of which involve running up the Rocky steps or braving the lines at Pat's or Geno's - although, I've accidentally (drunkenly) done the latter in the past year. Twice.This is the ultimate honor in a game that I have loved since I was 10 years old thanks to Mickey Vernon. It’s very special to be inducted with the most acrobatic shortstop I ever saw play this beautiful game, Ozzie Smith, and the legendary Joe Falls from the Motor City. I now join my two partners with whom I worked when I first came to Philadelphia in 1971, By Saam and Richie Ashburn.
People ask me what it was like working with Richie. His Whiteness and I were together for 27 years, and it was such a joy. He not only brought to the booth baseball expertise, but also laughter. Whitey had a marvelous sense of humor. I remember doing games with him, and it would be getting late in the game, late in the evening, and Whitey would say on the air, “I wonder if the people at Celebre's Pizza are listening tonight?” Well, within 15 minutes, bang, pizzas are delivered to the radio booth.
This went on for a little while, and pretty soon Phillies management called him in, and they said, “Richie, Celebre's Pizza is not one of our sponsors. We can’t be giving them free plugs.” Now, we do do birthday and anniversary announcements on the air. So shortly after his meeting with the Philadelphia brass, it’s getting late again in the evening, and he’s getting hungry, he said. “Well, I have very special birthday wishes to send out tonight to the Celebre's twins, plain and pepperoni.”
I want to thank the Phillies for their undying support for the last 32 years. Especially to Bill Giles, who brought me to Philadelphia in 1971, the best professional move I ever made. To the players, coaches and managers over the years, one of the many beauties of this game is no matter how long you’ve been in it, you learn more about it every year, every day. Every year I see things on the field that I’ve never seen before. A feel for the game was learned from so many men in uniform I could not possibly name them all. But you know who you are, and I love you.
To the members of the media who have been so supportive over the years — my colleagues, the beat writers and columnists, the radio/TV productions staff and crews across the USA. To the scouts and general managers over the years who have shared their baseball knowledge and experience in hundreds of press rooms across America.
The love of my life, my wife, Eileen. My sons Todd, Brad and Kane. My stepdaughter, Kiki, my stepson, Travis, my stepgrandson, Cole. My brother, Jim, and his wife, Mary, and my nieces and nephews. Families sacrifice when their man is a baseball man. For seven months a year, we spend more time with our team than we do with our families. I thank you for being so understanding and supportive.
We come here to Cooperstown to laud our baseball heroes each year. But all of us laud America’s heroes from all walks of life whose selflessness is on display daily. Those that lay their lives on the line for our safety, you are in our hearts. There are some loved ones in heaven looking down on us today. Mom, Dad, Celia, Byrum, Whitey, Ray Shore, Art Perkins, Mike Capredo, I thank you. And to the most passionate sports fans in America, the Philadelphia fans. I have written a brief poem to you beautiful fans.
This is to the Philadelphia fan.
To laud your passion as best I can.
Your loyalty is unsurpassed.Be the Fightins in first or last.
We come to the park each day,looking forward to another fray.
Because we know you’ll be there,we know you really care.
You give the opposing pitcher fitsbecause as one loyalist shouts, everybody hits.
To be sure in Philly, there might be some boos.Because you passionate fans, like the manager, hate to lose.
Your reaction to the action on the field that you impart,spurs as broadcasters to call the game with enthusiasm and heart.
We feel your passion through and through.
Philadelphia fans, I love you.
And thank you all for sharing in a day that I will never forget. I love you. Thank you.What a class act. Even though Harry Kalas passed away three years ago today, it's the retold stories, like that one about the pizza twins or where you heard that final out of the World Series called, that will keep this city thinking about him until the end. Thanks for all of the memories, HK.
Baseball's back! In an exhibition game yesterday, the Phillies beat the Florida State Seminoles 6-1. The game was tied until the seventh inning which started with back-to-back hits by Pete Orr and Eric Kratz. Other highlights of the game included the first hit of the season for the Phillies by some dude named Tuffy Gosewisch, Hector Luna's two-run blast, and eight scoreless innings pitched by young arms hoping for AAA date cards. From the regular guys, Hunter Pence chimed in with a double in the fourth inning and Domonic Brown hit Big Truck's big truck during batting practice earlier in the day.
Strangely enough, I first heard about the "Take Back the Park" campaign last week while at a bioethics talk titled, "Toward a 'Science' of Torture?". While the talk was about interrogation methods designed by the C.I.A. and not the psychology behind being a Nationals fan, I couldn't help but think about the Nationals every time the term "learned helplessness" was thrown around - you know, the psychological state where people feel powerless to change their situation. It didn't help that the nerdy-looking academic leading the discussion on "torture" was wearing a Phillies cap with his suit and walked in chanting "Let's go Phillies" to himself before telling the entire room about "Take Back the Park". In fact, one of the last things he said before the talk began, probably to make the room aware of his qualifications, was something along the lines of, "Well, guess what, Nationals? I am both a lifelong Phillies fan and live in DC! I'll just buy all the tickets!"
Philadelphians love drinking beer. Heck! They love drinking period. They even have self-declared holidays centered around the sport like Philly Beer Week, and Philly Beer Year, which lasts for an entire year after the Phillies win or don't win the World Series.
Opening day cannot come soon enough. With more cold on the way and the most depressing day of the year still to come (January 24th or Blue Monday which is a "scientific fact" according to the internet and New Order), I've begun counting down the days, hours, and seconds until the Phils take on the Astros at 1:05 PM on April 1st.
Rico mysteriously disappeared from baseball two years after what was a pretty good year with the Phils and inexplicably ended up at my high school coaching football. I really want to make a Gerardo joke here, probably because "Rico Suave" would play in my head whenever Brogna and I crossed paths. I imagine that this happens to every girl that crosses paths with a dude lucky enough to be a Rico after 1990. Ah, "the price you pay for being a gigolo", but I digress.
