Voices of Summer: Ranking Baseball's 101 All-Time Best Announcers (58 page)

Each March, wife Janine said, "Have a good day, honey. Listen, any time
you're in town, stop by."

He nodded. "I'm Jon Miller, your husband. See you in October."

In 1989, ESPN inked a four-year, $400 million, six-day-a-week pact.
"Coverage went to cable," said Costas, "because CBS [replacing NBC] didn't
want a `Game."'The network forecast a 5.0 Nielsen rating (7 million of 140
million homes). "The weekend's over," Jon, hopeful, said, "you come back
from the beach, and there it is."

"Sunday Night Baseball" began April 15, 1990. Sow's ear: a final 3.0
average. Silk's purse: It doubled ESPN's other bigs programming (1.5). "It's
an exciting opportunity if you consider standing on the edge of a cliff
exciting," said Miller, winning the 1991 play-by-play cable ACE Award.

"I am incredibly honored to win this award with this room full of talented people," he said at the Beverly Wilshire Hotel. "What am I? I go to
games and my best lines are, `low, ball one,' or probably the line I'm most
proud of--`line drive, foul."'

Baseball already burlesqued a Hessian chorus line. "Don't talk money,"
Jon advised: "I'm an artiste, you know."

A year later, the Orioles began milking a cash cow. "They tried to make
Camden Yards like Fenway. Now new parks want to be like the Yards." In
1992, a record 3,567,819 paid. Baseball repaid them withThe Strike.

On September 6, 1995, a game became official after 4 112 innings. "History!" said Miller over ESPN. "For baseball, what great news"-Cal
Ripken, Jr.'s record 2,1 31st straight game.

The warehouse banner shed "2-1-3-0." Tipping his cap, Cal began a
hand-shaking/high-living voyage around the Yards.

Jon was happy, in his adopted burg, barbing and critiquing. "Bud Selig's
name is a code word for everything wrong with baseball." Replacement
strike games "would be a joke." Players "sign for the most money-which is
out-and-out greed." Leave the place where he cried, "Thirty-six thousand
people are jumping up and down and saying, `We believe! We believe!"'?
What happened next was more unbelievable than redubbing puck.

In 1996, new O's owner Peter Angelos complained, "Jon's not much of
an advocate. He should bleed orange-and-black once in a while." Miller's contract expired that year. Phoned by agent Ron Shapiro, Angelos declined to
phone back. Shapiro kept calling. Peter was busy. Ron set a deadline. Angelos
phoned the Baltimore Sun: "This is an employee, mind you, issuing an ultimatum, to the owner."

Baseball watched, wide-mouthed. Peter was a trial lawyer, explained a
friend. "He's not used to sharing the attention." Axing Miller, he should have
sued himself.

1997: Washington's National Press Club. A guest asks if the Voice should be a
fan or a reporter. "I think the announcer should be an advocate for the team,"
Jon twinkled. "I think the announcer should bleed the colors of the team. I
have seen the light. Hallelujah! "The crowd roared. That year, CBS Radio lost
baseball. ESPN gave Miller the All-Star Game, L.C.S., and Series. A season
later its largest-ever bigs TV audience (9.5 Nielsen rating) watched Mark
McGwire's homer 61. "In Bristol [Connecticut's ESPN]," said a friend, "Jon
means the game."

In 1965, his dad, returning from a business trip to Minnesota, yawped,
"The Twins got nothing on Russ and Lon. The voices of the Giants' two!" Jon
joined their booth in 1997. "It's all a little much. I grew up with these guys."
Pacific Bell Park ultimately replaced the Stick, selling out before Opening Day.
"All those years when the Giants didn't draw. Now it's like the early sixties."

Jon built a Moss Beach house, could see his boyhood home across the bay,
and studied ships in McCovey's Cove. "I love boats. Once I saw FDR's [the
Potomac] there. Wish I could go everywhere by ship." Instead, he flew 100,000
miles a year. One (lay: ESPN's Toronto-Texas, Puerto Rico. Next: Jints
opener, emceeing pre-game. "For a baseball fan, it's the best of all worlds."

