Imagine you are Villanova guard Ryan Arcidiacono, a senior who just helped your team win one of the greatest championship games in NCAA history. You’re sweaty, you’re euphoric, and you’re covered in confetti. You want to scream and hug your teammates and find your family. You turn toward the crowd, and you see your mom and dad. “Mom! We did it!” you yell. “I love you!” But before you can take a step toward them, some whitebread psychopath is shoving his tie into your hand, yapping about his dad.
That whitebread psychopath is Jim Nantz:
Jim, you’re the play-by-play guy. Nobody wants your ties, and they certainly don’t give a shit about the weird, self-important traditions you’ve cooked up in the mahogany-paneled smoking room that is your brain.