‘Say it ain’t so, Harry.’

The one given in life is death. It’s a pessimistic view on life, so I’m told. Yesterday afternoon, death came to Harry Kalas; but it came with him doing what he loved the most: getting ready to call a game.

We should all be so lucky.

Good-bye, Harry. It was a pleasure

While Chicago had the comical Harry Caray, St. Louis the poetic Jack Buck, and New York the distinctive Mel Allen; Philadelphia had a best friend in Harry Kalas. In an age when sports figures have had a rough go of things in Philly (to put it lightly), Harry was a man that owned a corner penthouse in the hearts of Philadelphia sports fans.

Not every sports fan has listened to a game called by the man whom Philadelphians fondly refer to as Harry the K, but you’d be hard-pressed to find a sports fan that did not hear his famous “Outta here!” home-run call. Not everyone would know his face, but his was the only voice that several generations of Phillies fans ever knew. From 1971 until 2009, we had Harry. And we loved him.

The players loved him too. Over the years — after a big win — Harry could be found in locker room, congratulating Phillies players, always with a cold one and a smoke in his mouth (or a heater, as he liked to call them). Watching Sportscenter last night, I heard John Kruk nearly breakdown describing how Harry was like a father figure and best friend all rolled into one, I listened as Larry Bowa talked about Harry’s happiest moment (when the Phils won the 1980 World Series), and I took notice when Michael Jack Schmidt (that’s Mike Schmidt to the non-Philly fans reading) remembered the greatest Phillies announcer of all time.

From the first baseball game that I attended as a youngster — when Lenny Dykstra hit a three-run homer to win it in the eighth — Harry was with me every step of the way. He was with me through the highs of the ’93 team that nearly shocked the world, when the lows of the ’94 strike lingered over Veterans Stadium through the late ’90s, until Phillies baseball returned when Jim Thome arrived in 2003 to make it all better.

In seasons good and bad, our ears were never cheated when someone in red pinstripes went deep or when one of our hurlers came up with a big strikeout. Harry, we were lucky.

We were there for Harry, too, when his best friend and fellow Hall of Famer Richard “Whitey” Ashburn passed away on a cloudy day in September 1997. Having spent nearly 30 years together calling Phillies games, these two were best buds — and you could tell. When His Whiteness — as Harry liked to call him — passed, a part of Harry went with him, my dad always said.

In recent years, Harry’s health became a topic of discussion whenever he was on the TV. Instead of laughing at my goofy impressions of Harry, my dad instead couldn’t help but notice how all those late night cold ones and “heaters” were finally catching up to him. But he hung in there through all the near misses of the mid 2000s (or “Millennios” as I like to refer to them as) when the Fightins’ just couldn’t quite get over the hump and into the playoffs. More importantly, he hung in there long enough to witness the Great September of ’07 and the Great October of ’08.

His death brings sorrow to us all, yet I feel worse for future baseball fans who will never hear his beautiful voice on a warm summer afternoon. I owe a huge part of my fanhood to the man, because who else would’ve called all those home runs I hit in my dreams? Who else called the pitch when I struck out the batter on a 3-2 pitch with the bases loaded to win the World Series in game seven?

And who else could’ve said it better when I watched the first Philadelphia championship in my 24 years?

While he collapsed before yesterday’s Phils-Nationals afternoon contest, I like to think that he was on his way to be reunited with His Whiteness to call the Old Timer’s Game. Some things are just meant to be.

Harry, it was an honor.

Tags: Harry Kalas, Philly sports fan, sports fan, tribute