On October 4, 2001, Barry Bonds whacked McGwire-tying 70. A day
later he faced Chan Ho Park. "There's a high drive deep into right-center
field! To the big part of the ballpark! Number 71! And what a shot! Over the
421-foot marker! ... And Barry Bonds is now the home run king! Number
71! And it was impressive!"

Less impressive was O's interest. "God gave him the sublimest vocal chords," said
the Washington Post. Jon's were missed in Birdland. "Sometimes it's good to make a
change," Miller said, discreetly. As good would have been a happier 2002 Series.

Ahead, 3 games to 2, Frisco led Anaheim, 5-0, in the seventh inning.
"Deep to right! Going back, Sanders! . . . It's gone! A home run! Scott
Spiezio has made it a two-run game! The Angels are breathing!" he brayed on
ESPN. Next inning Troy Glaus hit: "Swing and a shot! Left-center! ... It's
over Bonds! It goes to the wall! Figgins scores the tying run! Anderson scores
the go-ahead run! A double! ... The Angels have come all the way back from
a five-run deficit, and they lead the game!"

JON MILLER

The final was academic: Halos, 4-1. Miller then took a cruise. "Forget
spring training. I'm ready for ball by New Year's." Ronald Reagan told how a
young boy found a room of horse manure Christmas morning. "Yes," said the
optimist, "but there must be a pony in here someplace." Deem baseball a
room. Miller is broadcasting's pony.

Joe Garagiola couldn't wait to retire. In the bullpen, Bob Uecker announced
a game. Bud Blattner was a singles-hitting journeyman. Many jocks-turnedtalkers began as Duke Carmel, not Snider.

Other Voices peaked earlier. Sandy Koufax's speeding bullet slowed on
NBC. Bob Gibson's cosmic fastball fell to earth. "Genes aren't transferrable,"
said Tim McCarver. "Knowing the game doesn't mean you can express it."

A 1963-71 and 1980 Houston, 1972-79 Cincinnati, 1981-82 San
Francisco, 1983 Philadelphia, and 1984 Oakland dynamo did, succinctly
and subtly.

"He'll get the job done," he predicted of Javy Lopez, who homers.

David Cone failed to waste a pitch. "He's tired," says the analyst. Cone is
shortly shelled.

A ball eluded Roberto Alomar. "He didn't try to catch it in front of him,
but underneath where you lose sight of it."

Joe Morgan has seldom lost sight of baseball, orTV baseball of him.

Born September 19, 1943, in Bonham, Texas, he grew up in Oakland,
attended Oakland City College and California State-Hayward, and resented
scouts who deemed Joe small. By contrast, Houston's Bill Wight found the
5-foot-7, 170-pounder "self-assured without being cocky." The 1964 Texas
League MVP briefly played at Houston's anile Colt Stadium. A year later the
renamed Astros moved inside. Joe led the league in walks, replaced idol
Nellie Fox at second base, and became TSN Rookie of theYear.

His likeness lingers: Joe, off first, the scoreboard urging steal. "Some
image," he said. "Go-go dancers!" The 'Stros tap-danced near the cellar.
Houston 1968-72 manager Harry Walker knew hitting but not how to gain
respect. The 1947 N.L. batting champion sat on the bus with a hat over his
head. To the rear players sang.

"Now Harry Walker is the one that manages this crew. He doesn't like it when we drink and fight and smoke and screw. But when we win our game
each day, then what the hell can Harry say?" Kicker: "It makes a fellow proud
to be an Astro." Joe couldn't wait to put "ex-" before his team.

Walker called him a troublemaker. "Anyone was a troublemaker who was
smarter than Harrv Walker," Joe replied, "and that didn't take much." In late
1971, he went to Cincinnati. "I told [then-Reds G.M. Bob] Howsam," said
Sparky Anderson, "you have just won the pennant"-actually, a Big Red
Machine 1972-73, 1975-76, or 1979 division, league, and/or world title.

Pressure greased its ignition. In the 1975 World Series, Morgan pulled to
right-a triple or tater-till Dwight Evans turned, caught the ball, and
began a Game Six double play. "I thought I'd done it," Joe said. Next night he
did, plating the winning 4-3 run. The '76ers became first not to lose a playoff
or Classic game. Daily he worked out, punched a speed bag, used hand
grips-and played dominoes.

