Posted by Bud on April 06, 2010 at 18:00:11:
Sportswriters and sportscasters are preparing for the Masters, developing alternative phrases for anything that might be construed as a double entendre. The early worms once again are getting caught. Tax returns are almost due.
At long last, it's spring.
It's that magical time of renewal when, here in Chicago, we put away our winter parkas in favor of our spring parkas and settle in for six months of life lessons, courtesy of our two professional baseball teams. These include: You can't win them all. You very well may lose more than not. There is only one champion, and, if you live long enough, you will see it be Florida or Toronto — twice.
On Thursday, just a few days after the Cubs and White Sox open their respective campaigns, a small ceremony open to the public is planned for 11 a.m. in the plaza at 401 N. Michigan Ave., next to Tribune Tower. The statue of the late Cubs announcer Jack Brickhouse is to be rededicated.
For those who may be too young or uninterested in baseball to recall that Cubs games were televised before Harry Caray came over from the White Sox, Brickhouse broadcast Cubs games from 1948 to 1981 on Chicago Tribune parent Tribune Co.'s WGN-Ch. 9 and much, much more.
That we have not one but two statues to baseball announcers in this city — Caray is frozen in time outside Wrigley Field, leading one last seventh-inning round of "Take Me Out to the Ballgame" — speaks to the esteem with which they and those in their position are held.
The media, generally speaking, are not particularly well-liked, let alone celebrated, these days. Sports is often an exception, though you might not know it from the criticisms on radio call-in shows. You don't see statues of TV newscasters around here. Even with Chicago's vaunted "Front Page" tradition, newspaper scribes don't fare much better.
There's a statue of Chicago Sun-Times columnist Irv Kupcinet by the Chicago River bridge named after him at Wacker Drive and Wabash Avenue, but he also was Brickhouse's color commentator for 23 seasons of Bears broadcasts on Tribune Co.'s WGN-AM 720.
And the Bulls have a statue of coach-turned-commentator Johnny "Red" Kerr safe and warm inside the United Center, while Michael Jordan's statue braves the elements outside.
That's a lot of bronze for those describing teams in a city that so rarely takes the gold.
Brickhouse, who died almost a dozen years ago, did White Sox and Bulls games for a time, as well as the Cubs and Bears. If there was a crowd, some cigar smoke and a microphone, you'd likely also find Brickhouse doing play-by-play. He called everything from pro wrestling and boxing to political conventions.
His role in selling generations of new fans on baseball, Wrigley Field and the Cubs, often in that order, is not to be underestimated. Wrigley could not yet be promoted as an antique throwback to yesteryear, yet Brickhouse managed to tout it as some kind of cross between Eden and Valhalla, the perfect place to while away a few hours.
Kids, even White Sox fans who just wanted to watch some baseball, used to rush home from school to catch the final inning or two of Cubs day games, making Brickhouse's voice part of their childhoods with bologna and cheese, alphabet soup and Bozo.
Brickhouse's greatest asset was his upbeat enthusiasm. He could always find a sliver of silver in the most leaden of performances. He might not have been a wordsmith on a par with Red Barber or Vin Scully, that national treasure entering his 61st season with the Dodgers. His voice was not as commanding as a Mel Allen or Harry Kalas. But, hey hey, he got the job done.
Fans of a certain age have a special place for the baseball announcers of their youth. If it wasn't Brickhouse or Caray, maybe it was Bob Elson. If you lived in Pittsburgh, perhaps it was Bob Prince. It might have been Ernie Harwell in Detroit, Curt Gowdy in Boston, Jerry Coleman in San Diego, Marty Brennaman in Cincinnati, Ralph Kiner, Russ Hodges and so on.
Who knows what will be remembered a generation from now? Baseball, in many respects, is more popular than ever. But do actual franchises matter as much as the collection of players on one's fantasy team? Will kids today take iPads to bed to follow games the way their parents hid transistor radios under their pillows? Can the announcers on actual games stack up against the virtual voices on Xbox and PlayStation?
It's spring again, and fans will head back to the ballpark, if only to see what's going on for themselves.