Orsillo and Grant infuse playfulness into Friars games

Watching Don Orsillo and Mark Grant steer Padres games on TV can be a little like catching soda-soaked teenagers tearing up a basement during a sleepover.

They dare each other to chew 29-year-old gum from a pack of dusty trading cards. They hit each other with baseballs. They swap barbs about expanding waistlines. Giggling gathers unsustainable steam, reducing one or both to joyful fits of wheezing as faces turn tomato-red.

They’re also baseball’s pitch-perfect combination of fun and function during a Padres season unfolding like no other.

When Orsillo arrived in 2016 after a 15-year run with the Red Sox, he was delighted to find instant chemistry in the booth.

“I was like, ‘Oh my God. This is my brother from another mother,’ ” Orsillo, 51, said of Grant. “He’s 56, but he’s really like 12.”

The pair kept us watching through the malaise of some truly awful baseball, offering a

bridge to a season when the on-field product finally lived up to the colorful, engaging pair explaining it from above.

In a recent phone conversation, Orsillo learned someone had spent 40 minutes clicking through Youtube videos of the enthused duo.

“You went down that rabbit hole?” he said. “Wow. You can’t get that out of your head.”

Orsillo and Grant remain sensitive to the responsibility of calling the game itself — “I guarantee you, 90 percent of what we say on the air is baseball,” Grant maintains — in hopes they’re not perceived as openmic night regulars.

The rise of the Padres, considered a contender for a deep playoff run after a stunning trade-deadline spree, added baseball substance to the slapstick.

“Let’s face it, we’ve been starved for years to talk about a good team,” Grant said. “It sucked for how many years, you know? Now, I can honestly say I can’t be more excited to come back (to the booth).”

But make no mistake: The fun is the fuel.

Grant, the former big-league pitcher who spent parts of four seasons with the Padres, traced the roots of the relationship to a San Francisco road trip during their maiden season.

As the former player fidgeted with a tie, he asked: “Does this tie make me look fat?” Orsillo, a mischievous smile creasing his face, barely could utter the cutting response: “I think it does. Very fat!” They’ve been laughing ever since.

“Who can say I get to go to work with one of my best friends?” Grant said.

A 2-hour, 37-minute rain delay two

years ago in Cincinnati lifted the veil on the playfulness Orsillo and Grant stir in with information and insight. Grant conspired with production co-workers to create a graphic of everything his partner ate during the weather-related pause.

Without warning, an image popped on the screen to outline the carnage: brisket, mac and cheese, ribs, chicken, pizza, hot dog, ice cream, peanuts, cauliflower and broccoli (oddly, at this point) … and tater tots. The list would have tested the stomach of Joey Chestnut. Orsillo howled.

“That is so uncool,” he said. Grant offered a well-placed jab: “This guy is going to the electric chair.”

Orsillo plotted his revenge. He recruited Fox Sports San Diego colleague Mark Sweeney to discuss a flyover happening at Petco Park. The pair heard Grant had been offered a chance to fly with the Air Force demonstration squadron known as the Thunderbirds. There was a weight requirement related to the ejection seat. Grant was, um, disqualified.

The retractable pointer Grant uses to routinely harass his boothmate became part of the gag.

As Grant explained the failed negotiations, Orsillo gleefully extended the pointer, aimed it at his partner’s stomach and barked, “Maybe because of this area … right here!” as he melted in laughter.

“He’s all over me about my ‘boiler,’ ” Orsillo said. “We got wind of the Thunderbirds thing earlier in the day. I stole the pointer from his bag and Sweeney set it up. It just worked.”

Grant whacks Orsillo’s wrist with a baseball and channels his inner umpire: “Take your base!” He once called Orsillo’s conservative footwear, “Straight out of the Peter Boyle, ‘Young Frankenstein’ collection.” They joined forces to make fun of the

Braves’ broadcast team, good-naturedly ribbing their counterparts as the “boring,” “no fun” zone.

Orsillo placed a piece of tape on the desk between the men when Grant’s “toys” spilled over into his area. He likened the line of demarcation to the “fake Les Nessman office” in the old sitcom “WKRP in Cincinnati.” When the boundary was disrespected, Orsillo frog-napped one of Grant’s prized keepsakes … and left a ransom note.

“When I met ‘Mud,’ I was like, ‘Whoa, this guy has the same broadcast philosophy I’ve had for 15 years,’ ” Orsillo said. “Baseball is fun and we’re going to have fun. And we’re not going to miss anything. When the game gets serious, we’re serious.”

Last season, social media chatter and a few letters to the editor in the Union-tribune questioned whether the broadcast team had drifted too far from traditional coverage. Grumbling rose from those accustomed to the buttoned-down approach of late, iconic veteran Dick Enberg.

“I respected it because I know I’m not going to please everybody,” Grant recalled. “I learned a long time ago that you’re not going to be everybody’s cup of tea. To me, it boils down to being true to yourself. I’m not going to try to be somebody I’m not.”

They’ve found a rhythm amid the raucousness.

“A guy like Don, he’s great at what he does,” Grant said. “He has a great sense of humor. He’s serious about his job, but he doesn’t take himself too seriously, which I love. That’s a great combination.”

Then Grant, well, couldn’t help himself.

“Going to work every day is a slice of heaven, working with Don,” said Grant, intentionally laying it on thick. “You can quote me on that.”

bryce.miller@sduniontribune.com