Teach
12-29-2013, 08:33 AM
"There's a long drive deep to right..." I said on the evening of June 10, 2003. "Drew going back..." I continued.
Well, turn the clock back some 50 years. I'm then an elementary-school student. I'm playing with some of my favorite baseball cards: Ted Williams, Mickey Mantle, Stan Musial, Sibby Sisti, and a host of others on the floor of my family's third-floor apartment in the Dorchester-Mattapan section of Boston.
At the time, I was making believe that I was a play-by-play announcer. More specifically, that I was a Boston Red Sox play-by-play announcer. “Three and two, the big one due,” I'd say, a la Curt Gowdy.
Little did I know then that my fantasy would some day...become a reality.
Ever since I realized that I would not become the next Ted Williams, or even the next Faye Throneberry, I decided that I would like to become a baseball play-by-play announcer. I loved to listen to Gowdy and his partner, Bob Murphy (later with the Mets) describe the Red Sox games on the radio.
As I look back at my childhood, I was a passionate Sox fan. My family had moved from New York City to New Bedford, MA, and finally to Boston in the late-1940s. My father would take me to Fenway Park to see my very first Red Sox game in 1949. I was then just shy of my seventh birthday. I remember little of the game, or even the team the Red Sox were playing that day, but I do recall my Dad bought me a Red Sox pennant and also a package of black-and-white Red Sox players’ pictures (I taped them to the walls of my room). In those days, I insisted that my first glove be a Bobby Doerr (my favorite player) autographed model.
Over the years, I attended dozens of Red Sox games, usually with friends, but sometimes with my father or mother, or both. When I was a little older (and could attend the games myself), my friends and I would sit in the bleachers, right behind the Red Sox bullpen. I would sometimes imagine that I was sitting up in the announcer’s booth and doing play-by-play: “There’s a long drive deep to center, Piersall going back, back to the wall, he leaps...”
When I wasn’t at Fenway, I’d be listening to the games on the radio even when I was supposed to be doing my homework. Whenever my family took a car trip, it was obligatory that if the Red Sox were playing, the radio was tuned to WHDH (the Red Sox flagship station).
As I grew older and graduated from high school, and then college, my interest in doing play-by-play began to wane. In the mid-1960s, I would begin a teaching career and, a few years later, I'd get married. I would move my family from Boston to Framingham, MA. In those days, I’d supplement my teaching salary by covering high school sports for a local newspaper
It was while I was reporting on high school football that I would be interviewed as a guest on a local radio station, WKOX, during halftime. of the football games. Those brief halftime interviews led to a color commentator’s job with the station. That would later evolve into doing play-by-play of high school football.
In 1979, I’d do play-by-play of high school football and basketball for Framingham’s cable TV outlet, Community Cablevision. However, over the next decade, I would do less and less in the way of play-by-play. However, I did get to call American Legion baseball games on a radio station in Milford, MA.
By the beginning of 1990s, I had pretty much confined my occupational interests to teaching social studies at Framingham North H.S. (later to become Framingham High). My two children, a boy and a girl, had already reached college age. I had passed the mid-century mark and was heading toward my 60th birthday.
It was in the early spring of 2003 that I read a column in the Boston Sunday Globe that spoke of a New England-wide contest that was being sponsored by Boston Beer (brewers of Sam Adams); it was called “Announcer For An Inning.” Although it had been over a decade since I’d done play-by-play, just the mention of the words “play-by-play” elicited a conditioned Pavlovian-like response.
At first blush, I was ambivalent. Yes, I loved doing play-by-play, but I was also realistic. I was older, now. Not nearly as confident as I would have been, say ten or twenty years earlier.
Yet, in the end, I said, “Why not?” So, in late May. I drove to where the contest auditions were being held; it was a restaurant/bar called Desmond O’Malley’s (no longer in existence). Before I had left the house, my wife had said, “Walt, if it’s crowded, come right back, we're getting together for dinner with Lee (my daughter) and her fiancee. My daughter and her future husband were getting married the following weekend.
