And the 2-0 pitch to Ichiro on the way - swung on and a fly ball hit to left field. This will end the season. Right there drifting back is Carter to make the catch, and the ballgame is over. So here in the ninth inning of play, no runs, one hit, and one man left, and the season is over, and for the first time ever, the A's come in and sweep a four-game series in Seattle. The final: the A's four, and the Mariners three. Be right back.
---
I'm sitting here, thinking about all the people I know, and all the people I'm close to. I'm trying to imagine what they sound like. Obviously, I have some idea. I would recognize them if I heard them. But, just using my imagination, I can't nail them down. I can't imagine exactly what my girlfriend sounds like. I can't imagine exactly what my mother sounds like, or what my brother sounds like, or what my friends sound like. I can get close, but there's still something off. It's like my mind is spitting out some blend of 75% them and 25% generic gender-specific voice, just to be safe.
I can imagine exactly what Dave Niehaus sounded like. I wouldn't call him the narrator of my memories, but he's the narrator of a lot of them, and I've listened to him describe Edgar's double so many times that I've got the whole thing down to a science. Right now, the Mariners looking for the tie. Hold the -w a little bit. Insert a little pause between the 'for' and the 'the'. In the event of an impression, speak the whole thing from the back of the tongue, with a bit of a drawl.
To say that Dave was the voice of the Mariners is to say it all, really. If the Mariners were a thing - a big, awkward, stumbly thing, moving around without any real sense of direction - and if that thing were to open its mouth, it would sound like Dave Niehaus. He felt how all of us felt, and he expressed what all of us wished to express. Through all of the good and all of the bad, one needed nothing more than to listen to Dave Niehaus for a few minutes to figure out where the Mariners stood. There was no hiding his delight when things were going well, and there was no hiding his disappointment when they weren't.
Lately, things haven't been going well very often - certainly not in 2010, when the Mariners saw a legend up and retire and went on to perhaps their worst year in franchise history. It's easy to imagine the toll this must have taken on Dave after all of the positive feelings before the season began. He didn't take it well, and more and more, fans expressed the sentiment that the M's had better get it done while Dave was still around. Something about the awfulness of it all, and the step back it represented, put things in perspective and caused people to realize that Dave wouldn't be with us forever.
And, no doubt, it's a great shame that Dave never got to see the M's in the World Series. Having been with the organization from the very beginning, he deserved it more than anyone else, and it hurts to just imagine how excited he would've been. Dave would've had the time of his life.
But rather than get mad at the Mariners for failing to deliver for Dave over 34 years, I think what people need to understand is that, even without a deep trip in October, Dave had the time of his life anyway. Earlier today, we were talking a little about Joe Buck, and it's evident that Buck doesn't approach the game of baseball with a childlike enthusiasm. I do not think that's a barrier from being a good announcer. But in order to be a great one - you gotta love the game, and Dave loved the game like few others do. Announcing was his job, and from time to time it would most certainly feel like a job, but it says something that, on his infrequent days off, Dave would relax and listen to a game. Some people use their offdays to clear their heads. Dave's was never cluttered.
Don't be mad at the Mariners, and don't feel bad for Dave. There could've been more highs, but the man lived his passion every day. He was a lucky one.
It's weird when these things happen. When Ernie Harwell died, it didn't mean much to me. When Harry Kalas died, it didn't mean much to me. Harry Caray, Jack Buck, Chick Hearn, and so on - their deaths didn't stop me in my place. News of Dave's passing did. I lost my grandfather a few weeks ago and Dave's passing doesn't affect me in the same way, but it does still feel like a death in the family, just because it resonates so strongly within a tight group of people. People from Los Angeles or Denver or Kansas City won't feel about this the way that we do, and we shouldn't expect them to, but many of them understand. Most fans understand that, while another team's long-time announcer may not mean much to them, they mean the world to the listeners at home. There's a bond that forms, and it stirs this strong, fierce devotion.
It's a devotion that, in many ways, may be even stronger than one's devotion to a team. When a team is good, you're all about it, and you're brimming with enthusiasm. When a team is lousy, though, one becomes objective, and critical. That objectivity and criticism isn't there with announcers like Dave. Not nearly to the same degree. I think we were all aware of some of Dave's flaws in his later years, but none of us thought worse of him because of them, the way we think worse of the M's for some of their drawbacks. I know, myself, while there's no statistical measure of narrator quality, I'd argue until I was blue in the face that Dave was the best there ever was.
He was the best there ever was, to me, to you, and to so many others. In Detroit, of course, the same doesn't hold true. Harwell was the best there ever was. In St. Louis, Buck was the best there ever was. And the beauty of it all is that none of us are wrong. There is no right answer with something like this. Only a man you grew up with, and a man connected to so many memories.
As hard as this is, I don't know that it's really going to sink in until next March. Or maybe not even until next April or May. Until the Mariners get going in their first season ever without Dave Niehaus in the booth. That's going to be rough. That's when it's really going to feel like something's missing, and that's when we'll understand that nobody - not then, not ever - will replace Dave Niehaus. Someone will take his title, and someone will take his chair, but no one will take his place in our hearts, and I pity the poor son of a bitch who has to try to follow Dave's act with his own.
I miss you, Dave. Wherever you are now, I hope you've got a limeade and a ballgame.
61 recs | 189 comments
Goodbye Mr. Niehaus
Thanks for making even the worst seasons more enjoyable.
I will never forget camping as a kid and hearing his voice on the radio way up in Wenatchee while playing cards with my twin brother, cousin, dad, and uncle.
bigtrain21 - November 10, 2010
It is very rare that sports news makes me speechless or stop in my tracks
But I pretty much stopped still when I heard this news. I can’t imagine a Mariners game without Dave, but now I have to. I’ve heard his voice for 33 years now, and it’s just not quite real that he’ll never be in the booth again.
pdb - November 10, 2010
I put shoes on and walked
I may have even walked by your house.
Jeff Sullivan - November 10, 2010
Unfortunately I was out
because if ever I needed a community of Mariner fans, it’s on a night like this.
pdb - November 10, 2010
Yeah, if not for LL I don't know what I'd be doing right now.
JY - November 10, 2010
I was in 7-11, doing my best to commiserate.
No one cared. One guy said, “well, that sucks.” But this community… I’m isolated from my friends in many ways, but here I feel welcome. And I couldn’t walk through the night thinking about the Double and Grand Salami without people to talk to.
Thanks, guys.
