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Our troubadours Sadly, the era of "the voice of" is coming to an endPosted: Wednesday August 14, 2002 12:41 PM
When Chick Hearn was laid to rest last week, with the Cardinal of Los Angeles presiding over what amounted to a state funeral, it was as if ... well, it was as if a baseball announcer had died. Chick was that popular. From Elgin Baylor to Kobe Bryant, from the Sports Arena to The Forum to the Staples Center, plenty had come and gone. The thread was Chickie Baby. He called Lakers games from the time the team migrated to L.A. in 1960 until his death, even once going 35 years in a row without missing a single game. Yet most of you don't know what he sounded like. Hearn, you see, was local. He was, in that wonderful phrase ... a voice of. Chick Hearn, the voice of the Los Angeles Lakers. And the singular status he achieved is all the more impressive when you consider that he was calling basketball. The voices of are invariably found in baseball. Red Barber of the Brooklyn Dodgers. Mel Allen of the Yankees. Bob Prince of the Pirates. Chuck Thompson of the Orioles. Harry Caray of the Cubs. Jack Buck of the Cardinals. Vin Scully is still calling Dodgers games. Ernie Harwell, 84 years old, still with a deep, glorious voice, one that even Pavarotti would die for, is in the broadcast booth for his last season with the Tigers. These men are our troubadours. They bring you games -- call them ... that wonderfully evocative American verb we otherwise use with square dances and Bingo -- they call games. But, baseball being that more leisurely pastime that it is, these men tell little stories, too. They chat with us, only instructing in passing. And always, always, remember to give the score every minute or so ... Pirates 3, Cubs 1, bottom of the third ... because a radio audience is popping in and out, getting into cars, tuning back in on the porch after dinner, sliding the portable down under the covers after your mother makes you turn the lights out. Orioles 4, Red Sox 3, top of the fourth. Because basketball, football and hockey are back-and-forth games with movement and action -- Fox over to Bryant, looks inside to Shaq, over to Fischer, top of the key, back to Bryant, cutting left -- Hearn's ability to connect with the soul of Los Angeles, as well as its ears, was even more amazing. Baseball is so different. Baseball is so different -- so, into the sixth, it's the Cards 5, Phillies 2. It's not only played every day, but it's also played in the summer, a time when we're more inclined to relax and drift along and actually be happy just listening. The voices of were so distinct. It was enough just to hear a few words, the cadence, the inflection. Enough. You knew exactly who it was. Bottom of the seventh, Phillies and Dodgers knotted at 3. Of course there will never be another Chick Hearn. Never mind announcing. They'll probably never again be anyone so widely known and liked in a place like L.A. And once Harwell and Scully are gone, there almost certainly will never be those familiar few men whose voices are so identified with one baseball team. Nowadays, there are so many announcers in every booth. Mariners 6, A's 4, going into the last inning. Radio announcers, TV announcers, cable announcers, color announcers, analysts. The best, like Jon Miller of the San Francisco Giants, become more identified with national networks. But if you're lucky enough to have lived in a town with a troubadour, then you had a connection to a team and to a place that rooted you and, simply, made you feel at home. And we don't get that so much anymore, do we? Bottom of the ninth, Tigers trailing, 4 to 3. Pitch on the way ... Sports Illustrated senior contributing writer Frank Deford is a regular contributor to CNNSI.com and appears each Wednesday on National Public Radio's Morning Edition. His new novel, "An American Summer" (Sourcebooks Trade), is available now at bookstores everywhere. |
