Voices of Summer: Ranking Baseball's 101 All-Time Best Announcers (57 page)

Next fall felt even better: Series opener, ninth inning, two out, A's, 4-3.
"Kirk [Gibson] is hurt, supposedly unable to pinch-hit," said Bob, charting
post-game. From a runway he sees Kirk enter the trainer's room. A shadow
shows Gibson hitting a ball off a tee. Coach Ben Hines nods: one swing left.
"If we get to the ninth spot, we'll go," agrees Tom Lasorda. Dennis Eckersley
walks Mike Davis. Gibson jaw-drops into the seats: L.A., S-4.

NBC's next-day pre-game likened Gibson to The Natural. Producers
Mike Weisman and David Neal got the film, "stayed up all night at Paramount
Studios, then took the piece by police escort to Dodger Stadium," said
Costas, completing it at air-time. "Look at that and tell me what's wrong with
baseball on TV when it's done by people who care" the problem being, he
found, that not enough did.

In December, CBS TV paid $1.04 billion for 1990-93 bigs exclusivity.
Robert Redford as Hobbs: "I hadn't seen it [a shooting] coming." Costas, neither: NBC had done the sport since 1947.

"Who thought baseball'd kill its best way to reach the public? It coulda
kept us and CBS-we'd have kept 'Game'-but it only cared about cash."
CBS only cared about October, airing 16-game regular-season coverage. "You
wouldn't see a game for a month," said Marv Albert. "Then you didn't know when CBS came hack on." For Bob, ready to "do baseball on a full-time basis
anywhere, even if I have to give up everything else," the black hole meant
deliverance, though he did not see that then.

"I'd rather do a `Game of the Week' getting a 5 rating than host a Super
Bowl." Instead, leapfrogging sport as 1989 "Today" host, he found the water
fine. In 1992, Costas did Barcelona's Olympiad (four more through 2004). "I
almost didn't recognize you without Bob Costas on a voice-over," said President Bush, welcoming the U. S. team. Soon, Bob was recognized as the lineal
descendant of Jim McKay.

On "Later," he interviewed Ted Koppel, Chevy Chase, Bob Hope, and
Aaron Spelling. Bob graced "Nightline" and "Meet the Press," quizzed Ray
Charles and Woody Allen on prime-time "Now" and "Dateline," appeared on
"Frasier," "Cheers," and "NewsRadio," and virtually retired the Emmy and
NSSA Sportscaster of the Year award.

Be careful what you ask for. Beware of what you don't. "Nothing could
be worse than CBS until 11994-95's ABC/NBC 12-game/invisible till
July/no national or day coverage] The Baseball Network." Its Division Series
and L.C.S. created areas of "natural" interest. The N.L. went dark in Boston.
In St. Louis, the A.L. never made a peep. Neutral markets summarily fell to
one or the other league. What you saw depended on where you lived.

"Yes, sir, that's baseball: America's regional pastime," Sports Illustrated
wrote. "Such an abomination is The Baseball Network that in Seattle, where
people don't cross against a red light on the emptiest of streets, fans booed
whenever the Kingdome P.A. announcer made mention."Wising up in 1996,
baseball went back to the future: Fox, resuming "Game"; NBC, dividing postseason and All-Star Game. The future, as usual, seemed to settle in the Bronx.

A.L. 1996 L.C.S. opener: eighth inning, Baltimore, 4-3. The Yanks'
Derek Jeter's fly to right was thought by Tony Tarasco a can of corn. "Suddenly," Costas said, "this kid [Jeffrey Maier, 12] puts his glove over the [Stadium] fence and steals it." Umpire Richie Garcia ruled dinger. "Merlin must
be in this house," said Tarasco. Why didn't Bob feel the spell?

"It's what happened in the nineties," he said in 2001: the strike, realignment, wild card, expanded playoff, and "Game." "I still love the game. I just
felt a certain alienation from the institution. NBC only did a few games each
year. I also lacked the forum I have today [HBO's "On the Record"] to express
my views, so to some extent I started editorializing in games." A scold, some
said: the Commissioner! jibed others. The fact is that Bob had much to editorialize about.

Gallup Poll, 2002: 14 percent name baseball their favorite sport (vs. 1985's
25). Barely one in eight homes watch the World Series (vs. 1952's one in
two). "Give me afternoon Series, regular-season network continuity, batters
who don't step out, pitchers who throw the ball, and fine announcers," Bob
said, "and I'll get you a renaissance." Inevitably he rued the bigs' high command. The late Edward Bennett Williams owned the Orioles and Washington
Redskins. "What's dumber than the dumbest football owner?" he said. "The
smartest baseball owner."

