Voices of Summer: Ranking Baseball's 101 All-Time Best Announcers (64 page)

Like Steiner, Sterling loved the field, friends, and radio of his youth. "Listening to Mel Allen, I knew this was my life."

JOHN STERLING

By 2003, it infused New York. Sport's Athens and Sparta staged a scorchedearth L.C.S. Game Seven passed midnight at The Stadium. In the 10th, Aaron
Boone arced Boston's Tim Wakefield's 5-all pitch.

"There's a fly ball deep to left! It's on its way! There it goes!" howled
Steiner on flagship WCBS. "And theYankees are going to the World Series for
the 39th time in their remarkable history!"

Unable to desist, John bellowed "The-eh-eh-eh-eh-eh Yankees win!" A
city caroled every sound. "I'd rather do my own thing," he said, "than be a
straight-laced, homogeneous, play-by-play drone."

An Ohio writer said: "In a perfect world we'd all be Yankees." Our world
is not perfect. Neither is Sterling.

He is, however, perfect for New York.

Ebbets Field was flattened in 1960. At Coogan's Bluff, "you could see soccer,
hoops, midget auto racing, and boxing [after 1957]," wrote DickYoung. "Even
football. Just no baseball." Ultimately, NewYork Mayor Robert Wagner formed
a five-man committee chaired by lawyer William A. Shea to regain a team.

In 1959, Shea named the eight cities of a proposed new major-Continental-League. The threat made the National League expand. An
N.L. owner told New York its club pivoted on the site. "Send a telegram to
each owner promising that the city will build a new ball park," Shea phoned
Wagner, who did.

By 1961, the NewYork State Senate OK'd $5S million. Meanwhile, the
city spent $250,000 to clean up the Polo Grounds. "Not much has changed
since the Giants,"Young recalled, except, of course, the team.

Growing up in Queens, Gary Cohen inherited Metsomania from his dad, visiting Shea Stadium, christened with Holy Water from Brooklyn's Gowanus
Canal and the Harlem River at the point it passed the Polo Grounds. "Lots of
folks found it cold and barren. This is not a politically correct thing to say, but
to me it seemed very warm."

As a child, Cohen learned to see with his ears. "Lindsey and company,
with those great word-pictures," he said. "[Today] I scream when I can't see
what's happening. The one thing I knew I wanted in radio was not to have
preconceived phrases." Plot decided script.

In 1969, Gary, nine, watched the Mets' otherworldly L.C.S. sweep from
Section 48, Row R, "in left field, five rows from the top." After Game Three,
he "got my little piece of turf from the field." Later Cohen studied political
science at Columbia, worked for athletic teams there and at Penn and Old
Dominion, and called Spartanbug, Durham, and Triple-A Pawtucket.

In 1988, airing a test game at Shea, he froze. Reaching over, Bob Murphy
patted Gary's hand. "He started talking, reassured me. It was my greatest
memory." Next season Cohen made the Mecca of his youth. "One New York
club always leads in popularity," wrote Mike Lupica. "Now it's the Mets." A
decade later, The House that Ruth Built lodged The Team the Apple Loved.

Yankee Stadium boomed, "New York, New York." Queens' din sprang
from nearby LaGuardia Airport. Bobby Bonilla wore earplugs to blot noiseand boos. Cohen survived by height of skill, not sleight of hand. Locally:
Brown football, Providence hockey, and Friars, St. John's, and Seton Hall
basketball. CBS Radio: NCAA hoops, baseball "Game," and Olympics
hockey. After the 1998 Winter Games, a letter tanned his hide.

Gary likened Nagano, Japan, to Newark with mountains. Newark Mayor
Sharpe James soon sent "the only hate mail," he laughed, "I ever got." In 1997,
ESPN Radio bought bigs rights, and Cohen. By then, New York's Nationals
had forged a push-pull polarity. Anthony Young lost a record 27 straight
games. John Franco got his lefty-high 253rd save. Mets 6, Yanks 0, in their
intra-city bow: fair and studied, Gary was, said a writer, the best broadcaster
in the park.

The television job-seeker is told he has the perfect face for radio. By contrast,
TV-handsome Cohen "exists," wrote the Post, "almost exclusively [on radio]
as a voice without a face." Once in a while he was recognized from his yearbook picture. "Otherwise, no," said Gary. "It's what happens when you don't
do TV." In 10 years, the newspaper didn't get a single anti-Cohen letter. "I do
not aspire to TV. If I'm offered $10 million, okay, I'd reconsider. But I love
what I do."

On April I S, 1998, a beam falling in the Bronx made the A.L.ers play at
Shea. "For the first time this century," said Gary, "one park hosted two games
in one day for four different teams": Yanks 6, Anaheim 3; Mets 2, Cubs 1.
Next year, Mike Piazza had 40 homers, the Amazin's won a wild card, and
their infield made the fewest-ever muffs. "That, and how our league doesn't
have the designated hitter, meant a lot of quick games."

New York won the Division Series. Polarity swung its L.C.S. Behind, 3 games to 0, the Mets parried, 3-2. In Game Five, "The Mets trying [in the
15th] to send it to Atlanta! A drive in the air to deep right field! ... That ball
is outta here!" said Cohen. "A game-winning grand-slam home run off the bat
of Robin Ventura! They're mobbing him before he can get to second base! I
don't know if they'll let Ventura circle the bases [they didn't: thus, a grandslam single] but it doesn't matter! The Mets have won ... the ballgame!"

In Game Six, NewYork trailed, 5-0, tied at 7, led, 8-7 and 9-8, and lost,
10-9. "Theater doesn't get better than this mad week of games," wrote the
Journal's Dorothy Rabinowitz. The 2000 season's wasn't bad. Three Series
games were one-run; the losing Mets seemed as warm as a housebroken pup.

