I know that some people don’t like baseball. I didn’t really care about it that much when I was younger. But in my old age I have come to appreciate the sport more. Now baseball is as much a part of spring as birds singing and mowing the lawn for the first time.
I particularly like to listen to the games on the radio. It is wonderful to hear that announcer paint the action with his words. They have a certain lingo. Phrases they use to quickly give you a lot of detailed information with only a few words.
Here comes the one and one pitch. Deals. Low. Outside. Two and one.
I can picture it in my mind. I can tell how hard the batter swung at the ball by the intensity of the announcer’s voice. It is a beautiful thing.
As I was driving home from an appointment last night, listening to the game. It occurred to me how much I enjoyed this. I remembered the first Big League game I ever saw.
It would have been 1978. I got tickets to see the Phillies because I had completed the one and only season of baseball I would ever play. It was tee ball. Yes, I did strike out, thanks for asking. My dad took me and my brother to the game. I believe they were playing the Giants. I was 6 or 7 so I didn’t follow most of it.
My dad had brought a long a portable radio, which happened to look like Bullwinkle. We listened to the call on Bullwinkle and watched it play out below us. Mike Schmidt came up to bat. I asked my dad if he would hit a homerun? He was one of the two greatest baseball players ever as far as I was concerned. Pete Rose was the other. Why wouldn’t he hit a homerun, isn’t that would great ballplayers do? My dad said something like, “we’ll see.” Schmidt hammered one. Homerun. What more could a kid want than to see his baseball hero hit a homerun.
But it was what happened next that is very clear in my mind, even today. Greg Luzinski was up. Luzinski was in a slump. How did I know that? Cause my dad said it, the guys behind us said it, the announcer voice coming from Bullwinkle said so. Luzinski stepped to the plate. And everyone booed. I was confused, my dad said it was bad to boo, why we would be booing someone on “our” team. Dad said it was because he hit better when he was mad, and the crowd was trying to make him mad. I asked if it was okay if I booed. He said, it was. Years later, I would realize that Philly fans would boo anyone given half a chance. Santa Claus, Allen Iverson, Dr. J., Donovan McNabb. Anyone.
Luzinski stands at the plate. Here’s the pitch, a swing and a miss. Strike one. The boos get louder. Even from the upper deck, I could see that it was working. He looked mad. A couple more pitches. The boos are deafening. The Wind Up. The Pitch. He Swings. And it’s a Fly Ball. Deep Center. It’s still going. It’s a homerun! Back to back Homeruns! Greg Luzinski’s slump is over!
I didn’t even know who Greg Luzinski was before that moment, I must not of had a card for him. I thought the Phillies consisted of Pete Rose, Mike Schmidt, Garry Maddox, Steve Carlton and Tug McGraw. And some other guys. Hey, that’s who I had cards for. But at that moment, I could feel the electricity. Something special had happened and I was there.
Sometimes, when I listen to the O’s on the radio, I still picture the game from the Upper Deck Of Veterans Stadium. The air thick with humidity. The action so far away, yet so close. And the announcer’s voice coming from Bullwinkle. Just for a moment. Then, I remember that they play at Camden Yard, a different place, different team, different generation.
There is something timeless about listening to baseball on the radio.