My Oh My
Swung on and BELTED, DEEP TO CENTER FIELD!
I tip my hat to the agony and ecstasy of sports. Who would know that a simple game could create such extreme highs and even lower lows. Every one is, in some way, moved by sports. Since I was very young, I've been like a buoy out at sea, tossed around in the waves of the wins and losses, the hopes and failures, the upsets and shortcomings, the joys and furies of sports.
It's why in my earlier years I would cry after losing a game and rejoice over a victory, replaying the goals, assists, hits, catches, and strikeouts in my mind for hours upon hours, days upon days, until the next game. It's why all I can remember about 1995 are two things: a big wind storm and the magical Mariners season. It's why in 2001 I spent an entire evening going around town trying to find a transistor radio so that I could listen to the M's first playoff game on the bus ride to our cross country race. It's why after the Zags lost to UCLA in the tournament in 2006, I walked out of my apartment and into the cold, wandering around campus and legitimately wondering if I was suffering from depression. It's why despite everything that was going on at home, leaving my best friends and family behind and moving away to Hawaii, and the tumultuous start to my teaching career, one of the main reasons I think 2008 was one of the toughest of my life was because the Sonics left for Oklahoma and the Mariners lost 100 games.
And it's why, yesterday, when I got the text from my dad, I stopped in the middle of a crowded Costco and just stared at the ground in disbelief.
GET OUT THE RYE BREAD AND MUSTARD, GRANDMA. IT'S GRAND SALAME TIME!
Every sports season, the highs are there, the ecstasy of hope and optimism is heavy, and then it usually fades. But there's always next year. That's a constant. The only other constant, since the beginning of my existence as a fan, has been the "smoky and smooth" voice that has narrated all of the highs and lows. So what happens when that's gone?
Almost anyone my age who grew up in or around Washington would agree that if there was one sound that could represent their childhood, it was the voice of Dave Niehaus.
The throw will be...LATE! The Mariners are going to play for the American League Championship. I DON'T BELIEVE IT!
His call of Edgar's double in 1995 to beat the Yankees still gives me chills. We had muted the TV and turned on the radio because the NBC broadcasters clearly wanted the Yankees to win. As Griffey flew around third and scored, we ran around the house in pure elation, pouring orange soda into champagne glasses. It was the highest of highs, and Niehaus's voice was our victory soundtrack. I remember so often listening to his calls on long car rides home from school. On warm summer evenings while camping, we would turn on the radio in the camper van and try to get a faint signal of the game, his voice providing a brief taste of the civilization we were taking a break from. His voice did more than just paint a constant beautiful picture the highs and lows of the Mariner season. It was the Mariners. It was baseball. It was summer. And it was the agony and ecstasy of sports.
Last spring, I splurged on the MLB.com package so I could watch the Mariner games from out here in Hawaii on my computer. In our opener against Oakland, the game was blocked and I was pissed. All I could do was listen to the audio. But as soon as it came on and I heard Niehaus's voice, everything changed. I wasn't in my scorching classroom, flooded by ungraded papers and pending IEP deadlines. I was 12, sitting in a car with Nick and Blaine, my baseball glove on my left hand, and we were heading to the Kingdome.
Any Seattle sports fan will tell you that there have been many losses. But I think this will be the toughest. The Mariners have won 116 games and lost 100. They've climbed from the bottom to the top and fell from the top to the bottom. They've made us smile and made us curse. And through it all, Niehaus has been there. It's going to be difficult next season because, unlike the hopes that come with every new year, there will be no Dave Niehaus.
So where do we go from here? What we do have are the memories he gave us, the highs and lows as told through his riveting voice. I know that the agony and ecstasy of sports will live on, but it will never be the same for me.
And it will FLY, FLY AWAY!
I guess I just hope that when I get to heaven, it will be summertime, and I'll walk past the Tuba Man with my glove in hand as he plays a pregame song. And when I enter the stadium, the Mariners will take the field with a winning record, looking set for a deep playoff run. And then I'll hear Niehaus's voice, excited as ever, booming once again.
You will be missed.
