America losing its voices

Ping

Chicago's Harry Caray to crow "Holy Cow!"

I thought Phil Rizzuto was the originator of "Holy Cow." What's the story on this?

Not only are we losing the "voices" of the game, we are also losing the way the game used to be played. But alas, everything changes, nothing remains without change. &;-)

Harry Caray began using the phrase in his broadcasts in the early 1950s; Phil Rizzuto didn't become a broadcaster until after he was retired as a player - he joined the Yankee team (Mel Allen, Red Barber) in 1958.

The first voice I remember hearing was Mel Allen, while listening to the 1961 World Series at my grandparents' kitchen table. The Mets were created the next year and Lindsey (The Human Ground Rule*) Nelson, Bob Murphy, and Ralph Kiner were the broadcast team until Nelson left in 1979 (he moved to San Francisco to be closer to a daughter and did the Giants for a few years). I was buzzed hearing Bob Murphy's induction speech into the broadcast wing of the Hall of Fame in 1994 (I still have a tape of the speech).

Oddly enough, I listened to Yankee games in the mid-1960s just to hear Red Barber - I was never a fan of Mel Allen as a play-by-play man, but I later came to love This Week In Baseball and his handling of that - about whom I'd heard enough regarding his years with the Dodgers. For a few years until his rather disgraceful canning (he tried getting the camera crews to pan the near-empty Yankee Stadium at the end of 1966, the first year the Yankees ever finished in last place, and it led to his firing), I actually enjoyed a Yankee game if the Mets weren't on - just to hear Red Barber.

And now it occurs to me that, with Ernie Harwell retiring after this season (so he says, again), it would leave only Vin Scully left from among The Voices. One of the pleasures I have had since coming to Southern Cal in 1999 is listening to Vin Scully all summer long. On radio, though, he goes for the first three innings and it's simulcast to his television work; he's on television all game long. So help me God, when I went to Dodger Stadium for a couple of games this season, there were people bringing tiny battery-op television sets and turning off the picture so they could listen to him all game long. They can see the game for themselves, but they want to hear it from Vin. What a surprise. One of the worst among many mistakes made by baseball's mandarins was screwing up the network Game of the Week concept and depriving the nation of one of its greatest gifts come World Series time.

My favourite Scully gem: After bantering with analyst Joe Gariagiola, 1986 World Series Game Seven, eighth inning, Mets pitcher Jesse Orosco up in a likely bunt situation, Ray Knight running on second and Rafael Santana on first, and the Red Sox showing the so-called wheel play (first and third basemen charge the lines to home; shortstop moves toward third, second baseman toward first - also known as the rotation play, and both the Red Sox and the Mets were effective with the play that season), Garagiola held that Orosco (who'd almost never batted in his career to date, being a late-inning relief pitcher) "I'd bet the house on it...he's got to bunt," while Scully pondered whether the Mets might take the bunt off. Then came the pitch, with the Red Sox putting on the wheel play, and here was Scully's call...

Swinging! and a ground ball into left centerfield...in comes Knight, it is eight to five, Mets, and Joe, you just lost your house!

* - Broadcasting a Met game in 1965 at the Astrodome, Lindsey Nelson actually arranged to do the play-by-play (he did three innings) from the gondola that hung from the top center of the dome. Because a ball hitting the gondola and bouncing back into fair territory was ruled a double under stadium ground rules, it prompted Met manager Casey Stengel to crack, "My man Nelson's a ground rule now."

I grew up not far from Wrigley Field, went to literally hundreds of Cubs' games, and saw hundreds more on WGN-TV (when WGN was only local, free, and they broadcast almost all the games, home and away).

To me, the Voice of the Cubs will always be the late, great Jack Brickhouse, the voice I grew up with. To me, Harry Caray was the Voice of the Enemy :-) , i.e., the Cardinals and, later, the White Sox. It's a shame that more people now associate the Cubs with Caray than with Brickhouse.

Weirdly enough, where I lived on Long Island (after my parents moved us out of the Bronx in 1963), there were times I could pick up radio broadcasts of games as far west as Chicago. Occasionally I would hear Brickhouse and I liked his way with the game. Likewise Bob Prince, the longtime voice of the Pittsburgh Pirates, and Curt Gowdy when he was still doing Red Sox games. There was a time when, if the Pirates were playing in New York, you could sometimes pick up their home radio station broadcast pretty clearly on the beach, and I sometimes liked switching the Met/Pirate game to their station to listen to Prince when Bob Murphy or Lindsey Nelson weren't on the radio side of the Mets' broadcast.

