Local sports announcers are the lowest form of the journalistic professional. They’re the FOX of network TV, the Jerry Springer of talk shows, the Left Behind of novels, the “All American Recreation” of commercial jingles. They suck.

When announcing a game their bias for the local team nearly outshines their horrific search for the newest and worst sports metaphor, which they then repeat ad-nauseam. The poor local sports fan with no cable TV is unwittingly subjected to their Neanderthal quips, their praise or condemnation for the referee based on a call going the local team’s way, and their unbridled excitement for a home team goal–compared to their poorly masked shock at an opponent’s score.

Last night the Wild faced elimination against the Vancouver Cannucks in game six of a seven game series. Mike Goldberg continually reminded the hapless non-cable viewer that the Wild hope to win so they can play another day, making an instant cliche of a player’s off-handed remark before a previous game. When the Wild scored their fifth goal, Goldberg belted out, “Fire up the jets, we’re going to Vancouver!” referring to the nth time to the airplane each team would charter to return to Vancouver if a game seven became necessary. The all-time best was when Vancouver scored their only goal and Goldberg said in total dead-pan, “Shoots, scores.”

A game seven loss for the Wild would be painful for Minnesota fans, but it would also be a mercy killing. We wouldn’t have to listen to Joe Blow until October.