When I arrived at Desmond O’Malley’s, the place was nearly empty. I did see a man (I later learned his name was Boston Beer’s central MA sales rep.) setting up some AV equipment. I remember asking, “Is this where the announcer auditions are taking place?” He replied, “Yes.” He added, “Why don’t you have yourself a cold one, I’ll be with you in about ten minutes.” I did just that.
About ten minutes later, the sales rep. signaled that he was ready to start the auditions. In the interim, another contestant had arrived. I remember that he introduced himself as a Boston-area lawyer. I recall that he said to me, “Go ahead, you were here first.” I said, “That’s OK. You worked all day. I’m retired. You want to get home...” So, the lawyer went first.
I remember that the lawyer was seated at a table with a stationary video camera trained on his face. There was a microphone and also a TV monitor.
Well, instantly I recognized the two-minute clip that was being used as part of the audition. It was Nomar Garciaparra’s walk-off homer on Easter Sunday. I watched the lawyer do his rendition. When it was over, I thought he had done a good job.
I then sat down at the table in front of the camera. I felt confident. For one, I remember listening to that game in the car and then seeing its conclusion at home. I distinctly remember Garciaparra’s homer. I also benefitted from watching the lawyer go first (sort of like watching a fellow golfer putt first when you have the same line).
I recall that the replay started with Garciaparra doing his toe-tapping and batting-glove routine. The score at the time was 5-to-5. The Red Sox had battled back from a 5-0 deficit against the then Blue Jay’s ace, Roy Halladay. It was now Cliff Politte who was on the hill in relief to face Garciaparra. I remember that the count on Garciaparra was 2-and-1 when he lifted Politte’s “cut” fastball off one of the light-tower stanchions above “The Green Monster” for the game-winning walk-off homer. As Garciaparra rounded the bases, I recall saying, “Touch ‘em all, Nomar — ‘Good Decision’.” (“Good Decision” was Samuel Adams Beer’s commercial tag line).
When it was over, I thought I’d done well. Yet, there was no way of knowing how well I’d done in relation to the other contestants. I remember asking the sales rep., “What’s next?” I recall he mentioned that the judges would look over the tapes and that the semi-finalists (the top 50) would be notified the following Monday.
That evening, we had dinner with my daughter and future son-in-law. Over the weekend, I worked with my wife on last-minute wedding preparations. The following Monday, I had substituted (I did some substitute teaching after I retired) in an area school. When I got home, my wife said, “ There’s a message on the answering machine I think you should listen to.” I listened. it was Boston Beer’s Dave Virden (I remembered his name because of its similarity to outfielder Bill Virdon). He had left a message to call him back. I immediately returned his call. I remember that Virden immediately congratulated me as being chosen as a contest semi-finalist. He would go on to say tha the judges would again look at the tapes and narrow the field to five finalists. The finals were to be held Wednesday evening at a Boston sports bar called: “The Place”. Before he hung up, Virden asked, “If you are selected as a finalist, could you appear at ‘The Place,’ Wednesday evening?” I said, “Yes.”
Those next twenty-four hours were nerve-wracking. Not only was my daughter’s wedding now less than a week away, but I would be on tenterhooks waiting to find out whether I was selected as a finalist in the Red Sox announcing contest.
The next day, Tuesday, I didn’t sub. Instead, I did some yard work (I had brought my portable phone with me). 2:30 PM omes and goes. No calls. 3 PM. The phone rings. I hurriedly clicked on the phone. It was my wife’s friend. Is there anything she can do to help with the last-minute wedding preparations? I thank her and then tell her that my wife (who was still teaching) should be home by 3:30. 4 PM. Still no calls. I’m nervous. It’s getting late. Then -- at 4:30 PM -- the phone rings. I pick it up. “Congratulations!” It’s Dave Virden. I’m a finalist! I’m ecstatic.
The plans were to have the five finalists meet at “The Place” by 5 PM that Wednesday. We were to do a live version of an interleague game between the Red Sox and Pittsburgh Pirates from PNC Park.
That night, I turned on NESN to watch the opening game of a three-game series between the Sox and Pirates. The game was delayed by rain. It was “throwback” night. The players were wearing the old woolen uniforms. The PA system was not going to be used. The players would be announced by people with megaphones from atop the dugouts.
