BUY MY BOOK: BARD OF THE DEAL: THE POETRY OF DONALD TRUMP
Friday, April 27, 2012
Posted by el duque at 8:53 AM
Yankee games on FM. Can you imagine what Phil Rizzuto would have thought? Did Mel Allen ever own an FM radio? Of course, it's ridiculous to care - those ships sailed decades ago - but remember when you could drive from Buffalo to Providence and never miss a pitch, because tiny AM stations had you covered? Remember how the signals bled and strobed, and how you leaned forward to hear whether Martin was signaling for Goose?
FM will be crystal sharp in the cities. Good luck outside Batavia.
But this isn't about watts. It's about John and Suzyn, on whom tabloid critics take daily batting practice. Blown calls - what announcer doesn't have them - get breathlessly condemned by the Murdochian Greek chorus, who - amazingly, considering the newspaper's love of hometown slants - seem to believe every team in baseball deserves a shameless homer - except the Yankees.
I've said this before, so forgive me if it's stale: John and Suzyn may be an insufferable joke at times, but they still bring to the corporate Yankees a twinkle of pure fan innocence. They may be the last vestige of the Rizzuto, the Mel Allen, and the Fran Healys of this world. One day, they will be gone, replaced by corporate shills who also blow home run calls, but who in the name of impartiality celebrate victories over the Yankees - just as much as when we win.
Once gone, they will never come back. Listen carefully to the Joe Bucks and Bobby Valentines, my friends, because that's who will become the Voice of the Yankees. The sound will be crisp. So will the message. You can't predict baseball. But you can predict money.