For a long time Mick was dumb, by No. 7's own reckoning. His father
had osteomyelitis, a degenerative bone disease. Boozing and chasing, he
expected to die by 40.

"When we called him a hero, he wasn't," Costas said. "Later Mick
became one when he thought he wasn't." Mantle went dry, slowed a fast-lane
life, and did TV spots that said, "Kids, don't be like me." Bob interviewed
him on "Dateline." He was warm, shy, and penitent. The hour pealed respect
and love.

"As he's talking," said Costas, "I'm thinking of standing holding my
father's hand in deepest center field at Yankee Stadium-the whole dimension of the place is so overwhelming for a child--and saying to my father
[who died at 42],'Is this where Mickey Mantle plays? Is this where he stands?
Can Mickey Mantle throw a ball from here all the way to home plate? Can
Mickey Mantle hit a ball here?"'

The Switcher died, at 63, in 1995. Costas gave the eulogy at a Dallas
memorial. "We wanted to crease our caps like him," he said, "kneel in an
imaginary on-deck circle like him, run like him, heads down, elbows up."
Not knowing it would be televised, "All I wanted was to be worthy of the
family."

Returning to NewYork, Bob was mobbed by passersby. "`Hey, nice job,'
they'd sav. You don't feel boastful at a time like that," he stopped, "just gratified, that it was something that Mick hopefully would have liked."

It was no secret that Costas disliked our cesspool age. In his youth, "You
didn't measure someone by how profane they were, or crass and mean. I'm
stunned by how rapidly the culture has been coarsened by vulgarity, tastelessness, and mean-spiritedness."

Baseball could be an oasis-kinder, gentler. "So accentuate the differences between it and other sports."

To many, Costas did between himself and other Voices. Fair Ball: A Fan's Case for Baseball became the Times 2001 No. I bestseller. HBO's "Record" and
"Inside the NFL" reflected the host's depth, brass, and smarts. In 2000, Fox
bought exclusivity. Bob will air theTriple Crown, Breeder's Cup, U.S. Open,
Ryder Cup, and Olympics-but not the bigs again till at least 2007.

"It's nowhere near as devastating as a decade ago," he said of the baseball
blackout. "Different circumstances, different time." Perhaps someday Costas
will again date his childhood love. By then, he might be older than the late
Jack Buck's ties.

BOB COSTAS

In 1983, Larry King called him "among baseball's best young broadcasters."
Two decades later, a writer hailed his "works of baroque genius," the "voice
as smooth as caramel"---an outside-of-Vin-Scully Eden.

Some announcers make you want to throw up. Miller is a throwback.
"Many now are automatons," Jack Buck observed. "Same voice and style."
Like Mel, Diz, and Gunner, Jon was a personality and a hoot. "Baseball entertains you and you care about it. What I like is the company of baseball." The
listener enjoys his company-in English, Spanish, or Japanese.

Circa 1961: Hayward, a small town east of San Francisco. Broadway, like
baseball a peculiarly American institution, fills Jon's home. "My mom kept
playing Camelot. I got hooked." Pals ride the surf. In his bedroom, Miller plays
the baseball board game Baseball Strat-O-Matic. It suggests the future in a
way that seems ordained.

Already Jon, 9, loves the art of rhetoric. For hours he mimes the public
address Voice, organist ("dum-dum-dum," in key), crowd (blowing, like
wind), and home team's Russ Hodges or Scully from Chavez Ravine.
"Friends'd say, `Let's hit the wave.' I'd say, `I got a big series coming up-first
place up for grabs."'

Mom wanted to grab Jon around the neck. Friends of hers heard sonny
through the door. "Mrs. Miller, who is this?" She denied even knowing him.
"It sounds, though, like he has a little bronchial condition."

Miller saw his first bigs game in 1962 at Candlestick Park. Los Angeles outhit
Frisco, 15-12, but lost, 19-8! Billy O'Dell threw a complete game. Three
Giants homered. Attendance was 32,189. "Other than that, I don't
remember a thing." Jon, dad, and their transistor sat in Section 19, upper
deck, behind first base. "I looked down at the booth with binoculars, like
being backstage. I was hearing and watching what Russ and Lon [Simmons]
were saying.