Soon they again slumped. In 1962, Casey Stengel had spied the future:
"Can't anybody play this here game?" No one asks if Gary Cohen can call it.

GARY CONBN

"A man and his work," said Earl Weaver. "That's the way it's gotta be." As a
boy, Gary Thorne liked baseball and hockey. The workaholic adult calls each.

By 1976, Thorne graduated from the University of Maine and
Georgetown Law School, paying tuition as a sportscaster/ disc jockey. The sundowner became Bangor district assistant attorney, joined the bar of the
U.S. Supreme Court, and turned from law to love.

"The court's dull compared to broadcasting," Gary said, starting hockey
in 1977 on Augusta radio/TV. By 1984, he had leverage with baseball's
Triple-A Maine Guides: co-owner, Thorne named himself.

"My family thinks I'm out of my mind [leaving law], but here I am," said
the Red Sox and Bruins fan, "calling my two girls." Take two, and hit to right.
He shoots-he scores! Thorne's goal was the bigs, reached in 1985.
Presently the real work began.

Joining Murphy on Mets radio, Gary loved "big games and buzz." His
1987-93 NHL New Jersey Devils oozed anonymity. "Worse were my neutral
games [SportsChannel America]-hockey's sick idea of a network." In 1988,
he launched ESPN's still-running "The Sports Reporters." That winter, a
hockey conflict gave the Mets the boot. Thorne covered the 1989 White Sox
and ABC TV, including the Series as on-field reporter. Timing was the rub.

"Great reviews," he laughed, "just as ABC baseball ends." In 1990, Gary
and Norm Hitzges, the pastime's would-be Dick Vitale, began twice-weekly
coverage. "They threaten the very core of the game," barbed The National's
Norman Chad, "if not the nation at large." I agreed, calling Thorne "banal and
humorless." The last laugh was his.

October 3, 1990. A.L. Boston leads second-place Toronto: one game up,
and left. At Fenway, the Red Sox front, 3-1, ninth inning, on ESPN: like
1986, one strike to go. Two White Sox reach base. Ozzie Guillen then lined
to right, Tom Brunansky vanishing in the corner. "No camera showed
whether he caught the ball," said The NewYork Times, "not even a slow-motion
version of the original view."

Thorne wavered. "Brunansky dives!" he said. "Did he get it?Yes, the Red
Sox win! No, he dropped the ball! He dropped the ball!" amending, "Wait!
He got it! Believe it, New England!" ESPN head Steve Bornstein disbelieved
the play. "Murphy's Law struck. What used to happen to the Red Sox happened to us."

Bearing blame, Gary hiked appeal. He began: 1989 ESPN Big East hoops.
1992: "National Hockey Night." 1994: Mets and The Baseball Network TV.
Jim Leyritz's 1995 playoff poke drowned the Mariners. "It took five hours
and 13 minutes ... but he gets [a] two-run homer in the 15th inning!" Post'97: ABC hockey, CBS hoops and Olympics, ESPN home run derby and "Big
League Challenge," and Major League Baseball International.

In 2000,Thorne called his fourth Series onArmed Forces Radio in England,
Israel, Saudi Arabia, and the Netherlands, among others. On one hand, you "have
to explain the hit-and-run."The other: People say "hello from Bangladesh."

Of Roger Clemens's Mike Piazza-zinging, Gary pronounced, "Unacceptable." Unimaginable: his schedule. "I'm not sure I'd recommend it to others, or
to myself."

If it is Tuesday, says the traveler, this must be Belgium. Thursday: in Denver,
Thorne does ESPN hockey. Friday, Miami: Mets. Saturday, Detroit: NHL,
ESPN2. Sunday: God rests; Metsies don't. Gary, with John Davidson, did
three of NBC's four Olympic hockey games February 20, 2002.

"He has been filled with bionic devices affording his body more powers
than an average human," wrote Ron Digby. The unfilled '02 Mets placed last.
Only the Amazin's would blame one of their scant assets. Said Gary, laughing:
"The firing just gives me more time with (daughter] Kelly."

Lindsey Nelson was asked about his fast-forward life. "I'm glad I lived it.
I'd just hate to live it again."Voyeurs ofThorne's "two girls" keep hoping that
the Downeaster does.

WY THORN!

SEAN MCDONOUGH

Milo Hamilton followed Bob Prince. Better root canal. Someone will air the
post-Kalas Phillies. Send a sympathy card. The Bible deems it easier for a
camel to fit through a needle than to enter the Kingdom of Heaven. In baseball, it is easier than to replace a beloved announcer.

Ken Coleman did the 1966-74 and 1979-89 Red Sox. Ned Martin
etched the 1961-92 Olde Towne Team. Both fought in World War II. Each
was bright, diffident, had a novel voice, and recoiled at splitting verbs.

"Following them was like topping Paul Revere," said Sean McDonough.
One if by Ned. Two if by Ken.

McDonough's ride began among liniment, jocks, and sun. Each spring, dad
Will, a Boston Globe reporter, took his 1960s family to Florida. "I'd be out of
school a month," Sean said. "Teachers gave my mother lesson plans." Martin
and Coleman taught him to keep score.

Muting TV audio, McDonough practiced at age five on a tape recorder.
In 1985, the Syracuse University graduate began recording the Triple-A
Chiefs. Soon the part-time official scorer gave an E to Marty Castillo,
dumped recently by Seattle.

"I'll hit ten out there and see how many you stop!" steamed Marty.

"I'm not a Triple-A third baseman and you are," snapped McDonough.
"You should have stopped it."