Meanwhile, I’m downloading everything I can about the Pirates. I felt comfortable with the Red Sox, but the Pirates... The only player I recognized in the Pirates’ starting lineup was Kenny Lofton. I had seen him several times as a member of the Cleveland Indians.
Well, the rain continues. Coverage of the game is returned to the NESN studio. I recall that guest analyst Jim Rice (later to be inducted into the Hall of Fame) was taking calls from viewers. At 9:30 PM the game was called off. It would be made up the following day as part of a twi-night doubleheader. The first game would start at 5 PM. What bearing will this postponement have on the contest? Will we still be doing the “live” game? They’ll be no way of knowing until tomorrow morning. Meanwhile, I continue studying the Pirates’ players.
The next morning, I call Boston Beer. I hook up with Dave Virden. He says that we’ll likely do the Pirates game, but there’s a possibility that we may have to do a canned version of the Yankees pitcher Roger Clemens quest for his 300th victory; it’s a game that took place on Memorial Day. Virden finishes up by saying that he’ll try to e-mail each of the contestants as early as possible as to audition plans. I hang up the phone. I’m in limbo. Do I continue studying the Pirates, or do I devote some of my attention to Roger Clemens? I decide to do a little of both. All this reminds me of an “all-nighter” I pulled in college. I tried to cram a thousand of years of Greek history into twelve overnight hours.
About 1:30 PM, I receive an e-mail from Boston Beer’s Virden. Plans are still to do the Pirates game, but there’s still a chance it’ll be Clemens. I continue studying. I haven’t studied like this since I was taking my college final exams. I finally leave for “The Place” about 4 PM. My wife wishes me well, “I say, “Thanks, I’ll need it.”
When I arrive at “The Place,” I find out that because of sportscaster-judges need to be back in their respective studios to prepare for their 11 PM sports reports, we’ll be doing Clemens’ try for his 300th win.
Well, the next two hours were pretty much a blur. I do recall that all the finalists received instructions from Boston Beer’s PR department as to how to answer questions from the media. I also remember introducing myself to the other contestants. I know that I had brought a bunch of notes with me. I remember discarding the Pirates’ information and began cramming information about Clemens.
Finally, the contest was about to start. We had previously drawn lots as to order of appearance (I had drawn fifth and last; an order of appearance I was pleased with that). One by one, the contestants were seated at a table with a microphone. T he taped replay of the Yankees-Red Sox game was being shown on a large screen off to our right. The judges were Boston sports media personalities; it also included Boston Beer owner and brew-master, Jim Koch. The judges were seated directly across from us. The votes were to be cast on a scale of 1- to-10. It was similar to judging figure skating or diving at the Olympics.
Each of the four contestants that preceded me had done a very good job. It was certainly difficult to choose between them. I thought a young man who started off (he was a recent Boston College grad) did an outstanding job. He showed great deal of poise. He was also quite glib. In the game itself, there had been a degree controversy associated with Roger Clemens' glove. Clemens had come out on the field with this special commemorative glove. It was then that Red Sox manager Grady Little protested. Another glove was substituted. The contest's first contestant had handled the description of the controversy very well. In fact, he set a very high standard by getting very good scores from the judges.
Another contestant, I believe he was third in the order, was also very good. As I listened to him do his rendition, I thought to myself, “Very polished.” Thinking back, each one of the other four contestants brought “something to the table.”
Finally, it was my turn. As I sat down at the table in front of the judges, I knew that I’d never get another chance like this. At that moment I was thinking about my late father, he’d frequently state his pet expressions. One that he often used was a chiasmic phrase: “When the going gets tough, the tough get going.”
Well, I remember doing the play-by-play. I recall that Shea Hillenbrand was at bat (he had been, in the interim, traded to the Arizona Diamondbacks). All the while, I was trying to include as much material that I could about Clemens’ storied past: his two 20-strikeout games, his numerous Cy Young awards, and his 20-1 start in 2001. About three minutes later my audition was over. The judges voted. I recall receiving a mix of scores. Most were high, but one or two were relatively low. I knew it was going to be close. Then, the MC, Mike Adams (currently with WEEI in Boston), announced that I was the winner. It was a dream come true.
