A Sad Goodbye to Greatness

Normally we would do our Football-Friday-on-Thursday spiel today, but it’s just not going to happen.  Not today.  Instead, we wanted to just share some thoughts from each of us on this very, very sad day.  And please, feel free to share any thoughts or memories you may have on Mr. Niehaus in comments.  The floor is yours if you want it.

SUTRA SEZ:

Hello Followers.  Hope you’ve had a great week.

As for me, well, I have to say that I am surprisingly taken aback by the news of Dave Niehaus’ passing last night.

When I picked up my phone last night to read Sean’s text that Dave had died, well, I almost dropped my phone.

To borrow from the ole Lloyd Benson line, “I never knew Dave Niehaus.  Dave wasn’t a friend of mine.”

But in spite of that simple fact, the meaning and impact of Neihaus’ life was that, in fact, we all felt that we knew him.  We all felt that he was a friend.

Moreover, for those of us whose childhoods were in the 70’s, Neihaus’ passing seems like a major, major generational shift…..

You see, baseball doesn’t catch the national imagination in ways that it used to. While little Sutra still plays the game of baseball, it is something that he does because, sadly, he feels that it is something that is important to me.

I have a really hard time imagining that he will spend his Saturday and Sunday afternoons playing that game with his son.

In addition, my early experiences with the Mariners were defined by two experiences: (1) Seeing games live in the Kingdome; and (2) Hearing Niehaus on the radio.

Because, as hard as it is to imagine now, ESPN did not even exist during the franchise’s early years.  And outside of the occasional game that was broadcast on KIRO, there was no FSN to carry the other 138 games (or some such) that were played each season.  And so, there was only Dave to describe the daily happenings of the game that I loved the most at that time.

And so, today, I reflect fondly on listening to the first Mariners game–a 6-0 loss to the Angels if I remember correctly–while driving to Orcas Island with my mother.

I reflect fondly on the images and sounds Niehaus depicted of Diego Segui taking the mound for that first game in Mariner history.

I reflect fondly on his championing of the franchise’s first stars–Ruppert Jones and Bruce Bochte–as well as its irrelevant such as Jose Biaz, Danny Meyer, and Bill Stein.

And, as a few of you may remember, his EPIC call of the fictitious GAME 7 World Series game between the M’s and Braves in 1994 is something that gave me absolute chills when it was broadcast on the radio following the cancellation of the World Series that year.

Finally, I reflect ever so fondly on the magical season of 1995–the year that saved baseball in Seattle.

As I jumped up and down in my house watching Junior slide into home to beat the Yankees in Game 5 of the 1995 ALDS, I simply couldn’t contain my unbridled sense of exhilaration and joy.

But, it was ABC’s shot of a tearful Niehaus facing an applauding crowd that evoked a near waterfall of tears for me.

Because Niehaus was one of the few that summoned passion–day-after-day-after-day–in spite of the fact that the franchise was more often HORRIBLE than competitive.

And that, more than anything, was both a testament to him as well as the great generation of men that he represented.

Like many others of his time, he worked tirelessly.  Instead of complaining about all of the losing and the franchise struggles, Niehaus worked to rise above those struggles, and at times, transcend them. And in so doing, his love and passion for the game helped to create another generation of baseball fans like me.

I’ll miss you Dave Niehaus.  Here’s to hoping that one day, you’ll be able to finally call a World Series victory for our beloved Mariners.

We’ll all be looking up at the sky when that day happens.

SEANHAWK SEZ:

It’s hard to really know what to say.  Like so many of you reading this, I have spent the vast majority of my life in the great northwest.  As such, we are provincial people, downright protective of our own.  And Dave was one of our own, one of us.  Best of all, he was great and a Ford Frick award winner, but he was OURS.  Not New York, or Boston, or Philly or even LA.  He was Seattle, he was the northwest. 

With that, I’ll leave you with a couple of fond memories I have of Niehaus.  One that was a huge moment, but one that wasn’t so big, but was still amazing.