I can't really knock Harry Caray. That he's so identified as the voice of the Cubs comes as much from fortuitous timing as anything else. If I'm not mistaken, Harry Caray joined the Cubs right about that point where WGN was going superstation. I think something similar happened to Tim McCarver - he joined the Mets' broadcast team right when the Mets' longtime station, WOR, went superstation for the 80s - when I was in the Air Force and stationed in Omaha (HQ, Strategic Air Command), I was surprised and pleased that my cable TV system offered both WGN and WOR, giving me plenty of Mets games and no few amount of Cub games to enjoy. (Oh, how P.O.ed I was that the Red Sox hadn't gone superstation or, if they did, that they didn't think of Omaha!)

The Mets team of the 1980s was damn near as good as their longtime original team of Nelson/Murphy/Kiner: Tim McCarver, Steve Zabriskie and Ralph Kiner. Zabriskie was replaced by Gary Thorne (better known for his NHL broadcasts) for a time, and Thorne was excellent with the Mets, especially on radio. I thought it was pretty stupid of the Mets to dump McCarver a few years ago - because he wasn't "positive" enough (read: shill enough) - and bring in Tom Seaver, who had been a Yankee broadcaster for several years and, while serviceable enough, it's fair to say of Seaver that as a broadcaster he was the outstanding pitcher of his generation.

Ralph Kiner's home run call: Deep to right...way back there...going, going, it is gonnne goodbye!

The Red Barber call that Chris Berman appropriated for his own: And there's a long drive into left-centerfield, Gionfriddo going back, back, back, back, back, back, back, back, back, he makes a one-handed catch against the wall! (Stumpy Dodger outfielder Al Gionfriddo took a long extra-base hit, possibly a home run, away from Joe DiMaggio in the 1947 World Series.)

Vin Scully calls the biggest heartbreak in Red Sox history, 1986 World Series: A little roller down first...behind the bag! It gets through Buckner...in comes Knight and the Mets win it!

And, the complete Russ Hodges call of The Shot Heard Round The World: Hartung, down the line at third...Lockman, not too big of a lead at first but he'll be running like the wind if Bobby hits one. Branca throws - there's a long drive, it's gonna be, I believe - The Giants win the pennant! The Giants win the pennant! The Giants win the pennant! The Giants win the pennant! Bobby Thomson hit one into the lower deck of the left field stands. The Giants win the pennant. And they're going crazy. They're going crazy! Ooohhhhh, boy!!!....I don't believe it. I don't believe it. I do not believe it. Bobby Thomson hit a line drive into the lower deck of the left field stands. And the Giants, all the lot of them, the Giants win the pennant, by a final score of 5-4, and they're picking Bobby Thomson up and carrying him off the field.

The beauty of the Hodges call: No one knew that a tape of the call even existed until, apparently, a fan who had recorded the game sent a copy to Russ Hodges himself...and thus into posterity.

You're right about Caray being so famous for being the Cubs' broadcaster while Brickhouse remained unknown--for most of the country and for those who became Cubs' fans after around 1982--that it had everything to do with Brickhouse retiring and Caray replacing him right around the time WGN went superstation. I remember the day Caray came on board and I couldn't believe it--the guy who tauntingly serenaded us back in '67 by singing, "The Cardinals are coming, tra-la, tra-la" . . . the White Sox announcer! for cryin' out loud--now announcing my beloved Cubs?! The funny thing was, Brickhouse and Caray were about the same age--in fact, Caray was probably a few years older, but he kept his real age a mystery--and Brickhouse retired, but Caray kept going . . . and going . . . and going. In time, I kinda accepted Caray. Sorta. But Jack was like a father figure to me (my dad died when I was one). The men's voices I heard the most growing up were Jack Brickhouse, Frazier Thomas (host of "Garfield Goose"), Mayor Daley (the real one), my grandfather, my uncle, and my pastor.

BTW, Brickhouse did TV only. Vince Lloyd and Lou Boudreau did the games on the radio.

See my posts 6 and 9.

Then it was probably Boudreau I heard. Ah, Lou Boudreau - the only man who was ever traded for a broadcaster! ('Tis true: a year before the Cubs instituted their notorious College of Coaches, Lou Boudreau was in their broadcast booth and Charlie Grimm had been talked one more time into managing the Cubs - but Jolly Cholly's health was in question enough for that stress that the Cubs swapped him for Boudreau!)

What discussion of baseball broadcasting would be complete without a listing of the Best of Jerry Coleman (Yankee broadcaster and, later and most notoriously, longtime voice of the San Diego Padres)...

On the mound is Randy Jones, the lefthander with the Karl Marx hairdo.

There's a fly ball deep to center field. Winfield is going back, back...he hits his head against the wall. It's rolling toward second base.

He slides into second with a stand-up double.

Rich Folkers is now throwing up in the bullpen.

Whenever you get an inflamed tendon, you got a problem. OK, here's the first pitch to Gene Tendon. (He meant Gene Tenace - I think. - BD)

Pete Rose has three thousand hits and 3,014 overall.

