His death has stunned and saddened sports fans in Philadelphia -- where his tenure as the Phillies' play-by-play announcer earned him a deserved spot in the Hall of Fame -- and all around the country.
Count me among his many admirers.
What made him so special?
First, his voice. Kalas seemed literally born to be a baseball announcer. He was gifted with smooth, deep baritone. In broadcasting terms, he had the pipes.
Second, his style. "Measured" would be one way to describe it. "Deliberate" is another. (Maybe we should coin the adjective "Kalasian" to label how he went about calling a game.)
Broadcasting baseball well requires proper pacing, and Harry Kalas had the gift for it. He knew when to speak quickly and when he could take his time.
He also knew when not to talk and let the sounds of the event take center stage. Such a knack is something younger sportscasters should always remember, and something even some long-time announcers never really grasp.
Third, his personality. Kalas' colleagues and former players alike remember his kindness and affability. He was a big-time announcer who didn't big-time people. That's something we can all learn from.
===================================================================
Message boards are filling with condolences and remembrances. Here's one that's particularly fitting, from a poster named "Leetee 1955" on the Washington Post website:
"I've been trying to figure out why Kalas's death bothers me so. Now I know. It's because I'm becoming more aware of my sports fan mortality. When Washington had no team of its own between 1972 to 2004, I became more a fan of the sport of baseball than any specific team. At night I could listen to Chuck Thompson and Bill O'Donnell in Baltimore; Ned Martin and Jim Woods in Boston; Joe Tait and Herb Score in Cleveland; Ernie Harwell and Paul Carey in Detroit; Phil Rizzuto, Frank Messer, Bob Murphy, Lindsey Nelson and Ralph Kiner in New York; Marty Brennaman and Joe Nuxhall in Cincinnati; Kalas and Richie Ashburn in Philadelphia and Jack Buck in St. Louis. These guys had an affinity for the game and could weave in some of the most marvelous stories in their play-by-play. They weren't the slave-to-statistics, check-out-my catchphrase guys most teams employ today. They were your companions, taking down the byways of baseball on leisurely nights once the out-of-town signals began to come in to my transistor radio. We as baseball fans are diminished by the losses of many of these guys, the likes of which we will never, unfortunately, hear again."
Rest in peace, Mr. Kalas, and thank you.
No comments:
Post a Comment