Dear Joe Buck,
Just because you have your job(s) because your father was one of the best and most legendary announcers ever doesn’t mean you carry so much weight into your job. You’re not half as witty as you think you are, you’re twice as arrogant as you’d hope to be and the whole monotonous announcer act doesn’t mean you “take your job seriously.” It means you sound like you’re talking while on the verge of falling asleep or while trying to pinch out an extra-difficult deuce in the men’s room. Get over yourself. It’s ok if a baseball game is exciting and amusing and fun. It’s a sporting event. You’re not announcing the onset of World War III.
Finally, stop dropping your voice another octave or six every time something bad happens to the Yankees. Outside of New York and the nation’s best front runners, no one seems as unhappy as you when Sabathia gives up a three-run bomb to Ellsbury.
You are your father’s son in name only. Don’t believe it? Good luck ever matching up to this:
Jack Buck Calls Kirk Gibson’s 1988 World Series HR