But he’s has High Hopes
He has High Hopes
He has high apple pie in the sky hopes

So when you start feelin’ low, instead of lettin’ go
Just remember that ant

Oops there goes another rubber tree
Oops there goes another rubber tree
Oops there goes another rubber tree plant.

-Harry Kalas

Arizona Diamondbacks (68-53) at Philadelphia Phillies (78-41)

Josh Collmenter, RHP (7-7, 3.51 ERA) vs. Roy Halladay, RHP (15-4, 2.51 ERA)

Time: 7:05, Citizens Bank Park
TV: WPHL
Weather: Partly Cloudy, 74
Media: Twitter and Facebook

Your Gameday Beer-Brooklyn Pennant Ale ’55

My biggest issue with this beer is that it’s obviously a homage to the world champion Dodgers of 1955, considering the name, the labeling (blue and white with red trim), and the baseball-themed variant of the Brooklyn Brewery logo. With that said, why is there a pinstriped motif on the label? The Dodgers, to my knowledge, have never worn pinstriped uniforms, least of all in their championship year of 1955. Anyway, this is an easy-drinking, baseball-themed beer, in honor of our beloved easy-drinking Harry Kalas.-By Michael

GO PHILLIES

———————-

My mother’s and father’s were the first two voices I heard after I was born. Now I’m not sure, but I would bet the third was the voice of Harry Kalas.

It was a stunning voice. His rich, regal baritone felt like the wind shaving across a midwestern field. He was an Illinois boy, honing his craft in the fields of Iowa – closely neighboring the fields where Richie Ashburn rooted. He moved to Hawaii, then to Houston, then to Philadelphia. Despite his youth, he carried that majestic voice, deep and hearty, assured and personable. It honestly felt like baseball.

And for millions of us, Kalas’ voice wasn’t simply something that felt like baseball, it was baseball. It was the first sound heard when we turned the radio dial, then it was the first sound heard when we clicked to the television. It greeted us to the park as if we sat there ourselves. His words wrapped around the hollow concourses of Veterans Stadium, echoed into the field, warmed us on those chilly summer nights. And yet it defined our lazy summer afternoons, sitting at the public pool, or on the stoop, or in our living rooms. It cradled our hopes and ambitions of a team that always let us down.

Harry never let us down.

Even if we had the opportunity to meet the man, he didn’t let us down. I attended a Philadelphia Sportswriters Banquet years ago, and during an intermission my brother took me outside for a cigarette. As we stood outside, I – no more than 12 – noticed him, that iconic image: Clean black tuxedo, well-quaffed gray hair, a cigarette in one hand, a glass of scotch in another. All alone, he contemplated the night sky. My brother and I walked past him, and I let it out, as if showing my father I could ride a bicycle:

“Long drive … watch that baby … outta here!”

He glanced over, chuckled and tipped his head to me. I could have floated in air.

That wasn’t my first run in with Harry. At age 6 he mulled over my scorecard during Terry Mulholland’s no hitter. Upon learning this news, no longer was the greatest joy that I witnessed a no hitter, but that Harry Kalas spoke about me on the air. That voice spent a few seconds with me.

Since those moments, I cherished Harry as he had grown older and, sadly, sicklier. We all knew it, and we all recognized it, but we didn’t dare speak about it. Scott Franzke denied ever thinking Harry would leave the booth. Even though we mocked his missed calls and premature vocal rises, we never, ever wanted him to leave the booth. Not our voice. Not our baseball.

Harry Kalas was baseball. And he was Philadelphia. He was as much part of the city as William Penn’s hat. As much part of the city as the green of the Walt Whitman Bridge. We would hear him on NFL Films and think “he’s our guy.” We would hear others speak about the golden voice and think “he’s our guy.” Our pride for Harry was greater than maybe our pride for the Phillies themselves.

Of course, that pride grew in 2008, the special season that redeemed our faith in the local baseball club. And when Brad Lidge uncorked that final slider, it was Harry’s call we longed to hear:

“The oh-two pitch – swing and a miss! Struck him out! The Philadelphia Phillies are two-thousand eight world champions of baseball!”

Just as we knew he’d call it. And it remains our lasting memory of Harry. It joins the bin with his iconic call of Mike Schmidt’s 500th home run as his greatest moments. There are numerous others, from Pat Burrell’s defiant home run off Brian Wilson last season, to Garry Maddox’s final out of the 1980 National League Championship Series. The phrases are etched in our minds: “Long drive!” “Struck ‘em out!” “Could it be?!” “This ball’s outta here!” The character follows.

