My story isn't all that much different. Not unlike thousands of others -- probably tens of thousands, maybe hundreds of thousands.
I grew up listening to the same voice. Not every night. Certainly not during the Winter, but most nights, April, sometimes thru October. Many have said he was the "soundtrack" of their youth. That's been said about many entertainers, particularly musicians. We grew up listening to a particular artist or band, or a group of similar acts, and it created a backdrop for many of the important events of our lives. Most of us are reminded of a certain time or event in our lives each and every time a particular song comes on.
That's not untrue for me. I am a musician after all. And since I was a young boy, most of my life's pursuits have involved music in some form or another. So music has played a big part in my life.
But I was good at something else many years ago. Very good, in fact. And have continued to love it to this day.
Baseball.
And more specifically: Cincinnati Reds baseball.
And if you, like me, have grown up a Cincinnati Reds fan, then you grew up listening to Marty Brennamen on the radio. And yes, it was the soundtrack to my youth.
Marty has broadcasted games for the Reds for 46 years. Most of my lifetime. One of only eight broadcasters in the history of mankind to broadcast for a single team for more than 45 years. How long is 46 years? When the Reds hire Marty's replacement, he will have to work until the year 2067 to break Marty's streak.
Where will you be in 2067? Good chance I'll be dead.
Here in my new home of South Carolina, there may be a few people who know about Marty Brennamen, but they don't really know what the big deal is. To many in these parts, Thom Brennamen, Marty's son, is better known for his work on national television with the NFL and college football, when he's not broadcasting play-by-play on TV for the Reds.
But if you're from the Midwest, like I am, then you not only know who Marty is, but you know how much he means to Reds fans.
For the first 31 years of his career, he partnered with Cincy legend Joe Nuxhall, arguably the most beloved man in Cincinnati, maybe to this day. And their record-breaking tenure together as a broadcast team launched them both into the stratosphere of popularity with the local fanbase.
Prior to the 1980's and the advent of cable TV, radio was king as far as baseball broadcasting is concerned. And with the Reds on Radio on the powerhouse, 50,000 watt WLW AM station, nowhere was radio baseball bigger than in Cincinnati.
Know who preceded Marty in the Reds radio booth in the early 70's? Al Michaels. Yes... THAT Al Michaels. THAT'S how big radio is in Cincinnati.
WLW is a behemoth. 50,000 watts is a bunch. The entire Midwest can pick it up. As far away as St. Louis, Wisconsin, deep into Tennessee, and out to the East Coast. I'm not kidding, on a clear night, I can pick up 700AM WLW here in Bluffton... South Carolina! So much so that I have the station programmed on my radio in the car.
Marty's first game behind the mic for the Reds was Opening Day in 1974. Three batters into that first game, Hank Aaron hit the home run that tied Babe Ruth's all time home run record. Over the years, Marty has called them all: World Championships, no-hitters, perfect games, record-breaking hits. He is known as much for telling it like it is -- ticking off everyone from upper management, to opposing fans, to players and umpires -- as he is for his easy going, self-deprecating style. But there is nothing better than Marty's call when the Reds win, and especially when they win dramatically. His enthusiasm -- not maniacal bedlam -- and signature "This one belongs to the Reds!" is something to behold. Over the years, as I watch most games on TV now, whenever there's a big win for the Reds, I will turn on the radio to find Marty's call of the win. Because there simply isn't anything better.
He has a way of pulling you into the action. Of making you feel at home. He makes everyone in the booth better. He gives them space to shine, with no ego. He doesn't plan or script anything, and he doesn't pull any punches. So you know what he's telling you is genuine and heart-felt. It's soothing and calming, especially when the Reds are playing poorly and you wanna throw the radio through the wall. And yet, his calls on a big Reds win can excite you like no other. And I don't have time to cover all things Marty: the Banana Phone, Elvis, tomatoes, wrestling, and so much more. Just know that it's all pure magic, and pure genius.
And Reds country was big. So for over four decades, Marty Brennamen was who we listened to every night... Marty and Joe for 31 years, and Marty and Jeff "the Cowboy" Brantley ever since. And thousands upon thousands of fans, just like me, grew up listening to Marty on the radio, falling asleep to his voice night after night.
Why, you might ask? I mean, what makes the Reds on Radio, and Marty Brennamen, any more special than any other broadcaster with any other team? On one hand, it isn't. As I stated earlier, my story is the same as thousands of others, and most likely not too different from millions of other fans of other teams.