THolt - November 10, 2010
I was at a bar with my wife
and all the time we were talking about it I was looking around the bar, thinking “ONE OF YOU PEOPLE HAS TO BE UPSET ABOUT THIS COME ON OVER TO MY TABLE AND WE CAN TALK ABOUT IT” but of course that’s not the way real life actually works. Which sucks because everyone should be wearing black armbands and talking about nothing but the awesomeness of Dave Niehaus right about now.
pdb - November 10, 2010
I mentioned to Katal about doing something around the Safe late afternoon tomorrow.
Grab a drink. Hold a small vigil. Maybe one of the more experienced guys could make some remarks. Everyone fighting back tears. Show Seattle that a small cadre of real fans does exist, and that despite the setbacks, men like Niehaus make it worth it.
Where do we go from here?
THolt - November 10, 2010
We go on ahead. We have no choice.
But it won’t be the same. As Jeff and others have mentioned, it’ll be OK in a week, in a month or two we’ll almost forget…and then spring training will roll around and it’ll be Dave Sims and…someone else, and it’ll start to hurt all over again. It’s an exaggeration to say Mariners baseball will never be the same, but not much of one.
pdb - November 10, 2010
And I know I just contradicted myself there
but still.
pdb - November 10, 2010
If ever there were a time for contradictions.
THolt - November 10, 2010
I disagree that we'll forget. Mariners baseball is forever altered.
Not in an apocalyptic sense, in the way that a family is altered by the loss of its patriarch, which in reality, was what Dave was to the Mariners.
THolt - November 10, 2010
I never said forget
but in February, when you’re not really thinking about baseball all that much, it won’t be at the forefront of your mind. And then you’ll turn on a game in March, expecting to hear Dave, and….you won’t. And it’ll suck as much as it sucks right now.
pdb - November 10, 2010
The moment I hear the words "catchers and pitchers report," whatever emotion has been tempered by time will swell again.
And that’s sooner than later.
THolt - November 10, 2010
If I could meet later in the afternoon I would.
But I’m almost positive that there will be people around Safeco all day tomorrow. As long as you make the pilgrimage, there will be others to commemorate with.
katal - November 10, 2010
Just may do that.
THolt - November 10, 2010
I had much the same reaction at work tonight.
I could not believe so many people who i have seen where Mariner’s gear not get bummed out over this. People weren’t understanding how I could be getting this upset.
JAH - November 10, 2010
I would have joined you
Had I known which bar. Instead I chose to celebrate his life with a six pack and YouTube clips.
wilsonpdx - November 11, 2010
County Cork
now fire up the time machine!
pdb - November 11, 2010
We throw darts there from time to time
I’ve got quite a few jigawatts to generate before time travel, though.
wilsonpdx - November 11, 2010
I was at a panel for MFA programs.
I found out randomly checking Facebook and seeing Scruffy’s status. I tried to articulate it to some of the profs later, one of them whom I know is a baseball fan, but it wasn’t the same.
JY - November 10, 2010
That's why we got "each other."
THolt - November 10, 2010
Right.
I don’t know who I’d talk to in NYC at a time like this. Well, Faux’s in Jersey, Bearskin Rugburn is around here somewhere, and there’s BRKLYN M’S too.
JY - November 10, 2010
Just wait.
I’m going to run into someone tomorrow wearing an M’s hat and to hell with my own distaste of talking to someone I have no familiarity with, I’m going to talk with that person and we’re going to commiserate.
JY - November 10, 2010
It's my intention to wear a M's hat all day tomorrow.
Both to show respect and to connect with others.
MT Olson - November 10, 2010
This is what I think of
“Right now, the Mariners looking for the tie. They would take a fly ball; they would love a base hit into the gap and they could win it with Junior’s speed. The stretch and the 0–1 pitch on the way to Edgar Martinez; swung on and lined down the left field line for a base hit! Here comes Joey! Here is Junior to third base, they’re going to wave him in! The throw to the plate will be…LATE! The Mariners are going to play for the American League Championship! I don’t believe it! It just continues! My oh My!”
spencer peaty - November 10, 2010
I love when he's too excited to speak
“Swung on and……..LINEDDOWNTHELEFTFIELDLINE FOR A BASEHIT!”
wilsonpdx - November 10, 2010
True fan.
He reacted the exact same way we did. Pure joy, anticipation at waving Griff in, and how he almost became part of the crowd during the pig pile with Jr.’s smiling face gleaming from the bottom.
Sigh.
THolt - November 10, 2010
That's why we loved him so much. He wasn't some corporate employee
trying to ply his craft, or advance his career. He was simply a fan, like all of us, and he shared his unique perspective and broadcasting talents to make the entire experience more enjoyable for anyone who could hear him.
misterjonez - November 10, 2010
You just made me start crying a little bit.
THolt - November 10, 2010
Fantastic opening. Great observation.
It won’t be the same without you, Dave.
JonBBT - November 10, 2010
You are so right, "someone will take his title, and someone will take his chair,
but no one will ever take his place in our hearts". And whoever said “there’s no crying in baseball”, never felt the loss I’m feeling right now. Thank you, Mr. Niehaus for describing so well what I couldn’t see and telling such wonderful baseball stories.
TrustBaseball - November 10, 2010
I am an insensitive ass. I can see, but sometimes I cannot watch the Ms.
I just got a call from a good friend who is visually impaired. She was in a state of complete depression, desperation and shock. There are people who are in a world of hurt tonight. She has lost so much more than me. Dave, THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR WHAT YOU GAVE ALL OF US.
TrustBaseball - November 10, 2010
I hear what you're saying Jeff, but it's still not fucking fair. Dave never got to see a World Series. Edgar, Junior, probably Ichiro.
It’s just not right.
Goose - November 10, 2010
Oh, it's not right at all
It’s just not really the feeling I want to have on my mind. Not tonight
Jeff Sullivan - November 10, 2010
I've gone through three stages thus far
First, complete disbelief when I opened my email and saw “Mariners mourn the passing of Hall of Famer Dave Niehaus”. That last about a half hour and I expect will come back after the grief is diminished and last at least through spring training and some of the season.
Then I was completley enraged: “Fuck you 2010 and Fuck You 2010 Mariners for making that festering turd of a season Niehaus’ last. And FUCK YOU most of all Seattle Mariners for not being able to get to the World Series one damn time in Niehaus illustrious career.”
Then that progressed into sadness that when the M’s do get there someday, it’s just not going to be as good and there will be a part of me that thinks “Man, imagine that call if Dave Niehaus had been here to make it.” He had the ability to turn even ho-hum games and plays into fun ones to listen to and the ability to make really dramatic moments in the game be nearly unbearable from how exciting he made them seem. I can’t imagine how amazing it would have been to hear him call a World Series game.
