Malaka Of The Week: Brent Musburger


Musburger back when men were men and collars were huge.

Veteran schmucky sportscasterBrent Musburgeris
back in the news with a comment that is only semi-newsworthy because it
happened during Alabama’s trouncing of Notre Dame. I suspect Brent is surprised
at the blowback because he says stupid shit every time he’s on the air, which
is why he’s malaka of the week.

start with Musmalaka’s recent leering on ESPN over Katherine Webb the
attractive girl friend of Bama QB AJ McCarran:

One can almost hear the table rising as Malakaburger and his equally idiotic
sidekick Herb Herbstreit drool over a chick who is, in Brent’s case, about 50
years younger than he is. In short, he’s not only a sexist malaka but also a dirty old
man. I realize that shots of hot babes in the crowd are a staple of teevee game
coverage but Brent’s is way too old to drool over a jock’s chickadee. I realize that this may be incontinent drooling and I should be more charitable but fuck that. Methinks he needs adrool bucket…

Obviously, Musmalaka’s comments are a minor misdemeanor at most but every
time he’s broadcasting an event that I’m viewing, I start tearing my head out,
which is a major problem when you’re as follically challenged as I am. I do,
however, have more hair than Doc.

Musburger used to be the lead announcer on NBA games, which is when my
loathing of his verbose and nasal style started. Malakaburger is one of those
sports guys who likes to nickname athletes; unfortunately, the ones he comes up
with are lame, lame, lame. He was fond of calling Bill Walton, “the
Mountain Man.” Walton hated the nickname and wasn’t that fond of Brent in
his heyday either. I remember Musmalaka cornering Big Bill after his splendid
underdog Trail Blazer team kicked Dr. J and the Sixers’ ass in the finals.
Brent actually called Walton “Mountain Man” and the star center said
something to the effect of: “I hate that name and won’t talk to you until
you call me Bill or better yet Mr. Walton.”

Most of the time, however, Brent is obsequious to the people he covers. I’ve
even heard him call the preternaturally goofy and dim LSU head football coach
Les Miles, “a genius.” Mad Hatter is an okay thing to call Les but
only an idiot would call him a genius.

Being a clueless schmuck is part and parcel of minor forms of malakatude, and
Brent has been cluelessly annoying the sporting public for over 40 fucking
years. Retire already, dude, and enjoy the fact that you’re a charter member of the
malakatude hall of fame.

Since I mentioned my fellow Deadhead Bill Walton, I’ll close with a Dead tune. It’s what Brent apparently needs:

And yes, that is Pete Townshend on stage with the Dead.

6 thoughts on “Malaka Of The Week: Brent Musburger

  1. Someone over at Shakesville had a GREAT point about this: Okay, so the quarterback “got” a hot girlfriend, but how did he “get” his hot mom? WAY TO CHOOSE TO BE BORN TO A BABE, BUDDY! GO YOU!
    I wish somebody could give sportscasters a memo: Women watch sports also, and always have for many years, and some of us were taken to games BY OUR FATHERS, and taught to throw the ball around too, and we would appreciate concentrating on THE SPORTS or at least giving us straight girl sports fans a shot of a nice boy or two in the crowd if we must be skeezes on people who had the temerity to attend a sporting event while being good-looking.
    I was about to ask if there’d be this kind of grotty blather about a female player’s babe-alicious husband but then I realized there is never this kind of high-profile coverage of women’s sports and I’ll be over here banging my head on something hard.

  2. I completely missed the game. But I took my 14-year-old daughter, who throws a tighter spiral than I do despite majoring in soccer, to the Panthers-Raiders game right before Christmas. Don’t tell anyone, though; the game was so ugly I’m afraid social services will be after me for grossing out a minor.

  3. seeing Musberger ALWAYS reminds me that one of Nora Ephron’s (pretty sure it was Ephron) early 70’s collections starts off with an essay on the Bobby Riggs/Billy Jean King tennis match and includes a depiction of our subject making an ass of himself. so sad i cannot recover the exact quote.

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