Voices of Summer: Ranking Baseball's 101 All-Time Best Announcers (10 page)

Britt attacked enemy-held Nauru Island, hit another U.S. plane, and
barely remade his Pacific base. "Our mission had only eight survivors." Baseball seemed a lark. In 1946, he returned to Boston's new flagship, WHDH.
Said Coleman: "After having guys fill in from 1942 to '45, you were glad to
have him back."

The forties Sox and Braves shunned live away coverage. "Tom Hussey did
most of our re-creations," said Egan, "no crowd noise, just `Ball one, ball
two."' Hussey was a warm glass of milk. Britt's martini mixed twist and taste.
Their post-war clubs left New England with a hangover.

The 1946 Braves made the first division for the first time since 1934.
Drawing 1,455,439, more than they had or would, the '48ers won a firstsince-' 14 pennant. Cleveland won the six-game Classic. "Take away Game
Five [Boston, 11-5j," said skipper Billy Southworth, "and we scored six runs
all Series." In a doubleheader, Ted Williams often had that many RBI.

In 1946, No. 9 whacked Fenway's longest-ever blast off the hat of a construction engineer. "The sun was right in our eyes," said Joseph Boucher.
"They said it bounced a dozen rows higher, but after it hit my head, I wasn't
interested."The Red Sox waved their first flag since the Wilson Administration. "A year ago I'm at war," Britt said. "Now I'm doing the World Series [for
Mutual, with Arch McDonald]."

In Game Seven, St. Louis' Enos Slaughter got an eighth-inning single. With
two out, Harry Walker hit to left-center. Leon Culberson relayed to shortstop
Johnny Pesky, who-at this point, views cleave-was/was not shocked to see
Enos running and did/did not hesitate before throwing toward the plate.

"It can't be!" cried Jim. "He's coming home! The throw ... He scores
[the winning 4-3 run]!" For Boston, the play began a half-century of
Murphy's Law (if anything can go wrong, it will) dwarfing the Law of Averages (life is fair; things even out).

In 1948, the Sox lost a playoff. A year later they blew the last day to New
York. "With our team, we should have won three Series in four [ 1946-49]
years," said Britt-to the Globe's Ray Fitzgerald, "the biggest name in Boston
radio at a time when Boston meant the game."

Power made him prickly. A Northeasterly blew a blast back toward the
infield. "Jim yells, `That ball is gone!' " said Egan. "But no-it's an out."

Another hitter went long. "Britt yells, `It's gone!' Same thing: The wind
blows it back."

Later the Sox again buzzed the fence. "`It's smashed,' he said, `and I don't
care what anybody says, it's gone!' " Leo shook his head. "Another out, and now
Jim's berserk."

Once a hitter cleared Braves Field's right-field inner wall. "It's way outta
here!" Britt said. "It's gone under the fence!" Egan began laughing. Off-air Jim
asked why.

"You said, `Under the fence,' " said Leo.

"I (lid not, did not."

Thirty years later Egan reworked the dialogue. "Like a little kid, Jim
wouldn't admit he made a mistake." His real "mistake" was not preserving
what he had.

In 1950, leaving WHDH, Boston's N.L. team returned to the Yankee Network: Torn, Britt must choose. "He picked the Braves," said Coleman, "which
was a terrible misjudgment about the relative popularity of the teams."

Increasingly, the Braves of Boston since 1876 "played to the grounds help,"
said new Sox Voice Curt Gowdy. In April 1953, they left for Milwaukee. "Jim's
two teams were gone," mused Ken. Down, he soon was out.

Britt did 1954-57 Indians TV. Bobby Avila was the All-Star second
baseman. Local dialect preferred Ah-VEE-la. Jim liked AH-vee-la. One night
sponsor Ian Dowie, like row or dough, asked him to convert. Britt smiled: "All
right with me, Mr. Dewey."

Retrieving WHDH, Jim hosted bowling and "Dateline Boston," was
axed, and moved to Detroit, St. Petersburg, and Sarasota. "The Sox"what if' haunted him," said Egan. He braved divorce, unemployment, and arrests for
drunkenness.

