The Daily Procrastinator

With the announcement of the death of Harry Kalas, I feel like another part of my childhood is gone.  For those of you who didn’t grow up in Philadelphia, Harry was the voice of the Phillies, the sound that I most deeply associate with summer in my baseball family.  From the AM-only radio in my grandmother’s 1978 Ford Granada, to the transistor radio that my mother listened to while doing laundry and ironing in the basement, Harry’s voice was everywhere.

Having said goodbye to my mother and grandmother — both avid fans — and the giant concrete donut that was Veterans Stadium five years ago, it’s almost as if Harry’s death severs my last tie to the most pervasive part of my childhood summers.  I’m left feeling a little bit older, a little bit sadder and a little bit more nostalgic for the past.

Goodbye, Harry.  If there’s a heaven, may it be filled with real grass, blue skies and great weather for a ballgame.