Nantz-In-Your-Pantz

While I will probably watch a substantial portion of the semifinal and championship games this weekend, most of my watching will probably be with the television muted, and it's all because of Jim Nantz. My gripe used to be with Jim Nantz and Billy "The Fudge" Packer. This is the same Packer that hired a psychic (he probably pulled Nostradamus out of the Rolodex - they were old college buddies) to find the O.J. Simpson murder weapon. And the same Packer that Nantz recently described as a father figure. Yeah, Packer is the crazy-as-fuck, nuttier-than-a-squirrel turd, mental patient/father Nantz never had. This year, I guess my gripe is only with Jim Nantz. Although my dislike for Packer may be spilling over onto Nantz, he seems to be quite the turd. He should be a first ballot invitee to the Musberger Bad Announcing Hall of Fame for his association with Packer. Every year I fervently pray to the Flying Spaghetti Monster (FSM), and sometimes the Easter Bunny, in the hopes that the Masters will fall on the same weekend as the Final Four. In the end, neither the FSM nor the Easter Bunny come through. Whatever. I'll just have to pretend that Nantz, in his best golf voice, is whispering sweet nothings into Fred Couples' ear at the Masters. The sweet nothings will be whispered in the back stall of the men's room at Augusta's 19th hole and undoubtedly address Couples' short game (long game, limp game, or whatev). The classic and critically acclaimed sounds of Sandler's "At a Medium Pace" will be playing in the background... In all seriousness, I'll probably give the Nantz-Kellogg pairing a go notwithstanding my dislike of the Nantz-Packer Final Four era. Butt in the end, I think there's better announcing talent out there.