Voices of Summer: Ranking Baseball's 101 All-Time Best Announcers (41 page)

Much was show. Jackie called Kennedy's favorite song "Hail to the
Chief." Three time zones away, Bill King grasped what Le Figaro of Paris
termed "a certain feeling of possibility." He already felt it.

Near the end of World War II, the high school baseball star left for Guam,
where an Armed Forces radio tryout pivoted his life. King nixed a minorleague pact and college scholarship for a 250-watt outlet in Pekin, Illinois. "I
had the bug," he said, carrying it via Peoria baseball, Bradley basketball, and
Nebraska football to the Bay Area in 1958.

For two years, Bill helped Russ Hodges and Lon Simmons. "The Giants'd
just moved and played mostly in the afternoon. I got to exploring other
things." He read Russian history, attended opera and ballet, painted and
sailed, and bought a 31 -foot boat. "Some people in the game get stuck in the
game. I never find enough time outside it to do what I want."

King tried. "When we met," said friend Nancy Stephens, "he didn't know
a thing about classical music. Now he knows more than me."TheYoung Man
and the Sea sailed her to Hawaii, Canada, and down the Coast. The gourmet
had peanut butter and onions on warm tortillas. "You see so-and-so is 57 or
32 and create in your mind an image of what a 57- or 32-year-old looks like,"
said Bill, 32 turning 21.

Ultimately, a generation matured hearing him do its three major sports.
Kennedy touted "vigah." Flaunting cool and humor, King made his active the
unconventional life.

"Holy Toledo!" (Bill's trademark) He drove a battered car, banned a telephone
at home, and hated socks and shoes. Giants mikemen wore a coat and tie in
the late 1950s. On hot days, feeling like "I'd showered in my pants," King
ditched them for skivvies. G.M. Chub Feeney entered the booth to see him
peeling. Said Simmons: "He almost had a heart attack."

Soon Bill grew a handlebar mustache and Van Dyke beard. "A beard in America of 1976 is not ... unusual," said the Examiner's Art Spander. "But he
was wearing a beard in 1962."

King did the 1962-83 NBA Warriors, 1966-92 Raiders, and University
of California. "At his peak," a writer said, "[he could] do play-by-play, wax
eloquent about the flow of the game, and decry officiating, all without
missing a beat."

George Blanda became "King of the World"; fumble recovery, "a Holly
Roller"; Stabler to Casper, "The Ghost to the Post." Hoops was glitzier: "His
words burst free," said TSN, "like bullets from a machine gun." Baseball, on
the other hand, seemed-what Rockwellian. For 18 years the two boats
passed. Then, in 1979, the A's drew 306,763. "We need some jazz," said a
honcho, giving King radio/TV. Lon had just crossed the Bay. "Once, doing a
TV Warriors game, I told the audience, `If I were watching, I'd turn off the
sound and hear [him] on radio."'

Bill's first-year A's made the 1981 L. C. S. A year later, King made history:
in Milwaukee, spying the beard and mustache, an elderly woman grabbed and
proclaimed him the devil. "That's Bill-flair, panache," laughed Jon Miller,
growing up near Oakland. Incredibly, recalling KEEN, A's radio became the
last word, not last choice.

"By the eighties," said partner Ken Korach, "Bill was the sole guy in
America doing basketball, football, and baseball." A newspaper chain named him "[among the area's] 50 most influential sports figures of the century": to
Spander, "a renaissance man who can explain a duet by Puccini or a double
play by Spiezio."

BILL KING

The A's talk of moving to nearby Santa Clara. "Who cares?" a fan laughed,
putting perspective in season. "Even if they leave, we'll still hear Bill King."

'Twenty-seven means Murderers' Row; 1934, Gas House Gang; 1961,"M for
Murder."The 1976 Big Red Machine owned the road. "I don't manage this
team," said Sparky Anderson. "It's managed by Rose and Morgan and Bench
and Perez." Upon each victory, Marty Brennaman bayed, "This one belongs to
the Reds"-actually, to Louisville and Zanesville and Muncie and Marietta.

The seventies Reds won four flags, two World Series, and a timeless
moniker. 'Seventy-six was the peak. Five regulars hit over .300. Tony Perez
drove in 90 or more runs for the 10th straight year. MVP Joe Morgan had
.320, 60 steals, and 1 1 1 RBI. Pete Rose led the league in three offensive categories and head-first slides.