After the contest was over, I remember sharing beers with Boston Beer’s Koch, being interviewed by Boston media outlets and receiving congratulations from many people.
That night, I arrived back in Framingham to tell my wife that I’d won. The next morning, I called my children. Yet, there would be so little time to focus on the contest. My daughter’s wedding was less than four days away and there were still several last-minute details. Between talking to the caterer, the band, and some of our guests, I managed to squeeze in a little computer time to download info on the St. Louis Cardinals. The game I would doing, Sox vs. Cardinals, would be take place Tuesday evening, June 10.
My daughter’s wedding went off without a hitch. It was a beautiful affair. When my wife and I finally arrived back in Framingham on Monday, there would be a little over 24 hours before I’d have to arrive at Fenway Park. I continued to study both the Cardinals and the Red Sox. I was developing a notebook of information that would equate with some of the course notebooks I’d keep when I was in college.
On Tuesday afternoon, the day of the game, I drove to my son’s home in Taunton, MA (I was allowed one guest). From his house, we drove to Fenway Park. I remember we arrived at 4 PM. While my son was parking the car, I was greeted by the Boston Beer staff and brought down onto the field. It was quite a thrill. In all the years I’d taken in games at Fenway, I’d always wanted to set foot on the Fenway Park playing surface.
During that late afternoon, I recall being interviewed by two Boston TV stations. I also got to see batting practice and talk with some of the fans, both for Cardinals and Red Sox. Then, it was upstairs for dinner in the press dining room, and later a seat for my son and me in Fenway’s first-base roof box section
As the sixth inning was nearing its end, I was escorted to the NESN booth high atop Fenway Park. It was then that I received a surprise. The contest had been billed as “An Announcer For An Inning.” I construed that to mean both the top half of the inning (the visiting Cardinals) and the bottom of the inning (the home-standing Red Sox). But about a minute after I arrived in the NESN booth, I was informed that I was only doing the Red Sox half of the inning — the bottom half. I was surprised. It was at that moment that I thought to myself, “Why?” I had spent so much time studying the Cardinals’ batters. At that very moment, I needed to regain my composure. I also kept thinking what my mother used to say: “A half a loaf is better than none.”
Well, I waited until the Cardinals had completed their half of the 7th and then joined play-by-play announcer Don Orsillo and color commentator Jerry Remy at the bottom of the NESN booth. This was it. There would never be an another opportunity like it.
In their half of the 7th, the Red Sox started slowly. Trailing 7-2, the Sox couldn’t seem to get untracked. Catcher Jason Varitek lead off the inning by grounding out to Cards second baseman Miguel Cairo. The next batter, Johnny Damon, flied to J.D Drew in shallow right. The third batter of the inning was Todd Walker. Walker lifted a fly ball down the rightfield line that couldn’t be caught by outfielder Drew; it landed about a foot fair and then hopped into the seats for a ground-rule double. “Whew!” I thought, “at least I didn’t get a 1-2-3 inning.”
The next batter, Nomar Garciaparra, barely avoided a check-swing third strike before lifting a drive off the top of the leftfield scoreboard for a triple. The next batter was Manny Ramirez. Ramirez deposited the Cardinals’ Woody Wiliams’ first pitch into the visitor’s bullpen. A pitching change then brought in Jeff Fassero. He immediately gave up a sharp single to DH David Ortiz. The final out of the inning occurred when Kevin Millar grounded Fassero’s three-two pitch to Cairo. But the Sox had scored three runs and were back in the ballgame.
After my stint in the booth, I was interviewed by a few writers. I then visited the NESN studio (I talked briefly with future Hall-of-Famer, Dennis Eckersley). About an hour after my announcing appearance, I was heading back to Taunton with my son. It was well after midnight before I finally arrived back home in Framingham.
The next day was a madhouse. My phone was ringing off the hook with congratulatory calls (I was asked to recreate my Ramirez home run call on a Boston radio station). There were even calls from people I hadn’t heard from in years. It was exciting. However within a few days, it was pretty much back to normal. T he luster and hoopla had begun to fade. But, while it lasted, it was wonderful.
In hindsight, the thing I remember most about my Major League play-by-play experience was calling Manny Ramirez's home run: "THere's a long drive deep to right. Drew going back. Back...back,,,back...back.. (then a pause) Gone!