Redfern won't be twenty-two until October. Hey! He's only twenty-one!

They throw Winfield out at second and he's safe.

It's swung on and Gamble sends a long fly to right, but Gamble goes back to the wall and makes the catch.

Swung on and fouled to the backstop. No - wait a minute, that was a wild pitch and the runner moved over to second.

Reggie Smith of the Dodgers and Gary Matthews of the homers hit Braves in that game.

Grubb goes back, back. He's under the warning track and he makes the play.

Young Frank Pastore has just pitched the biggest victory of 1979, maybe the biggest victory of the year.

Gaylord Perry and McCovey should know each other like a book. They've been ex-teammates for years now.

There's a hard shot to LeMaster - and he throws Madlock in the dugout.

Urrea had Owchinko in the hole, 0-2, but now the count is even at three and two.

Thomas draws a throw but it went nowhere.

Jesus Alou is in the on-deck circus.

Over the course of the season, a miscue will cost you more games than a good play.

Ron Guidry is not very big, maybe 140 pounds, but he has an arm like a lion.

From the way Denny's shaking his head, he's either got an injured shoulder or a gnat in his eye.

There's a shot up the alley...oh, it's just foul.

Royster has gone six for seven against Shirley this year, and there's a single that makes him five for eight.

Winfield is on first base and he's always a threat to grow.

Hi, folks, I'm Jerry Gross.

Hrabosky looks fierce in that Fu Manchu haircut.

Hendrick simply lost that sun-blown popup.

Sometimes big trees grow out of acorns. I think I heard that from a squirrel.

The Padres need one to tie and two to win. So going into the ninth, the score is San Francisco one, Yankees nothing.

This is the only afternoon day game in the National League.

Shortstop Ozzie Smith was so stunned with the news he lost his appetite right over the dinner plate.

We're all sad to see Glenn Beckert leave. Before he goes, though, I hope he stops by so we can kiss him goodbye. He's that kind of guy.

Yogi who? *grin*

Then, we should remember a man who probably should have been a broadcaster: Danny Ozark, manager (1973-79) of the Philadelphia Phillies and thus a man who knows something of making silk purses out of sows' ears...

I know we're having troubles, but that's nothing new. Even Napoleon had his Watergate.

On team morale: Morality is not a problem around here.

His limitations are limitless.

He and I have our indifferences.

Those games were beyond my apprehension.

Contrary to popular belief, I've always had a wonderful repertoire with them.

Some more classic baseball broadcast calls:

Yogi Berra on first base. Mickey Mantle at bat with the count of one ball, no strikes. Left-handed pitcher Chuck Stobbs on the mound. Mickey Mantle, a switch hitter batting right handed, digs in at the plate. Here's the pitch...Mantle swings...there's a tremendous drive going into deep left field! It's going, going, it's over the bleachers and over the sign atop the bleachers into the yards of the houses across the street! It's got to be one of the longest home runs I've ever seen hit!...We just learned that Yankee publicity director Red Patterson has gotten hold of a tape measure and he's going to go out there and see how far that ball actuall did go. Man, that's got to be one of the longest wallops I've ever seen hit. - Mel Allen, calling Mickey Mantle's ballpark-clearing blast in Griffith Stadium, 1953...a park whose left center and center field dimensions were even deeper than Yankee Stadium's notorious "Death Valley".

There's a long drive way back in center field...way, back, back! It is...oh! what a catch by Mays! The runner on second, Doby, is able to go to third. Willie Mays...just brought this crowd to its feet...with a catch which must have been an optical illusion to a lot of people. Boy!....(ten seconds pass)...Notice where that 483 foot mark is in center field? The ball itself - Russ, you know this ball park better than anyone else I know - had to go about 460, didn't it? [Hodges:] It certainly did, and I don't see how Willie did it - but he's been doing it all year. - Jack Brickhouse, calling Willie Mays's famous World Series catch, 1954.

The final out of the ninth inning was a strikeout on Lew Burdette. It was the eighth turned in by Haddix, and at that moment, he became the eighth pitcher in all the history of baseball to pitch a perfect no-hit, no-run game...He then went on to get 'em in the tenth, and the eleventh, and the twelfth - retiring thirty-six men in order and, counting the final two outs he had against the Cardinals in his last victory in Forbes Field, he retired thirty-eight men in order before a man got aboard, and then only an error...One out, batter Adcock. Here's the pitch...There's a fly ball, deep right-center. That ball may be on through and over everything. It is gone! Home run! Absolutely fantastic! - Bob Prince, voice of the Pittsburgh Pirates, 1959, calling the dramatic destruction of Harvey Haddix's extra-inning perfect game that almost was...before Adcock passed Henry Aaron on the bases, and his three-run homer was ruled a ground-rule double and one RBI.

