1. John Facenda — "The Voice of God" provided the narration for NFL Films for two decades. He never uttered "the frozen tundra of Lambeau Field" but did say, "A Niagara of gold and black ... poured down on Roger Staubach."
2. Harry Kalas — Known for his distinctive "Outta here!" Kalas called Phillies games from 1971 until his death earlier this week.
3. Bill Campbell — "He made it! He made it! A Dipper dunk!" In a 65-year career, Campbell has called Wilt Chamberlain's 100-point milestone in 1962 as well as Phillies, Eagles, 76ers and Big Five games.
4. Gene Hart — Play-by-play man for the Flyers for 28 years. Immortalized in his call during the waning seconds of the 1974 Stanley Cup finals: "Ladies and gentlemen, the Flyers are going to win the Stanley Cup! The Flyers win the Stanley Cup! The Flyers have won the Stanley Cup!"
5. Merrill Reese — Philadelphia native has been the radio voice of the Eagles since 1977. Known for wailing, "It's gooood!" when a critical Eagles field goal sails through the uprights.
Thursday, April 16, 2009
Tuesday, April 14, 2009
The day Philly's voice faded
"Kalas rushed to hospital."
I was riding the subway to Nationals Park when the message from a fellow Phillies fan popped up on my cell phone.
Immediately, I thought the worst. It's what happens when you follow Philadelphia sports.
Minute by minute, more message arrived, bringing more news. Kalas collapsed shortly after noon in the press box and was taken to a hospital near the park.
All I could think of were the reports saying Kalas had undergone surgery in the offseason. The Phillies didn't say much about it, other than that it was a "minor" procedure and that longtime voice of the Phillies would be ready for Opening Day.
And he was. Just like every other year that I can remember. Harry had always been there.
One of my first baseball memories came on August 15, 1990, when Kalas called the final outs of Terry Mulholland's gem against San Francisco. The game was a real treat because it was on broadcast television (I think the local Fox affiliate, WTXF Channel 29, carried the game). I was only 7 at the time so I don't remember Kalas' call, but I imagine it went like this:
Mulholland one out away from the first no-hitter thrown by a Phillies pitcher this century in Philadelphia ... He looks in for the sign ... Here's the stretch, and the pitch ... Swing, and a line drive ... And, oh, what a great grab by Char-lie Hayes! Terry Mulholland has pitched a no-hit, no-run game against the San Francisco Giants!
Starting with the next baseball season, 1991, Kalas was part of my daily routine starting in April. My family didn't have cable TV, so on most nights I had to make sure I was near a radio. I listened to a lot of games sitting in my bedroom, and in the kitchen we had a small AM/FM radio with a broken antenna. A lot of nights, I would play outside and ask one of my parents to turn the radio on in their truck.
Both my mother and my father were Phillies fans, which fed my growing habit. One day, my mother came home from a business meeting of some sort and said she had something special for me. I asked what it was, and I couldn't believe what she said next:
Harry Kalas' autograph.
She handed me a business card with a distinctive signature. I was awestruck. My mother had met Harry Kalas.
"You really met Harry Kalas?" I asked.
She had been at a hotel in Cherry Hill (the Sheraton?) when she saw someone whom she thought she recognized. So she simply walked up and asked. Sure enough, it was him. I can only imagine the down-to-earth Midwesterner's modesty. And, of course, Kalas offered his signature, even if it was on something as simple as a business card.
I was a baseball card nut back then, so I put the card in a hard plastic baseball card holder for safe keeping. I might have looked at that card thousands of times - and that was just in the next year.
Less than a half-hour after learning Kalas was in the hospital, I received another message.
Harry Kalas' voice, the booming baritone that lent itself to the soundtrack of my childhood, was gone forever.
It was strange how a cocktail-drinking, cigarette-puffing man from Illinois, who spent the seminal years of his career in Texas, became such a fixture in gritty, greasy Philadelphia. He came to the city at just the right time, when the only ways to keep up with the Phillies were to follow the broadcasts, read the paper and wait for the sports segment on local TV news. Things moved a lot more slowly back then. For a lot of fans, the equivalent of Twitter was the voices of Kalas and Richie "Whitey" Ashburn, performing their daily pas de deux. They were a perfect pairing in the broadcast booth, Harry and Whitey, and when Ashburn died in 1997, a piece of Kalas went with him.
Now Kalas is gone too.
In a couple of days I'll make the trek from Maryland back to South Jersey for a few days. As I always do, I'm sure I'll click on the radio or the TV to see how the Phils are doing. And I'll hear a solid crack of the bat, and I'll hear those eternal words ... "Swing, and a looong drive ... "
But the words will be only in my mind. For the first time, Harry won't be there to finish the call.
I was riding the subway to Nationals Park when the message from a fellow Phillies fan popped up on my cell phone.
Immediately, I thought the worst. It's what happens when you follow Philadelphia sports.
Minute by minute, more message arrived, bringing more news. Kalas collapsed shortly after noon in the press box and was taken to a hospital near the park.
All I could think of were the reports saying Kalas had undergone surgery in the offseason. The Phillies didn't say much about it, other than that it was a "minor" procedure and that longtime voice of the Phillies would be ready for Opening Day.
And he was. Just like every other year that I can remember. Harry had always been there.
