If you’ve heard my voice, you know that I’m not intended to speak on TV or radio. “Scratchy” would be the best word to describe my voice. If I’d been born ten years earlier, I’d be rich because my post-grunge band would’ve sold ten million albums. I’m a mouth breather, something I didn’t know was socially unacceptable until a few years ago. Thanks for the clogged nasal passages, Mom. Finally, I have no rhythm or cadence. My thoughts move much faster than my vocal chords, so when I have a lot to say, I let out a few nonsensical syllables. Luckily, I have no plans to enter the broadcast booth.
However, some people who don’t have the required qualities to perform play-by-play have snuck into the airwaves. Dan Kelly has earned my wrath on various sites. Thankfully, his voice is shut down until October. On the other hand, I have to listen to one of these dimwits, John Forslund, on a weekly basis.
Away from the action, Forslund seems to have a normal voice. When he introduces the broadcast team, he speaks normally, without bombast or unneeded excitement. However, when excited by an increase in the game’s tempo, he morphs into an old time piano player. His voice becomes less human and more forced and unnatural, like a cocky asshole trying to pick up women by lowering his voice. And that “HE SCOOOOOOOOOOORRRRRRRRRRRRRRESSSS!!” line? It sounds as if he’s getting donkey punched.
His lines also suck Phaneuf balls. “Hey, hey, whaddya say?” What does that even mean? Are you going to ask me to step right up to try out your new invention? A pill that turns your hair blue? A weedwhacker that doubles as a babysitter? Mike Lange’s non sequiturs were random and funny. Speaking of Lange, howw many royalty checks has Forslund sent to him for the “[Goaltender] says, ‘No!’” line? Would it kill him to use something else?
Unfortunately, hockey’s on-ice mics force me to leave the sound on. I’ll just have to suffer through the playoffs like the rest of you poor fools.