I’m just depressed and saddened now. This is by far the worst feeling I’ve ever felt related to the Mariners. Worst season ever indeed.
On that note, thanks lookoutlanding. Outside of my wife, no one else I know seems to care much at all about Niehaus’ passing. It’s nice to have a place to come and vent and read about other peoples thoughts and feelings on this sad day.
TIFO - November 10, 2010
Five stages of grieving.
THolt - November 10, 2010
Now I'm getting half bummed out, half amused
by comments like this thread.
yuniform - November 10, 2010
Death is an inevitability.
You don’t know what you’ve got ‘till it’s gone is usually the case. I think, for a rare instance, we knew what we had. Even when he pronounced Mariners “Mawiners…” Am I the only person who noticed that?
THolt - November 10, 2010
Just now it hit me that when I'm at opening day next year
Dave isn’t going to be standing on the field before the start of the game, microphone in hand, to welcome all of us to Safeco and welcome in a new season of baseball.
BrianL - November 10, 2010
The worst for me will be the first broadcast game of Spring Training
For me, him welcoming us in to the season at the start of that first broadcasted spring training game was always one of the best days and moments of the year. To hear his voice back on the radio and know baseball is back and spring and summer are just around the corner, that was always special and for some reason just made everything seem “right” in the world, at least for that day when baseball was back. Rizzs is a very good announcer, but it’s just not going to be the same, particularly this first time.
TIFO - November 10, 2010
I fully expect both the first spring training game
and the first regular season game to be incredibly emotional.
bluemax - November 11, 2010
I don't even know what to think right now.
Even if the Mariners lost, I got to hear Dave call it. Now what? This sucks.
JoshF - November 10, 2010
I'm really sad because I can't think of Mariners' baseball without Niehaus's voice.
13194013 - November 10, 2010
I love how everyone would switch to radio and mute the TV whenever the broadcast team would switch from Dave.
Out there, somewhere, is a young sportscaster who has the potential to become a Dave Niehaus. We can only hope that he and the Mariners serendipitously connect over the offseason, and us youngsters get to experience what a lot of you have.
No one will replace him, but someone has been inspired by him. Without Aerosmith, there’s be no Guns N’ Roses.
THolt - November 10, 2010
*there'd
THolt - November 10, 2010
Now we need to win one for Dave
OlSalty - November 10, 2010
I don't know whether I'd feel ecstatic or horrible if Seattle rallied around this to win it all in 2011.
It would be the most touching tribute anyone could ask for, but god damnit Dave deserved to be on hand for a championship run.
schismatix - November 11, 2010
I could only imagine that if the Mariners made a run next year, it was BECAUSE Dave was watching over us.
Kenneth Arthur - November 11, 2010
This was great Jeff.
Thank you.
Zwakamatsu - November 10, 2010
Your comparison to losing your grandfather reminded me of losing mine.
The similarities and parallels, although perhaps differing in magnitude, are eerie, sad and comforting at the same time.
THolt - November 10, 2010
This helps.
Thank you.
Torrid - November 10, 2010
To me, Dave wasn't just the voice of the Mariners but instead; he was the Mariners.
He was there when the Kingdom opened its doors for its first Mariner home game and he was there when its last game was played. He commemorated the opening of Safeco Field by throwing out the first pitch and its a shame he won’t get to see its last.
This isn’t just a sad day for Seattle, this is a bad day for baseball
beastwarking - November 10, 2010
Selig said as much.
THolt - November 10, 2010
Ironic, considering how many bad days for baseball have been during Selig's watch.
At least, for once, he isn’t at fault.
Tyler Jorgensen - November 11, 2010
According to ESPN it was a heart attack
The one thing I can take as a positive out of any of this is that it wasn’t a long, drawn-out thing. He was here, and then he wasn’t. If you have to go, that’s the way to do it.
But why did he have to go.
pdb - November 10, 2010
He gave up smoking and we had him longer than we might have otherwise.
JY - November 10, 2010
speaking of, a cig sounds like a necessary vice at the moment.
THolt - November 10, 2010
I hit that up as soon as I could get outside.
Then I drained a Fin du Monde about an hour ago.
JY - November 10, 2010
Men on similar tastes.
At least I have pharmaceutical aid this evening.
THolt - November 10, 2010
18 goddamn months,
and I haven’t had so much as a drag. This makes me want to more than anything yet. Addicted to nicotine and Niehaus. I think Niehaus will win out.
el duderino - November 10, 2010
Hold out.
I hate smoking. Don’t like nicotine, don’t like the smell nor taste. Just something to do. Grab a lollipop and pace outside with it. It helps, alot.
THolt - November 10, 2010
As I chomp madly on my nicotine gum . . .
BE STRONG. Shit is hard.
Life really is better when you’re not smoking. I’m fighting hard to get back there.
Teej - November 10, 2010
You can do it. If you've gone 18 months, the nicotine is out of your system.
Don’t let it come back in, or you’ll have to start all over. Niehaus may never be out of your system, but that’s ok, he won’t kill you.
TrustBaseball - November 11, 2010
Dave Niehaus only missed 101 games in 34 years as a Mariner broadcaster
I missed 101 games last year.
pdb - November 10, 2010
The irony saddens me.
THolt - November 10, 2010
Arg.
Gutshot.
JY - November 10, 2010
Definitely not a job I would be able to handle
The frustration would get to me eventually. I don’t know how Dave kept his passion for the game, but I’m eternally grateful that he did until the end.
JLC - November 10, 2010
For the first time in a long time I actually cried when I heard the news
Dave left a hole in my heart that no other broadcaster will be able to fill. It makes me wish I had listened more than I did this last year.
Scrupio - November 10, 2010
In 2011
It’s going to be inevitable. There are going to be good plays. There are going to be good games. There are going to be amazing moments. There will be times when players will shine.
Only this time, it will be the first year in which those moments occur when I think “….I wonder how Dave would’ve called that?”
ThundaPC - November 10, 2010
Dave Niehaus and Jeff Sullivan are two people on a very short list of people who have given more to me than
I will ever give to them. Cheers
Sec 108 - November 10, 2010
So far
Jeff Sullivan - November 10, 2010
For anyone stuck following games far from home--and that was a lot of us--
Dave was the anchor, even more so than communities such as this one. He was the voice that reminded us of home. He’s what got us through the late nights in far away places.
There’s a literal ache inside, thinking that that voice is now silent.
Kirsten Schlewitz - November 10, 2010
Amen.
yuniform - November 10, 2010
That's so true.
