St. Louis Cardinals broadcaster Chip Caray is a big dumb wanker

The St. Lo may suck ass, but they’re also petulant pissbabies too, clinging to their binky of outdated and archaic baseball theory that they can’t even apply correctly:

Yes, not only did the Cardinals completely lose their mud over the fact that the umps couldn’t believe that they threw at a guy (twice!) for accidentally hitting the catcher they’ve already told everyone they hate and blame for their suckage, nor just the Cubs laughing at such a pathetic attempt to serve out baseball justice that only exists between the three collective brain cells Cardinal Nation can cobble together, but their announcers also filled their pants. You work for the Cardinals, you will not avoid the brainworms. They probably put them in your ear in the job interview.

Anyway, it will come as no shock that Chip Caray was carrying the flag bearing the inbred and illiterate shit kicker that represents all Cardinal fans. Caray has always been desperate to appear cool and loved, even though he’s been categorically terrible at his job for three decades now. Not only can he not call the action correctly and just spits out words loudly in the hopes that they randomly match up with whatever the action going on in front of him is, in the baseball broadcaster version of 1,000 monkeys on 1,000 typewriters (Editor’s note: It was the best of times, it was the blurst of times), he’s got the personality of a wax statue the museum keeps in storage.

Here are some fun facts about Chip Caray:

He has never gotten a joke but has laughed maniacally at any he’s been told.

He doesn’t think South America is a real place.

Whenever he is within three feet of a woman he ejaculates, but he calls it a “pants whoopsie.”

When he was a Cubs broadcaster, and was told he could get to the park on the subway, he laughed and said, “You can’t ride a sandwich!”

He once pronounced “Oaxaca” as “oh-AX-a-ca” (this is actually true).

His family does not allow him in the kitchen.

Harry Caray definitely took drunken bets from his friends over whether or not child Chip would get something stuck in his nose, and not his finger. Harry never referred to his grandson as anything but “that dumb shit.”

He tries to relate to coworkers by saying he loves Taylor Swift as she, “Puts out some real crackin’ rock and roll!”

He bowls with the bumpers in.

He likes to talk about the one time he got high in college, which was actually just his roommate pouring the bong water on him while he slept.

He definitely has raised a fist to a black person he thinks he knows.

Anyway, Chip has gotten all these jobs because of his dad and grandfather, proving that genes erode with each passing generation. He’s now worked for three of the four teams that those men worked for, but will never ever get hired by the White Sox because a) he would be ritually killed by Sox fans by April 30 of any season and b) he never went south of Roosevelt road in his time in Chicago out of sheer terror. He’s perfectly at home in St. Louis, where everyone takes themselves far too seriously even though he and they are galactically stupid. That’s the Cardinal way.

Oh, by the way, the Cards got their asses stomped to mush for the fourth straight time by the Cubs, a team that has its front office actively rooting against them. Miles Mikolas’s mustache is made of cow feed.

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