And what a character. We knew Harry loved a good drink, and we knew Harry loved a good time. Even at his most downtrodden when calling a game, he sounded somewhat optimistic. With Ashburn, he played the surprised straight man to Whitey’s guffaw and bluster. Together, they played like two uncles, men you knew instantly. And even after Richie died, Harry remained warm and cordial, sometimes straight to Larry Andersen’s dumbfounded northwestern everyman. But more than anything he grew into an exalted man, the kind of legendary person that Philadelphians hardly find. His name adorned a Citizens Bank Park restaurant. Yes, he was baseball.

In simpler times, though, Harry was the lazy summer afternoon, the chilly summer night, the open cornfields of Iowa, the steel and brick of Philadelphia. He was soothing even in the darkest days. He kept us coming back to the team no matter how bad it seemed. Not many can do such a thing.

To me, Harry is part of my family. He is my fifth uncle, my summer retreat. He is Phillies baseball. Throughout the 24 years of my life, there have been few constants, and besides my family, there has been the Phillies, and there has been Harry Kalas. For millions across the Delaware Valley and beyond, the feeling is exactly similar. So listening today was tough – Tom McCarthy and Chris Wheeler, and Gary Matthews and Larry Andersen filled the gaps well, but there was no voice. There was no regal baritone serenading me to the field. There was no optimistic tingle in the hearty chords. There was no “High Hopes.” There was no “outta here.”

In a way, there was no baseball.

But baseball proceeds. There will be a game Wednesday. And a game Thursday. And so on until the season ends, and another season begins. And so on. And we will proceed without Harry, without the voice. At some point, a new voice will emerge. Who knows which voice fills our lazy summer afternoons and chilly summer nights. Who knows which voice fills our stoops and living rooms. Maybe that voice will engage millions more the way Harry engaged us, but it sure won’t be the same. Not at all.

For yes, Harry Kalas was baseball in Philadelphia. He was my baseball. He was my voice. He was my uncle. And he was our friend.

The Phillies have gratefully accepted the fan-funded gift of a 7½-foot bronze statue of Harry Kalas for placement at Citizens Bank Park, Mike Stiles, Senior Vice President, Administration and Operations, announced today.  The statue was presented to the Phillies as a gift from Dear Harry, Inc., a fan-based group organized solely to create a statue dedicated to the memory of the Phillies Hall of Fame broadcaster.  The sculptor, Lawrence J. Nowlan, has received important commissions for public sculpture across the country and overseas.

“A group of us from the Phillies went to the Laran Bronze Foundry in Chester to see the statue for the first time a few weeks ago,” said Stiles.  “We were very impressed.  It’s a wonderful likeness of Harry that really captures his spirit.  There are interesting details that I don’t want to give away.  I think fans will be very excited to see this statue of Harry at the ballpark.

“The Phillies are very grateful to all the fans who contributed to this effort, as well as to Larry Nowlan for his impressive work.  We accept the gift, with gratitude, in honor of the memory of our beloved colleague and friend, Harry Kalas.”

Details about the location of the statue at the ballpark and date and time of the unveiling have yet to be determined.

Tonight at McFaddens, there will be a pre-Opening Day celebration that was originally meant to be a fund-raiser. Here are the details for tonight’s party down at the ballpark, we hope you can make it out.

The party starts at 8pm with dollar beers for the first two hours. Mr. Greengenes will be providing the music and local celebrities will be tending bar. Also, King Bee Memorabilia will be running an auction to help raise money for the Harry Kalas statue project which is almost complete. We hope to see you there!

You’re putting together a puzzle, and you’re just about finished.  The whole puzzle is put together, but you realize that one piece is missing.  You look in the box, and it’s not there.

From walk-off wins, to complete games, to winning a National League pennant, the 2009 season was filled with many memories.  Even with all the success, Phillies baseball was missing something: their voice.

The Phillies organization did a terrific job remembering their late broadcaster.  During the National League East celebration, the team rushed to left field, showering the “HK” sign with beer.  “That ball is outta here!” was played after each home run, and “High Hopes” blasted after each win.  Harry Kalas was inducted into the  Wall of Fame, and the broadcast team shared their fondest memories of Kalas all year long.  All these tributes were heartwarming and classy, but you can’t help but wonder: “how would HK have called it?”