One of my first baseball memories came on August 15, 1990, when Kalas called the final outs of Terry Mulholland's gem against San Francisco. The game was a real treat because it was on broadcast television (I think the local Fox affiliate, WTXF Channel 29, carried the game). I was only 7 at the time so I don't remember Kalas' call, but I imagine it went like this:
Mulholland one out away from the first no-hitter thrown by a Phillies pitcher this century in Philadelphia ... He looks in for the sign ... Here's the stretch, and the pitch ... Swing, and a line drive ... And, oh, what a great grab by Char-lie Hayes! Terry Mulholland has pitched a no-hit, no-run game against the San Francisco Giants!
Starting with the next baseball season, 1991, Kalas was part of my daily routine starting in April. My family didn't have cable TV, so on most nights I had to make sure I was near a radio. I listened to a lot of games sitting in my bedroom, and in the kitchen we had a small AM/FM radio with a broken antenna. A lot of nights, I would play outside and ask one of my parents to turn the radio on in their truck.
Both my mother and my father were Phillies fans, which fed my growing habit. One day, my mother came home from a business meeting of some sort and said she had something special for me. I asked what it was, and I couldn't believe what she said next:
Harry Kalas' autograph.
She handed me a business card with a distinctive signature. I was awestruck. My mother had met Harry Kalas.
"You really met Harry Kalas?" I asked.
She had been at a hotel in Cherry Hill (the Sheraton?) when she saw someone whom she thought she recognized. So she simply walked up and asked. Sure enough, it was him. I can only imagine the down-to-earth Midwesterner's modesty. And, of course, Kalas offered his signature, even if it was on something as simple as a business card.
I was a baseball card nut back then, so I put the card in a hard plastic baseball card holder for safe keeping. I might have looked at that card thousands of times - and that was just in the next year.
Less than a half-hour after learning Kalas was in the hospital, I received another message.
Harry Kalas' voice, the booming baritone that lent itself to the soundtrack of my childhood, was gone forever.
It was strange how a cocktail-drinking, cigarette-puffing man from Illinois, who spent the seminal years of his career in Texas, became such a fixture in gritty, greasy Philadelphia. He came to the city at just the right time, when the only ways to keep up with the Phillies were to follow the broadcasts, read the paper and wait for the sports segment on local TV news. Things moved a lot more slowly back then. For a lot of fans, the equivalent of Twitter was the voices of Kalas and Richie "Whitey" Ashburn, performing their daily pas de deux. They were a perfect pairing in the broadcast booth, Harry and Whitey, and when Ashburn died in 1997, a piece of Kalas went with him.
Now Kalas is gone too.
In a couple of days I'll make the trek from Maryland back to South Jersey for a few days. As I always do, I'm sure I'll click on the radio or the TV to see how the Phils are doing. And I'll hear a solid crack of the bat, and I'll hear those eternal words ... "Swing, and a looong drive ... "
But the words will be only in my mind. For the first time, Harry won't be there to finish the call.
Saturday, April 11, 2009
Have another doughnut!
TOP FIVE CONFRONTATIONS INVOLVING NHL OFFICIALS
Don Koharski retired Thursday after 1,719 games as an NHL referee. Of course, his most famous moment occurred off the ice.
1. New Jersey Devils coach Jim Schoenfeld confronts Koharski after the Devils lose 6-1 to the Boston Bruins in Game 3 of the 1988 Eastern Conference finals. Cameras catch the action as Schoenfeld calls Koharski a "fat pig" and repeatedly shouts, "Have another doughnut!"
2. Boston defenseman Billy Coutu slugs referee Jerry Laflamme in a rink corridor after Ottawa dumps the Bruins to win the Stanley Cup in 1927. Coutu was banned for life -- the harshest punishment in league history.
3. In November 1983, Chicago Black Hawks center Tom Lysiak intentionally trips linesman Ron Foyt after Foyt kicks Lysiak out of the faceoff circle. Lysiak receives a 20-game suspension.
4. Philadelphia Flyers right wing Paul Holmgren punches referee Andy Van Hellemond in the chest during a December 1981 game. Holmgren sits out five games.
5. In the 1982 playoffs, all-time goon Terry O'Reilly of Boston strikes Van Hellemond (he wasn't a popular guy). The league levies a 10-game ban on O'Reilly.
Saturday, April 4, 2009
Villanova's perfect night
Even after 24 years, the numbers in the boxscore don't seem possible. Surely the scorekeeper made a mistake. Twenty-eight shots attempted from the field by the underdogs, 22 made. Zero free throws for Patrick Ewing.
No. 8 Villanova 66, No. 1 Georgetown 64.
The numbers are indelible, and they add up to the most flawless game in NCAA tournament history.
Villanova has finally made it back to the Final Four, but rest assured the Wildcats won't play as pristinely as their '85 predecessors did. That team shot 78.6 percent from the field, including 9-for-10 in the second half (the miss was actually a blocked pass, so they were perfect).
Buoyed by the crowd at Kentucky's Rupp Arena, the Wildcats used a "four corners" stall to milk the clock before taking a 29-28 lead on a Harold Pressley bucket just before halftime. Punch for punch, the Wildcats matched their bigger foes until a 6-0 run put the Hoyas in front by a point with time running low.
A turnover handed the ball back to Georgetown, which went into the four corners. But Bill Martin fired a low pass that Horace Broadnax couldn't corral, the ball went back to the Wildcats, and Harold Jensen drilled a wide-open jump shot.
Of course he would. In truth, only 10 shots heaved by a Wildcats player didn't fall through the rim. The Hoyas missed 26.
The sum is the greatest upset in college hoops history.
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