Kalas is not as good an announcer as he was 15 years ago, when the man never missed a home-run call. Now he misses a few things and forgets others. It happens when you hit 70 and the ball is a lot harder to pick up than it used to be, when a player’s first name sticks in your throat and it comes out wrong. But those are fly specks during nine long innings. The Marlboro and Tanqueray-tuned pipes remain resonant as Yo-Yo Ma’s cello.

It is utterly chilling to think that there might be a time without the dude. Can somebody please work on archiving a Harry Kalas wordbank so that when he goes, we can have Robot Kalas?
DN: Let My Harry (Not) Go
Related: Sunday In The Park With Harry [WHYY]

This entry was posted on Thursday, February 23rd, 2006 at 1:45 pm.