This is one of those things that no one can prepare for. Friends and family members die, death is a part of life, it happens. But, for an entire city along with millions of other people to feel that they all just lost a beloved member of their family for a person that have never met, that’s saying something.
Harry the K was special. Like Harry Carey, Vin Scully, Joe Buck (the older one), Kalas was the best in the business. His trademark voice was directly linked to the Philadelphia Phillies from the time he stepped in the broadcast booth in 1971, to the time he collapsed prepping for one of the 162 games per year that he almost always announced.
Look at Harry the K, look what he’s done. First of all, he is one of the few people in the past and present day media that had the ability to make sentence fragments like “it’s outta here” catch phrases. In an age of broadcasting that has transformed in time to where ex-athletes (ex: Gary “Sarge” Matthews) use garble and sometimes even Ebonics as dialogue during games, there was Harry the K, using his years and years of experience and a signature voice to grace the Philadelphia radio airwaves. Honestly, he was and still is so respected, that no one even mentions that he turned over to the dark side (he did play-by-play for the New York Giants as recently as this seasons), which is almost worthy of being put in the witness protection program.
As some aspiring broadcasters like myself do, we witness those who are linked in the media to Harry Kalas everyday. Stephen A. Smith, Howard Eskin, both considered members of the sports media in Philadelphia, just like Kalas was for almost four decades. Eskin and Smith are both Radio and T.V personalities respectively, who have gained notoriety and fame just like Harry. But that’s where the comparisons end. While Eskin and Stephen A. Smith may be entertainers, they are not class acts like Kalas was. Harry the K was broadcaster, as pure as they come, and a damn good one at that.
For those who don’t believe in a higher being, after today, I challenge that. Good people like Harry Kalas don’t deserve to suffer, and hopefully he didn’t. He collapsed and passed away in his sanctuary, his cathedral, where the combination of the smell of green grass, ballpark franks, and overpriced beer made for a proper setting for the game that Kalas viewed so sacredly (To put this into perspective, this is like Ron Jeremy passing away in the grotto of the Playboy Mansion).
As far as we know, there was no cancer, no stroke, and no chronic health problems. Just another day at the office, his beloved game to broadcast, and as fitting of manner as there is, there he went.