Hearing Niehaus’s voice far from the Northwest was always such a comfort, in a way that’s hard to articulate.
Torrid - November 10, 2010
I haven't lived in the PNW since 2000, but he's the voice I hear every time I crack a beer.
A co-worker of mine here in San Diego saw a Mariners bottle opener at the dollar store and bought it for me because he knew I was an M’s fan. Now, every time I open a beer in my kitchen, Dave’s voice screams out at a truly unreasonable volume, calling a Bret Boone homer. Everyone who has ever visited my place here knows Dave’s voice, even if they can’t put a name or face to it. Dave lives.
Teej - November 10, 2010
I desperately want that bottle opener.
HititHere - November 11, 2010
here you go
http://www.talkingbottleopener.net/SeattleMariners/index.htm
msb - November 11, 2010
Don't open this if you can't have loud audio at work, as the sound starts as soon as you click on it :)
msb - November 11, 2010
Maybe now that Dave is gone I will stop holding all M's announcers to an unattainable standard
Edgar for Pres - November 10, 2010
I feel like I've never tried to accept anyone else because they'd never be as good as Dave
Edgar for Pres - November 10, 2010
Much like Rizzs' travails when they tried to make him replace Ernie Harwell in Detroit for that year
msb - November 10, 2010
In a way, I consider us fortunate.
Think of how many times in the past several years where we thought Dave was going to win the Frick award, only to have to deal with some other team’s iconic broadcaster dying and swaying the vote. We at least got to see Dave go in during his own lifetime. Many fans in other cities didn’t have that.
JY - November 10, 2010
And enjoy him enjoying being a HOF member
msb - November 10, 2010
I think that people will invariably compare Dave's replacement to Dave himself
But I also think people should consider that Dave would never want Mariner fans to do that.
JLC - November 10, 2010
I don't really understand what you're saying...
When the Mariners do finally win the World Series, I’m sure Dave’s going to see the whole thing.
In fact I’m kinda sure he’ll be there.
Shrug - November 10, 2010
Dave will have the best seat in the house.
MFAN - November 10, 2010
He better use his incorporeal powers to get us there.
Announcer in the outfield.
hcoguy - November 10, 2010 via mobile
Not even a Mariners fan...
But this really sucks.. Great guy, great broadcaster. Hopefully he’ll still be announcing in some broadcaster heaven somewhere.
ryanfea - November 10, 2010
.
lemonverbena - November 10, 2010
.
zeeehjee - November 10, 2010
I fully endorse this change.
MFAN - November 10, 2010
Thanks for doing this.
It’s something needs to come to pass. This is now on my office door.
TheBishop - November 11, 2010
I'm just glad that it was during the offseason.
As sad as it is, it would be so much worse if it happened between games. Especially if it was a year that the Mariners were contending for the division or wild card.
Coach Owens - November 10, 2010
A's fan here
I remember vividly the moment, right around this time five years ago, when I received the crushing news of Bill King’s passing. I have never listened to Dave Niehaus call a Mariner’s game, but every word that you’ve written rings true as day. Baseball on the radio might be one of the few uniquely, spectacularly American joys we have left, and losing the captain of each season’s journey is a blow that truly goes beyond words. All condolences.
harenshair - November 10, 2010
Thank you. Your kind words are appreciated.
TrustBaseball - November 10, 2010
He was a library of baseball knowledge
One of the great man things I’m going to miss about Mr. Niehaus: the random baseball trivia that he added to as many broadcasts as possible. He was a true fans’ fan. Rest In Peace Dave.
Modrik Zutar - November 10, 2010
Many*
Modrik Zutar - November 10, 2010
My last memory of Dave is from the get-together this summer at Safeco.
I think Dave Cameron was talking about Ian Snell or Casey Kotchman or some shit, I don’t know. I stopped paying attention. It was boring. He was talking about the 2010 Mariners. Who gives a fuck. I glanced to my left and into the booth, and there was Dave, feet propped up on the desk just kind of staring out at the field watching BP. Every few minutes he’d glance back our way.
At a certain point, something someone said caught his attention. He leaned forward a bit and didn’t seem to be paying attention to BP anymore. Eventually he pulled out his binoculars. Eventually Zduriencik, Blengino and the rest of the folks made their way up, and Dave sat in pretty rapt attention the rest of the way. I saw him shake his head and make some sort of side comments to the rest of the people in the booth at a few of the things Dave Cameron said.
It’s not that I didn’t realize before that point that Dave cared more than most broadcasters. But I recognized how much of a treasure he was, and that as much as I’d loved him I’d taken him for granted. I’m a ridiculous geek where baseball is concerned and even I was bored by the current state of the Mariners. But not Dave. He was rapt and by all appearances more than a little bit cranky when he disagreed with something.
Mariners baseball will go on and I’ll still be a fan. But Dave was in so many ways my conscience where the game was concerned. If he could put up with shit baseball year after year after year, who the hell was I to give up? Yeah, he was getting paid for it. But he wasn’t getting paid to give a shit, and he still did.
I loved that old bastard. It’s never going to be the same. He’s gone now and he’ll never get to experience a championship. And even though I still want it to come, it just won’t feel as good without him sharing it with us.
Aaron Campeau - November 10, 2010
WHEN we win,
Dave Niehaus won’t be there, but we’ll be there, and Dave will exist in us, at least. If that makes any sense. I’m not a religious person, and I find it hard to put these feelings into words that make sense, but we all carry a part of him, and we’ll share it with him when the time comes.
Teej - November 10, 2010
Collective experiences.
THolt - November 10, 2010
I think what you said here is what sticks with me.
It does suck we never gave him a World Series. But even without that, even with the teams of the ‘70s, ’80s, early ’90s and the last 8 years, you could always tell Dave loved his job and loved sharing that with everyone listening. Even when you could tell he was frustrated with the team and their troubles, you could tell it was because he cared so much. He’s that guy who you could listen to talk about anything forever and never get tired of it because it came from a place of passion. It wasn’t just that he got excited – all announcers get excited – it was that the excitement was so genuine.
I really wish I had just listened to the games on the radio the last few years so I could get more of Dave. But those first 3 or 5 innings when he would be announcing on TV were the best three or five innings of the game. It won’t ever be the same but we can’t expect it to be. We can at least be thankful that we were able to listen to him every day for 34 years.
Mariner John - November 10, 2010
Anyone else drinking by their lonesome?
I’ve got Hammerhead, for the added kick. Anyone to clink beers with?
THolt - November 10, 2010
Cheers
Teej - November 10, 2010
Thanks. Needed that.
THolt - November 10, 2010
I've found that Bourbon dulls the pain.
