Voices of Summer: Ranking Baseball's 101 All-Time Best Announcers (47 page)

JERRY DOOOETT

Derived from the Greek word for static, statistics can numb. "Statics?" barked
Dizzy Dean, who hated them. By contrast, Ross Porter used numbers like
Roy Acuff a mandolin. He prepped for five hours, called a game, and hosted KABC's post-game "Dodger Talk." Listeners vented. "The Stat Man" replied.
"Much of the audience knows as much as you do, if not more. You can't sit on
past preparation."

At three, Porter sat on daddy's knee. "He'd read baseball stories, pique
my interest." Gradually, the Oklahoman fixed play-by-play. "I'd sit in the
family car at night listening to games." His hero, ironically, was Harry Caray,
who preferred even sobriety to stats.

In 1953, Ross, 14, joined Class D Shawnee. He graduated from Oklahoma University via WKY Oklahoma City to KNBC L.A., doing, among
other things, high school hoops. "Sandy [Koufax] had turned down a scholarship, knew basketball, and was under contract to NBC. They didn't know
what to give him, so he got color with me."

In 1977, Porter joined another first-in-his class. "I thought, wow, with Vin
Scully, the Dodgers'll make me run water!" Instead, he saved the best for first.

"Some start," Ross said, dryly. L.A. won a flag, became the first team to draw
three million, and met the Yanks for the first time since 1963. The 74th
rounders title of North America began October 1 I. CBS Radio tapped Porter.
Reggie Jackson batted in Game Six. "Here's a drive to right deep and deep!
Smith going back! It's gone!" Next up he swung again. "Drive to right field and
deep! Way back! Going, going, gone! Another home run for Reggie Jackson!"

Later Charlie Hough tossed a knuckler. "Jackson, with four runs batted
in, sends a fly ball to center field deep! That's going to be way back! And
that's going to be gone! Reggie Jackson has hit his third home run [on three
straight pitchesI of the game!" Ninth inning: New York, 8-4. "Bunt-popped
up! Torrez has got it! And the Yankees are the world champions for the 21st
time--and for the first time in 15 years."

Seventy-eight reran the plot: pennant, Series loss, and Ross on CBS. By
1981, the Dodgers had dropped a playoff or Classic five times in 15 years.
Mocking type, they won the L.C.S. L.A. then again played the Yanks.

"We had the feeling," said Jerry Reuss, "this might be our last chance."
NewYork took a 2-0 game lead. "We're too good to lose again," added Davey
Lopes. The Dodgers then won four straight: pride precedeth the unfall.

Porter resurfaced on CBS's 1984 N.L. playoff. In 1987, Jerry Doggett
retired, bumping him to Number Two. Ross made data animate. Scully
moved from Camus to Cey. Their new arrangement hiked contrast: each
broadcast by himself.

"Today broadcasters chitchat," said the Los Angeles Times's Larry Stewart.
"Only the Dodgers announce solo, no interplay with a colleague." Their
holdout evoked a radio-only age. "Red Barber taught Vin to stress the relationship with the person listening to you," said Porter. It helped him survive
August 23, 1989.

Vin had waived the trip to Montreal. No. 3 Voice Don Drysdale was away
expecting his wife's baby. The scoreless game reached overtime. "I was
talking to the audience," Ross noted-and himself. Finally, Rick Dempsey
homered: L.A., 1-0, in 22 innings. Game time: 6 hours, 14 minutes. Stats
rarely seemed so shrewd.

"I got hack to the hotel," he conceded, "and the voice seemed a little
tired." Soon Dodgers tradition did. The O'Mallevs sold the team. Buying it,
Fox ordered blue game jerseys, loud music, and attitude. Ross's was tested
in 2001 by a cerebral spinal fluid condition. He spent the offseason on the
Internet: "the greatest invention for research."

Increasingly, Vin did television; Porter, radio. "You cannot be behind or get
down on the game," Ross stated. Nothing in the stats said that his number was up.
The Dodgers, however, did, canning him after the 2004 season.

ROSS PORTER

"I hate all hitters," said Cooperstown Class of '84. "1 start a game mad and I
stay that way until it's over." Don Drysdale as Gentle Ben? The notion seems
ludicrous. It was, however, true.

The 1956-69 pitcher hunted heads. The 1970-93 Voice was content not
to turn them. "I'm not bigger than the game, just part of it," Don said, calmly
and approachably. Constraint upped wearability. It also shrunk marquee.

"Batting against Drysdale," said Dick Groat, "is the same as making a date
with a dentist." Return to an announcer, less Sinatra than Bennett, who was
more fluorescent than drill.

Van Nuys, California, a small farming town in the San Fernando Valley, 1952.
Two naturals, Big D, 16, and friend Robert Redford pitch hay, load squash
and onions, and put baseball above classmate Diane Baker. Film's Rov Hobbs
played infield/outfield. The future Hall of Famer manned second base. "My
dad (Scott] had briefly played minor league baseball," said Drysdale. "He
didn't want me pitching and hurting my arm."

A year later, Van Nuys'sAmerican Legion Post 193 pitcher failed to show. Its
skipper turned to Don: "Dad told me to get the ball over." Next season the 101
high-school righty signed, then hit Bakersfield, Triple-A Montreal, and Ebbets
Field. "In Brooklyn, baseball was the conversation." Big (6-foot-6) D sustained
buzz with a) bullpen play-by-play; and b) a 17-9 1957 record. The team
reversed his eastward hike.Throwing its 1958 opener, he reveled in going home.