The count one and one on Williams. Everybody quiet now here at Fenway Park after they gave him a standing ovation of two minutes knowing that this is probably his last time at bat. One out, nobody on, last of the eighth inning. Jack Fisher into his windup, here's the pitch. Williams swings - and there's a long drive to deep right! That ball is going and it is gone! A home run for Ted Williams, in his last time at bat in the major leagues! - Need we say more? Curt Gowdy.

Lonborg is within one out of his biggest victory ever...his twenty-second of the year...and his first over the Twins. The pitch...is looped towards shortstop! Petrocelli's back, he's got it! The Red Sox win! And there's pandemonium on the field! Listen... - Ned Martin, calling the Red Sox clinching the 1967 pennant.

Two-one pitch. Fly ball, deep left field. Jones is back to the fence. Jones is on the warning track! The World Series is over! Jones makes the catch! Jones made the catch on Johnson's deep fly ball. The Mets have won it by a score of 5-3. Met fans are pouring onto the field trying to steal home plate, trying to take the rubber off the mound! - Bill O'Donnell on radio, verifying the miracle: the Amazin' Mets nail the 1969 World Series. (Sidebar: The Oriole who hit the final flyout became in due course the man who managed the Mets to their 1986 Series triumph!)

One-one pitch. He swings and a drive - a liner to left field! It is - there it is! Mr. Banks has just hit his five hundredth career homer! He is getting a standing ovation! He is trotting to third base, a handshake from Peanuts Lowrey. He hit a low liner - a fastball. Doffs his cap as he steps on home plate...waves to the fans as he jogs into that dugout! They are standing here at Wrigley giving Ernie an ovation! - Jack Brickhouse, 1970.

Sixty-five thousand on their feet at Veterans Stadium. The Tugger needs one more - one more out. Willie Wilson standing in with the bases loaded. One-two pitch. Swing and a miss! Yes, he struck him out! Yes, they did it! The Phillies are world champions! World champions of baseball!...It's pandemonium at Veterans Stadium! All the fans are on their feet. This city has come together behind a baseball team. The Philadelphia Phillies. Tug McGraw being mobbed by his teammates - who better than the Tugger to finish the 1980 World Series. Phillies are world champions! This city knows it, this city loves it! - Harry Kalas.

U.L. Washington at first represents the tying run with two out. The stretch by Gossage, the pitch. There’s a drive to deep right field. Back goes Kemp at the wall. Home run! George Brett has done it again, and the Royals have a 5-4 lead in the ninth!…the Yankees have picked up George Brett’s bat and they’re going to claim that Brett’s bat is illegal. Billy Martin is out of the dugout. Now the umpires are all huddled off by themselves – the four of them looking at George Brett’s bat. They may be talking about how much pine tar is on the bat, and they are now measuring the pine tar with home plate. They’re using home plate as a measuring stick to measure the pine tar on the bat. Now they’ve called George Brett out, and here comes an argument! Here comes an argument! George Brett at the plate – oh, and is he furious! He’s trying to get to an umpire! George Brett may have already been suspended. Dick Howser is out arguing. George Brett came charging out of the dugout. The Royals have lost the home run and the ball game! - Fred White, 1983.

One-one pitch. He swings and a drive - a liner to left field! It is - there it is! Mr. Banks has just hit his five hundredth career homer! . . . - Jack Brickhouse, 1970.

Saw it as it happened. Hit it off Pat Jarvis of the Atlanta Braves, as I recall.

You're talking about two beloved Chicago institutions here, Ernie "Mr. Cub" Banks and Jack "Hey Hey!" (that was his signature call whenever a Cub hit a homer) Brickhouse.

And, considering the long, long years of Cub futility, I'm sure there were times when even sunny Mr. Banks and Mr. Hey-Hey were tempted to check into an institution! ;)

Out in central Illinois, where men are men and I am native, in 1948, at age seven, I made a mad, fateful blunder. I fell ankle over elbows in love with the Cubs...Spring, Earth's renewal, a season of hope for the rest of manking, became for me an experience comparable to being slapped around the mouth with a damp carp. Summer was like being bashed across the bridge of the nose with a crowbar - ninety times. My youth was like one long rainy Monday in Bayonne, New Jersey.

Each year, the Cubs charged onto the field to challenge anew the theory that there are limits to the changes one can ring on pure incompetence. By mid-April, when other kids' teams were girding for Homeric battles at the top of the league, my heroes had wilted like salted slugs and begun their gadarene descent to the bottom. By September they had set a mark for ineptness at which others - but not next year's Cubs - would shoot in vain.

- George F. Will, "The Chicago Cubs - Overdue." (1974)