During the World Series, Scott Franzke called Chase Utley’s homer run: “…and as our friend ‘HK’ would say, you are the man!”  Franzke has done a fantastic job this season, and that call was perfect.  It showed that eight months later, Harry is still in all of our thoughts.

“Outta here!” and “struck ‘em out!”  are missed, but just as much as “no runs, no hits, no errors, and none left.”  On many occasions, what happened on the field was remembered by his calls.  There wasn’t a day that went by that I didn’t think of Harry.  Phillies baseball wasn’t quite the same, but  Harry would have been proud of this team.

Harry was the Phillies missing piece of the puzzle.  He is missed very much, but I am thankful that I was able to listen to him over the years.  HK will always be in our hearts, and always reminding us to have “High Hopes!”

Next time you’re found with your chin on the ground, there a lot to be learned, so look around.
Just what makes that little old ant think he’ll move that rubber-tree plant? Anyone knows an ant can’t move a rubber-tree plant.
But he’s got high hopes, he’s got high hopes.
He’s got high apple pie in the sky hopes.

Pat Gallen can be reached via email at Pat@Philliesnation.com

It was a fitting tribute to the legendary, larger-than-life voice of the Philadelphia Phillies.  He will always remain a part of the team, as is witnessed by his blue sports coat and white shoes traveling as part of the team all year.

Following the final out, “High Hopes” blared throughout Citizens Bank Park as another heartwarming reminder that Harry will be with us for the long haul this season, as well as many more to come.  And although he is gone, his legacy and passion for the sport still resonates throughout the ballpark, and the city as a whole.

On a side note, I thought the honoring of Harry was fitting.  It was reminiscent of how the Angels paid to homage to a teammate they lost earlier in the season, Nick Adenhart. Some believed that by showering the jersey of Adenhart with an alcoholic beverage, it sent the wrong message because of how the young man was killed.  Personally, it gave me goose bumps as much as the HK celebration because the Angels acted as if he was there with him; as if he was another human in the clubhouse being sprayed.

In our Tuesday podcast, Scott Franzke said it’s obvious no one will ever be able to replace Kalas, but that he pays his respect to HK by always being prepared and by treating the game with respect.  All fans young and old echo that sentiment about respect.  Everyone had undying respect for the man, and it was touching to watch the Phillies as a whole thank him for all he did with that quick reminder that he’s always here.

Listening to the games on the radio throughout the postseason just won’t be the same, though Franzke and his cohorts will do their best to conjure up memories of Harry the K.  And as we join the Phils on this October trip once again, we will, without question, have Harry in our minds, and hearts.  He’s still a part of this team, and no one has forgotten.

“When we started the Wall of Fame in 1978, the intent was to honor the great players in our history,” team president David Montgomery said. “We believe it is fitting to make an exception because Harry deserves to be remembered along with some of the greatest names in our history. He is indeed a Phillies icon.”

The Wall of Fame is located in Ashburn Alley at Citizens Bank Park.

Add your photos to this collection by emailing us or visiting the “Harry Kalas, voice of the Phils” group on Flickr.

Harry Kalas calling Eddie Mathews’ 500th home run – 1967

Harry Kalas calling Manny Trillo’s triple in the NLCS – 1980

Harry Kalas calling Mike Schimdt’s 500th home run – 1987

Pat Burrell crushes two home runs in Game 4 of the NLDS

Harry calls the final out of the 2008 NLCS

Chase Utley goes deep in the sixth inning of Game 3 of the World Series

Ryan Howard makes it back-to-back homers

Harry calls the Phillies winning the 2008 World Series!

Harry Kalas’ final home run call, Matt Stairs’ pinch-hit against the Rockies – 2009

Hat tip to Jamie, Josh, Jeffrey and Brian Haynie for the clips

Knowing that in the seventh inning we won’t hear: “For play-by-play, here’s Harry.” “Alright, thank you Wheels,” is devastating to think about.

He passed away in the press box at Nationals Park, in the town he watched his hero Mickey Vernon play, doing what he loved to do.

The tears in every Phillies fans eyes show that Harry was more than a broadcaster. I never met Harry the K, but my tears show how one man can impact an entire city, and the entire baseball community. The players loved him. The fans loved him.

During the seventh inning stretch, he threw peanuts to the fans while singing “Take me out to the ballgame.” There was never a time he turned down an autograph or photo. He recorded messages for cell phone answering machine with pleasure. He had celebrity status, but he didn’t let it get to him. My dad’s friend met Harry why waiting to vote and asked why he wouldn’t cut to the front of the line; but Harry refused, waiting in line like the average Joe.

