CUBS RADIO.
Keeping it real
Here’s why the Cubs’ radio broadcasts work so well: Ron Santo, aside from the two fake legs, is absolutely real.
The “Oh, man . . . ” after the bungled play isn’t some manufactured “Holy Toledo!” catchphrase. It’s his heart talking — it’s fans’ hearts talking–and it comes out “Oh, man . . . “
Or, once and famously, “Oh, no-o-o-o . . . “
And Pat Hughes is smart enough to leave it alone.
Do not underestimate Pat Hughes. Does he sound like a man in love with the sound of his own voice? Absolutely. It’s a good voice. He’s entitled.
But the elegance of the Dean Martin baritone — unflappable, always under control — works perfectly off Santo’s gravelly malaprops. Could Hughes belittle Santo? Sure. Does he? Sometimes — but when he does (“Ron, have you made your guess on today’s attendance?” is, given Santo’s inevitable second-place status in that silly but earnest contest, perilously close to baiting.), it’s with protective-brother affection.
If Hughes is Martin, Santo is Jerry Lewis–except Lewis played the clown, and Santo played the game. You can smile when he installs Eddie Yost as manager of the Brewers (there was an Eddie, a solid near-star for the Senators; the manager is Ned), but there is warmth in the smile because so many of us remember and respect the man as a terrific, competitive, very emotional baseball player.
The same guy is in the booth.
And Hughes — who, unlike his partner (and unlike his TV counterpart) never, ever describes the Cubs as “we” — shows that respect despite a store of baseball knowledge that, when it emerges on the air (seemingly with reluctance), astounds even Santo.
Chicago is fortunate to have Hughes and Santo. Just as much, and for however long this partnership lasts, Hughes and Santo are lucky to have each other.
— Alan Solomon
CUBS TV
Silence is golden
Do we really have to know when it’s 8 o’clock? Is the Chipper so desperate to fill dead air with anything — anything — that even a time check will do?
And Chip, is it really a great at-bat anytime a hitter fouls off three pitches — two of which were lollipops he should have sent screaming down Kenmore Avenue?
Is every looper into center a rocket? Does Sammy always get a great jump?
Steve, you might throw that breaking ball off the outside corner to Luis Pujols on 3 and 2, but Mark Prior made him look helpless with a fastball at the knees. . . .
I like Chip Caray — not as much as my late mother liked him, but he seems like a decent sort. I know Steve Stone. Good man. Smart man. Honorable man, which is why, unless there’s a slip, you never hear him second-guess.
But they don’t stop talking.
Guys, you don’t have to bury us with every known stat you’re handed, most of which lie anyway. (If Moises Alou was 0 for 5 against X pitcher in April 2002 — a month when he couldn’t have hit me — does that really mean he’s doomed against the same guy during a stretch of August 2003 when Cy Young would’ve pitched around him?)
Chip, you don’t have to analyze. You don’t know when hitters should be “patient” and when hitters should jump on a certain pitcher early in the count in a certain situation.
Steve, you don’t have to think out loud with whomever is calling a pitch before every pitch, because an awful lot of the time — and I don’t care if you’re Larry Rothschild — you’re going to be wrong. You don’t have to remind us the pitcher, looking to bunt, might pull the bat back and try to chop one instead — because 98 percent of the time it makes you sound like the secretary of homeland security announcing yet another new color.
Chip, set it up and tell us what happened, and take it easy on the hype. Steve, tell us why Karros stayed in the game against the right-hander and why Miller might not. Once in a while, someone give us an out-of-town score and say hello to a great Cub fan in East Dubuque. That’s OK.
But sometimes, silence can be your friend. It saves you from forcing yourselves to fill time with nonsense. It lets us hear the buzz of the crowd or the call of a vendor and wish we were there.
And Chip: We really, really don’t care about the time.
This is baseball. Baseball is timeless.
— Alan Solomon
SOX RADIO
Refreshingly bland
In an age when ESPN’s influence makes sports broadcasters think they’re bigger than the game, John Rooney and Ed Farmer are refreshingly bland.