The first moment to me was, as is the same to many of you, that incredible 1995 season.  As the M’s made that run, my friends and I would more and more often find ourselves heading down to the Dome, hoping to see something amazing as the season was winding down.  And of course, they pulled off a miracle and made the playoffs.  I was lucky enough to score playoff tickets with my good friend Hooty, believe it or not, and together we enjoyed the playoffs from the right field bleachers.

After the craziness of the game 5 win over the Yanks, the majority of the fans stayed and cheered for several minutes.  The in-stadium camera started to pan around to the entire crowd, one section at a time, and showed it on the Diamond Vision.  People were still standing and cheering as the camera panned it’s way around the stadium.  But at the end, it finished up looking into the broadcast booth.  And there, on the mike, talking up a storm, was Dave.  The place went absolutely CRAZY, with a long roar that I will never forget, as Niehaus was shown on the big screen.  After a moment, Niehaus looked up and realized what was going on.  He then paused for a moment, stopping in mid-sentence, and then stood up out of his chair and waved at the crowd!  It was as if he was not only saying thank you for the thunderous applause, but it was like he was saying “Wow, that was some ride, wasn’t it?”  Just like a fan, it was like he was one of us in the crowd, and not some talking head with a microphone.  It was surreal, it was amazing, it is something I can still see in my mind today.  It is something I will never, never, ever forget.

My other memory that I will never forget was the opening of Safeco Field.  Again, thanks to my good friend Hooty we had outstanding seats along the third base side in the lower section for the opener.  While all the opening ceremonies were fantastic and emotional, I mean wow, we FINALLY have outdoor baseball in Seattle!?!?  And listening to Dave read the “People Will Come” speech from Field of Dreams, it was unbelievable.  But the one unanswered question was who was going to throw out the first pitch?  Who deserved more than anyone else to ring in a new era of baseball in Seattle by throwing the first pitch in this beautiful new ballpark?  Of course, the fans WANTED it to be Dave, I mean it just made sense on so many levels.  But it was kept a surprise, until the very last moment…..

Niehaus tried hard to hide the tears, covering his face with his hands for a moment, before realizing that he had to go out and throw that pitch.  But there couldn’t have been a happier person on the planet at that moment than Dave.  And there were a lot of grown men who suddenly “have something in my eye…” 

I think it’s going to hit me the hardest once baseball returns next spring.  I know when that first moment comes when I flip on the radio, and I will be subconsciously expecting to hear Dave?  He’s not going to be there.  It’s going to be tough.

We’ll always have My Oh My, Swung On And Belted, Fly Away, Lowwwww and Outside, and Grand Salami Time! 

Thank you Mr. Niehaus.  While I never actually knew you, well, I sure felt like I did.  So rest in peace my friend, rest in peace.

LUCASCOUG SEZ:

Wow what a shocking night last night, huh?  I’d no clue anything had happened until I picked up my phone around 5:30 and had texts from KJR and ESPN Radio notifying me of Dave’s passing.

This is definitely salt in the wounds from a Northwest sports community that just cannot catch a break.

Dave represents everything that is right with the game of baseball.  Each broadcast from him, in his prime, was absolutely beautiful.  I must admit, I have criticized the hell out of Dave the past few years.  He definitely wasn’t in prime form like he was in the 90’s when his catchphrases became part of our culture:

“Fly, Fly, Fly Away!”

“Swung On and Belted.”

“My Oh My”

“Get Out the Rye Bread and Mustard Grandma, It Is Grand Salami Time!”, the latter of which I had imprinted on a shirt when I was younger. 

Man, I would pay good money to know where that shirt wound up.  Actually, my mom probably has it boxed up in a basement somewhere.

I am glad that I grew up listening to his broadcasts when I didn’t have the chance to watch games.  I am forever indebted to Dave for inspiring me to study New Broadcasting when I went to Wazzu.  I feel absolutely awful for whomever they hire to fill his place, as those are mighty big shoes.

Niehaus.  Calabro.  Bob Robertson.  Those are my big three right there.  Dave, thanks for all of the memories.  I will forever cherish your place in my life and I will take your call of “The Double” with me to my grave.

To this day that is the biggest sports moment of my life (sorry Cougs).