It’s just not going to be the same without you, Skip
by Kathy Mitchell
Kathy@dekalbchamp.com
The final decade of the 20th century was an exciting one for me thanks to some really special men. These objects of my affection were all in one way or another connected to the Atlanta Braves during their glory days—the streak that included several league pennants, a world championship, a string of division titles unmatched in all of sports history and a collection of come-from-behind wins to take one’s breath away.
During those magical years, the players came and went; but one ever-present contributor tied it all together. That was Skip Caray, the broadcaster whose distinctive nasally voice relayed to fans the good, the bad and the ugly of Braves games for 33 years. That voice was silenced forever when Caray died at his home on Aug. 3.
There was a time when sports announcers weren’t handsome or well groomed but that was OK because largely we knew them by their radio voices. Those voices weren’t polished, trained and scrubbed clean of any hint of a regional accent the way ones that flood the airways today are. For most of the 20th century, raspy, gravelly voices described baseball plays using homespun expressions that often steered wide of conventional grammar and English usage.
Caray was a hybrid of the two styles. An educated man who knew how to make a noun agree with its verb, he also knew how to keep listeners engaged with his wry humor, folksy stories and encyclopedic knowledge of baseball.
He never pretended to be a neutral voice just letting you know what was going on on the field. He was a fan. As I listened to him, I never questioned that he wanted the team to win just as much as I did. In fact, I once remember hearing him tell a story from his early broadcasting days of a college football game at which he was supposed to be neutral commentator. When a player dropped the ball on his way to what would have been the winning touchdown, Caray not only made it clear how upset he was but did so in language that kept him off the air for a while.
On that fateful October night in 1995 when a fly-ball out ended the sixth and final game of the World Series, the emotion in Caray’s voice said it all as he announced, “Yes! Yes! Yes! The Atlanta Braves have given you a world championship.”
Still, I believe my favorite moment came in 1992 in the seventh and final game of the National League Championship Series. The Braves had trailed the entire game. In the bottom half of the ninth inning, David Justice was on third and Sid Bream was on second. But there were two outs, the Braves were down 2 to 1 and a player most of us knew nothing about, Francisco Cabrera, was at bat. The champagne had already been delivered to the Pittsburgh Pirates’ locker room, which had been draped in plastic in anticipation of a victory celebration. I couldn’t stand it. I shut off the television and went to bed. But I couldn’t stay away. I turned on the radio just in time to hear Skip Caray say, “There’s a lot of room in center field. If he hits one there, we can all dance in the streets.” As if taking Caray’s cue, Cabrera got the called-for base hit. “One run is in. Here comes Bream. Here’s the throw to the plate. Heeeee’s safe! Braves win! Braves win! Braves win!”
Skip, it’s just not going to be the same without you, buddy.
|