Dave made me love baseball. Laying under the covers late at night after my folks told me to go to bed, The mariners broadcast slowly lulling me to sleep . . . Thank you Dave, from the bottom of my heart. I will never again watch a game without hearing your voice.
el duderino - November 10, 2010
Cheers.
el duderino - November 10, 2010
Cheers as well.
I’m now two six packs and four hours into watching highlights, listening to old radio clips, refreshing LL, and holding back tears.
Rough night for sure.
BigR - November 11, 2010
I've been a Mariners fan for most of my life.
I’ve seen the occasional highs, and the frequent lows. I felt the elation of “the double”, and the dispair of 100 loss seasons. But, as a Mariners fan, I have never been as heartbroken as I am tonight.
R.I.P Dave.
faceplant_04 - November 11, 2010
As a child raised by my Great-Grandmother, I used to sit on the hard wood floor next to her chair with my baseball mit & ball in hand listening to Dave on her antique radio as if it were 1945 instead of 1985.
I will miss Dave almost as much as I miss her.
DHforHOF - November 11, 2010
Eerie. I wasn't going to post, just read, but your comment connects to me on a personal level.
I grew up with a single mother and we lived with my grandparents. My grandmother was English, and was very prim and proper. Tea and marmalade, after dinner tea, never end a sentence with a preposition proper.
Well, with the exception of when she would listen daily to the Mariners.
She would put the tv on with no sound and just listen do Dave’s call of the game as she cross-stitched. But the thing is, she never saw the game live, never saw the M’s play at either the Kingdome or Safeco. Despite this, and the years and years of losing during her life, she was a diehard fan through thick and thin, and I still recall her “YIPPEEE!!!!!!” shout as something magical happened during the game.
She died of cancer just before the 2001 season, she never got to see the M’s at their true highwater mark, and when she passed before that season I have the same profound emotion of loss tied to the M’s as I do now for Dave not getting to see the team get to the WS in his life.
Don’t get me wrong, I know he lived a blessed life, but as did she. And a heart attack? It makes me happy for him, honestly. It beats the hell out of a 10 year battle with cancer.
I know she’ll be listening to him call the game on the Heaven channel, maybe even catching her first game live. But, as Eastwood said in Unforgiven, “Deserve ain’t got nothing to do with it,” and they both deserved to see more success for all the love they expended on our crappy little team.
Tyler Jorgensen - November 11, 2010
What a great lady!
royalcurve - November 11, 2010
Still stunned
Its really hard to not break down reading about this. I can barely get through this group of pictures from the inside of his broadcast booth, taken after he had died. The guy just breathed the Mariners…anyone else, and you ask, why? But knowing him, he wouldnt hesitate to tell you…
Slica - November 11, 2010
The Mariners need to have one commercial next year.
One to remember Dave and all that he brought to the fans of this team since their inception.
Coach Owens - November 11, 2010 via mobile
ONLY one commercial.
I know they’ve had great commercials for years, but this year they should have a single commercial (or a string of them) every last one using his sound bites.
Tyler Jorgensen - November 11, 2010
The cruel irony
I went back today and listened to his call of Tui’s home run. The shot that Blowers called. During the at bat, Dave makes a comment as the count hits 2-0.
“I’ll have a heart attack,” he says.
Rizzs comes back with “you better not.”
They were both laughing. I wasn’t. Not this time.
If there’s a service in Seattle, or a planned Safeco vigil, I’ll make the drive up from Portland. We’ve all lost something today, and no matter how much of a connection we had with Dave, the feeling right now is unique within each of us. I guess this is what it means to be a fan.
We’ll never let you go, Dave. Not even for a moment.
wilsonpdx - November 11, 2010
His voice will never ever be silenced...
I am still stunned, sad, angry, and heartbroken.
PositivePaul - November 11, 2010
Paul, I've stolen this as my desktop, even though it makes me misty.
Thingray - November 11, 2010
I stole it for a blog post
Thanks for being such an awesome photographer Paul.
johnbai - November 11, 2010
This year I finally sat behind home plate
against the twins. I witnessed a Felix Hernandez curveball that went from the guy’s head to right above his knee to win the game, and although I wasn’t listening to the radio, there was only one word and one voice in my mind that could describe what just happened….
DIABOLICAL!!!!!
Darth Flamingo - November 11, 2010
I don't know what it's like to follow baseball without Dave Niehaus.
I’ve been typing my thoughts on the matter for the last 45 minutes, but nothing I say does him any justice.
I loved his giddy calls, and I loved his stories. But mostly I loved that he was a Mariners fan. A truer fan than I could ever hope to be. And in my childhood, when you couldn’t talk to people over the internet and Lookout Landing didn’t exist, I could turn on the radio. Right there, every night, was someone who was experiencing the same emotions. It was all too often that he said exactly what I was thinking. The highs and lows of my fandom were so much stronger because I had someone to experience it with. Thank you, Dave.
Fuckmikereilly - November 11, 2010
My condolences to you and your fans
I had the pleasure of listening to Dave Niehaus call Angels games for seven seasons, before your original management realized what a gem he was and hired him away to be the voice of the Mariners.
We live in an age of atrocious sports journalism, so when a real giant of the industry passes, we’re all poorer for it, as they are role models for future announcers. My hope is that the Pacific Northwest is incubating a couple of generations of future broadcasters, who, perhaps unconsciously, set out to do their job the Dave would have done it. What a legacy that would be.
George Kaplan - November 11, 2010
I still can't wrap my mind around this.
I’ve been in a complete, dark fog ever since I heard. I’ve even been unable to cry, although I know it will come. I can’t even imagine what baseball will be like without Dave’s voice narrating it. Whenever I listen to another team’s announcers, I can’t help but feel sympathy for the fans who have to endure what is wholly inadequate by comparison. One of my favorite mental escapes is to imagine the crack of the bat followed by a thunderous, “Swung on and belted!!!” and it never fails to put me in a better mood. Everything about the way he called the game was so real and, in retrospect, so heartbreakingly genuine that I wonder how baseball will possibly be as enjoyable from now on. God bless you, Dave. The world is already a much sadder place without you.
R8rJohn81 - November 11, 2010
Baseball fandom in my family comes through my grandmother.
My grandmother, who was born in 1907, was the daughter of a coal mine superintendent in Black Diamond, WA, where her father was not only superintendent but also catcher of the baseball team. She passed the love of baseball to my mom, who listened to Leo Lassen call the Rainiers games and watched a good several of them, too. My mom, in turn, passed it to me, and I had the pleasure of watching Ken Griffey Jr and listening to Dave Niehaus.
