The voice of the Phillies passed away today at 1:20 in the afternoon, preparing for a 3:00 game at Nationals Park in Washington, D.C. When I first heard the news that he had collapsed in the broadcast booth and was rushed to a local hospital, I was flustered. Expecting the worst, I wasn't any more surprised later when word of his death became official. I was surprised, however, with how I handled the news. Normally when someone dies who you don't have a close personal relationship with, your heart goes out to their family and loved ones, but you get over it relatively quickly. In the back of my head, I knew about Harry's age and heart issues, so one would think that it wouldn't be particularly unsettling when he passed on, as it is when someone like Nick Adenhart does (because of his youth and the cirumstances of his death). But this was different, because as I thought about it, I realized what a huge role he played in the lives of my friends and I, and all baseball fans in the City of Brotherly Love.
Baseball is by far the best sport to hear called by a broadcasting team. Whether you're on the front porch or stoop on a hot summer day, sipping a cold beverage with a friend or at a tailgate with the car speakers on, listening to a baseball game is as good as it gets. Having someone like Harry, who did play-by-play for both TV and radio over the years, makes a good thing even better.
His voice was so unique, his passion for the job so evident, his love for the game (this statement applied to Harry before it became cliche) and the fans of our fine city, simply overwhelming. It's because of these things Harry was one of us. He always made us feel at home, no matter where we were geographically. That unmistakable tone of his vocal chords emanated from many a summertime commonplace. I could run down my list of close friends who are sports fans and think of several times with each individual that Harry's voice was the backdrop for whatever we were doing. We could be intently following the game, or sharing a conversation with my tropicana radio on behind us, but we would always hear Harry's distinct sound reminding us it was baseball season. Numerous contests between friends over who could do the best Harry impression would arise. "Waaatch this baaby....ouuuuuutta heeere!!!" It was all in fun. That's what sports are supposed to be right? Harry was such a professional at his job, but never lost his laid-back tone, a constant reminder that what we were watching and listening to was the epitome of a fun time. Today was a heavy-hearted day for this city. Hearing countless radio and TV sports personalities get really choked up was difficult to listen to. At the same time though, it verified the good things you always heard about Harry. There are so many surly people involved in the professional sports industry today, and from the response that the 73-year-old's death received, you knew he was not one of them. He was a hit with everyone, and genuinely cared about the team and the city. The last game he ever covered was a win, and today as the players mourned, they honored him with another victory. Both these pale in comparison to the final game of the 2008 season though, the last full year that Harry had as the voice of the team, and the most fitting one of all.
Harry Kalas was the voice we grew up listening to, and he was the voice that ultimately delivered the most memorable sports call of our lifetime. His legacy is representative of what sports means to us as a city. It's not just a game. It brings people together, we share the thrill of victory and the agony of defeat. Harry shared with us, and it's only fitting that he is outta here on top.
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