Oh, man, he used to absolutely WIG out when it was on. I’d sit with him and just laugh. Non-stop running commentary.
“Look at that... that’s not a Tiger. That’s a g-damn M48...and they’re NOT Shermans...”
“And That’s an American halfrack, not a German...” On and on.
And that sun-drenched tank battle scene would make him livid.
My old man was one in a million. Miss him a lot.
And most of that commentary was punctuated - for emphasis, you understand - by a LOT of F-bombs and other colorful, salty expletives, but usually when Mom wasn’t around.
Lol... memories... Dad could swear in Polish, Ukrainian, Russian, and German.