We managed to get seats for the 1995 playoffs up in the second level underneath the scoreboard. My mom and grandmother and I were all there; the late 20-something guys who were drinking beer next to us saw her as a good luck charm. Whenever Dave called “Get out the rye bread, grandma,” I thought he was talking to her.
Encouraged by the ‘95 playoffs, our family went from buying occasional general admission seats to a 20-game plan in 1996, but we weren’t fully able to enjoy it; my grandmother began having serious breathing trouble while watching the game from the right-field stands and we left the game to go to a hospital. My grandmother Vivian would not make it home.
My mom cried that night on the way home, but my 9-year-old self tried hard to be a strong, stoic type and not cry, I guess because I thought I cried too much when another relative had passed years earlier.
Today I found out about Dave in the first couple hours of a 10-hour shift and was stunned. I couldn’t get too emotional because I had a job to do, and of course the bowling alley I work at got overrun by folks tonight, upwards of 120 patrons during our busy post-league period, but by the end of the night I was drained.
I dropped by my parents place to grab an M’s cap and a jacket to go down to Safeco Field. I stood in front of the memorial at the home plate gate and started crying. I came home, started writing this, and started crying. I’m not sure what my point is with all this, but I want to thank Dave for connecting me to her again these years later.
I also want to thank all of you guys for your comments tonight because while I couldn’t show my emotion at work, I read your comments on LL and twitter and felt some kind of cathartic release.
Two Rs and Two Ls - November 11, 2010
Truly, truly sorry for your loss, LL.
Bill King died suddenly after the 2005 season and things haven’t quite been the same since for us.
Condolences.
Leopold Bloom - November 11, 2010
My Condolences as well
From another A’s fan,.
He was a classic. Loved hearing those grand salami calls.
and those “My oh My’s”
Trainman - November 11, 2010
First time I've cried over the death of a person...
Ike Clanton - November 11, 2010
Harry Kalas’ death hit me much like how I believe Mr. Niehaus’ death has hit all of you. I’m not 20 yet so Kalas was the voice of the Phillies for me. This season was somewhat empty no matter what the Phillies broadcasting crew did.
The worst part of the deaths of Niehaus and Kalas is that the next generation will never live up to their standards. They were too good. We will most likely never listen to a suitable replacement – dare I say that word – in our lifetimes.
Scott Kessler - November 11, 2010
I'll miss you Dave and I've always loved listening to a game on the radio because of you.
Just thinking about Dave brings me back to some of my earliest memories. My brother and I would play wiffleball and our game stopped when the tone in Dave’s voice let us know something exiting was happening. I remember falling asleep in bed listening to Dave call the game, just hoping I could stay up long enough to hear what happened next.
Like many people, I remember muting the TV when he wasn’t on and listening to the radio broadcast. It didn’t matter if the TV and radio weren’t in sync.
Luckily, I had the chance to listen to the Mariners with my sons. My eldest is disabled, but we listened to so many broadcasts that as soon as he heard Dave’s voice he would ask to listen to baseball. Even in the offseason, he would hear an ad or a promo clip with Dave’s voice and want to listen to baseball. His voice was one of the first things we enjoyed together and even thinking about it makes me tear up at my desk.
I’ll never miss someone I’ve never met as much as him and I miss him more than some of my relatives that have passed.
Jed MC - November 11, 2010
I am a 27-year old man sitting in my bunk at Army Basic Training.
I can’t stop choking up. Thanks for all the comments everyone.
Wilder. - November 11, 2010 via mobile
Thanks for serving.
zeeehjee - November 11, 2010
Condolences
from Arlington.
:^(
DonDrapersOPS - November 11, 2010
I woke up hoping that I had imagined all this from last night.
And he’s still gone. Damnit.
Goose - November 11, 2010
I was thinking..I've met the man once. Got his autograph and asked him some question on his future a coulple years back at Fanfest.
I couldn’t call him a friend or family member. But the importance Dave has meant is amazing when I think about it. He was my story teller many a nights for the past 15 years. It’s the voice I’ll miss most because he’s all I ever knew.
kentroyals5 - November 11, 2010
In 1991
I moved to Salem, OR for a little less than a year to take care of one of my parents. It was not a move I wanted to make, for a lot of reasons, but I made it because, hey, family…that’s what you do. Anyway. Over the summer of 1991, separated from all my friends and the life I had started to build for myself – a life which included attending upwards of 30 games a year and watching/listening to as many more as I could – there were two things that kept me sane, and kept me in contact with what I considered the “real world”. Those two things were riding my bike for obscenely long distances, and listening to Dave Niehaus on the radio.
I can’t even begin to tell you how much listening to Niehaus every night made me feel normal, made me feel like my life wasn’t completely whackadoodle, and that things would eventually be OK again. I wouldn’t go so far as to say I wouldn’t have survived without it, but without Dave, that long, unpleasant summer would have been about 100 times longer and infinitely more unpleasant.
Thank you, Dave.
pdb - November 11, 2010
Dave Niehaus enabled me to be the baseball fan I am today.
That is a gift that I will never be able to fully reciprocate. But I will try, as I look forward to taking my young son to many Mariners games as he grows up.
Goodbye Dave, I will miss you very much.
davecc - November 11, 2010
I’ve had a lot of great baseball memories.
Growing up with the Red Sox, I’ve been terribly spoiled. I’ve seen the Red Sox win the World Series (twice!). I’ve experienced the electricity of Fenway Park firsthand during a late-summer pennant run. I hugged my My Pet Monster when Hendu took Donnie Moore yard. I shook Bob Stanley’s hand once, got goosebumps every time Pedro took the mound, and broke my favorite stein when Tim Wakefield gave up that home run to Aaron Boone. (Wait, scratch that last one. That’s a horrible memory. I love Tim Wakefield. And I really loved that stein.)
But whenever someone asks me to explain why I really love baseball, the first memory that comes to my mind is the Saturdays spent listening to the Sox on the radio in the backyard; my father braking metal for an upcoming job, me playing with my GI Joes and Hot Wheels underneath the big tree, both of us listening to Joe Castiglione and Ken Coleman (later Jerry Trupiano) though a steady hiss of static. The smell of freshly-bent metal and my father’s after-work Budweiser cutting through the muggy New England heat; Castiglione’s endearingly nasal tone cutting through the radio interference. Nothing exciting ever happened during those days – maybe Wade Boggs would go 4-4 with a couple of Monster doubles – but I think that was the beauty of it: nothing needed to happen. I didn’t want anything exciting to happen. I often feel excitement in baseball brings out the worst in an announcer – the expected need to frame the importance of a sporting event in some sort of grand social context; the careful, yet unexpected erudition to guarantee immortality of the moment. The beauty of baseball is that it is a tale narrated by expert storytellers, captured not in moments of greatness but in the moments of the ordinary. Castiglione and Coleman were masters of the mundane: the nuggets of grandfatherly conventional wisdom in-between pitches; the quirky patois of Castiglione; the comically unsuccessful attempts by Coleman to hide his Boston accent; the in-game commercials; the well-timed moments of silence where they let the sounds of Fenway fill in the blanks to their narration. You could say that it’s merely a moment of nostalgia – the revelry of innocent childhood summers – and it is, but it’s much more than that. It was, and is, my personal definition of baseball.
