The NBC set is, well, plain ol’ ugly, let’s be honest. Antiseptic. Kind of spare and Ikea-esque, except that that’s an insult to Ikea. I like a lot of Ikea’s stuff. What the heck, NBC? Seriously. The whole deal looks very last-minute-cobbled-together, like a high school theater set, and I know whereof I speak here. Now if you tell me you blew your wad on oxygen masks so the crew could survive Beijing, then maybe I’ll understand.
Jim Lampley, the absolute snoozer of a daytime host for the games, needs to raise his chair or sit up higher. He looks kind of shrimpy and weird behind it. He’s another local boy but looked at somewhat askance ’round these parts because of domestic abuse allegations against him here about a year or so ago.
He’s a bore, I gotta tell you. No spark. None. Zero. Zip.
Sit UP, Jim Lampley! It’s the only thing that’s gonna help you! You’re ruining my progrums, consarnit!
I wish he would stop saying “out to Bob with the call”.
He could mix it up a bit, mabye:
“out to Bob at the Bird’s Nest”
or
“over to Bob with the race”.
Something.
But maybe I’m just being nitpicky?
No, you’re not. He’s just stiff. He needs to say: “I did NOT beat my girlfriend, I swear” is what he needs to say, really.
I’m sorry. I have Jim Lampley baggage.