Re: MnF Games (Cracks and Videos) It's a work in Progress for now but it should pick up in the coming days I may also need some help from time to time. I mainly need Screen Shots of the New MnF Releases. A Screen Cap of the Title Screen will do.

Joe Tessitore, the announcer ESPN picked to reboot Monday Night Football, has a preferred way of getting to know people. He wants to bring them into his vibe.

“I want you to sit with me,” he says. “I want you to drink with me. I want you to eat cheese and prosciutto and salumi.

It’s because I always want to be my authentic self.” One afternoon last month, it was under these auspices that Tessitore, who is 47, led me from the front door of his Connecticut house to a kitchen island. His wife, Rebecca, had laid out a feast: black truffle moliterno cheese and three kinds of salami and a small mountain of prosciutto di parma. Tessitore filled two big glasses with tequila and ice.

He sat across from me. We began to vibe. In my zoological studies of play-by-play announcers, I’ve found many of them hold their TV persona at some remove. One of the arresting things about Tessitore, as the former ESPN boxing writer Brian Campbell points out, is that he utterly rejects this idea. Tessitore speaks in a single voice. His TV self and his real self have achieved oneness.

“Performance?” Tessitore says of his game calls. It’s my identity.” “The way I describe a gouda or a moliterno may be the way I describe a critical third down,” he says, picking at the platter in front of us, “or Keanu Neal coming over and wrecking a tight end right at the goal line.” When you understand this about Tessitore, his manners—the way he calls you “man” and “dude” and “bro”; the way he plies you with food and drink until almost midnight—begin to make sense. It’s as though you were being drawn inside a TV screen. Stephanie Druley, one of the ESPN executives who oversees Monday Night Football, has programmed her phone so that when Tessitore calls, she sees a picture of Sesame Street’s game-show host. “The way I describe a gouda or a moliterno may be the way I describe a critical third down.” —Joe Tessitore New vibees, however, may initially find Tessitore disarming. “It’s almost like it’s over-the-top,” says Jason Witten, the former Dallas Cowboys tight end who sat at the kitchen island before being hired as Tessitore’s Monday Night partner. “But it’s so pure.” Of Witten, Tessitore says fondly: “I find him to be a total dude.” “Dude” is just about the ultimate Tessitore compliment.

It means a guy who can take a heavy-handed pour of tequila and cut into a big porterhouse and who doesn’t mind—as Tess and Witten did during one vibe this summer—staging a boxing match inside a deserted restaurant. Mark Kriegel, who calls boxing with Tessitore, says: “There’s something gloriously retro about Joe.” Just about everyone who has tried to revive Monday Night Football has called for a return to the ’70s prime of Frank Gifford, Howard Cosell, and Don Meredith.

Tessitore, in both manner and practice, is proposing something bigger. He wants to reclaim a lost, ’70s ideal of being. Accounting software source code c.

When you could flip on the game and pour yourself a drink and talk about football in an untortured way. “Every single play, somebody’s risking their life,” he says. “There’s urgency to it. I like that.” ESPN has turned to Tessitore in a moment of crisis.

This spring, SportsBusiness Journal’s John Ourand that the network’s relationship with the NFL had reached its nadir. On one hand, ESPN is the league’s business partner, paying $1.9 billion per year for Monday Night and associated rights.

On the other, ESPN is the league’s most relentless muckraker. It’s like if The New York Times were throwing a fundraiser for Donald Trump and printing the latest Maggie Haberman scoop on the same day. If you watch the various parts of ESPN at work, you see the NFL’s aura being scratched and then re-polished. Vivid reporting from Seth Wickersham and Don Van Natta Jr. Has advanced the idea that the league is haunted by snarling owners and Donald Trump’s tweets.

Yet in the words of Booger McFarland, who along with Lisa Salters will make up the rest of the new announce team, ESPN wants to make “ Monday Night Football fun again.” Executive Burke Magnus has called for a “” in ESPN-NFL relations. Some of this will involve sultry C-suite tangos. But Tessitore’s voice will be the reset’s most public expression.

Tessitore relishes the job. “I want to crush this thing and kick ass,” he says of Monday Night. Tessitore’s single voice wasn’t arrived at easily. But it is nearly flawless. Over our two-day vibe, I only once saw Tessitore even mildly annoyed.

Tessitore had gone to fetch the tequila bottle. I kidded him that he was refilling my glass more aggressively than his own. “Oh, no, don’t worry about that,” he said, filling his glass to the brim. To Joe Tessitore’s authentic self! “I realized we weren’t just going to work together. We were going to be brothers.” —Jason Witten One evening in April, Witten, who was still an active tight end with the Cowboys, went to Tessitore’s house for a long dinner.