Free You Can't Make This Up: Miracles, Memories, and the Perfect Marriage of Sports and Television by Al Michaels, L. Jon Wertheim Page A

and I was nervous enough—now we were going into a commercial break with the first pitch about to be thrown. I’m in a mini-panic. What am I going to do—make my big-league debut three batters into the game?
    Fortunately, Harry Caray, who had gotten the White Sox job that six months earlier I thought would be mine, was in the adjacent booth and his station’s format was the same as ours. Harry had been around for years, and knew the umpires. So he stood up, and in that unmistakable bellowing voice of his, yelled down to the umps, “Hey, you gotta hold it up for us! You gotta hold up the game!” And they did.
    Harry had a different broadcasting philosophy than I. My approach was based on Vin Scully and Red Barber’s philosophy of neutrality—while Harry was an out-and-out homer. But I always respected him, and viewed him as an announcer who understood and fit in well with his audience, since at that time, sports were more regionalized, and what worked in New York or Los Angeles might not work as well in the Midwest—and vice versa. Harry knew his market, embraced the fans in his own inimitable way, and will always be remembered as one of the most popular announcers ever. Now, there’s a fine line between overwhelming the situation with force of personality, or being someone who doesn’t take himself too seriously and appeals to the fan base. Harry was on the right side of that line. He got it. And to this day, I think back to that spring training game and thank God Harry made sure I had a clean break out of the starting gate.
    SPRING TRAINING IS OVER and we head back to Cincinnati. Opening Day was April 5, 1971, a Monday afternoon. By tradition, because the Reds were the first professional baseball franchise, founded in 1869, they were annually accorded the honor to open the season first. The Reds had won the pennant in 1970, and lost to the Baltimore Orioles in a World Series that will always be remembered for Hall of Famer Brooks Robinson’s brilliance. Now a new season was starting against the Atlanta Braves. And who’s playing shortstop and batting eighth for the Braves? My man, Marty Perez from the Islanders. I saw him before the game and we both had the same thought. Holy mackerel— the last time we saw each other was at Termite Palace in Hawaii. Now we’re both in the big leagues.
    A lot like a player making his major-league debut, I felt a mix of excitement and nervousness and Oh-My-God-Look-Where-I-Am awe. Riverfront Stadium was packed. Gary Nolan was the Reds’ starting pitcher, and the first batter to come to the plate was Sonny Jackson, who had been Joe Morgan’s double-play partner with the Astros for a number of years. More on Morgan shortly. Jackson hits the first pitch of the game on the ground well to the right of second baseman Tommy Helms, who makes a backhanded stop and throws Jackson out in a bang-bang play. I say, “One pitch, one great play, one out.” The second batter was Ralph Garr, who would win a batting title two years later. And the third batter: Henry Aaron. It was a one-two-three inning. Then the Reds come up, and the leadoff hitter is Pete Rose. So my major-league broadcasting career starts with the longtime home run leader and the to-this-day major-league hit king among the first four batters. And Tony Perez, Johnny Bench, and Orlando Cepeda were in the game as well. And Phil Niekro started for the Braves. Five Hall of Famers—plus Pete Rose.
    It was the first full season of the new ballpark in downtown Cincinnati, Riverfront Stadium. Cincinnati was beginning to feel like home. In the birthplace of baseball’s first professional team, you could feel the tradition of the sport woven throughout the fabric of the city. The fan base was special. And while I know the Internet and ESPN can be valuable, in the days before their existence getting information was a much different exercise. I’d comb over box scores in the newspapers and read everything I could—but mostly, the way