Print
E-mail
Phillies Games Will Never Be The Same
By DREW SILVERMAN, The Bulletin
I never met him, but I knew him well.
I saw him rarely, yet I heard him all the time.
He spoke a total of three words to me, but he changed my life forever.
Back on April 29, 2007, I covered my first ever Phillies game as a member of the local media. To this day, I can’t tell you what the final score was, which pitcher notched the win or who drove in the Phillies’ runs.
All I remember is that it was a Sunday afternoon, the Phillies played the Marlins, and Harry Kalas said hello to me as I was walking into the bathroom.
“How are ya?” were the three words out of his mouth as we crossed paths in the press box. Actually, it was more like “Hoooooooooow aaaaaaaaare yaaaaa?” It rang in my head throughout the ballgame. I told my friends about it later that night. Harry Kalas — the Harry Kalas — had just said hello to me.
I felt like I had just met Michael Jordan, or better yet, Elvis Presley. I was in the presence of a rock star. At that moment, I was — I’m not afraid to say it — totally awestruck by this little 71-year-old man who had just opened the door for me.
Later that afternoon, I made my first trip into the Phillies’ locker room and interviewed players like Ryan Howard, Chase Utley and Jamie Moyer. By comparison, they just seemed like regular guys — bigger, stronger and faster than me, of course, but not particularly intimidating.
Harry Kalas, on the other hand, was a living legend — a living legend who just said hello to me. I was as giddy as a 60’s school girl at a Beatles concert, and I wasn’t scared to admit it.
That was literally the only time I ever saw Kalas up close. Sure, I waved to him from Section 230 as a kid at Veterans Stadium. And, like a million of my closest friends, I watched him ride into the sunset at the Phillies’ championship parade last Halloween.
But I only was face to face with him that one time. And it was not until yesterday, when the legendary broadcaster passed away at age 73, that I truly began to appreciate how fortunate I was to have been in his presence.
In reality, I was merely one of thousands of Phillies fans that Kalas had met over the course of his lifetime. He’d never remember me in a million years, but I’d never forget him in a billion. And it wasn’t just for that one day at Citizens Bank Park. It was for all the days I spent watching Phillies games, all the nights I fell asleep to the sweet sounds of Harry Kalas and all the years he helped teach me how the game was supposed to be played.
Kalas’ tragic death provides a melancholy ending to an emotionally grueling week around Major League Baseball. Early Thursday morning, Angels rookie pitcher Nick Adenhart was killed by a drunk driver. Yesterday, former All-Star pitcher Mark “The Bird” Fidrych was found dead at his farm.
But if everything is indeed meant to be, then perhaps it’s fitting that Kalas can serve as an escort for Adenhart and Fidrich up to heaven. Can’t you just hear it now? Kalas broadcasting games from up above? “Nick Aaaadennnhaaaart winds and the 0-2 pitch, struck hiiiiiiim oooooout.”
That strikeout call, as well as “Outtttta heeeeere!” were the trademark phrases for Kalas, whose words have been mimicked thousands of times all across the country. Whether I was playing baseball as a kid, intramural softball as a college student or video games as a lazy adult, Harry the K’s voice was never far from me.
And then, last October, after the Phillies had just won the World Series, I, like so many Philadelphians, could not wait to hear Kalas’ broadcast of the final out. Fortunately, Comcast SportsNet had captured it on video, and if you were able to look past Chris Wheeler’s freakout in the background, Kalas’ face told you everything that you needed to see and hear.
Ultimately, the last time he ever set foot in Citizens Bank Park was last Wednesday’s ring ceremony. That game was a win. The last game he ever called, on Sunday, was a win. The last Phillies hit he ever called was a home run. And the last pitch he ever called was a groundball to one of his favorite players, Chase Utley.
For those of us who grew up in Philadelphia, Kalas was one of the primary voices in our lives. Realistically, how much time do any of us spend talking to our parents, spouses and children? A few minutes a day? An hour at the most? Well, 162 days a year, Kalas engaged in a three-hour conversation with Phillies fans. And many of us found ourselves talking back to him.
I don’t think I’ll ever forget the sound of Harry Kalas saying “Michael Jack Schmidt” or “Mickey Morandini.” Or that day in 2007 when I saw him for what felt like an hour but was probably closer to a second.