"You look at him wave that bat, arms swinging like a chicken wing," said
Sparky, never giving Joe a take sign, "or the glove," as small as a bambino's. In
1980, released, he helped win Houston's first division. Morgan, Pete Rose, and
Tony Perez reunited in 1983: The Wheez Kids (starting lineup age 301) made
the Series. "Gotta be coincidence," joked Rose. "Where Joe plays, you win."

Next year he retired with a then-record 266 dingers as a second baseman-first man at that position with 200, 2,000 games, and 2,000 hits-1975-76
Most Valuable Player, three Gold Gloves, 10 All-Star teams, and leading the
league three and four times in fielding and on-base percentage, respectively.

"My career is a salute to the little guy," he said. What peak remained to climb?

For a time Joe imagined managing. Taking one job, he reconsidered in the
morning. "I woke up thinking, `You're hired to be fired."' Morgan started a
beer company, opened three fast-food restaurants, and aired 1985 Reds and
1985-88 ESPN college baseball. The player was a chatterbox. Could the analyst parse? "What I'll try to do is act like I'm on the bench and you're sitting
with me. Hopefully, I'll think of the questions before you ask."

In 1986, tweaking MTV, Morgan began Giants play-by-play. "Ours is a
quick-gratification society. I like deferred": Cooperstown 1990 and B.A.
from Hayward. "I told mom if she let me enter baseball, I'd get my degree."
That year, ESPN began "Sunday Night Baseball." Morgan hoped to educate.
"I'm in the business to help the viewer." Risk loomed: strategy can bore.

"Chemistry takes a while," said Miller. At first Joe mused, "What you see is the end of something. When we first started, we didn't always see eye-toeye. Jon came from radio, me TV. He adjusted, and lightened me up," each
side-saddle in a chair, almost facing the other. In time, M dialed meshing:
Miller's lore and Morgan's game within the game.

Joe began an ESPN.com column, wrote Baseball for Dummies, and went
"where the game takes me." By 1995, joining NBC's two Bobs, Costas and
Uecker, it took him to post-season double duty. One week he traveled
12,000 miles: "every night, different airport, different motel." George Steinbrenner took pity: "Please contact me," he wrote, tongue-in-cheek,
"regarding a comeback as a second baseman."

Morgan passed.

His mother had not raised a fool.

Instead, he called a 1999 O's-Cuba exhibition in Havana. "I am relearning
Spanish. The usual stuff. Where's the bathroom. I'm hungry." Tossing the usual first ball, ex-Senator Connie Marrero continued to pitch; whereupon
Brady Anderson hunted toward third; at which point Joe shrieked, "Bunting
on an 84-year-old pitcher!"

JOE MORGAN

A gentleman would never do that-rather, watch and muse. "There's more
of a flow and pace to National League baseball," Morgan said.The A. L. was"dis-
jointed." Home Run Derby belonged in softball. "That's not the way our game
should be." Managers "do more off the cuff than they ever did before." Money
has "changed everything. Players should cater more to the fans."

Give baseball that old-time religion.

It's good enough for Joe.

In 1995, Connie Chung interviewed Newt Gingrich's mother on CBS TV
"This is just between us," she whispered, ignoring 40 million viewers. Forget
age, lines, and cancer. Just between us, our age loves a tan.

Dave Campbell is baseball's bronze warrior. His skin accentuates eyes,
hair, and teeth. It conjures George Hamilton, Jennifer Lopez, yea, Playboy's
Girls of Kokomo. "Dave met the tan," said a friend, "and the tan won."

For a decade, it colored ESPN's 10 P.M. and 12 A.M. "Baseball Tonight."
Campbell cajoled, inveigled, but never overwhelmed, the viewer-candor,
as vital as the corner salon.

Born in March 1990, "Baseball Tonight" brewed highlight, lowlight, feature,
and minutiae--before long, George W. Bush's favorite show. Broadcasting,
like infra-red light, had already settled in Dave's bones.