George Kell: Sadly, God Waaaved Him in!
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I always found it so ironic that George Kell mastered the art of the strikeout call, when he hardly struck out himself.
Kell, who died Tuesday at age 86, won the 1949 batting title, nosing out none other than Ted Williams. That much, you probably know. But how about this? In doing so, Kell struck out 13 times. Total.
A big-league season is about six months long. So Kell, in hitting .342, struck out about twice a month. Once every 15 days or so.
Yet of all the signature calls that Kell, as the Tigersโ longtime broadcaster, had, I think Iโd put his strikeout call in the top two or three.
There were a few versions.
In a non-crucial portion of the game: โHe STRUCK him out,โ in that Arkansas-coated accent.
In a more important situation: โHey, he struck him out!โ
In the last out of the game, a big Tigersโ win put to bed: โSTRIKE THREE! OH, HE STRUCK HIM OUT!โ
I remember on one occasion, channel four edited together all of Kellโs strikeout calls during a Jack Morris win in Kansas City. Morris fanned 10 or 11 guys, and the montage was all of the third strikes, as described by Kell.
They were pretty much all the same. โHeeeโฆ.struck him out.โ Nothing too exciting, but the fact that they WERE all the same was, to me, fascinating. For that wasnโt a sign of boring repetition, but rather of sameness and reliability and, because of it, the comfort that Kell provided the viewer/listener.
He was a speaker of half-sentences, and that was OK, too.
I found one of our daughterโs baby videos last summer, and it was shot back in 1993. The TV sound was on in the background, and, clear as a bell, thereโs Kell and Al Kaline, describing a Tigers game in Milwaukee.
โHere comes Cecil,โ was all Kell said at one point. Thatโs all that needed to be said.
Then, after the first pitch: โUp high.โ Again, all that needed to be said. A few moments later, after some blissful silence that todayโs announcers fear like the plague, there was this in the background as our two-month-old daughter rolled around on the bed: โBall two, strike one. (long pause) Ground ball to short...(pause, then Milwaukee crowd cheers)...two out, in the sixth.
โNow itโs up to Gibby!โ
Man, it doesnโt look nearly as good in print as it sounded to my ears, but those who grew up listening to Kell are probably smiling.
The one that gives you chillsโat least meโwas when a runner would try to score on a base hit and the ball was being hustled in to the infield.
โTheyโre WAAAVING him in!โ Kell would yell, and there wasnโt anything more exciting. โThereโs gonna be a play at the plate!โ
A ball would be fouled off, rather hard, into the stands. โLook OUT!โ Kell would warn, as if the fans could hear him.
Of course, I could go on and on. And Iโm really not imparting anything to you that you donโt already know. Thatโs what happens when the famous, the beloved pass away. We all say the same thing, pretty muchโbut we somehow feel remiss if we donโt say it.
Oh, and thereโs this. I used to pretend I was a Detroit Tiger in my Livonia driveway as a kid. Sometimes Iโd be myself, magically inserted into the Tigers lineup, or Iโd be one of the real playersโWillie Horton, Norm Cash, etc.
Iโd have my plastic bat and my Tigers cap on and Iโd dig in against an imaginary pitcher.
The โpitchโ would be delivered and Iโd swing. Funny how I always connected, dead-on.
Then Iโd be Kell, announcing my heroics.
โThereโs a lonnnng drive! Way back! That ball isโฆGONE!โ
I think I even tried to do Kellโs Arkansas accent, as an eight-year-old.
Kell hasnโt announced games regularly since 1995. But despite his 13 years away, his loss is still like it happened while he was an active broadcaster. He retired, but never truly left us.
Until now.
But only physically. Thereโs still that home movie that I have, for example. And the stuff rattling around in my head.
โThanks, Larry, and good afternoon everyone. The weatherman says weโre gonna get this one in.โ
Stuff like that.




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