Well, turn the clock back some 50 years. I'm then an elementary-school student. I'm playing with some of my favorite baseball cards: Ted Williams, Mickey Mantle, Stan Musial, Sibby Sisti, and a host of others on the floor of my family's third-floor apartment in the Dorchester-Mattapan section of Boston.
At the time, I was making believe that I was a play-by-play announcer. More specifically, that I was a Boston Red Sox play-by-play announcer. “Three and two, the big one due,” I'd say, a la Curt Gowdy.
Little did I know then that my fantasy would some day...become a reality.
Ever since I realized that I would not become the next Ted Williams, or even the next Faye Throneberry, I decided that I would like to become a baseball play-by-play announcer. I loved to listen to Gowdy and his partner, Bob Murphy (later with the Mets) describe the Red Sox games on the radio.
As I look back at my childhood, I was a passionate Sox fan. My family had moved from New York City to New Bedford, MA, and finally to Boston in the late-1940s. My father would take me to Fenway Park to see my very first Red Sox game in 1949. I was then just shy of my seventh birthday. I remember little of the game, or even the team the Red Sox were playing that day, but I do recall my Dad bought me a Red Sox pennant and also a package of black-and-white Red Sox players’ pictures (I taped them to the walls of my room). In those days, I insisted that my first glove be a Bobby Doerr (my favorite player) autographed model.
Over the years, I attended dozens of Red Sox games, usually with friends, but sometimes with my father or mother, or both. When I was a little older (and could attend the games myself), my friends and I would sit in the bleachers, right behind the Red Sox bullpen. I would sometimes imagine that I was sitting up in the announcer’s booth and doing play-by-play: “There’s a long drive deep to center, Piersall going back, back to the wall, he leaps...”
When I wasn’t at Fenway, I’d be listening to the games on the radio even when I was supposed to be doing my homework. Whenever my family took a car trip, it was obligatory that if the Red Sox were playing, the radio was tuned to WHDH (the Red Sox flagship station).
As I grew older and graduated from high school, and then college, my interest in doing play-by-play began to wane. In the mid-1960s, I would begin a teaching career and, a few years later, I'd get married. I would move my family from Boston to Framingham, MA. In those days, I’d supplement my teaching salary by covering high school sports for a local newspaper
It was while I was reporting on high school football that I would be interviewed as a guest on a local radio station, WKOX, during halftime. of the football games. Those brief halftime interviews led to a color commentator’s job with the station. That would later evolve into doing play-by-play of high school football.
In 1979, I’d do play-by-play of high school football and basketball for Framingham’s cable TV outlet, Community Cablevision. However, over the next decade, I would do less and less in the way of play-by-play. However, I did get to call American Legion baseball games on a radio station in Milford, MA.
By the beginning of 1990s, I had pretty much confined my occupational interests to teaching social studies at Framingham North H.S. (later to become Framingham High). My two children, a boy and a girl, had already reached college age. I had passed the mid-century mark and was heading toward my 60th birthday.
It was in the early spring of 2003 that I read a column in the Boston Sunday Globe that spoke of a New England-wide contest that was being sponsored by Boston Beer (brewers of Sam Adams); it was called “Announcer For An Inning.” Although it had been over a decade since I’d done play-by-play, just the mention of the words “play-by-play” elicited a conditioned Pavlovian-like response.
At first blush, I was ambivalent. Yes, I loved doing play-by-play, but I was also realistic. I was older, now. Not nearly as confident as I would have been, say ten or twenty years earlier.
Yet, in the end, I said, “Why not?” So, in late May. I drove to where the contest auditions were being held; it was a restaurant/bar called Desmond O’Malley’s (no longer in existence). Before I had left the house, my wife had said, “Walt, if it’s crowded, come right back, we're getting together for dinner with Lee (my daughter) and her fiancee. My daughter and her future husband were getting married the following weekend.
When I arrived at Desmond O’Malley’s, the place was nearly empty. I did see a man (I later learned his name was Boston Beer’s central MA sales rep.) setting up some AV equipment. I remember asking, “Is this where the announcer auditions are taking place?” He replied, “Yes.” He added, “Why don’t you have yourself a cold one, I’ll be with you in about ten minutes.” I did just that.