In July 2002, just under five years before that day in the press box, four of my friends and I decided to drive to Chicago to watch Brett Myers make his major league debut at Wrigley Field. On the drive back to Philadelphia, we realized that Kalas was being inducted into the Hall of Fame in Cooperstown that weekend.
I tried to convince my friends to go with me, but to no avail. I attempted to get a couple of other friends and some relatives to come, but most were busy and others simply didn’t want to take a 3 ½-hour ride to see a broadcaster make a speech.
But to me, this was no ordinary broadcaster. This was Harry Kalas, the man whose voice was synonymous with the first two decades of my life. Not long after the 12-hour ride back to Philly, I jumped in my car and sped up to Cooperstown, where I arrived at the Hall of Fame less 10 minutes before Kalas stepped to the microphone.
It was a sea of red — in part because Ozzie Smith was also being inducted — but there was a large contingent of Phillies fans there. It was, in many ways, a family reunion. And there the patriarch stood at center stage, speaking to hundreds of friends in Cooperstown and millions across the country.
His speech, naturally, was perfect. His poem was heart-warming. His baritone words rang true with every Phillies fan who was there that afternoon. To the fans, who were always his first love, he offered these words:
This is to the Philadelphia fan
To laud your passion as best I can
Your loyalty is unsurpassed
Be the Fightins in first or last
We come to the park each day
Looking forward to another fray
Because we know you’ll be there
We know you really care
You give the opposing pitcher fits
Because as one loyalist shouts, ‘Everybody hits’
To be sure, in Philly, there might be some boos
Because you passionate fans, like the manager, hate to lose
Your reaction to the action on the field that you impart
Spurs us broadcasters to call the game with enthusiasm and heart
We feel your passion through and through
Philadelphia fans, I love you.
We love you too, Harry. RIP Harry Kalas (1936-2009).
Drew Silverman can be reached at dsilverman@thebulletin.us
I saw him rarely, yet I heard him all the time.
He spoke a total of three words to me, but he changed my life forever.
Back on April 29, 2007, I covered my first ever Phillies game as a member of the local media. To this day, I can’t tell you what the final score was, which pitcher notched the win or who drove in the Phillies’ runs.
All I remember is that it was a Sunday afternoon, the Phillies played the Marlins, and Harry Kalas said hello to me as I was walking into the bathroom.
“How are ya?” were the three words out of his mouth as we crossed paths in the press box. Actually, it was more like “Hoooooooooow aaaaaaaaare yaaaaa?” It rang in my head throughout the ballgame. I told my friends about it later that night. Harry Kalas — the Harry Kalas — had just said hello to me.
I felt like I had just met Michael Jordan, or better yet, Elvis Presley. I was in the presence of a rock star. At that moment, I was — I’m not afraid to say it — totally awestruck by this little 71-year-old man who had just opened the door for me.
Later that afternoon, I made my first trip into the Phillies’ locker room and interviewed players like Ryan Howard, Chase Utley and Jamie Moyer. By comparison, they just seemed like regular guys — bigger, stronger and faster than me, of course, but not particularly intimidating.
Harry Kalas, on the other hand, was a living legend — a living legend who just said hello to me. I was as giddy as a 60’s school girl at a Beatles concert, and I wasn’t scared to admit it.
That was literally the only time I ever saw Kalas up close. Sure, I waved to him from Section 230 as a kid at Veterans Stadium. And, like a million of my closest friends, I watched him ride into the sunset at the Phillies’ championship parade last Halloween.
But I only was face to face with him that one time. And it was not until yesterday, when the legendary broadcaster passed away at age 73, that I truly began to appreciate how fortunate I was to have been in his presence.
In reality, I was merely one of thousands of Phillies fans that Kalas had met over the course of his lifetime. He’d never remember me in a million years, but I’d never forget him in a billion. And it wasn’t just for that one day at Citizens Bank Park. It was for all the days I spent watching Phillies games, all the nights I fell asleep to the sweet sounds of Harry Kalas and all the years he helped teach me how the game was supposed to be played.
