All-Star
I didn’t care for Bobby Murcer in the booth at first — the gee-willikers accent, combined with his almost naïve enthusiasm for everything that happened on the field, got on my nerves.But as time went on, I came to appreciate Murcer’s zeal; after years as a player and more years as a broadcaster, he never got tired of baseball.He didn’t phone it in, or use his experiences on the field as an automatic discussion-ender instead of learning about and discussing today’s game.Ken Singleton is the same way, which is why he’s my favorite of the current Yankees TV guys — he doesn’t think his veteran-player status means he doesn’t have to read the stat sheet — but he also made a nice contrast with Murcer in the booth, Singleton’s deep, urbane-sounding voice and calm delivery paired with Murcer’s cornpone tones and excitability.
Murcer would get exercised about an issue every few days, and I liked that.I liked that he would splutter about guys not running out grounders, or Jose Canseco’s latest fabulist claim.Not to lionize the man unduly, because of course he said his share of idiotic things, which anyone is going to when he has to fill three hours of airtime, but at least Murcer hadn’t gotten cynical, or started taking an “it’s just a game” or “it’s just a job” attitude towards the announcing.He took it seriously — but he didn’t take himself seriously at all.Singleton and Michael Kay both tended to tease Murcer about getting so het up, kind of “well, why don’t you tell us how you really feel, Bobby,” and then he would laugh.Murcer is that rare case of folksiness at the professional level that is genuine, versus an attempt to manipulate the audience; he had a conversation with Kay once in which they tried to figure out what is the opposite of “a hitch in one’s giddy-up,” and it’s a highlight of Yankee coverage.(Well, for semantics nerds it is.)
When Murcer came back into the booth after his first cancer treatment, he talked about how thrilled he was to be back on a game and into his routine, and the camera did one of its occasional turnaround shots to the booth and there’s Murcer with his grey stubbly head, and he was obviously contented — but it was Michael and Kenny who were thrilled, and so was I.The man had a brain tumor, for God’s sake, but after all that, he couldn’t think of anywhere he’d rather be than covering some inconsequential midweek game in May, which is what made Bobby Murcer my people, and I was so happy to see him, I started to cry.And he and Kay did some shtick where Kay said the unreliable Yankee offense makes you want to tear your hair out…pause…”Well, not you, Bobby,” and Murcer guffawed like it wasn’t the fourteenth joke of the sort he’d heard that day.”I am a little short in the hair department these days, Michael, you’re right.Haw haw haw.”…Aw.
I saw on my RSS feed a while back that Murcer had gone back in for treatment; the terseness of the press release gave me to understand that, despite the “Bobby hopes to rejoin the broadcast team very shortly, and thanks his fans for their support”-type statements, it had probably gotten irretrievably bad.I chose not to think on it too much, I guess, so when I saw that he’d died, it didn’t feel like a surprise, exactly — and yet, it did.I suppose that on some level I did expect him to come back, head chicly re-shaved, and chuckle at Kay’s jokes about how baseball is not brain surgery.He’s not coming back.
Wherever he is now, I hope they’ve got the MLB package.So long, friend, and thank you.
Tags: Bobby Murcer city living news untimely demises
Sars, I heartily concur. I was watching Saturday’s game when they announced his death and I gave a quick gasp. But the thing that really got me was both the players and the commentators saying “Bobby would have been really glad we won today.”
I couldn’t help thinking “Ain’t that the truth.”
I was in choir during my college years (late 80s) and we traveled around the country singing at churches as an outreach and to promote our (obviously) Christian university.
We made a stop in OKCity and four girls in our group stayed with the Murcers, as they were members of the church we were singing at. They had no idea who he was until he showed them his “baseball room” with all his memorabilia, and then they still weren’t all that impressed. I was livid that I didn’t get to stay with him (as were pretty much all the guys in our choir) because, dude. I would’ve kept him up all night making him tell me stories.
RIP, Bobby.
i feel this way about Ron Santo. He wears his heart on his sleeve–he loves his team and the game, and it is that passion and joy that comes through to me in his broadcasting.
My condolences to Yankee fans. We Phils fans lost our icon in the booth a few years back. And without Richie Ashburn to tell us when a guy on first “looks runnerish,” the booth is just never the same. So we know how you’ll be feeling.
I have to ask – what on earth is “a hitch in one’s giddy-up”?
@Bo: Aw, Ashburn. I love that quotation about him on the ’62 Mets, something along the lines of “the team lost 120 games that season and Richie Ashburn went down kicking and screaming 120 times.”
A hitch in the giddy-up is basically running with a limp, or something wrong with the stride. If your foot is asleep and you’re trying to walk, or you’ve got a wedgie: hitch in your giddy-up. You can use it metaphorically, too, or to talk about non-human giddy-ups (if my computer’s anti-viral scan is running, it hitches the other programs’ giddy-ups). You hear it the most often when a runner pulls up lame once the play is complete; Kay still uses it all the time.
The debate was how to use the giddy-up to describe a runner going faster than usual, or starting from a base with better breaking speed than he usually does. I think they settled on “sting in his giddy-up,” but that may just be the one I like best.
I read a newspaper column Sunday written by a former beat reporter for the Yankees who told a story that when he first starting covering the Yankees when he was 26 and Bobby was an announcer, most people around the team had no idea who he was even after he had introduced himself to them. Bobby, on the other hand, came up to him one day in spring training while he was eating lunch and not only remembered his name but sat down with him and took a genuine interest in finding out how he got the job, how he was doing, and his opinion of the team’s chances that year. I think it is incidents like this that explain why he was so respected by everyone who knew or worked with him.
I cried when I heard he died. Despite the brain tumor and knowing that he was back for treatment, I never expected for Bobbie to die. He was the quintessential Yankee because he was always so happy and so grateful to being a member of the Yankee organization that he never took it for granted.
I loved him in the booth and when I heard his southern accent, I knew that I would enjoy the broadcast despite who else may be in the booth. Hell, when he and Tim McCarver were calling the games together for the Yankees, I loved them together in the booth as they brought out the best in each other. But unlike McCarver, I still loved Bobbie no matter who he was teamed up with.
Bobbie rest in peace and I know that he is playing in Yankee All-Star team in heaven with the rest of his buddies.
Losing anyone who puts their heart and soul into the game like that…not fair. I am a Rangers fan, and on 9/7/97 we lost Mark Holtz. He was not a former player, he was a broadcaster from college on. He made a little stop in 1981 to announce for the Dallas Mavericks, picked up the Rangers and never left. His enthusiasm and love for the game, beginning every broadcast with “It’s baseball time in Texas!” and finishing a Ranger victory with “Hello win column!” inspired fans and players alike. Even after almost 11 years, when the Rangers pull off a close win I hear Mark’s words somewhere deep inside where heroes live forever.
Where there is baseball, there is hope.
When Cardinal Nation lost Jack Buck, I cried. Every time they have a salute to him at the stadium, I get misty. He was such a class act. Not that I dislike Mike Shannon, his rain delay discussions of the days when he played are golden. But Jack Buck was something else, and he is still missed. My condolences to the Yankee fans.