In the words of His Whiteness, Richie Ashburn, it's "hard to believe" that we've endured almost two full baseball seasons without the dulcet tones of our life-long friend, Harry Kalas. Almost impossible to fathom Phillies baseball without him. And, with all due respect to Tom McCarthy, Phillies baseball just isn't the same on TV or radio, without Harry.
Many people wrote about Harry and what he meant to Phillies baseball back in April of 2009, just after Harry's passing. And nothing I could say here, almost 18 months later, could really add to the tributes, praise, and anecdotes that were written at the time. Nothing I could add would give any greater insight to the man, the legend, nor could convince anyone to think the world of Harry.
I do want to mention, however, something that my own father had said, way back on a cold September afternoon in the Fall of 1976. It was my official introduction into the psychology of sports fans.
I was 13 in the Fall of '76, and had been watching Phillies baseball many evenings with my Dad, since I was eight. So, when it came to announcers, I didn't know from Adam about what made Harry "special" to Phillies fans. In fact, if memory serves, Harry wasn't nearly as popular in 1976 as he would be in the years to come. But the incident that I'm about to recount, and the comment that incident elicited from my father, was probably the start of the special relationship the fans came to have with Harry.
It was Sunday, September 26. A cold, rainy day greeted the Phils in their final visit to Parc Jarry in Montreal for a double-header. The opener, delayed by rain that fell intermittently throughout the game, saw Jim Lonborg pitch extremely well, and Greg Luzinski hit a three-run homer in the sixth to propel the Phillies to a 4-1 win. Because of the late start, word had reached the booth in the seventh inning that the Pirates had lost in St. Louis, 5-2, assuring the Phils of no worse than a tie for the NL East title.
When the last out was recorded, Harry, as excited as we'd ever heard him, proclaimed the news that the Phillies had won the National League Eastern Division. He and Whitey shared a word or two, then Harry gave his tradtional, "Back with final totals and a recap after this ..."
What Phillies fans witnessed when the telecast resumed for the between-games show was, in my opinion, the start of the love affair that Phillies fans had, and will always have, with Harry Kalas. What we witnessed in my home, in front of the TV, tuned to Channel 17, prompted my Dad to utter the words that have stayed with me to this day.
When the cameras came back on, Harry was on-camera. In the background was a black backdrop with the Expos logo on it (remember, the game was being played in Montreal). As Harry spoke, the camera picked up tiny glimmers on Harry's cheeks. Tears. Our announcer was as choked up about the Phillies winning as we were. He had been crying, just as my Dad had been crying. Tears of joy. While Phillies fans had "suffered" though the horrible 1972 season ... Harry witnessed every single game. He probably wondered, back then, if he'd ever call a playoff game.
But here he was, crying like we were. My Dad, not given to bouts of sentimentality, said, "He cares as much as we do. I'll be damned!" From that day on, my father was a Harry Kalas fan, and so was I.
Looking back, I've come to realize that, for me, it was important to know that the people who were broadcasting the games that I watched or listened to, were as invested as I was in the outcome. Prior to that day, I had just thought of Harry as some guy, just doing his job. But that day, we all discovered that it was more than just a job for Harry (and, for every other broadcaster in the business). We discovered that he was one of us. A fan. Someone who lived and died with wins and losses just like we did.
That Harry Kalas would become a legend and a hero in Philadelphia is something we should have seen coming. From guys like Lenny Dykstra and Aaron Rowand, Reggie White and Clyde Simmons, Bobby Jones and Steve Mix, Bobby Clarke and Barry Ashbee ... Philadelphians have loved, admired, and made heroes of players who were most like Philadelphians themselves. People the citizens would be proud to call one of their own.
Harry Kalas was one of those people. And whether he ever intended it or not, those tears he cried in 1976 would be the cement that created that special bond between broadcaster and fans that can never be broken.
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Showing posts with label History. Show all posts
Showing posts with label History. Show all posts
Friday, September 3, 2010
Sunday, August 29, 2010
On Steven Strasburg
Talk to any baseball fan, and they'll have an opinion on the Tommy John surgery that's ahead for Washington Nationals phenom, Steven Strasburg. Some say he was rushed to the big leagues. Some will say that this injury simply proves that the pitch count is useless. Others are gleefully rubbing their hands together with an I-told-you-so look in their eye. I believe the correct term for those in the last group is schadenfruede.
Through a completely different forum, that of wargaming, I have had the honor of corresponding with Curt Schilling, he of the bloody sock, unvarnished opinion, and killer split-finger fastball. Back when Curt was still toiling for the Phils, I decided to break away from the usual wargaming conversation and ask him about arm injuries (in part, his own, but in general, about today's pitcher).
For those of you who don't know, Curt is an amateur historian, and knows his baseball history as well as a player can. He's read tons of stuff about the past, and it's helped shape him as a pitcher. So it came as somewhat of a surprise to this baseball fan (who knows the statistical history of the game, as well as its general history) when Curt's response about today's pitchers sometimes being oft-injured came through.
