I don't know how closed captioning works, here in 2010 -- I imagine some kind of voice recognition software, but in the absence of any information (or desire to look it up) I'll continue to imagine that it's a nervous, sweaty, chain-smoking little man, sitting in a dark cramped office and feverishly banging the words out. If that's true, that little man provided the highlight of my day today. (And is probably out of a job.)
The scene: Atlanta's Brewhouse Cafe, the Elk and I sitting at the bar, both hungover, both watching Chelsea versus Sunderland (side note: Sunderland's captain is Albanian (from Kosovo), vaulting them into the stratosphere of "soccer clubs Greg feels kindly toward). Somewhere in the midst of Chelsea scoring 62 goals, the closed captioning blathers along, then brings us the best sports name ever:
We determined, after a moment, that Joker Jerkoff is actually not his real name -- it's Yuri Zhirkov. Not as entertaining! He'll always be Joker Jerkoff to me.