About ten minutes later, the sales rep. signaled that he was ready to start the auditions. In the interim, another contestant had arrived. I remember that he introduced himself as a Boston-area lawyer. I recall that he said to me, “Go ahead, you were here first.” I said, “That’s OK. You worked all day. I’m retired. You want to get home...” So, the lawyer went first.
I remember that the lawyer was seated at a table with a stationary video camera trained on his face. There was a microphone and also a TV monitor.
Well, instantly I recognized the two-minute clip that was being used as part of the audition. It was Nomar Garciaparra’s walk-off homer on Easter Sunday. I watched the lawyer do his rendition. When it was over, I thought he had done a good job.
I then sat down at the table in front of the camera. I felt confident. For one, I remember listening to that game in the car and then seeing its conclusion at home. I distinctly remember Garciaparra’s homer. I also benefitted from watching the lawyer go first (sort of like watching a fellow golfer putt first when you have the same line).
I recall that the replay started with Garciaparra doing his toe-tapping and batting-glove routine. The score at the time was 5-to-5. The Red Sox had battled back from a 5-0 deficit against the then Blue Jay’s ace, Roy Halladay. It was now Cliff Politte who was on the hill in relief to face Garciaparra. I remember that the count on Garciaparra was 2-and-1 when he lifted Politte’s “cut” fastball off one of the light-tower stanchions above “The Green Monster” for the game-winning walk-off homer. As Garciaparra rounded the bases, I recall saying, “Touch ‘em all, Nomar — ‘Good Decision’.” (“Good Decision” was Samuel Adams Beer’s commercial tag line).
When it was over, I thought I’d done well. Yet, there was no way of knowing how well I’d done in relation to the other contestants. I remember asking the sales rep., “What’s next?” I recall he mentioned that the judges would look over the tapes and that the semi-finalists (the top 50) would be notified the following Monday.
That evening, we had dinner with my daughter and future son-in-law. Over the weekend, I worked with my wife on last-minute wedding preparations. The following Monday, I had substituted (I did some substitute teaching after I retired) in an area school. When I got home, my wife said, “ There’s a message on the answering machine I think you should listen to.” I listened. it was Boston Beer’s Dave Virden (I remembered his name because of its similarity to outfielder Bill Virdon). He had left a message to call him back. I immediately returned his call. I remember that Virden immediately congratulated me as being chosen as a contest semi-finalist. He would go on to say tha the judges would again look at the tapes and narrow the field to five finalists. The finals were to be held Wednesday evening at a Boston sports bar called: “The Place”. Before he hung up, Virden asked, “If you are selected as a finalist, could you appear at ‘The Place,’ Wednesday evening?” I said, “Yes.”
Those next twenty-four hours were nerve-wracking. Not only was my daughter’s wedding now less than a week away, but I would be on tenterhooks waiting to find out whether I was selected as a finalist in the Red Sox announcing contest.
The next day, Tuesday, I didn’t sub. Instead, I did some yard work (I had brought my portable phone with me). 2:30 PM omes and goes. No calls. 3 PM. The phone rings. I hurriedly clicked on the phone. It was my wife’s friend. Is there anything she can do to help with the last-minute wedding preparations? I thank her and then tell her that my wife (who was still teaching) should be home by 3:30. 4 PM. Still no calls. I’m nervous. It’s getting late. Then -- at 4:30 PM -- the phone rings. I pick it up. “Congratulations!” It’s Dave Virden. I’m a finalist! I’m ecstatic.
The plans were to have the five finalists meet at “The Place” by 5 PM that Wednesday. We were to do a live version of an interleague game between the Red Sox and Pittsburgh Pirates from PNC Park.
That night, I turned on NESN to watch the opening game of a three-game series between the Sox and Pirates. The game was delayed by rain. It was “throwback” night. The players were wearing the old woolen uniforms. The PA system was not going to be used. The players would be announced by people with megaphones from atop the dugouts.
Meanwhile, I’m downloading everything I can about the Pirates. I felt comfortable with the Red Sox, but the Pirates... The only player I recognized in the Pirates’ starting lineup was Kenny Lofton. I had seen him several times as a member of the Cleveland Indians.