Paraphrasing, he said: "Back then, it was survival of the fittest. Teams didn't have a lot of money invested in a pitcher, so if he blew out his elbow after one start, they released him and found someone else. By sheer force of numbers, the durable guys stayed and made up the staff for years. Everyone else came and went. You stayed in the Show because you were healthy."
Back in 1884, Old Hoss Radbourn pitched 678-2/3 innings, winning 59 and losing 12 for the Providence Grays of the National League. And this, just the year after he'd pitched 632-1/3 innings! Radbourn, who had been trying to get out of his contract, approached manager Frank Bancroft in May, and made a stunning proposal: Let me pitch the remainder of the games, and if I do that for you, you'll let me out of my contract.
Surprisingly, Bancroft agreed, in part because he didn't believe that Old Hoss could do it. But do it Old Hoss did, pitching the Grays to the National League pennant, starting and completing 73 consectutive games. On his career, Radbourn would start 502 games, and complete 488 of them.
In 1884, however, at the age of 29, pitching almost 700 innings took its toll. His arm hurt so badly that his own wife had to accompany him on road trips to help him get dressed, especially to get his shirt on. He couldn't raise his arm high enough to comb his hair. And in the end? Radbourn signed on for one more year in Providence before moving on to the Boston Beaneaters.
Old Hoss was one of those guys Schilling talked about: the survivor. Look up the pitching register in the Baseball Encyclopedia, and see how many guys had one-year careers, or even one-game careers. Some of the one-game guys pitched complete-game shutouts. Surely, there was talent there to be mined. Why didn't a young kid, who just shutout a big league ball club, get a second chance anywhere?
We'll never know, because injuries aren't recorded in those days of old. Maybe the pitcher got home sick. Maybe his arm stiffened after the game and the manager simply moved on to someone else. Maybe, like Strasburg, he tore something, and was never the same pitcher again. In the days before sports medicine, a blown MCL or ACL or rotator cuff simply meant the end of the line, no matter the age or experience level.
Back to Strasburg, it's impossible to fault the Nationals for trying to win for their fans. Teams have been doing that since 1869 when the first pro team came into existence. But unlike the teams of old, who would have discarded Strasburg immediately upon learning of his injury, today's teams will do whatever they can to repair and rebuild their investments. And with procedures such as the Tommy John surgery, pitchers also know that their careers aren't over if and when a serious elbow or shoulder injury happens.
Although you'd be hard-pressed to find many who would say this, today's medical techniques in sports medicine are win-win for everyone: the team gets to try and get as much as possible from their investment, and the pitcher isn't facing a life without baseball.
Questions, of course, will abound. Did Strasburg hurt himself by not staying another year in college to develop his arm strength? Did the Nationals advance him too far, too fast? Did everyone do enough to make sure this injury was less likely to happen?
All good questions; all unanswerable. No one knows why this happened. Perhaps Strasburg's physiology is such that he's prone to this type of injury. Maybe it's his delivery and arm slot. Maybe it the way he throws or the types of pitches he throws. Maybe it's his mechanics. Maybe his physique, despite his desire, simply won't allow him to throw a baseball like he should to be injury-free.
[NOTE: Thanks to Todd for pointing out the issues raised about Strasburg's mechanics as a cause for concern and potential injury. Try as I might, it's hard to read everything there is out there on baseball. I thank Todd for his comments and links on the topic. -- Brien]
Take a guy like Cliff Lee. Weren't you surprised to find out that Lee does not ice down his arm after a game? Doesn't that go against everything we've been told about how you keep an arm from developing arm troubles?
And how about Nolan Ryan's recent revelation that he doesn't believe in pitch counts. And that he discovered, by pitching so much, his own shoulder wore down in all the right places that his own body "adjusted" to the toil on his arm and actually protected him from injury. Could that be why a guy like Radbourn could do what he did? That he'd pitched so much, for so long, that his whole shoulder simply got "worn" into shape?
So, what's the answer? More pitching? Less? Perhaps the truth lies somewhere between Hoss Radbourn and a strict pitch count, especially in the minor leagues. Maybe lessons could be learned from the so-called Ironmen and applied to today's pitchers. Perhaps a combination of advanced, medical monitoring of pitchers, along with more liberal pitch counts, is the key. There must be a happy medium, an optimum performance level that strengthens an arm/shoulder/elbow for the rigors of the big leagues, yet protects the pitcher from over-use. It seems to me that if baseball wants to invest in the development of its players, it should look into finding the right mix that helps pitchers avoid career-threatening injuries.
After 141 years, baseball is still finding the Nolan Ryans and Hoss Radbourns by chance. Perhaps its time to start developing them on purpose.
Order up!
Through a completely different forum, that of wargaming, I have had the honor of corresponding with Curt Schilling, he of the bloody sock, unvarnished opinion, and killer split-finger fastball. Back when Curt was still toiling for the Phils, I decided to break away from the usual wargaming conversation and ask him about arm injuries (in part, his own, but in general, about today's pitcher).