Sadly, I never got to experience Mr. Niehaus the way most of you experienced him; he never tucked me in at night by reading captivating bedtime stories of baseball heroes in action nor was he ever that friend by my side on a hot Saturday afternoon in the shade. My relationship with Mr. Niehaus – and with Seattle baseball – was distant, semi-personal, yet fascinating nonetheless. He was the correspondent from a foreign land – the reporter from a world I wish I could experience firsthand. Though I only knew his voice through late-night highlights courtesy of the George Michael Sports Machine (or, occasionally, ESPN), he was the voice that brought me news of Edgar, my favorite Mariner, of the team. Later he was the one that got me believing that Felix was going to be something special, that Ichiro was truly a god among men, and that no hit was falling through with Death to Flying Things patrolling the outfield.
I’m sure many of you have similar stories of childhood weekends listening to the game with your father, the voice of Mr. Niehaus providing narration to your team, your life. I’m also sure Mr. Niehaus will represent to you what Castiglione and Coleman represented to me: the true definition of baseball.
ThomasG - November 11, 2010
Ken Levine wrote about his former broadcast partner this morning
here
msb - November 11, 2010
I'm so glad Ken took the time to write this.
BrianL - November 11, 2010
This morning Colin Cowherd said Dave Niehaus is probably the reason he is in broadcasting today.
I’m so conflicted about that.
Kenneth Arthur - November 11, 2010
Wow.
Completed agreed.
Tyler Jorgensen - November 11, 2010
We can't control the people whom we inspire.
Decatur - November 11, 2010
Sorry guys
Being a Giants fan, It would feel weird now listening to a full season without Jon Miller, Kruk and Kuip, and now even Flem. But I think something like a loss of a broadcaster is something that can be the hardest for fans of a particular team. They were your voice. A tragic day indeed.
ch3zyp00fs - November 11, 2010
I think without Dave Niehaus
I might not be a sports fan today. I started listening to Mariners baseball around 1992/1993 when I was in the fourth grade and Dave Niehaus’ voice on the little radio I had kept me up so many nights well past my bed time. When I played baseball games on my computer I would try my best to replicate the sound and style of Dave Niehaus. Hell at one point I even wanted to become a play by play guy like him.
Like so many others I moved around a lot as a kid. I move away from Washington after HS, but Dave Niehaus has been one of the few constants in my life since I discovered Mariners baseball.
I never met him and now I never will, but Dave Niehaus will always have a place in my life and my heart.
bluemax - November 11, 2010
I'm going to be hung over and sick to my stomach for a long time after last night,
And it has nothing to do with how much alcohol I drank.
It feels no better this morning than it did the first time I read the headline of Jeff’s post.
BigR - November 11, 2010
Oh, Rizzsy.
He’s on 710, and not holding up well.
msb - November 11, 2010
Condolences from The Good Phight
Like Scott said above, the games will go on, but they’ll never be the same.
WholeCamels - November 11, 2010
Jim Caple's piece
Here.
kentroyals5 - November 11, 2010
I was thinking about this article just a minute ago, as they replayed 'here come Jo[e]y' call :)
msb - November 11, 2010
This is one of the best tributes I've read:
“Simply put, Dave Niehaus was why Marconi invented radio.”
Thingray - November 11, 2010
I added this to my Facebook status.
I’m thinking it will become a permanent fixture.
R8rJohn81 - November 11, 2010
McGrath has
his column up
msb - November 11, 2010
Jay and Harold Reynolds are on 710
according to Rizzs, vodka and soda, tall, with a twist of lime. Jay says add some red wine with dinner, too.
msb - November 11, 2010
I really want to buy his CD of bed time stories now.
Mariner John - November 11, 2010
Probably shouldn't come to this site while I'm at work for a while, crying in front of new co-workers isn't very cool.
sanford_and_son - November 11, 2010
I'm in the same boat.
My day’s shot before it even started.
BigR - November 11, 2010
A heartfelt "My oh my" for Dave.
This loss feels so personal, which is a tribute to him. I will miss the “rhy bread and mustard” and a big piece of childhood that never ended.
Attractive Nuisance - November 11, 2010
A wonderful appreciation
from back in 1994
msb - November 11, 2010
I really enjoyed this one,
Thanks
BigR - November 11, 2010
Interesting
a note from the PS business journal, with a pre-statement, human reaction from the front office
msb - November 11, 2010
Another old one
from 2003
msb - November 11, 2010
My first memory of explicitly disobeying my parents was a direct result of Dave
I remember being about ten or eleven, after 1995, and just as the Mariners were getting very good. For the first time, I had my own room and my own bedtime and alarm – the perks and perils of finally being a middle school student.
Every night, the Mariners would play and chase the AL West pennant, and A-Rod, Junior, Buhner and Blowers continued their assault on the American League offensive record books, so I would turn on my crappy alarm clock, tune it to 710 and put the volume as low as I could so only I could hear it from two feet away. My bedtime was about 9:30, but during baseball season, I don’t think I ever was actually in bed with the lights out and radio off before 10:15. I loved listening to Dave call the games, the joy it brought me reminding me of my own adventures at the Kingdome when I was lucky enough to attend the games.
Dave’s voice on that radio, barely above a whisper is one of my favorite childhood memories of those late spring and early autumn nights. That was the point that I realized how much I truly love the game and this team, no matter the pain they both put me through.
As I got a bit older, I began to take Dave’s voice for granted and baseball took a back seat to real life, college and work, but thanks to Lookout Landing and the occasional miracle that is mlb.tv, I still got to listen to games every night, and this time at a normal person’s volume as being 23, I got to set my own bedtime.
Next year, just like the previous fifteen, I’ll be tuning in regularly to watch our Mariners battle the evils of the AL West. It just won’t be the same without Dave calling the game, though – it doesn’t matter if it’s someone great like Dave Sims or if it’s someone like Rick Rizzs behind the mic – the whole point is that it won’t be Dave and I regret so much ever taking his wonderful view of the game for granted.
