Young Marty Brennaman often refers to his choices in neckwear as “the Cadillac of ties, baby.”
Young Marty Brennaman knows that sometimes a gentleman prefers roasted lamb with mint jelly, and sometimes a gentleman prefers a hot dog and beans.
Young Marty Brennaman is convinced that today’s kids would abandon that loud “Rocking Roll” music if they’d just sit down with a belt of Dewar’s and give Artie Shaw a listen.
Young Marty Brennaman was once afflicted with a case of Montezuma’s Revenge during a brief stopover in Porter, Texas. “Curse this town,” he said as he crossed the county line. “And curse the unborn sons of the sons of this town.”
Young Marty Brennaman is proud of the sliding bench seats in his Buick. “You like these, toots?” he’ll say. “It’s like a flying sofa, sweet cakes.”
After a show and a relaxing, belt-loosener of a seafood dinner, Young Marty Brennaman has been known to promise a skoit “a night of steakhouse-recipe love-making, doll face.”
Young Marty Brennaman is still annoyed about that unopened pack of Parliaments he left over at Paul Hornung’s coop.
Young Marty Brennaman can dance to that, so long as that dance is the “Hully Gully.”
Young Marty Brennaman surveys the future before him and says, “I think I’ll do this the Marty Brennaman way.”
(Image — handsome image — first spied at BTF)
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