around.)
You control the American interest in soccer! (Duplicate of the LeBron bug.)
You control how much hockey we cov— Whoa, there, Sparky. It doesn’t go that high. Stop it. You’re going to break the controls! Let go! … You do realize that the season is over, right?
You control how many laps of the same damned thing you’re willing to watch in any given NASCAR race! (Common sense would seem to indicate that this be between two and six, but apparently it can go up to, like, 500. That can’t be right. We’re double-checking.)
You control the volume of both the commentators and Frank McCourt’s screams, as he’s finally given what he deserves!
You control how long this stupid article goes o—
[Photo from the Cleveland Plain Dealer, for all your grunting-women news.]