Too many obits will lean on Skip Caray's longevity as an Atlanta Braves broadcaster and his position in the first family of baseball broadcasting.
Too few will talk about why the loss of this broadcaster stings baseball fans so.
He was the first baseball broadcaster I knew as a kid. During four childhood years in rural Georgia, as my baseball fandom emerged, Caray gave it a voice through those TBS broadcasts.
His clean, unassuming tone never sounded bored, even during the dark years of Atlanta baseball, when Dale Murphy led a cast of has-beens and never-wills through seasons guaranteed to end with 90-plus losses - moving from Cleveland made it easy to root for fellow losers like the Braves.
Caray never applied a candy coating to his game-calling - the Braves stunk, and he never shied from telling listeners about their odor of the day. Skip was the cool-headed, straight-talking member of the family.
Baseball broadcasters are a voice in a wilderness for those of us stuck at home. Those calls change how we view the game's great moments - Vin Scully's amazement at Bill Buckner's infamous Game 6 error, Mel Allen's consistently affable "How about that!" call, or the Reds beloved Marty Brenneman. Those voices gently usher listeners through game after game, connecting us to far off events. They play Prometheus, their words sparking imagination's reeds and flesh out every pitch.
Only Skip could bring the diamond at Fulton County Stadium to rural Dublin any night of the season.
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