In conclusion, thank you so much for everything, Mr. Niehaus. You’ve enhanced so much the game that I love, and I am eternally grateful. I don’t think there’s anyone in the world who I have never met whose voice I have heard more than yours. Rest in peace.
seattlebruin - November 11, 2010
Brock and Salk's drops of some of his stuff are great.
“Diabolical” and “ohhh that stank!” are just so Niehaus. Also the clip they played of Jesus Colome walking in a run. “Watching him pitch is like watching a hen lay a dozen eggs at once. It’s just painful.”
Mariner John - November 11, 2010
Oh man.
I remember how every one of Pineda’s pitches stank during spring training last year. This is going to be hard.
JY - November 11, 2010
Ahahaha wonderful! I'd forgotten that nugget!
royalcurve - November 11, 2010
This is one of the best articles I've read in a long time.
And I had no real connection to the guy (Rangers fan). I’m really sorry to hear about the loss. I remember how devastated was when Mark Holtz passed away in 1997.
Holtz’s signature call after a win was “Hello, win column!” Holtz worked with Eric Nadel, the current radio voice of the team. When they finally won a series, he uttered the phrase, “Hello, win column!” and was unable to hold back his tears. I still get chills from hearing the call.
I hope you guys can find a guy that had half the talent Niehaus had. You guys deserve a few hundred lucky breaks after this season. Much love from the Rangers fans at LSB.
hornedfrogs45 - November 11, 2010
I wouldn't be surprised if the Make-A-Wish Foundation had to call Dave Niehaus to tell him that they don't have any sick kids left that he hasn't already talked to, and that he can stop calling for awhile.
He seems like he was just a wonderful, wonderful man. This is still depressing.
Kenneth Arthur - November 11, 2010
While I didn't grow up with Niehaus (Uecker was my Dave) I still had great respect for his love for the game.
I would like to offer this song as a farewell.
kentcheesehead - November 11, 2010
Salk says he is filling in on ESPN radio for Gottleib, and that he has already told them he will be doing a Niehaus segment, because he is not happy with the way it has been overlooked nationally
msb - November 11, 2010
Seriously. ESPN was doing 'live cut ins' on basketball games at the top of the hour last night on Sportscenter
kentroyals5 - November 11, 2010
From what I saw on Yahoo Sports last night, the front page didn't have one mention of it.
Seriously? The Seattle Mariners have had one man as a constant in their entire history and he has passed away. We will never have another Dave Niehaus, ever. He is gone and how is that not a story worth mentioning? If the Mariners are a major league team for a major market, how is this not an important sports story? It really is upsetting.
Kenneth Arthur - November 11, 2010
It wasn't even the major headline on MLB.com last night
It was second to NL Gold Gloves.
Horrible
Corco - November 11, 2010
I checked out the New York Times and their website sucks.
Crappy design, too cluttered and lack of content. They sports section on the first page has three stories and Dave was the third one down.
LeftArrow2 - November 11, 2010
Anyone hear this? I had to leave, so missed the likely time period it would have been on
msb - November 11, 2010
I heard most of it driving between jobs.
He described the atmosphere at the game in 2009 when Griff hit the dinger to tie the game and Dave’s “Old Time Religion” call of it, then he played the call itself. he also played “The Double” and just talked in general about Dave and the impact he had in the NW and to Mariners fans the world over.
wazzu93 - November 11, 2010
Completely overlooked.
Completely.
Two Rs and Two Ls - November 11, 2010
Our local ESPN affiliate here in Spokane often sucks because the afternoon sports show host is also the program director.
Fuck you, Dennis Patchin for skipping several baseball playoff games for your stupid show. Today though, they hit a home run and interviewed Shannon Drayer at length, or rather just listened while Shannon told numerous great stories about Dave. Her nervousness about going up to the broadcast booth for the first time and how Dave welcomed her in with open arms; How much he truly loved and appreciated the Hall of Fame award and every aspect of the entire experience; Eating truckloads of chicken in Kansas City then driving with Dave as he got lost to go on his regular shoe shopping expedition and seeing him at the counter paying for 8 boxes of shoes, 6 of which were white.
wazzu93 - November 11, 2010
Ah, here was Kirby Arnold's piece about a booth visit
back in 2009
msb - November 11, 2010
Just had another memory flash before my ears...
I don’t even know the year, but it was in the Kingdome and Mark McGwire was still playing for the A’s, I think. Mark McGwire hit what Dave called the longest home run in Kingdome history and Dave got so excited you could tell something special happened. It must have been deep. I believe McGwire was even given a copy of the broadcast.
zeeehjee - November 11, 2010
Dave had some great calls of other teams home runs.
Some of Vlad’s bombs off Moyer had good calls. They were so crushed that Dave couldn’t help but admire them.
MFAN - November 11, 2010
My uncle tells me about this call.
“Swung on and belted! And I! MEAN! BELTED!”
BrianL - November 11, 2010
There are so many videos/sound bites of him online and on the radio, it doesn't really feel like he passed away.
Spring is going to suck.
LeftArrow2 - November 11, 2010
I just want one more game.
That’s the worst part about someone you care about passing away. You just want one more moment to appreciate all that they do.
romdal - November 11, 2010
I had a thought while out making sales calls today.
I am pretty vocal about my dislike of Chuck Armstrong, but I have to say thanks to him for being such a supporter of Dave. Without that the team may have done something stupid along the way and tried to push him out like the whole ugly Ernie Harwell incident in the 90’s.
Sec 108 - November 11, 2010
Listened to Niehaus tell his "Two Men from Donora" story today. Streams of tears. Again.
royalcurve - November 11, 2010
I listened to this last night.
What a beautiful story told by a beautiful man.
BigR - November 11, 2010
Beautiful piece, Jeff
Condolences to the Mariners community on this loss.
Jay - November 11, 2010
One of my favorite calls of his-
From quite a while ago, I don’t remember who hit the home run, but it went something like, “How far is that baby gonna go?! It’s gonna go a HUNDRED MILES!!” I know I butchered it, but it’s one of the best. Damn, I miss you, Dave.
R8rJohn81 - November 11, 2010
Another memory...
I remember after a thrilling win I would always watch sportscenter, either later that night or early the next morning depending on the time of the game, and I would watch the highlights. Every once in a while the guys at the desk would play the clip with Niehaus giving the call.
I always felt so proud when they did this and thought that everyone must be so jealous of Seattle. No baseball fan in any other city had what we had.
zeeehjee - November 11, 2010
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