It was this time spent together that was Harry Kalas' daily gift to our family - and families all over this region. In this age of distracted attention, Twitter and 10-year-olds with media outlets, Harry's greatest power was to create a simple shared experience over a simple game.
His voice was so soothing that many of us turned on the radio in the dark, listening at 1 in the morning to those West Coast games as he put us to bed in Dodger Stadium.
He narrated our springs and summers, set the table at the barbecue, provided the conversation at the corner bar and punctuated some of the most memorable moments in our history with an exclamation point on the back of a voice of steady friendship. Harry was the friend who came over, not just to say hi, but to talk, to keep your attention.
In an era when we've so much of that in everyday life, the time spent with Harry and whoever you were watching the game with was quality time.
As the Fightin's turned us back into the City of Champions last year, I thought of how many kids in Philadelphia spent evenings with their families listening to Harry and talking between pitches.
Some of our young ones got to experience for the last time what many of us thought was a birthright - the best in the business treating us to a few hours with the Phils and with those who meant the most to us. My daughter was one of the lucky kids who got to stay up and share the magic of a late July game with her parents, learning to appeal to our softer side by asking to stay up until the seventh, when Harry got back from his break.
And thanks to him, how many toddlers walked around last fall saying, "Outta here!" in their little-kid voices?
