One of Philadelphia's greatest passed away unexpectedly today. Harry Kalas, who has been the voice of the Philadelphia Phillies since 1971 -- and one of my mommom's long-time love interests, sharing his throne only with Perry Como and occasionally my poppop -- collapsed in the Washington Nationals' press box as he prepared for today's game.
As Phillies president Dave Montgomery said when he heard the news today, "we lost our voice."
As my mommom said when she heard the news today, "are you shittin' me?"
There's no doubt that every Philadelphian will mourn in their own way for Harry not only today, but throughout the summer. He was the only voice of baseball for thousands, and someone that we grew up with in our living rooms and on our radios. Whether we were lying on our stomachs playing solitaire as the Phillies played on TV in our rented Jersey shore houses, sitting on a porch sipping beers with our friends and family and listening to the hum of the crowd from our portable screens, or peeling the backs of our sticky legs from the plastic seats at Veterans Stadium or Citizens Bank Park, it was always Harry.
And while my mommom pours herself yet another Manhattan in memory of Harry, I'm glad that one of the last memories he left us with is this one:
We'll miss you, Harry.