For those of you who don't know, Curt is an amateur historian, and knows his baseball history as well as a player can. He's read tons of stuff about the past, and it's helped shape him as a pitcher. So it came as somewhat of a surprise to this baseball fan (who knows the statistical history of the game, as well as its general history) when Curt's response about today's pitchers sometimes being oft-injured came through.
Paraphrasing, he said: "Back then, it was survival of the fittest. Teams didn't have a lot of money invested in a pitcher, so if he blew out his elbow after one start, they released him and found someone else. By sheer force of numbers, the durable guys stayed and made up the staff for years. Everyone else came and went. You stayed in the Show because you were healthy."
Back in 1884, Old Hoss Radbourn pitched 678-2/3 innings, winning 59 and losing 12 for the Providence Grays of the National League. And this, just the year after he'd pitched 632-1/3 innings! Radbourn, who had been trying to get out of his contract, approached manager Frank Bancroft in May, and made a stunning proposal: Let me pitch the remainder of the games, and if I do that for you, you'll let me out of my contract.
Surprisingly, Bancroft agreed, in part because he didn't believe that Old Hoss could do it. But do it Old Hoss did, pitching the Grays to the National League pennant, starting and completing 73 consectutive games. On his career, Radbourn would start 502 games, and complete 488 of them.
In 1884, however, at the age of 29, pitching almost 700 innings took its toll. His arm hurt so badly that his own wife had to accompany him on road trips to help him get dressed, especially to get his shirt on. He couldn't raise his arm high enough to comb his hair. And in the end? Radbourn signed on for one more year in Providence before moving on to the Boston Beaneaters.
Old Hoss was one of those guys Schilling talked about: the survivor. Look up the pitching register in the Baseball Encyclopedia, and see how many guys had one-year careers, or even one-game careers. Some of the one-game guys pitched complete-game shutouts. Surely, there was talent there to be mined. Why didn't a young kid, who just shutout a big league ball club, get a second chance anywhere?
We'll never know, because injuries aren't recorded in those days of old. Maybe the pitcher got home sick. Maybe his arm stiffened after the game and the manager simply moved on to someone else. Maybe, like Strasburg, he tore something, and was never the same pitcher again. In the days before sports medicine, a blown MCL or ACL or rotator cuff simply meant the end of the line, no matter the age or experience level.
Back to Strasburg, it's impossible to fault the Nationals for trying to win for their fans. Teams have been doing that since 1869 when the first pro team came into existence. But unlike the teams of old, who would have discarded Strasburg immediately upon learning of his injury, today's teams will do whatever they can to repair and rebuild their investments. And with procedures such as the Tommy John surgery, pitchers also know that their careers aren't over if and when a serious elbow or shoulder injury happens.
Although you'd be hard-pressed to find many who would say this, today's medical techniques in sports medicine are win-win for everyone: the team gets to try and get as much as possible from their investment, and the pitcher isn't facing a life without baseball.
Questions, of course, will abound. Did Strasburg hurt himself by not staying another year in college to develop his arm strength? Did the Nationals advance him too far, too fast? Did everyone do enough to make sure this injury was less likely to happen?
All good questions; all unanswerable. No one knows why this happened. Perhaps Strasburg's physiology is such that he's prone to this type of injury. Maybe it's his delivery and arm slot. Maybe it the way he throws or the types of pitches he throws. Maybe it's his mechanics. Maybe his physique, despite his desire, simply won't allow him to throw a baseball like he should to be injury-free.
[NOTE: Thanks to Todd for pointing out the issues raised about Strasburg's mechanics as a cause for concern and potential injury. Try as I might, it's hard to read everything there is out there on baseball. I thank Todd for his comments and links on the topic. -- Brien]
Take a guy like Cliff Lee. Weren't you surprised to find out that Lee does not ice down his arm after a game? Doesn't that go against everything we've been told about how you keep an arm from developing arm troubles?
And how about Nolan Ryan's recent revelation that he doesn't believe in pitch counts. And that he discovered, by pitching so much, his own shoulder wore down in all the right places that his own body "adjusted" to the toil on his arm and actually protected him from injury. Could that be why a guy like Radbourn could do what he did? That he'd pitched so much, for so long, that his whole shoulder simply got "worn" into shape?
So, what's the answer? More pitching? Less? Perhaps the truth lies somewhere between Hoss Radbourn and a strict pitch count, especially in the minor leagues. Maybe lessons could be learned from the so-called Ironmen and applied to today's pitchers. Perhaps a combination of advanced, medical monitoring of pitchers, along with more liberal pitch counts, is the key. There must be a happy medium, an optimum performance level that strengthens an arm/shoulder/elbow for the rigors of the big leagues, yet protects the pitcher from over-use. It seems to me that if baseball wants to invest in the development of its players, it should look into finding the right mix that helps pitchers avoid career-threatening injuries.
After 141 years, baseball is still finding the Nolan Ryans and Hoss Radbourns by chance. Perhaps its time to start developing them on purpose.
Order up!
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