I don’t mean that in a negative way (though a little more excitement every once in a while wouldn’t hurt, guys): The two have a basic, easygoing, “give-it-to-you-straight” delivery. There are no fancy home run calls (see Hawk Harrelson); Rooney’s “That ball is gone” gets the point across just fine. And when Farmer, the pride of St. Rita High School, gives you baseball slang — such as, “He needs to go up the ladder on this next pitch” — he explains it (that, by the way, is a fastball up and out of the zone).
Unlike their North Side radio counterparts, you’ll get no cheerleading from Rooney and Farmer. Until you actually hear the score of the game, you can’t tell if the Sox are 12 runs up or 12 runs down, if they’re being no-hit or if they’ve just clinched the pennant. The only thing that tends to get them excited is a very bad call by an umpire (remember when Joe Crede had an obvious homer ruled foul in Baltimore in April) or a game-winning homer (Frank Thomas’ 12th-inning bomb against Minnesota on July 2 leaps to mind). I would hope they get even more excited as the pennant race goes down to the wire.
Perhaps the most interesting part of a Rooney-Farmer broadcast, if you pay close attention, is the fact that both are polished play-by-play men, affording them the opportunity to switch duties during a game. It’s not uncommon to hear one or the other go on and on for an inning or two (bathroom breaks?). It doesn’t take anything away from the broadcasts. Rooney and Farmer, in their 12 season as a broadcast team, have become so accustomed to each other, they finish each other’s sentences.
Sometimes, the two play off each other like an old-fashioned comedy team. When Farmer gets irritated with one of the many programmed cheers blaring through the Sox public-address system, Rooney tends to follow his lead. For instance, Farmer might say, “I haven’t heard `R-O-W-D-I-E’ in a while,” and Rooney will say, “You know, that’s the way they spell `Rowdy’ to which Farmer will finish, “that’s not how I spell `Rowdy.'” It’s corny but subtly funny.
They, too, can be critical of the Sox. When Paul Konerko recently flied out on a 3-0 pitch, Farmer said, “That was a 3-0 pitch — and you know how I feel about that.” “Yes, I do,” Rooney responded. “I don’t like it either.”
I couldn’t have said it better myself.
— Terry Armour
SOX TV
In praise of ‘Hawk’
I freely and proudly admit it: I’m addicted to Ken “Hawk” Harrelson. Have been for years. And judging from all the “Hawk” impersonations I hear around Sox Park (I still can’t call it U.S. Cellular Field) during games, I’m hardly alone. Sure, at times, he comes across as hokey (TV partner Darrin Jackson, whom Hawk has dubbed “Feisty,” occasionally shakes his head at Harrelson’s Southern-fried shtick), but I love it just the same.
Speaking of “Feisty,” coming up with nicknames is Hawk’s broadcasting forte — Frank Thomas’ “The Big Hurt,” Carlos Lee’s “El Caballo” — along with his down-home sayings, some of them cliched baseball lingo (such as “can o’corn” for an easy fly ball or “ducks on the pond” for runners in scoring position).
Of course, there are the “Hawkisms,” sayings unique to Harrelson. Hawk launches into them before the first pitch is thrown, urging fans to “Sit back, relax and strap it down” (translated: get comfortable and watch the game). Before long fans are treated to one of my personal favorites, “bow his neck” (that’s when a batter, likely down in the count with runners in scoring position, needs to concentrate on the next pitch).
As a longtime Hawk observer, it appears to me that “bow his neck” has replaced an old favorite, “cinch it up and hunker down,” which, I believe, is self-explanatory. “He’s Gone” — which for some reason was shortened to “He Gone” sometime during this season — has replaced another favorite, “Grab Some Bench,” as Hawk’s strikeout call.
Hawk’s money shot, if you will, is his home run mantra of “You can put it on the board, eeee-Yes!,” which lately has been preceded by an excited “C’mon, stretch-stretch!” If you happen to wander past a Little League or pickup game on the South Side, listen for the kids mimicking Hawk’s homer call. (And not that this is any stamp of approval but ESPN frequently steals Hawkisms — particularly “You can put it on the board . . . ” — for its baseball highlights or keeps Hawk’s voice for Sox clips).
As for the broadcasts themselves, Hawk, who has been at this for the Sox for 14 years, and former partner “Wimpy” (a.k.a Tom Paciorek), or Hawk and the late Don Drysdale were better teams.