Harry and his best friend Richie Ashburn were one of the best broadcast duos in the business, until Whitey passed away in 1997. Harry carried on his memories of his late friend and frequently told his favorite Whitey stories, whether it was on the air, or in the back of the plane to the players.

Harry’s love of the game started as a child, and his enthusiasm never left, even in the most meaningless of games. He could read the ingredients off “Mitchie-poo’s” salsa, and make is sound fun and exciting.

Like most people in the area, I grew up listening to Harry, whether it was on television, or the radio. He’s all I know.  All of calls give me goosebumps. His “Outta here!” calls are world famous, originated from Larry Bowa on a Greg Luzinski batting practice home run, but his other calls were just as great. “Struck ‘em out!” “Looong drriiiive,” “Could it be?” “Can you believe it!?”

Even “Walked ‘em on four pitches,” “the throw to the plate,” “goes down swinging,” or the simple words “base hit” had a defining tone.

He was getting older, and he may of lost a few steps. There were time we’d “Watch this baby.. get caught right in front of the warning track.” But it didn’t matter. Harry was in the booth and that is all we cared about.

If Harry didn’t have a nickname for a player, he said everybody’s name in a unique fashion. It didn’t even need to be a player. In many games, he gave birthday wishes, including my grandfather’s back in 2001. Roc-CO Ac-ITO.. not quite Mic-KEY Mor-an-DI-ni. Many players said that you weren’t an official big leaguer until Kalas announced your name.

We remember Phillies baseball by his calls. He didn’t have a chance to call the 1980 World Series on air. However, the love of the Philadelphia fans helped changed the rule three years later to let team broadcasters get a chance to call playoff games. In 2008, he had that opportunity.

The 2008 World Series call, as well as Michael Jack Schmidt’s 500th career home run are his two most notable calls of thousands. If it was a walk off or great way to end a game, fans knew the call by heart. Any or every exciting Phillies moment was capped off with a legendary call that will stick in our memories for the rest of our lives.

After the Phillies clinched the division, or moved to the next round of the playoffs, we’d be sure to hear his rendition of “High Hopes!”

Phillies fans were spoiled listening to him. He was one reason why so many fell in love baseball. Nationally televised games were dreaded because it meant no Harry the K.

We remember his voice. We remember his speeches. We remember his first pitch during the ring ceremony. We remember him taking down the final number at the Vet. We will always remember Harry.

He was imitated by many, but nothing was like hearing the Hall of Fame voice; the voice that belonged to the Phillies since 1971. The voice that will forever be missed.

[youtube]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7iQuGlekcqY[/youtube]

You can e-mail me at tim@philliesnation

No new posts today in honor of Harry Kalas. Leave your comments, memories and reflections in the thread below.

We miss you already, Harry.

My mother’s and father’s were the first two voices I heard after I was born. Now I’m not sure, but I would bet the third was the voice of Harry Kalas.

It was a stunning voice. His rich, regal baritone felt like the wind shaving across a midwestern field. He was an Illinois boy, honing his craft in the fields of Iowa – closely neighboring the fields where Richie Ashburn rooted. He moved to Hawaii, then to Houston, then to Philadelphia. Despite his youth, he carried that majestic voice, deep and hearty, assured and personable. It honestly felt like baseball.

And for millions of us, Kalas’ voice wasn’t simply something that felt like baseball, it was baseball. It was the first sound heard when we turned the radio dial, then it was the first sound heard when we clicked to the television. It greeted us to the park as if we sat there ourselves. His words wrapped around the hollow concourses of Veterans Stadium, echoed into the field, warmed us on those chilly summer nights. And yet it defined our lazy summer afternoons, sitting at the public pool, or on the stoop, or in our living rooms. It cradled our hopes and ambitions of a team that always let us down.

Harry never let us down.

Even if we had the opportunity to meet the man, he didn’t let us down. I attended a Philadelphia Sportswriters Banquet years ago, and during an intermission my brother took me outside for a cigarette. As we stood outside, I – no more than 12 – noticed him, that iconic image: Clean black tuxedo, well-quaffed gray hair, a cigarette in one hand, a glass of scotch in another. All alone, he contemplated the night sky. My brother and I walked past him, and I let it out, as if showing my father I could ride a bicycle:

“Long drive … watch that baby … outta here!”