But on the other hand, my story is as unique as all the others. You see, we really don't all have the same story. Each one of us has a story about a deep, personal journey, and yet they're all tied together with a common theme with common memories: The Reds and Marty Brennamen.
I can't speak for everyone else. I can only speak for me. And for me, baseball mattered. It mattered a lot.
If you're reading this, you probably know me. Or at least are familiar with me. You know I grew up in my formidable years without a father in the home. From the time I was 10 years old, and even before that, my brother played the biggest role of father in my life. (I am forever grateful, and love my brother dearly.) When I was about 13 or so, several great young men in my church stepped up and mentored me and helped guide me down the wisest paths. At times when I could have made very bad decisions that would have had awful negative impacts on my life, I was so lucky to have good, loving men who guided me, fathered me, mentored me, loved me, and steered me to wise decisions.
But nothing -- and I do mean, nothing -- can replace a father. This is not written to beat up my Dad. My Dad made the choices he did in life, and so did I, and yet I was so very fortunate to have reconciled with him in my early adult years before he passed and had a wonderful relationship with him. Briefly, only for a few years before he died, but an open, honest, loving father-son relationship with no grudges and regrets, and I'm deeply thankful for it everyday. And I'm so thankful for the relationships that reconciliation spawned with my Step-Mom, and two wonderful brothers and their families. God really does change people's hearts!
But when I was 13, after having spent all day playing baseball with my brother, or maybe playing some guitar with a youth group leader, I had to go to bed every night without a Dad around, and I had to look outside my home for heroes.
The Cincinnati Reds were heroes. And what they did every night mattered to me, and had meaning in my life. Sure, it coulda been any team. But I was listening to Marty Brennamen every night tell me about the Big Red Machine. He was broadcasting to me. He was telling me about the game. He was telling me that Dave Concepcion made another great play. Or that Tom Seaver just pitched a no-hitter. Or that Johnny Bench just hit another home run. Or that Pete Rose just lined a "clean base hit" to break Ty Cobb's all time hits record. More often than not in those days, he was telling me that "This One Belongs to the Reds."
Me. He was telling me.
I didn't know there were thousands of others listening. I didn't care. I didn't know WLW was a 50,000 watt station. I didn't even know what a "watt" was! Oh sure, on the surface I knew others listened to the radio. Of course I did. But Marty had a way of making you feel like he was just talking to you. That his job every night was to make sure you knew how things turned out.
As I grew into an adult, he told my wife and my kids the same stories. Each time we were willing to listen, Marty was there telling us how the Reds were doing. Except now, my children could talk about it with their Dad after the game.
We still do.
Marty is unique. One of a kind. He's not a former player, and he's not a homer. Most former players -- not all, but most -- are huge home fans. Complaining about every call that goes against their team, never criticizing when they don't play well, with over-the-top fanaticism after each lowly single. And the cheesiest cliche's. (Yes, I'm talking to you, Hawk Harrelson fans.) There's a place for that. But I assure you, when you hear Marty and compare him to others, you know instantly why he was inducted into the broadcasting wing of Baseball's Hall of Fame in 2000. He simply is the best.
Vin Scully was a legend with the Dodgers, but he was a loner. The Cardinals' Jack Buck, the same. We can list 100 great broadcasters, but even among broadcasters themselves, Marty Brennamen is considered one of the best. Easily included the top five or 10 names of all time. In Cincy, he's simply known as "The Famer." I know him as The Best.
I met Marty a couple times -- and by that, I mean that I've had the opportunity to say Hi and shake his hand, but that's about it. I've got a couple autographs, and I had the opportunity to see him and offer my condolences right after Joe Nuxhall passed away in 2007. He was genuinely thankful. Which is to say, each time I've encountered him in person, he has come across as exactly the same guy he is on the radio. That's saying something.
Most of my friends and family, and even some acquaintances, know about my Reds Memorabilia Room. My man cave isn't so much a man cave as it is a shrine to the Cincinnati Reds. While it wasn't such a big deal to those who knew me in Indiana, where many, like me, grew up listening to Marty, it's becoming the stuff of legend here in South Carolina, where college football is king. Admittedly, the Room is on another level. Marty Brennamen is a big reason why. Without him, I would have known very little about my heroes.
This past Monday, prior to Marty's last series with the team, he said in a press conference that Thursday -- his last day behind the mic -- will be the "hardest day" of his life.
He has no idea. Regardless of who wins the game, that one will "belong to the Reds," I guarantee it.
And when you hear the 13 year old boy crying in his Reds Room, don't be alarmed. It's just me.
No comments:
Post a Comment