Drysdale led the league in Ks, shutouts, and hit batsmen. "To win, you
had to own the plate," he said. "Knock two of our guys down, I'd get four."
The trick, added Orlando Cepeda, was to hit Don before he hit you. N.L.
head Warren Giles fined him $100 for head-hunting: "my purpose pitch." Big
D tried to pay in pennies. Catcher Bob Decker rated him from 5 (chin music)
to 10 (hummer in the ribs). Don's best tune was 1962's.

"It all came together," mused catcher John Rosehoro. "The curve, speed,
control."Tall, dark, and handsome went 25-9, won the CyYoung award, and
led baseball in TV spots. Which was he: stopper, matinee idol, or son of a
bitch? Big D never felt he had to choose. "On the field, he had to work harder
than Koufax, but was 100 percent meaner." In one year or another, Don had
a 2.18 ERA, hit seven homers, and opened a Series (1965). "Sandy would
have, but begged off due to Yom Kippur." L.A. trailed, 7-l, when Walter
Alston pulled him. Said Don: "Bet you wish I was Jewish."

In 1966, he and Koufax held out for $1 million. "I got $105,000, a lot
then. Series checks meant something. Now they wreck your taxes."That fall,
Drysdale cashed his last. Sandy retired. In 1968, the last Brooklyn Dodger
threw a bigs record six straight shutouts and 58 2/3 scoreless innings. Next
year he tore a rotator cuff.

"It's all over, baby," Don said, retiring after 209 victories, 2.95 ERA, five
Series, 10 All-Star Games, four straight years of 308 or more innings, 29
homers, beanballs, spitballs, and record 154 hit batsmen-to columnist Lyle
Spencer, "the John Wayne of ballplayers." D's dogma lingered: "I've got one
way to pitch righties" - pause "tight."

By now, Drysdale was perhaps "the first active millionaire pitcher in ... history,"
said the Times: oil, avocados, and thoroughbreds, a breeding ranch, and "more
property than the eye can see." Once Alston mused, "If you wanted one guy to
win a big game for you, you'd look to him." In Big D's next life, not every game
was big. "I've listened for years to different guys' styles, how they enunciate, and
so forth." Etc. meant voice, mug, and name: Drysdale was the package.

In March 1970, he left a Hidden Hills ranch near Los Angeles for Expos
English CBC-TV, training daily with a recorder. "No, sir, there's no way
you're going to hear it," Big D told a reporter. "I feel hack in the minors of
the broadcast league." Later he joined Dick Enberg on Angels radio: "I'm here
to work at this." Gene Mauch felt him already good---"particularly for a guy
who spent most of his life with two fingers in his mouth."

Liking players, Don disliked "asking questions I already knew the answer
to." In 1978, ABC's answer gave him "Monday Night Baseball," "Superstars,"
and "Wide World of Sports." It soon found that he was not hip or edgy and
that Southern California didn't care. The 1979 Halos drew a record
2,523,375, but lost the L.C.S. to Baltimore-and Don full-time to ABC.
"My thing is to talk about inside things. Keith [Jackson] does play-by-play.
Howard's role is anything, since anything can happen in broadcasting."

As proof, ABC released, then rehired, him in 1981. "If there is nothing
to say, be quiet," he explained. Cosell would sooner remove his wig. 1982:
Big D joined the White Sox. 1984: He made the Hall of Fame, did the N.L.
playoff and, in a twist of irony, got beaned. "Competent, not outstanding,"
said TSN. "Cliches tumble from his tongue." Jim Palmer was ABC's new
poster child "[of] superior looks and . . . popularity from underwear commercials." Tim McCarver's hiring returned Don to Comiskey Park. The
damnest thing is that he didn't care.

One day the divorced Big D met ex-All American basketball player Ann
Meyers, who mistook him for Don Meredith. "What would you do," he
shortly said, "if I asked you to marry me?" They had three children; to his
shock, Drysdale became a Ward Cleaver dad. "Life's a puzzle," he said, and
laughed. The final piece was 1988's: he joined Scully at Chavez Ravine.

In August, L.A.'s Orel Hershiser began 59 straight scoreless innings.
Voice and executioner: Vin called Don's record's end September 28. "A fly
ball to right! Gonzalez backs up! ... And Hershiser has the record!" Big D
nabbed Orel in the dugout. "Oh, I'll tell ya, congratulations.... And at least
you kept it in the family."

"He'd never been happier," said Meyers. "Working where his memories were,
with Vinnie, away from network TV, his life picture-perfect"--except that
pictures can break. In Montreal, where 37 years earlier he roomed with Tom
Lasorda, Don, 56, had a fatal 1993 heart attack. Scully, red-eyed, opened that
night's game. "Never have I been asked to make an announcement that hurts
me as much as this one. And I say it to you as best I can with a broken heart."

DON DRYSDALE

Drysdale flew hack to a California so different from the Van Nuys of his
youth that it is hard to believe that it existed. A memorial service lured a
coalition of the loving. Hershiser termed him "a modern-day hero." Enberg,
speaking, wept.

"He first saw light here," a 1973 eulogy to Lyndon Johnson said. "He last
felt life here. May he now find peace here." Big D's biggest game lay ahead.

Save Brooklyn, the bigs' first foreign game was April 14, 1969, at Montreal's
tarry Park. The audience wore Gallic garb, ate corned beef and pastrami, and
sang "The Happy Wanderer" in French. The P.A. announcer was bilingual,
seats largely backless, and binoculars a must: women were the most ooh-ah
in the league. Modern banks flanked old churches and European shops and
inns. "The experience was otherworldly," said Dave Van Horne-Venus to
baseball's Mars.