From the view on the couch in my living room, things seemed a bit off. Dan Bylsma was wearing Tom Landry's hat. Some weather guy kept breaking into the broadcast to talk about moisture. And NBC's hockey broadcasters, who should all be deported immediately, by the way, were falling all over themselves talking about how special this was, and you can take your Super Bowl, your Stanley Cup, but it's not like this. Nothing like this.
OK. Somebody give Pierre McGuire a pacifier so he can soothe himself. Finesse is going to be here later with a recap of his live experience, which, he texted me last night, was nothing short of spectacular. But what most of us watched at home was more like this: NBC cycling rapidly through cameras set up on a blimp, on zip lines like 200 feet above the ice, and on the sidelines of the football field as opposed to next to the ice, so that we couldn't identify the players, couldn't follow the action for shifts at a time, and generally felt like we were going to throw up. "This is from the aircraft!" Mike Emrick exclaimed breathlessly, as we watched tiny figures weaving around a small, white oval. Oh, and the screen went black twice in the first period. Remember the purported object of this whole affair was to make the casual viewer want to tune in and watch hockey. It would have been helpful if, you know, we could see the game. My brother, Bro-tistry, turned to me mid-way through the first period, deadpan, and said, "I wish I knew what was happening."
|I think I see Bruce Boudreau's head.|