my dad's least favorite play-by-play man in the world; he says he'd rather listen to play-by-pay from a drunken Irishman with a lateral lisp who's never even seen an American football game than be subjected to Kekaula's play-by-play
Tonight Fresno State played University of Hawaii in football. My dad likes Fresno State. He says he can't root for BYU, and he has to root for someone. Josh and Jared say they can't root for BYU either, but if Fresno State EVER plays UCLA in a bowl game or anything else, Fresno State will have to get by without their support. My Godfather, Uncle Ralph, went to Fresno State. My dad roots for Cal to win against Stanford because he went to University of California Medical School in San Francisco although Berkeley is more than 20 minutes away from San Francisco even if there's no traffic, which there always is. Furthermore, he did a fellowship at Stanford. One would think he'd have some degree of loyalty. My mom doesn't care about any football except Stanford. She even went with her sister to see them play in the Orange bowl a couple of years ago. The Forty-Niners could move their franchise to Cuba and she wouldn't give a rip. She only cares about Stanford.
My dad likes Fresno State, though. He says he always roots for the underdog, and Fresno State is the epitome of an underdog. To me, it seems to depend upon what conference they're in and what the rest of their schedule looks like. I don't care all that much. It's more fun to watch my dad imbibe freely and swear at the TV the announcers, the refs, anyone painted too stupidly in the stands, and anyone who gives Jesus credit for the win. Tonight was an especially intense experience for him, as the play-by-play announcer was Robert Kekaula, whom my father dislikes with greater passion than probably anyone in the nation dislikes any announcer.
Jared had seen my dad buzzed and in full possesion of his R-rated vocbulary, but Josh had only witnesse snippets. He wasn't from Utah, but he WAS a nice little Mormon boy from an area sometimes referred to as the Morridor (meaning Mormon corridor), an area that runs from directly north of Utah, through the Beehive state, and directly south of Utah. Josh had probably never heard cursing on that scale in his entire life. I think he gave himself a hernia from laughing so hard.
In fairness to my father, unless you were a local in Hawaii, you probably wouldn't think terribly highly of Mr. Kekaula's style, skill, or whatever it is that makes a play-by-play announcer uniquely himself. Part of it is the diction. He has a definite local accent,which I personally find midly charming in its own way on a very limited basis. Part of it is his unusual combination of words. I heard something like, "He's got some serious heebie jeebie pychic thing going on" or something very similar . It might be OK to say that if you're announcing a parochial middle school football game for our local community access channel. Maybe. Then again, maybe not.
The game itself ended up very nearly being one of the greatest comeback wins in history for UH. I think it was 42-3 in favor of Fresno State at halftime. By the time the game ended, Fresno State had apparently shut down its offense in honor of some holiday that people in Fresno celebrate but the rest of us know nothing about. Maybe it was Dust Bowl Day. Maybe it was the Official Day to Honor Gang Members of all representations, norteno, surreno, and everyone else. Maybe it was even Support Your Local Walmart Day, or perhaps, to take advantage of the proximity of the location, the Fresno State offense chose to celebrate "Pearl Harbor Day" exactly two months and nine days early. The real offense of Fresno State was off at the Arizona Memorial casting lilies in the Pacific while someone else wore their uniforms and scampered around on the field trying not to get hurt. In fairness to Fresno State, UH's defense AND offense spent a good portion of the first half of the game anywhere but on the field, mentally anyway, allowing Fresno State to build up the 42-3 lead that would eventually save them.
By the final 16 seconds of the game, rain was coming down hard, which is not a boon to an offense. Some questionable clock work by the officials took place -- a clock was stopped for no apparent reason, which is the sort of thing that mysteriously happens to home teams everywhere on a regular basis because officials value their lives. UH had the ball deep in Fresno State territory. As Jesus continued to pour rain** onto the field to aid Fresno State's efforts, one incomplete pass was thrown into the end zone and dropped by some UH player whose name might as well be Barack Obama as far as I know. A short pass was thrown in the final six seconds. I can't recall whether the ball was intercepted or merely batted away, but Fresno State walked away with the game.
I cannot tell you that anything resembling currency changed hands, but if such had happened, my dad would have picked Hawaii by 16 for maybe one hundred dollars or so. I cannot suggest that any such thing did happen, though, as I don't want the ATF or whoever oversees such matters to show up and raid my house. My room is in perfect order. I don't need my Westin matresses ripped open by some overly zealous agent.
This blog is ended. Go now in peace to love and serve the Lord and to remember and share the knowledge that Jesus doesn't actually care about the outcome of football games**, and he's probably even offended when winning players try to give the credit to him after a win.