Tuesday, August 30, 2005

Put Me In Coach!

I think network weather reporters can't fucking wait until there is some huge monsoon they can report from. For 99% of their career they are stuck in a studio, in front of a green screen, pointing to graphics that aren't really there. Maybe if your lucky, like Al Roker, they let you outside to point at some schmuck who traveled across the country and got up at 5 am to go wait outside the Today studios only to hold up a homemade sign written in such thin, ball point lettering that it is completely unreadable to the 4 people watching back in Kentucky. But I digress...

But then a storm comes. It's always called "The Storm of the Century" even though there is one every year. It should be called, "The Storm of this fall's TV season" or "The Storm of Arbour Day" but I digress again. A huge storm comes and these weather men think, "It's time to put me in the game coach!" If it's not a "Storm of the Century" and just Hurricane Cleatus or something they get to leave the studio green screen and sit at the receptionist's desk. All of the "Reception" name plates at newsroom studios say "Doppler Central" on the other side. Known fact. The minute a huge storm hits, the fat-ass receptionist is given the boot, the name plate is flipped over and suddenly we are broadcasting live from the Doppler Weather Center. Look closely next time. I promise you will see a photo of a cat or something scotch taped to the monitor behind them.

Now, if it is a "Storm of the Century" - that is like the Weather Man Superbowl. Every year they are given a new rain suit for Christmas and it's finally time to break it out. They grab some intern who wants his/her shot at being a cameraman and they head out into the storm like they are going to break the Kennedy Assasination wide open.

But the joke is on us. People can't take their eyes off of a car accident. If you are flipping the channels and you see some news guy gripping a stop sign and been blown completely parallel to the ground - you have to watch. All you can do is watch, you sure as hell can't listen because all you hear is wind whipping through the microphone.

So the next time you think, "What kind of idiot would go out in that weather," stop and take pause. You are watching a poor weather schmuck run a 99 yard punt return back for a touchdown in their own personal Super Bowl.

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