Cincy took the West, swept the L.C.S., and crushed the Yankees. Catcher
Johnny Bench shaped the Series: .533, six RBI, and MVP. Brennaman covered it
for NBC. "Swung on," he said. "High fly ball to left-center! Should do it! There's
Foster! And the 1976 world championship belongs to the Cincinnati Reds."

Later Marty called them "an All-Star team"-four Hall of Famers
(Anderson, Bench, Morgan, and Perez), one might-be (shortstop Dave Concepcion), and one might-have-been (Rose). At the time, he asked how life
could get better. On July 2 3, 2000, in Cooperstown, it did.

Growing up, Jack Brickhouse loved Bob Elson; Jack Buck, Jack Graney;
Marty, Nat Allbright. "In Little League, I wasn't much of a player," he said of
Portsmouth, Virginia. "They stuck me in right field on a team called
Chubby's, which was a restaurant. We had little TV baseball, so I got stuck on
radio," falling asleep to Nat's Brooklyn Dodgers.

Chapel Hill '65 began in High Point, Salisbury, and Norfolk. By 1971, he
joined the ABA Virginia Squires and Triple-A Tidewater. In late 1973, Al
Michaels left Cincinnati. The Tides sold Brennaman. "Radio was important to
us," said Reds assistant G.M. Dick Wagner, "because we had a big [ 120-plusstation] W LW network and because we didn't have much TV."

Marty knew history: Cincinnati's, not Al's. "Everywhere I hear, `You got
big shoes to fill."' The buzz grew in Florida. Braving game one-"It went
well. Finally people see I can cut the mustard"-Brennaman worked next day
at Tampa's Al Lopez Field. "Good afternoon," he began. "From Al Michaels
Field . . ." Mustard soaked his face.

"It's March," sidekick Joe Nuxhall said at break, "and I got material for
the banquet circuit." Next month Cincy rallied to win a game. Marty used "a
phrase that caught on---`This One Belongs To The Reds."' After a day game
in Montreal, Bench invited him to a honky-tonk. "I should have had dinner,"
said Brennaman, who instead got gassed.

Waking at seven "incredibly, no hangover"-the Voice taxied to Jarry
Park, found Sparky, and began praising No. 5. That Bench! what a guy,
showing me the town. "Is that right?" muses Anderson. "Exactly," the rookie
says. Sparky finds John, in the training room, with a 102-degree fever.

"I understand you took Marty out last night," said Anderson.

"Yeah," Bench said, "but that doesn't have anything to do with the way I feel."

"I don't care if today goes 25 innings, you're catching every inning," the
skipper reddened. Bench hit 389 dingers. One beat the Expos hours after
Sparky's fit. "I was so stupid that first year. So many players helped me
through," said Brennaman. Advice: Don't tell the manager what you do.

Marty smiled. "Bench has since forgiven me."

"After I got the job," he said, "I was told they liked my voice, enthusiasm, and
could keep a consistent bit of chatter." For a time the Reds consistently lost
in postseason: 1970 and 1972-73. "People were saying we couldn't take the
big one"- -till 1975.

Every regular had more than 45 RBI. Jack Billingham, Don Gullett, and
Gary Nolan each won 15 games. "We had some bullpen," said Anderson,
meeting Boston in the Series. The Reds took a 3-2 game lead. In Game Six,
Nolan faced the A. L. MVP. "Fly ball deep into right-center field!" Marty said on
NBC Radio. "Griffey is back at the bullpen and it is gone, a home run! Freddie
Lynn has hit one out of here to deep right-center field with two men on base!"

By the eighth, Cincy led, 6-3. Shooed to the clubhouse, Brennaman
watched Carlton Fisk's blast. "People ask how it felt to see it. Beats me. Ask
TV." Next night, his team won its first Series since 1940. The '76ers drew a
record 2,629,708. Machine parts left: Perez, to Montreal; Rose, Philly;
Morgan, Houston. Sparky was sacked. Successor John McNamara did
Marty's WLW "Reds' Line" show: off-season, it turned off-color.

An alleged Ohio magazine reporter meets Marty at the studio. The
show starts. A caller suggests a trade. As Mac replies, the woman reporter
bares her bosom. "Marty, help," he pleads. "Pal," Brennaman roars, "you're
on your own.

Later the plotter surfaced: WLW talk host Bob Trumpy, having hired an
exotic dancer. The adjective bore little likeness to the '82- 83 last-place Reds.