But I must admit Jackson (with what sounds to me like a clinched-teeth delivery) has come into his own in this, his fourth season, after a rocky start (which included a well-publicized on-air rift between the two during a game). Not only do the two know their baseball, they’re not afraid to question a move or criticize a player. More important, they’re also not afraid to shut up and let the action speak for itself.
I can only think of two complaints about the broadcasts.
First of all, it’s time to get rid of the “Picks to click” because it’s lost its meaning. And I don’t recall Hawk not having a story about any topic that D.J. throws his way (does he really remember the count during an unimportant September contest in 1966 when Catfish Hunter fooled him with a curveball, which landed Hawk on his “fanny,” or a joke Jackie Robinson told during a game of golf in 1964?).
Then again, that’s just another thing that makes him uniquely Hawk.
Let’s face it, Sox fans, wouldn’t we rather see him in the booth than in the front office? That’s a whole ‘nother story right there, Feisty.
— Terry Armour
Cubs/Sox Announcers Hall of Fame/Shame
(not including current broadcasters, who are appraised in stories at left)
BEST
1. Harry Caray (Sox/Cubs)
2. Tom Paciorek (Sox)
3. Jack Brickhouse (Cubs/Sox)
4. Lou Boudreau (Cubs)
5. Bob Elson (Sox)
WORST
1. Joe Carter (Cubs)
2. Jimmy Piersall (Sox)
3. Thom Brennaman (Cubs)
4. Milo Hamilton (Cubs)
5. Jack Drees (Sox)
VERBATIM
Santo: Hair today . . .
Three strikes and you’re out? With Ron Santo, it’s three hairpieces and he’s on a roll in these slightly edited exchanges during WGN-AM 720 broadcasts with Cubs play-by-play announcer Pat Hughes.
On Atlanta Braves player Rob Fick’s bald head, after Fick fields a ball at first base for a putout:
Ron: Not to change the subject, but Fick is from Southern California. I told you about his bald head? How white it is? A lot of Southern California people wear their heads that way.
Pat: Did it remind you of anything?
Ron: Reminded me of my head.
Pat: Well, a full moon is out tonight. Are you wearing your gamer today?
Ron: Yeah, I’ve got my gamer on today.
Pat: For those of you who are wondering what the gamer is, that would be Ron’s third-string hairpiece. Now his No. 1 — and that’s what he calls it — No. 1 is what he would wear for social occasions and business decisions or business occasions. No. 2? When do you wear No. 2?
Ron: Well, I can wear it out also. I’m not embarrassed to do that either.
Pat: Nor should you be.
On having a passport picture being taken:
Ron: First of all, I forgot all about it and I didn’t shave. I came there with my gamer, my certain piece I wear with a hat.
Pat: So your gamer is your No. 1 hairpiece?
Ron: No, my gamer is my No. 3. I just keep it there in case my hat falls off and you can see I don’t have any hair.
Pat: Do you have a pet name, or a nickname, for your No. 1 hairpiece?
Ron: No, it’s just No. 1. I’ve got it on today, actually.
Pat: I could tell. I should’ve mentioned that, how good it looks.
Ron: Thanks, I appreciate that. No, on the (passport) form they said “color of hair.” None. Then, they ask you if everything on there is the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth so help you God. It’s something. Then, when they open that passport and look at me, and I won’t have my gamer on, I’ll have my good one, and they’ll say: Who is this guy?
Pat: It’ll frighten somebody.
Ron: It would frighten me.
On a request Santo received via e-mail during a broadcast:
Ron: He says, Dear Ron and Pat. You fellas are doing a great job. I enjoy you as much as the game. I have a question for Ron. I’m going out with my wife Saturday night and could I borrow your going-out-on-Saturday-night toupee? He says he’ll dry clean it before he returns it. I’ll give ’em my gamer.
Pat: That’s your third-stringer, right?
Ron: That’s my third-stringer.
Pat: So you’ll let him have your third-stringer.
Ron: He can wash that one.
Pat: Now, will you rent it out?
Ron: No, I’ll give it to him.
Pat: So it’s a freebie, one night only. He might want to run it through the dry cleaner before returning it. Or at least use his toothbrush and clean it off a little.
