Both of my parents were baseball fans, but my mother was the passionate one. She would shout approval or disgust directly toward the TV, while Pops mostly limited his expressions to grunts and occasional sharp commentary.
That was especially so when Willie McCovey was in the batter’s box or the on-deck circle, or otherwise looming.
Pops always had a grunt or something to say when McCovey came up, as if he were that family member who everybody loves.
They don’t wanna pitch to him.
They scared of that son of a gun; even Drysdale don’t wanna mess with him.