Well, the rain continues. Coverage of the game is returned to the NESN studio. I recall that guest analyst Jim Rice (later to be inducted into the Hall of Fame) was taking calls from viewers. At 9:30 PM the game was called off. It would be made up the following day as part of a twi-night doubleheader. The first game would start at 5 PM. What bearing will this postponement have on the contest? Will we still be doing the “live” game? They’ll be no way of knowing until tomorrow morning. Meanwhile, I continue studying the Pirates’ players.
The next morning, I call Boston Beer. I hook up with Dave Virden. He says that we’ll likely do the Pirates game, but there’s a possibility that we may have to do a canned version of the Yankees pitcher Roger Clemens quest for his 300th victory; it’s a game that took place on Memorial Day. Virden finishes up by saying that he’ll try to e-mail each of the contestants as early as possible as to audition plans. I hang up the phone. I’m in limbo. Do I continue studying the Pirates, or do I devote some of my attention to Roger Clemens? I decide to do a little of both. All this reminds me of an “all-nighter” I pulled in college. I tried to cram a thousand of years of Greek history into twelve overnight hours.
About 1:30 PM, I receive an e-mail from Boston Beer’s Virden. Plans are still to do the Pirates game, but there’s still a chance it’ll be Clemens. I continue studying. I haven’t studied like this since I was taking my college final exams. I finally leave for “The Place” about 4 PM. My wife wishes me well, “I say, “Thanks, I’ll need it.”
When I arrive at “The Place,” I find out that because of sportscaster-judges need to be back in their respective studios to prepare for their 11 PM sports reports, we’ll be doing Clemens’ try for his 300th win.
Well, the next two hours were pretty much a blur. I do recall that all the finalists received instructions from Boston Beer’s PR department as to how to answer questions from the media. I also remember introducing myself to the other contestants. I know that I had brought a bunch of notes with me. I remember discarding the Pirates’ information and began cramming information about Clemens.
Finally, the contest was about to start. We had previously drawn lots as to order of appearance (I had drawn fifth and last; an order of appearance I was pleased with that). One by one, the contestants were seated at a table with a microphone. T he taped replay of the Yankees-Red Sox game was being shown on a large screen off to our right. The judges were Boston sports media personalities; it also included Boston Beer owner and brew-master, Jim Koch. The judges were seated directly across from us. The votes were to be cast on a scale of 1- to-10. It was similar to judging figure skating or diving at the Olympics.
Each of the four contestants that preceded me had done a very good job. It was certainly difficult to choose between them. I thought a young man who started off (he was a recent Boston College grad) did an outstanding job. He showed great deal of poise. He was also quite glib. In the game itself, there had been a degree controversy associated with Roger Clemens' glove. Clemens had come out on the field with this special commemorative glove. It was then that Red Sox manager Grady Little protested. Another glove was substituted. The contest's first contestant had handled the description of the controversy very well. In fact, he set a very high standard by getting very good scores from the judges.
Another contestant, I believe he was third in the order, was also very good. As I listened to him do his rendition, I thought to myself, “Very polished.” Thinking back, each one of the other four contestants brought “something to the table.”
Finally, it was my turn. As I sat down at the table in front of the judges, I knew that I’d never get another chance like this. At that moment I was thinking about my late father, he’d frequently state his pet expressions. One that he often used was a chiasmic phrase: “When the going gets tough, the tough get going.”
Well, I remember doing the play-by-play. I recall that Shea Hillenbrand was at bat (he had been, in the interim, traded to the Arizona Diamondbacks). All the while, I was trying to include as much material that I could about Clemens’ storied past: his two 20-strikeout games, his numerous Cy Young awards, and his 20-1 start in 2001. About three minutes later my audition was over. The judges voted. I recall receiving a mix of scores. Most were high, but one or two were relatively low. I knew it was going to be close. Then, the MC, Mike Adams (currently with WEEI in Boston), announced that I was the winner. It was a dream come true.
After the contest was over, I remember sharing beers with Boston Beer’s Koch, being interviewed by Boston media outlets and receiving congratulations from many people.