I tip my hat to the agony and ecstasy of sports. Who would know that a simple game could create such extreme highs and even lower lows. Every one is, in some way, moved by sports. Since I was very young, I've been like a buoy out at sea, tossed around in the waves of the wins and losses, the hopes and failures, the upsets and shortcomings, the joys and furies of sports.
It's why in my earlier years I would cry after losing a game and rejoice over a victory, replaying the goals, assists, hits, catches, and strikeouts in my mind for hours upon hours, days upon days, until the next game. It's why all I can remember about 1995 are two things: a big wind storm and the magical Mariners season. It's why in 2001 I spent an entire evening going around town trying to find a transistor radio so that I could listen to the M's first playoff game on the bus ride to our cross country race. It's why after the Zags lost to UCLA in the tournament in 2006, I walked out of my apartment and into the cold, wandering around campus and legitimately wondering if I was suffering from depression. It's why despite everything that was going on at home, leaving my best friends and family behind and moving away to Hawaii, and the tumultuous start to my teaching career, one of the main reasons I think 2008 was one of the toughest of my life was because the Sonics left for Oklahoma and the Mariners lost 100 games.
And it's why, yesterday, when I got the text from my dad, I stopped in the middle of a crowded Costco and just stared at the ground in disbelief.
GET OUT THE RYE BREAD AND MUSTARD, GRANDMA. IT'S GRAND SALAME TIME!
Every sports season, the highs are there, the ecstasy of hope and optimism is heavy, and then it usually fades. But there's always next year. That's a constant. The only other constant, since the beginning of my existence as a fan, has been the "smoky and smooth" voice that has narrated all of the highs and lows. So what happens when that's gone?
Almost anyone my age who grew up in or around Washington would agree that if there was one sound that could represent their childhood, it was the voice of Dave Niehaus.
The throw will be...LATE! The Mariners are going to play for the American League Championship. I DON'T BELIEVE IT!
His call of Edgar's double in 1995 to beat the Yankees still gives me chills. We had muted the TV and turned on the radio because the NBC broadcasters clearly wanted the Yankees to win. As Griffey flew around third and scored, we ran around the house in pure elation, pouring orange soda into champagne glasses. It was the highest of highs, and Niehaus's voice was our victory soundtrack. I remember so often listening to his calls on long car rides home from school. On warm summer evenings while camping, we would turn on the radio in the camper van and try to get a faint signal of the game, his voice providing a brief taste of the civilization we were taking a break from. His voice did more than just paint a constant beautiful picture the highs and lows of the Mariner season. It was the Mariners. It was baseball. It was summer. And it was the agony and ecstasy of sports.
Last spring, I splurged on the MLB.com package so I could watch the Mariner games from out here in Hawaii on my computer. In our opener against Oakland, the game was blocked and I was pissed. All I could do was listen to the audio. But as soon as it came on and I heard Niehaus's voice, everything changed. I wasn't in my scorching classroom, flooded by ungraded papers and pending IEP deadlines. I was 12, sitting in a car with Nick and Blaine, my baseball glove on my left hand, and we were heading to the Kingdome.
Any Seattle sports fan will tell you that there have been many losses. But I think this will be the toughest. The Mariners have won 116 games and lost 100. They've climbed from the bottom to the top and fell from the top to the bottom. They've made us smile and made us curse. And through it all, Niehaus has been there. It's going to be difficult next season because, unlike the hopes that come with every new year, there will be no Dave Niehaus.
So where do we go from here? What we do have are the memories he gave us, the highs and lows as told through his riveting voice. I know that the agony and ecstasy of sports will live on, but it will never be the same for me.
And it will FLY, FLY AWAY!
I guess I just hope that when I get to heaven, it will be summertime, and I'll walk past the Tuba Man with my glove in hand as he plays a pregame song. And when I enter the stadium, the Mariners will take the field with a winning record, looking set for a deep playoff run. And then I'll hear Niehaus's voice, excited as ever, booming once again.
MY OH MY!
You will be missed.
posted by Daniel T at 9:11 PM
1 Comments:
<3 perfectly said <3
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