Ernie Harwell

God bless you, Ernie Harwell.

When the news broke about your tumor last week, I was startled to learn that you were already 91 years old! In my heart you will be an eternal 41.

My mother and I remember easy summer afternoons and evenings listening to your play-by-play broadcast of Detroit Tiger baseball games as we grilled hot dogs, or curled up on the couch with a good book, or played cards with the neighbors. In those days nobody had central air conditioning; so our set, which was placed on the refrigerator in the kitchen, would radiate the transmission throughout the house as well as through screened windows and doors out into the yard, often overlapping with other family radios up and down the block, providing blanket community coverage of the game.

You and George Kell were a match made in heaven. Kismet. Trading real-time updates with background stories and baseball history with the facility of seasoned cowpokes riding easy in the saddle. No histronics - ever. Never indulging in the "coulda-woulda-shoulda" condescending tirade we so often hear today. Offering the courtesy of blessed silence from time to time, if there was really nothing special to talk about.

But your voice...your voice painted vividly accurate pictures of each contest with such depth and brilliance, wrapping its suede glove quality securely around each pronouncement, that we could almost feel seated at the stadium with a mustard-slathered "yummy-yummy red hot" in hand.

You respected the sport, the players, and your listeners. We loved you, and still do. The sport misses you.

Well done!