Kalas’ tragic death provides a melancholy ending to an emotionally grueling week around Major League Baseball. Early Thursday morning, Angels rookie pitcher Nick Adenhart was killed by a drunk driver. Yesterday, former All-Star pitcher Mark “The Bird” Fidrych was found dead at his farm.
But if everything is indeed meant to be, then perhaps it’s fitting that Kalas can serve as an escort for Adenhart and Fidrich up to heaven. Can’t you just hear it now? Kalas broadcasting games from up above? “Nick Aaaadennnhaaaart winds and the 0-2 pitch, struck hiiiiiiim oooooout.”
That strikeout call, as well as “Outtttta heeeeere!” were the trademark phrases for Kalas, whose words have been mimicked thousands of times all across the country. Whether I was playing baseball as a kid, intramural softball as a college student or video games as a lazy adult, Harry the K’s voice was never far from me.
And then, last October, after the Phillies had just won the World Series, I, like so many Philadelphians, could not wait to hear Kalas’ broadcast of the final out. Fortunately, Comcast SportsNet had captured it on video, and if you were able to look past Chris Wheeler’s freakout in the background, Kalas’ face told you everything that you needed to see and hear.
Ultimately, the last time he ever set foot in Citizens Bank Park was last Wednesday’s ring ceremony. That game was a win. The last game he ever called, on Sunday, was a win. The last Phillies hit he ever called was a home run. And the last pitch he ever called was a groundball to one of his favorite players, Chase Utley.
For those of us who grew up in Philadelphia, Kalas was one of the primary voices in our lives. Realistically, how much time do any of us spend talking to our parents, spouses and children? A few minutes a day? An hour at the most? Well, 162 days a year, Kalas engaged in a three-hour conversation with Phillies fans. And many of us found ourselves talking back to him.
I don’t think I’ll ever forget the sound of Harry Kalas saying “Michael Jack Schmidt” or “Mickey Morandini.” Or that day in 2007 when I saw him for what felt like an hour but was probably closer to a second.
In July 2002, just under five years before that day in the press box, four of my friends and I decided to drive to Chicago to watch Brett Myers make his major league debut at Wrigley Field. On the drive back to Philadelphia, we realized that Kalas was being inducted into the Hall of Fame in Cooperstown that weekend.
I tried to convince my friends to go with me, but to no avail. I attempted to get a couple of other friends and some relatives to come, but most were busy and others simply didn’t want to take a 3 ½-hour ride to see a broadcaster make a speech.
But to me, this was no ordinary broadcaster. This was Harry Kalas, the man whose voice was synonymous with the first two decades of my life. Not long after the 12-hour ride back to Philly, I jumped in my car and sped up to Cooperstown, where I arrived at the Hall of Fame less 10 minutes before Kalas stepped to the microphone.
It was a sea of red — in part because Ozzie Smith was also being inducted — but there was a large contingent of Phillies fans there. It was, in many ways, a family reunion. And there the patriarch stood at center stage, speaking to hundreds of friends in Cooperstown and millions across the country.
His speech, naturally, was perfect. His poem was heart-warming. His baritone words rang true with every Phillies fan who was there that afternoon. To the fans, who were always his first love, he offered these words:
This is to the Philadelphia fan
To laud your passion as best I can
Your loyalty is unsurpassed
Be the Fightins in first or last
We come to the park each day
Looking forward to another fray
Because we know you’ll be there
We know you really care
You give the opposing pitcher fits
Because as one loyalist shouts, ‘Everybody hits’
To be sure, in Philly, there might be some boos
Because you passionate fans, like the manager, hate to lose
Your reaction to the action on the field that you impart
Spurs us broadcasters to call the game with enthusiasm and heart
We feel your passion through and through
Philadelphia fans, I love you.
We love you too, Harry. RIP Harry Kalas (1936-2009).
Drew Silverman can be reached at dsilverman@thebulletin.us
 |
 |
|
| Kalas Died Of Heart Disease | Phillies Beat Nationals With Heavy Hearts |
Reader Comments
The following are comments from the readers. In no way do they represent the view of thebulletin.us.
You must register with a valid email to post comments. Only your Member ID will be posted with the comments.
Registered users sign in here: |
Become a Registered User |