JIM BRI7T

Britt died, at 70, December 28, 1980, in Monterey, California. "In
truth," wrote Fitzgerald, "life had turned its back on him a long time ago."

To Dixie, the Lost Cause means the recent unpleasantness; Baby Boomers,
long-playing record; Britt's Red Sox, Twentieth Century. To Byrum Fred
Saam, it topped even a Burma Road of malapropisms.

• "Hello, Byrum Saam," his first game began, "this is everybody
speaking."

• "[Outfielder Bob] Johnson is going back. He hits his head against the
wall. He reaches down, picks it up, and throws in to second base."

• In 1959, Mel Allen introduced him on NBC's Series: "And here's
the amiable, affable, able Byrum Saam." Distracted, By misheard
him. "Right you are, Mel," he replied.

"He'd say the wrong thing," said colleague Richie Ashburn, "so innocent, then
wonder why people laughed." Less jolly: calling more baseball defeats than
anyone. "Here we are," he would say, "rolling into the eighth inning." Making
Cooperstown, By deserved a Purple Heart.

Saam's 1938-54 Athletics and 1939-49 and 1951-75 Phillies finished
3,239-4,395. "Simple," he allowed. "You focus on things beyond the field."A
brawl could roil the stands. Shibe Park hosted the first A.L. night game. Its
roof press box made some tie rope around a waist. "It wasn't easy. You're getting killed and everybody's at the shore" getting a cheesesteak, beer, and burn.

The Ft. Worth native attended high school with Ben Hogan, played hoops
with Sammy Baugh at Texas Christian University, and did football P.A. "One
day I'm running on the sidelines when a local radio owner hears me. He figures, `This kid's better than anyone I've got.' " By rolled into the Southwest
Conference, aired on CBS's "Football Roundup."

Ted Husing recommended him to 50,000-watt outlet WCCO Minneapolis, which requested a baseball audition, putting Saam in a bind. "I'd
never done baseball," he said, re-creating the 1935 Series. Getting it, By transferred to the University of Minnesota, began the Triple-A Millers, and
did Temple football by 1937. Next year began the bigs.

WCAU listeners soon felt a bond. "Would you talk a little louder?" wrote
one woman. "My radio battery is getting weak." Shibe Park's turf was large;
feel, cozy; boo-birds, of brass. "What can I say?" By reasoned. "Vulgar fans
beat no fans." In 1941, they ogled Jim Britt's part-Gibraltar and part-child.

On September 27, Boston played at 21st Street and Lehigh Avenue-ter
would have, without rain. No one had hit .400 since 1930. Williams, 23, was
batting .3995-.400 in the record book. Manager Joe Cronin vainly urged
him to skip the last-day doubleheader. The Kid went 6-for-8: One double
broke the loud-speaker horn. "Baseball history! No backing in!" cried Saam
of .406. John Wayne was never more compelling on film.

In 1950, Philadelphia's N.W. Ayer & Son ad agency ended the road recreation: for the first time, each team did its entire schedule live. Kicker: no station could handle inventory. The A's stayed at then-flagship WIBG, the Phils
choosing WPEN. "[By] had to weigh a close relationship with the kindest man
who ever lived," picking A's manager, owner and patriarch Connie Mack.

Lost Cause: Saam placed last. By contrast, the 1950 Nationals won their
first flag in 35 years. "It must have bothered him," said Ashburn. "You do the
Phillies so long, then leave the year they win." In late 1954, the A's moved to
Kansas City. A year later Saam rejoined the Phils.

"I hated Mr. Mack leaving," he said, "but I'd missed the Phillies."
Together they approached their Gallipoli-1964.

Nineteen sixty-four. The phrase stands alone, needs no explanation, so
affixed to Philadelphia that even non-Quakers grasp the spoken tone
reserved for a drunken spouse or wayward child.

For 73 straight days the team gripped first place. Rookie Richie Allen hit
29 dingers. Chris Short went 18-11. Jim Bunning (19-8) no-hit the Mets on
Father's Day. "He gets it! He gets it! A perfect game!" Saam said onWFIL. On
September 20, Philly led by 6 112 games, then aped a horse who, lacking
food and water, nears the finish line in shock and fear.

