I was six the first time I went to a baseball game. My family was vacationing to Kansas City, a glorious and beautiful oasis in the summer. By oasis, I do mean it’s like being in a barbecue smoker for days at a time.
We went to Kauffman stadium and sat, watching the Royals play another team. I, of course, remember very few details.
Last year, I wrote this. I still have not seen Chris Berman and I feel my chances slipping away, but my feelings still ring true.
Um don’t worry, Berms is just shouting away and wearing a very colorful tie while he does it. He is a delight!
By the way, I call Chris Berman, Berms. He doesn’t know this, but I feel like he would like it if he did know.
I’m sure he would not approve. He would probably prefer Chris “Berman’s Hermits.” You know, like Herman’s Hermits, but using his name.
He is a weirdo.