The Golden Sombrero presents MLB Look-alikes World Series Edition: David Murphy and Alan Ruck

It helps if you picture Murphy with a full head of hair, or Ruck after an afternoon with a bic.

Still not convinced? Fair enough, let’s go a second round:

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The Golden Sombrero presents Rookie Card Corner: Brian Wilson 2006 Topps ’52

Fun Fact: In his MLB debut on April 23, 2006, Wilson actually tore his oblique in the first inning of what would be a two inning effort.  Rather than alerting the medical staff, Wilson headed to the locker room where he realized the severity of his injury.  Still, he did not inform anyone on the team or staff of his injury.  Instead, Wilson said, “Screw it, Red Bull time,” and went out to pitch another inning. Final line: 2 IP, 2 H, 0 ER, 3 K.

Recently, first-team all-Midwest Conference South Division pitcher Ryan Harris wrote his second Golden Sombrero article, where he rightfully rips into beleaguered FOX Sports color commentator Tim McCarver. While I could not agree more with his candid (and rather harsh) account of Joe Buck’s right hand man, I believe that calling baseball games is a difficult job. And while those who have been given the privilege of calling the World Series and still perform poorly deserve every bit of the criticism the heralded Pioneer hurler dishes out, it is equally important to salute those who do the job well game after game, year after year.

There are a select few announcers out there who, by their very presence, make the experience of watching a baseball game on TV or listening to it on the radio more enjoyable. In my June article on this topic, I tipped my cap to Jon Miller, Dick Enberg and Vin Scully, three of baseball’s greatest voices, all of whom I am privileged to hear nearly eighteen games every season while watching my Rockies take on the hated Giants, Padres and Dodgers. In this edition, I look outside the NL West for two other announcers who do more than their fair share to make our game the greatest in the world.

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Naturally when I went to school this morning, the members of the Dallas faithful I share the lecture hall and lab with were a little quiet and obviously disappointed.  They know I spent a little time between the lines and in the dugout and that I write for this site, and so they come to me with their baseball-related queries.  I must have answered, “What the hell happened to Cliff last night, dude,” around 15 times.  My responses always started with something along the lines of, “Dude, he wasn’t all that bad.”  How could a start in which Cliff Lee, probably the premier pitcher in the game today, gives up six earned and retires only 14 batters not be regarded as disastrous?

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(For those that don’t know, the term “facepalm” is used when someone says something so stupid, so dumb, that your only response is to cover your face with your hand. Because knowledge is power!)

I’m not a violent person. When I get frustrated, I don’t get into fights or start kicking puppies. I deal with my anger constructively: I grab a pint of Chunky Munky and watch a So You Think You Can Dance? marathon. But everyone has their limits, their threshold, their boiling point. I’ve found mine. Which is why, should I ever come without striking distance of Fox Sports announcer Tim McCarver, I don’t think I could stop myself from punching him in the throat. Sure, there would be criminal charges, but at least that fool would stop talking.

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