The Phillies started Short and Bunning eight of their last 12 games. Ten
straight losses wrotefinis. The Reds and Cardinals led by a game on closing
day. "We beat Cincy, the Cards lose to the Mets, and it's a three-way playoff,"
said Saam. "They win, and get the pennant." Phils romp, 10-0. Didn't matter.
St. Louis: 11-5.

"It's a good thing I got to do a network Series on my own," By joked.
"After a while I knew I'd never get there with the Phils."

"Through it all, the great thing about Saam was that even as opposing hitters
were playing ping gong off the outfield fence," said the Philadelphia Inquirer's
Frank Dolson, "he would still leave with you with a smile on your face."

Egg followed 1964. In 1969, By visited expansion Montreal. "You know,
85 percent of the people up here speak French. But they're nice people,
anyway." One night he broadcast from San Francisco. "And now for all you
guys scoring in bed." Ashburn laughed a quarter-century later. "Imagine that
stir! How could you not love the guy?"

In 1971, Saam moved to Veterans Stadium. A flaw was faux grass. "It's
hard for anyone to pick up the baseball on artificial turf," said partner Harry
Kalas. "That was especially true when By got eye trouble." One hatter went
deep. "There's a ground ball to short," Saam began, "and it's gone!"

By 1975, he faced that vision thing. "I should have had cataract surgery,
but I was leaving, so let it slide." By retired that October. Next year's irony
renewed 1950's: Phils win! Richie had his pal call the N.L. East clincher.
"Thirty-eight years and no winner. Damn right he deserved a title."

In 1990, Saam rolled into another: a Hall of Fame reception evoked his quirky, falling-off-the-turnip-truck charm. Each napkin read, "Right you are,
Mel!" At that moment the Lost Cause seemed triumphant, after all.

sYRUM SAAM

From Sheffield Avenue, the top deck opens, putting geography in relief'.
Charters import pilgrims from the far outposts of Wrigleyville. Ivy cloaks
the brick outfield wall. Bleachers rise to form a deep V. The scoreboard
boasts line scores, lineups, and yardarm flags of N.L. cities and standings,
falling or rising daily.

Afterward a banner flies a white "W" (on blue backdrop) or blue "L"
(against white). "I Don't Care Who Wins As Long As It's the Cubs!" caroled
Bert Bertram Puckett. He already knew the score.

From 1944 to 1955, Wilson held a pencil ("I keep it in my hand all game.
Not to write with, just to know it's there") and quaffed beer ("I'd see him," said
Jack Brickhouse, "and by the third he's crocked") and broadcast alone. ("I'd say,
`Get help!' " mused Saam. "But he kept doing ads, play-by-play, color. Maybe
he had more stamina than the rest of us.") Maybe he liked to talk.

Born in Ohio, Bert moved to Cedar Rapids, played the trumpet, and
entered the University of Iowa. "I'd sing and broadcast on its station [WSUI]."
At 20, he junked engineering for commercial radio. No local outlet had baseball. Wilson convinced WMT A release read: "[He] sat on a housetop across
from the center-field fence bringing listeners play-by-play."

By 1943, he (lid hockey, hoops, roller derby, Iowa football, Indianapolis
500, and Double-A baseball. Pat Flanagan needed an aide. An ex-sponsor suggested Bert audition. "Despite laryngitis,"WIND gusted, "he managed to talk
his way in. Retiring, Pat yielded the [city's] number one sportscasting job."
Soon Chicago brayed "I Don't Care Who Wins...." Wilson, of course, did.

To Brickhouse, he "was a souped-up Elson." The Midwest Cheering
School of Milo Hamilton, Jack Quinlan, Harry Caray, and Vince Lloyd,
among others, began with IDCW2ALAITC. His first-yearers began 1-13.
Bert "almost went back to my trumpet." Instead, in 1945, MVP Phil Cavar-
retta hit a league-high .355, Andy Pafko had 110 RBI, and the Cubs won a
pennant.

"At the team victory party," James Enright wrote, "[manager] Charlie
Grimm had a pair of shears. Everybody who had a necktie on contributed.
He had a quilt made." Soon its fabric, like Grimm's Fairy Tale, tore.