“You Talk Too Much.”
It was a 1960 pop single that kids used to sing outside of school and on the streets. Usually, it was making fun of adults: teachers, parents, politicians, and others who they dissed from the temerity of youth.
As a youngster at large family gatherings, I remember the older men — uncles, cousins and male hangers-on, emboldened by liquor and loud Carribean music casting insults at the women in the house. When they were inevitably chastized, one of the men usually would bellow, “Woman, you talk too much.”
Most of the men, shielding themselves from a proper physical response, would giggle in a protective huddle. Much like a bad football team after committing an egregious foul.
“You talk Too Much”? In my youthful mind, I wondered how my elders dare say such an obviously disrespectful thing. I couldn’t in my boldest young bombast even consider saying that to an elder. Certainly not my Mom. I’d be picking up my teeth scattered around the room after the two slaps on my cherubic face.
It IS something I now mumble at the political blabbathons as Presidential wannabees stumble over themselves, verbally shooting each other in the feet and leaving us — the losers — as we try to zero in on a preferred candidate to take on the current White House squatter whose rent is overdue. Yes, you people, you talk too much and don’t say things that will make us believe in you and your candidacy.
I’m growing increasingly angry with baseball’s TV sports talk jocks who think their jibber-jabber is more important than the high anxiety postseason games. The nonstop verbal poop is often insulting when it’s obvious these people don’t know the basics of our national pastime.
This 77-year-old retired TV Newsie with 40 plus years on the job, YELLS profanities at the Sports yakkers. The nicest thing I can offer is: “You talk too much!”
I wrestle with the image of my sportscaster hero — the iconic Vin Scully — who truly was a wordsmith, mixing in Shakespeare, baseball play-by-play and John Keats — without missing a beat and allowing minutes of silence to heighten the import of an excellent, game-changing play. Alas, Vin Scully, closing in on 90, chose to retire still at the top of his game.1
In my best Brandon DeWilde “Shane” plea, Vin Scully, come back! We need you now more than ever! EVERYBODY needs you. Come back, Mr. Scully, please!
No, Pilgrim, I’m not going there. As sure as the turning of the earth, I’m not going there.