Rarely do I delve into sports here at Virtual Bomaniland.  That’s the game that’s sold, not told.  Do something for a living, and you don’t really want to talk about it that much when you’re off the clock.  This blog, if nothing else, is off the clock.
However, Skip Caray died last night.  For non-sports fans, Skip’s been doing the broadcasts for Atlanta Braves games for the last 30 years or so.  Given my life as a Braves fanatic, Skip’s voice has been a more constant voice in my life than anyone outside of my family.
When we moved from Atlanta to Houston, I remember being blown away when I found out the Braves games came on TV everywhere.  It was comforting news to a six year-old moving to another country (that country would be the Republic of Texas).  It’s not like the Braves were good or anything…but they were my team and, to this day, they are the only sports team that truly has a hold of my heart.
So when I think of Skip, I think of childhood.  I think of going from riding and slowly dying with the worst baseball team in captivity to spending every October watching my team in the playoffs.  I even think of games that he didn’t call, like the series the last weekend in ’91 when the Braves won the West and that Sid Bream slide in ’92 that I didn’t see because I couldn’t bear to stay awake as the Braves were sent home.
I guess that means, to me, Skip is Braves baseball.  He laughed to keep from crying when they were getting killed on a nightly basis, and he never got too arrogant when they were the class of the major leagues.
What’s interesting, though — none of the Braves broadcasters from TBS get any love when people talk about the great voices of baseball.  Maybe it’s because they aren’t the best.  Skip’s nasal tone doesn’t do it for a lot of people, and the broadcast teams seemed to fade into the background of most games.
That, to me, is what made those broadcasts so good.  There has never been a less obtrusive set of announcers than Skip, Pete Van Wieren, Don Sutton and Joe Simpson.  They know what they were talking about, but the game always took center stage.  Nothing ever felt forced, and never was there a distraction to stop you from being able to enjoy the game.  Somehow, they’ve never gotten proper credit for that.
One reason I wish that was different was Caray’s battle with alcohol.  Skip’s father, Harry, was an alcoholic…but we remember that fondly.  Harry Caray was blasted by the seventh-inning stretch of nearly all the games he called during my lifetime.  Calling people by wrong names, slurring words, the whole nine.
And we think of that and laugh.
I don’t think Skip sees it the same way.  Skip stared alcoholism in the face and beat it years ago.  No one ever talked about it.  I wonder, if we would, if we would look back so fondly on the drunken Harry Caray.  Clearly, his son doesn’t, which means that maybe we’ve got it all wrong.
Don’t feel as if this post does justice, but I had to do something.  As much as I chastise people that act all weepy over what happens to people they’ve never met, Skip Caray dying took a little out of me.  But over the years, I’m pretty sure I got more than I’m losing right now.
‘Til the other side, Skip.  I’m sure all those grannies that used to send you letters when the Braves were getting blasted 11-3 every night are very, very glad to get the chance to meet you.