He glanced over, chuckled and tipped his head to me. I could have floated in air.

That wasn’t my first run in with Harry. At age 6 he mulled over my scorecard during Terry Mulholland’s no hitter. Upon learning this news, no longer was the greatest joy that I witnessed a no hitter, but that Harry Kalas spoke about me on the air. That voice spent a few seconds with me.

Since those moments, I cherished Harry as he had grown older and, sadly, sicklier. We all knew it, and we all recognized it, but we didn’t dare speak about it. Scott Franzke denied ever thinking Harry would leave the booth. Even though we mocked his missed calls and premature vocal rises, we never, ever wanted him to leave the booth. Not our voice. Not our baseball.

Harry Kalas was baseball. And he was Philadelphia. He was as much part of the city as William Penn’s hat. As much part of the city as the green of the Walt Whitman Bridge. We would hear him on NFL Films and think “he’s our guy.” We would hear others speak about the golden voice and think “he’s our guy.” Our pride for Harry was greater than maybe our pride for the Phillies themselves.

Of course, that pride grew in 2008, the special season that redeemed our faith in the local baseball club. And when Brad Lidge uncorked that final slider, it was Harry’s call we longed to hear:

“The oh-two pitch – swing and a miss! Struck him out! The Philadelphia Phillies are two-thousand eight world champions of baseball!”

Just as we knew he’d call it. And it remains our lasting memory of Harry. It joins the bin with his iconic call of Mike Schmidt’s 500th home run as his greatest moments. There are numerous others, from Pat Burrell’s defiant home run off Brian Wilson last season, to Garry Maddox’s final out of the 1980 National League Championship Series. The phrases are etched in our minds: “Long drive!” “Struck ‘em out!” “Could it be?!” “This ball’s outta here!” The character follows.

And what a character. We knew Harry loved a good drink, and we knew Harry loved a good time. Even at his most downtrodden when calling a game, he sounded somewhat optimistic. With Ashburn, he played the surprised straight man to Whitey’s guffaw and bluster. Together, they played like two uncles, men you knew instantly. And even after Richie died, Harry remained warm and cordial, sometimes straight to Larry Andersen’s dumbfounded northwestern everyman. But more than anything he grew into an exalted man, the kind of legendary person that Philadelphians hardly find. His name adorned a Citizens Bank Park restaurant. Yes, he was baseball.

In simpler times, though, Harry was the lazy summer afternoon, the chilly summer night, the open cornfields of Iowa, the steel and brick of Philadelphia. He was soothing even in the darkest days. He kept us coming back to the team no matter how bad it seemed. Not many can do such a thing.

To me, Harry is part of my family. He is my fifth uncle, my summer retreat. He is Phillies baseball. Throughout the 24 years of my life, there have been few constants, and besides my family, there has been the Phillies, and there has been Harry Kalas. For millions across the Delaware Valley and beyond, the feeling is exactly similar. So listening today was tough – Tom McCarthy and Chris Wheeler, and Gary Matthews and Larry Andersen filled the gaps well, but there was no voice. There was no regal baritone serenading me to the field. There was no optimistic tingle in the hearty chords. There was no “High Hopes.” There was no “outta here.”

In a way, there was no baseball.

But baseball proceeds. There will be a game Wednesday. And a game Thursday. And so on until the season ends, and another season begins. And so on. And we will proceed without Harry, without the voice. At some point, a new voice will emerge. Who knows which voice fills our lazy summer afternoons and chilly summer nights. Who knows which voice fills our stoops and living rooms. Maybe that voice will engage millions more the way Harry engaged us, but it sure won’t be the same. Not at all.

For yes, Harry Kalas was baseball in Philadelphia. He was my baseball. He was my voice. He was my uncle. And he was our friend.

[youtube]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NyGUMuW8CFs[/youtube]

***

UPDATE (2:18 p.m.): I’ll post a remembrance after today’s game, which is still scheduled. More details should come in later today.

UPDATE (1:41 p.m.): Statement from David Montgomery: “I think it’s serious. Our thoughts and prayers are with Harry.”

UPDATE (1:29 p.m.): Allegedly Kalas was found passed out in the press box at Nationals Park. Kalas recently recovered from heart surgery, missing spring training but joining the team for the season opener.

From the Twitter of John Finger of Comcast SportsNet:

Harry Kalas rushed to GWU Hospital. Details to come.