We Were Wild About Harry

In the Philadelphia region it's the only thing anyone wants to talk about right now: The death of Phillies sportscaster Harry Kalas.
Kalas collapsed in the press box in Wsahington before the Phillies game today against the Nationals. He was rushed to Georgetown Medical Center and pronounced dead. He was 73.
Harry Kalas had been broadcasting Phillies games since 1971. He was inducted into the Baseball Hall of Fame in 2002 as the recipient of the Ford C. Frick Award. Last year he got to call the Phillies world championship game.
You didn't have to be a baseball fan to know Harry Kalas.
You didn't even have to be a sports fan to know Harry Kalas.
You didn't have to be a Philadelphian to recognize the voice of Harry Kalas.
He was that big.
Harry Kalas is right up there with legendary Yankees broadcaster Mel Allen and the late Harry Caray of Chicago.
The voice of Harry Kalas was as much a part of Philadelphia as the voice of the late John Facenda. Kalas' voice was the voice of summer.
It was a reassuring voice. It lulled you into a sweet summer afternoon or cool summer evening.
It was a distinctly American voice - all tied up with the special allure of America's season and America's pastime.
For baseball is not so much a game as a pastime - leisurely, soothing, comforting and enchantingly perennial.
By all accounts Harry Kalas was solid - a class act all the way; someone who acted as a gentleman and knew the meaning of old-fashioned professional standards and honest humility.
He was more than a habit to Philadelphians; he was a touchstone.
In a city that treasures sameness Harry Kalas was a reliable brand - like a Tastykake or a Peanut Chew.
To a town that has known its share of punks and phonies, Kalas brought the welcome lustre of realness.
No crassness for Kalas. No self-promotion. No bitterness in defeat. No gloating in victory.
Just the genuine stuff.
He was just as he was.
And that's how he'll be remembered.