That night, I arrived back in Framingham to tell my wife that I’d won. The next morning, I called my children. Yet, there would be so little time to focus on the contest. My daughter’s wedding was less than four days away and there were still several last-minute details. Between talking to the caterer, the band, and some of our guests, I managed to squeeze in a little computer time to download info on the St. Louis Cardinals. The game I would doing, Sox vs. Cardinals, would be take place Tuesday evening, June 10.
My daughter’s wedding went off without a hitch. It was a beautiful affair. When my wife and I finally arrived back in Framingham on Monday, there would be a little over 24 hours before I’d have to arrive at Fenway Park. I continued to study both the Cardinals and the Red Sox. I was developing a notebook of information that would equate with some of the course notebooks I’d keep when I was in college.
On Tuesday afternoon, the day of the game, I drove to my son’s home in Taunton, MA (I was allowed one guest). From his house, we drove to Fenway Park. I remember we arrived at 4 PM. While my son was parking the car, I was greeted by the Boston Beer staff and brought down onto the field. It was quite a thrill. In all the years I’d taken in games at Fenway, I’d always wanted to set foot on the Fenway Park playing surface.
During that late afternoon, I recall being interviewed by two Boston TV stations. I also got to see batting practice and talk with some of the fans, both for Cardinals and Red Sox. Then, it was upstairs for dinner in the press dining room, and later a seat for my son and me in Fenway’s first-base roof box section
As the sixth inning was nearing its end, I was escorted to the NESN booth high atop Fenway Park. It was then that I received a surprise. The contest had been billed as “An Announcer For An Inning.” I construed that to mean both the top half of the inning (the visiting Cardinals) and the bottom of the inning (the home-standing Red Sox). But about a minute after I arrived in the NESN booth, I was informed that I was only doing the Red Sox half of the inning — the bottom half. I was surprised. It was at that moment that I thought to myself, “Why?” I had spent so much time studying the Cardinals’ batters. At that very moment, I needed to regain my composure. I also kept thinking what my mother used to say: “A half a loaf is better than none.”
Well, I waited until the Cardinals had completed their half of the 7th and then joined play-by-play announcer Don Orsillo and color commentator Jerry Remy at the bottom of the NESN booth. This was it. There would never be an another opportunity like it.
In their half of the 7th, the Red Sox started slowly. Trailing 7-2, the Sox couldn’t seem to get untracked. Catcher Jason Varitek lead off the inning by grounding out to Cards second baseman Miguel Cairo. The next batter, Johnny Damon, flied to J.D Drew in shallow right. The third batter of the inning was Todd Walker. Walker lifted a fly ball down the rightfield line that couldn’t be caught by outfielder Drew; it landed about a foot fair and then hopped into the seats for a ground-rule double. “Whew!” I thought, “at least I didn’t get a 1-2-3 inning.”
The next batter, Nomar Garciaparra, barely avoided a check-swing third strike before lifting a drive off the top of the leftfield scoreboard for a triple. The next batter was Manny Ramirez. Ramirez deposited the Cardinals’ Woody Wiliams’ first pitch into the visitor’s bullpen. A pitching change then brought in Jeff Fassero. He immediately gave up a sharp single to DH David Ortiz. The final out of the inning occurred when Kevin Millar grounded Fassero’s three-two pitch to Cairo. But the Sox had scored three runs and were back in the ballgame.
After my stint in the booth, I was interviewed by a few writers. I then visited the NESN studio (I talked briefly with future Hall-of-Famer, Dennis Eckersley). About an hour after my announcing appearance, I was heading back to Taunton with my son. It was well after midnight before I finally arrived back home in Framingham.
The next day was a madhouse. My phone was ringing off the hook with congratulatory calls (I was asked to recreate my Ramirez home run call on a Boston radio station). There were even calls from people I hadn’t heard from in years. It was exciting. However within a few days, it was pretty much back to normal. T he luster and hoopla had begun to fade. But, while it lasted, it was wonderful.
In hindsight, the thing I remember most about my Major League play-by-play experience was calling Manny Ramirez's home run: "THere's a long drive deep to right. Drew going back. Back...back,,,back...back.. (then a pause) Gone!