I was going to write a piece about words today; guess I’ll have to do that next week. Today it’s more about a wordsmith, and a great sense of loss.
It’s hard to put into words the significance of losing a public figure whose work or life has touched yours – an individual who became something of a fixture in your life.
That’s who Skip Caray was to me. He was a legend and an institution, and legetutions aren’t supposed to die. But people do.
I never met the legendary broadcaster for the Atlanta Braves. But he met me – again and again, first through radio, then through a cable channel humbly self-named The Superstation. Skip became a companion who, like so many other broadcasters in the 20th century, made the national pastime interesting, fun, and so incredibly human.
Every great one has his touch. For Skip, it was a rare combination of aptitude and attitude. He was brilliant at his craft, and, as the son of a legend, was determined to go about his business his own way. That said, he never hid his complete love and admiration for Harry Caray or his pride in son Skip, who became a third-generation broadcaster, and excellent in his own right.
Skip began his Braves work at a time when the Atlanta team was the laughingstock of baseball. He got us to laugh along. One night, late in the game in a runaway loss, he said,
“Folks, if you’ll promise to visit our sponsors, this would probably be a good time to walk the dog.”
Bitingly sarcastic at times, warm and fun at others, delightfully opinionated always, I appreciated the respect Skip showed to excellent opposing players. He also knew his venue; on TV, he’d let the camera serve as the silent commentator on the action, but on radio he’d deliver exquisite detail:
“The lefthander winds and deliverrrssss….”
One of the most fun things he would do is deadpan the fan action in the seats. He hated the wave, but would always sarcastically say something like, “And the fans have started another exciting round of the wave.” And when somebody caught a foul ball, he’d say without breaking rhythm something like, “And a fan from [insert city name] catches the souvenir.” If the game was in Atlanta, the city was always somewhere on the Braves radio network. But I’ve heard him do it in places like Dodger Stadium or Chicago. It was a running joke. But people would actually call in his talk show and with all sincerity ask, “Skip, how do you know where all those people are from?”
“I just know,” he’d intone.
One night the Braves were in a tight situation, in the field, runners on first and second. “This would be a great time for a 6-4-3 double play,” Skip said. As if on cue, the batter grounded to the shortstop. And without changing pace or pitch, Skip said,
“Six.”
“Four.”
“Three.”
Skip was there to call one of the most dramatic turnarounds in professional sports history, and again, he did it with the flow and “well, of course” simplicity of a prophet. The Braves, as usual, had finished last in 1990. It wasn’t even the end if the 1991 season, but around three-fourths of the way into it. During one particular game, they staged a massive comeback – something like 8 runs or so – that launched them into first place. And when the final out was recorded, Skip simply said, “From worst, to first.” That’s where the Braves would remain throughout the 90s.
The two calls for which Skip will forever be remembered took place in the fever of the playoffs in 1992 and the World Series in 1995.
Here’s the scene – two on, two out, bottom of the ninth, Braves down by a run, Game 7 of the NL championship, and the last bench player available up to bat – a third-string catcher. I’ll let Skip take it from there.
Then after so many close calls, Game 6 of the 1995 World Series (click here).
Sometimes there are those people in life whose primary role is to let you know there is something to laugh at, first in yourself, then in the world.
Or those who are able to remind us after San Francisco earthquakes or twin tower collapses that the umpire’s first word is, “Play.” It’s still a game, folks, and it’s supposed to be fun.
Or those who would just remind us again that the world was still turning, and that tomorrow was another day – for baseball lovers, hopefully another game.
Skip Caray was all of that and more. He knew his place. He left religion to the preachers and government (except for rants against the Georgia DOT) to the politicians. But when the likes of Maddux, Smoltz, or Glavine took the mound, Skip took you to the ballpark. And you just knew he loved what he was doing, and the people he did it with.
If I can approach my work, my craft, my discipline with that combination of aptitude and attitude – if you can – maybe we, too, can touch lives like that. Even when we’re not behind a microphone.
When it was Skip’s turn to end a broadcast or telecast, he’d wrap up a summary of the day’s action. And then, on behalf of Pete Van Wieren or whoever else his partner might have been, he’d always say, “So long, everybody.”
I sure wish I could hear him say that just one more time.
So long indeed, Skip. So, so long.
{ 5 comments… read them below or add one }
Wow! What a beautiful and fitting tribute, Andy! Since my 7-year old grandson is up his neck in machine-pitch, I, too, am becoming more fond of baseball. It is a great game! And, people like Skip make it that way. I’m forwarding this link to all my baseball-loving friends.
I, of course loved to hear Skip and Pete call the games both on radio and the Superstation, America’s Team. The dry wit of those two guys kept the Braves both down and up year’s interesting to pull the fans through the bad years and enlightened the good years.
Your Grandfather and Grandmother were constant Brave fans and he scored every game whether it was on the radio or on the Superstation. After he developed trembling hands, your Grandmother would write in the names from both teams, then he’d do the scoring. I used to keep him supplied with scoresheets that I’d drawn up especially for him. Incidentally, I still have some of those blank sheets. Your Grandfather was one of the Old School, Diehard, true baseball fans. He loved the game and they both loved the Braves’ broadcast crew.
We would love to hear Skip say, “Braves Win! Braves Win!”
This man is one that will always stand out to me as a Super Broadcaster, for America’s Team on the Superstation.
Good article!
Great article Daddy…some of my favorite memories with you involve background noise of Skip Carey’s voice. As I watched that clip of the ’95 World Series win, I was flooded with the same feelings that I felt when we watched it for the first time…I just love the Braves. And I will forever think that Skip Carey is one of the greatest American broadcasters of all time.
Our family memories are surrounded by the Braves and Skip Carey. It will not be the same in the years to come not hearing his voice whether it be in the car as we are all listening to the game as we are traveling, or when at the ballpark on special occassions. We will indeed miss this great legend. He helped our family make some great memories.
As mom said to me on the phone this week, “We’ve heard Skip’s voice more than some of our own family memories”. A fitting tribute for an extended family member.
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