Neeeeews radio ssseven-hundred W. (pause) L. (pause) W.

Some of the worst memories of my childhood, besides anything having to do with math or science projects or divorce or chicken pox, have 700 WLW in them.

If you're unfamiliar with all that is 700 WLW, rest assured I'm sure there is a corresponding news-sports AM radio station in your network. This one just happens to reach from Cincinnati, where it's based, to practically all the way across Indiana on a good night (or bad night, in my case).

My dad would refuse to listen to anything else in the car while Marty Brenneman and the rest of them would go on air and yell, uninterrupted by anything except that static FFFSSTTTTSSSFFF sound every time you drove under an overpass on I-75.

Dave, Cincinnati sports fan that he is, doesn't let the good memories stop there.

My dullest moments with Dave, unless you're talking about Michigan, have to do with being stuck in traffic with him on car rides home, unable to sleep, listening to the announcers. They say the same things. Every time. And I, being the witty one I am, will repeat one line, over and over until he turns the station, just to make their point sound like the dumbest thing since French pleated pants.

"Gotta block those runs, Dave! They gotta do that. They gotta block those runs. Block those runs. Why don't the Bengals just do that? They just gotta stop those runs."

It's a wonder he doesn't push the "eject" button on my car seat.

And tonight, it came up again because Dave insists on acting like I know sports.

"The (dang Reds) gave up a three-run homer," he said, or something like that.

"Those dang Reds," I think my response was. "They ... uh (scanning memory for best 700 WLW line) gotta block those runs? Gotta block those runs." Yes. They do.

"Yeah, nice try."

Stupid AM radio.