Rose became player/manager in 1984. He batted vs. San Diego on September 11, 1985. "There it is! There it is!" bayed Brennaman. Nuxhall
could be heard: "Get up! Get up!" Marty: "Hit number 4,192! A line drive
single into left-center field! A clean base hit! And it is pandemonium here
at Riverfront Stadium! ... The kind of outpouring of adulation that I don't
think you'll ever see an athlete get any more of." Bottle rockets lit the
night. Rose embraced son Pete. "Clear in the sky, I saw my dad, Harry
Francis Rose, and Ty Cobb. Ty Cobb was like in the second row. Dad was
in the first."

In 1988, Pete was bounced for shoving umpire Dave Pallone. Radios ferried Marty's rage-"Pallone is a horrible umpire" through Riverfront Stadium. Debris choked the turf. Ordered to New York, Brennaman and
Nuxhall met Commissioner Peter Ueberroth and league head A. Bartlett
Giamatti. "Here I am, a lowly announcer, blamed for a riot," said Marty, apologizing, "in my case, for some of the inflammatory things I said."

Next spring Ueberroth began an inquiry into things Pete might have done.
"We were in St. Petersburg when the story hit," said Brennaman. Rose arrived,
raised a hand, and said, "Fellas, can't talk. I've got a [daily `Rose Report'] radio
show to tape."

In the clubhouse, Marty addressed the elephant in the room. "We can't
not talk about gambling."

"You have to ask, ask. I'll answer the best I can."

The probe ended in a nolo contendere plea: Giamatti, now Commissioner, barring Pete for life. Some sniped good riddance. Many could not
forget his 3,562 games, 14,053 ups, and 4,256 hits. "Frailties?" Marty said.
"Pete was, is, and forever will be an amazing human being." The 1990
defending champion A's were thought a dynasty. Amazingly, Cincy swept
the Series.

Pleased, Reds owner Marge Schott was also presumably grateful that stupidity is not a crime. She treated dog Schottzie like a dear aunt or lost child,
"coos to her, put her in the team photo," said a player, "lets dogshit stain the field-sick." Later, baseball banned Schott for racial "insensitivity." Increasingly, an ex-Reds cheerleader banned rooting from the booth.

"I once told Jack Billingham, `We had a great win.' He said, `What's with
we? How many hits did you have?"' Stung, Brennaman turned anti-homer.
Wagner replied by "auditioning" another announcer-in a game. In 1983,
Marty set a mid-August contract extension deadline. Wagner: "I can't be
intimidated." Voice: "Me neither." Dick was axed that July. Spared, Brennaman soared.

"All I've got," he mused, "is credibility." Unmoved, a pitcher's wife
beefed to Schott, who bashed Marty dining with a "hostile" reporter. Aware
of his pull-a Cincinnati Enquirer poll asked: "Do you like Brennaman and
Nuxhall?"Yes won, 2,442-16-the Virginian sniffed that he would pick his
friends.

"Dad's in an envious position," said son Thom. "There aren't many guys with
his editorial freedom," nor kids who more sound like dad. Ohio University
'86 began at WLWT TV, did the Reds, joined WGN's Cubs, then left for a
long preseason. "Arizona began in 1998. I arrived there in '96. Two years to
put their broadcast package together"-and join Fox TV baseball and football, Midwest Conference basketball, and Fox Sports Net's "ACC Sunday
Night Hoops."

"[Nepotism] gets you in the door," said Thom, "but you don't last if
you're not doing your job." His spurned the Marty-speak of papa's idiom.
"Frog strangler" meant tense game; "Grand Tour," dinger; "hit of the twobase variety," double; "right-now fashion," pronto. The Reds became
"Redlegs"; Mets, "Metropolitans"; and Astros, "Astronomicals." Dad wanted
the listener to have fun, never feeling like he had at Al Michaels Field.

In 1997, Marty built an "Elvis Shrine" in the booth. Entering Cooperstown's, he urged the Hall to induct "yes, by God, Peter Edward Rose." In the
audience, Bench blanched: "Inappropriate," he said, quitting WLW's "Brenneman and Bench on Baseball Show." By then, Ken Griffey, Jr., son of another
seventies Reds star, had been traded to Cincinnati. You recalled Sparky
Anderson: "It never occurred to me that we might lose."

The revival failed. One night Marty blistered Jr. for not hustling. Next
day Griffey swore at him before the game. "I was here before you were," said
Brennaman, "and I'll be here after you're gone."We should not be shocked.
Machines like the 1970s Reds drive once, if that. Be grateful for the memory.
That one belongs to us.