Tuesday, August 05, 2008

In Memoriam

A cruel wind blows in through left at Turner Field. On Saturday and Sunday afternoon the wind sounded of injury; a bullpen decimated, a starting rotation destroyed and a slugger’s spot left sadly, but yet again, vacant due to another hamstring pull. The Braves were 10 out and the season all but over. But suddenly on Sunday night, and without warning, all that was gone, as that sinister wind unleashed a far darker howl. Skip Caray, the voice of the Braves since 1976, was dead at 68.

I was away from fellow baseball fans when I received the news, it sent me reeling and no one seemed to understand. I have never met Skip Caray so people seemed to wonder why I cared so much. Well, simply put, I felt his loss like that of a friend because in the end that’s what he was. Night after night, for 27 years, through good times and bad, he was always there.

My father is not a baseball fan, we rarely played catch and he never taught me to keep score but he did tune in to TBS on summer nights and there was Skip, just waiting. Whether he was poking fun at notoriously slow-working pitcher Steve Trachsel stating “Trachsel will, because of the rules, inevitably have to throw one” or the infamously bad Dale Murphy 80s saying “The bases are loaded again and I wish I was” he was always there, in between wise cracks with Pete “the professor” Van Wieren in tow, teaching me the game.

And then came the 90s. I remember that cool Wednesday night on the 14th of October like it was yesterday. It was game seven of the NLCS and the Pittsburgh Pirates took a two-run lead into the bottom of the ninth. Doug Drabek was on the mound pitching a masterpiece but would face the heart of the Atlanta order. The Braves fought back to make it 2-1 with 2 out and the bases loaded. David Justice was 90 feet away with Sid Bream in scoring position and Damon Berryhill on first and Francisco Cabrera, the last position player on the Atlanta bench, strode the plate. “Francisco Cabrera? Who is he???” my mom yelled as my entire family huddled around our living room television. “We’re screwed.” my dad replied. We all dug in our heels. I was so nervous I was shaking. Skip had the call:

A lotta room in right-center, if he hits one there we can dance in the streets. The 2-1. Swung, line drive left field! One run is in! Here comes Bream! Here's the throw to the plate! He is...SAFE! Braves win! Braves win! Braves win! Braves win!...Braves win! They may have to hospitalize Sid Bream; he's down at the bottom of a huge pile at the plate. They help him to his feet. Frank Cabrera got the game winner! The Atlanta Braves are National League champions again! This crowd is going berserk.

He was accused of being a “homer” by critics who never seemed to get that being a fan of the team you love is not a sin, it is a badge of honor that Skip wore with pride and rightly so. Skip was not Hollywood or New York. He was, in the truest sense, a fan; he loved the Braves and he made listeners love them too, the hallmark of a hometown voice and a man who truly loved his team. Passion, Skip would remind us, is a quality best lauded, not concealed.

He was, like his father before him, a unique voice in a gulf of bland objectivity.

And yet slowly and quietly, Skip was shown the door by a network that no longer cared. He hated reading “fluff” commercials and carried a special dislike for the “Aflac Duck” when it announced trivia questions. Coupled with his so-called “homerism” Skip and Pete were removed from TBS in 2003. But the fans, the real fans that Skip won throughout his life were by his side, boycotting TBS broadcasts and turning to radio so we could hear that high nasal voice that marked the time and always made us laugh. He was not Howard Cosell, Joe Buck, or Al Michaels, but for Braves fans he was ours, and in the end that’s probably all he ever wanted to be.

Skip was raw, Skip was dry, Skip was sarcastic, and Skip was cynical but, Skip, through it all, was always honest and always there. He was our eyes and our ears, he was the keeper of the moment, he was the unabashed fan, and with humor and grace he taught us the purity of the greatest game there is.

Godspeed Skip, and thank you for teaching me how to be a fan.

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