Notes from Branson

I’m sitting in my grandmother’s living room in Branson, MO, trying to stay awake during my usual mid-afternoon nap slump. Grandma is napping in stereo; she’s directing people to do her bidding, something to do with shoes, I’m trying not to listen lest I hear something scandalous from her 85 years of memories.

Bob Costas is a dick

Bob Costas is the perfect specimen of a class of sports/athletics broadcasters my father describes simply: “These people have never played a professional sport. They’ve never pitched a baseball or swam a competitive lap or biked 100 miles or slid through the mud on their way to the end zone. But they talk more than…