To Miller, the year became "my coming of age as a fan." Its Khyber Pass
was the final week. San Francisco played at day. "I'd hear Russ, then he'd recreate the [leading] Dodgers at night," Scully coursing over distant KFI.
Pardon the peroration: "Giants keep winning, Dodgers losing. I'm sitting in
a car, on a hill to help reception, switching back and forth!"

On September 30, the 49ers played at Kezar Stadium. "The crowd's
going nuts hearing baseball. The football guys wonder what's going on."
Giants win, 2-1, at the Stick. Russ then re-creates on P.A. L.A.'s 1-0 playoffforcing loss. The Jints make the Series. In Game Seven, Miller is in a dentist's
chair as Bobby Richardson snares Willie McCovey's drive. "Given the pain,
how appropriate I almost bit my dentist's finger."

At 15, Jon fingered his first play-by-play in high school basketball. Next morning the voice-"highlights, from reel-to-reel recorder"-filled the
intercom. The whiz broadcast from the bleachers at Candlestick and the
Oakland Coliseum. Ambition, meet adolescence. He loved every word.

In 1972, the College of San Mateo graduate, becoming Santa Rosa TV sports
director, noted the NHL California Golden Seals being treated like castor oil.
Owner Charlie Finley OK'd his offer to televise odd games. "You sound like
you've done this for nears," a producer said until Miller accidentally began
puck with f. "In baseball, you call a ball `fall' and nobody notices," Jon said,
thereafter calling the puck it.

The Seals ended up moving to Cleveland in 1976. In 1973, Miller targeted Finley's A's. "He owned them for 13 years and had more broadcasters
than managers-and more managers than any team." Voice Monte Moore
hired Jon, 21, by tape. Balding, he looked 31. His resume read 26. "What's
truth in advertising when you have baseball on your mind?"

In April 1974, Jon visited Baltimore. "I'd grown up on Chuck Thompson
doing CBS football. Now I'm amazed: He's doing the O's." That fall, another
hero did the Series. "I say, `A curve, 2-1.' Vinnie's much more elegant. `It's
on the way, currrve loow."' Laughing, he mimicked Scully. "`Two-and-one,
and it's interesting to note that as Moliere said in 17th-century Paris.' Whoever heard of baseball in the 17th century? Yet people go bonkers about
Vinnie quoting Moliere!"

That fall, Finley fired him. "Charlie had axed guys like Harry Carav, Bob
Elson. My stock went up in the business." By 1980, Jon trekked to Boston via
Texas. Quickly its literati embraced the muse. "He'd done imitations since
childhood," said Ken Coleman, "and I pushed him to do Scully, Chuck,
Carat'." Thompson left O's radio in 1982. Next Opening Day, his successor
hosted a rally at Inner Harbor. Fifty thousand cheered O-R-I-O-L-E-S.
"People ask, `How do Oriole fans compare to the Red Sox'? I ask, `How do
Boston fans compare to the Orioles'?"

Miller inherited a seven-state network. 'Eighty-three enlarged it. The
L.C.S. swung on Game Three. "There's a high fly ball to deep right-center
field! And, baby, way back! It's long gone!" said Jon. "Upper deck! Rightcenter field! Kiss it good-bye! Three-nothing, Orioles! And Eddie Murray's
first hit is a monster shot at Comiskey Park!"

Baltimore's first post-1970 title completed a monster year. "The
[World Series Game Five] cheering you hear is from Orioles fans," Miller
said in Philadelphia. "Everybody else is in muted silence. The pitch! Line drive! Ripken catches it at shortstop! And the Orioles are champions of
the world!"

Strat-O-Matic. Mimicry. A rookie crown. Everything came early for Mrs.
Miller's son. Baseball on TV, he said, was film: "You see what the producer
shows you." Radio was a novel, absorbed and transformed. "He is [now] The
Franchise, with great broadcast instincts and sensibilities," wrote The
National. Jon's company warmed Camp David through Little Italy to Maryland's Eastern Shore.

"Before ESPN Television, you never knew anything until the radio
announcer said it," said Bob Costas. "This romantic figure sitting in a booth,
very personal, mostly gone except for Jon as the Thompsons and Harwells
disappear and Bob Princes and Jack Bucks and Mel Aliens die."The dinosaur
tethered the banquet circuit, NBC's backup "Game," and ESPN "SportsLook." Following his own drummer, Miller built a cult to beat the band.