He lived a long and remarkable life, and his death yesterday came not unexpectedly. Ernie Harwell, the "Voice of the Detroit Tigers", has passed away.
This Sunday will be the 30th anniversary of the death of my grandfather. I have written here before about how much he loved the game of baseball, the Tigers, and Ernie. Some of my fondest childhood memories are sitting with my grandpa out in his garage, and listening to Ernie broadcast on a warm summer night in northern Michigan. If the game was a late one, say from Anaheim or Seattle, the Whip-Poor-Wills would start their chirping out behind the house before the 7th inning stretch, and the stars would just be coming out in the northern sky. Smoke from grandpa's pipe or cigar would help keep the mosquitoes at bay, and all was right with the world.
Ernie's voice and wit were magic in the booth. It was more than a job. He loved the Tigers as much as any of us, and it always showed. So did his wisdom. How could he possibly have known what little Michigan town that everyone who caught a foul ball was from?!!
Grandpa passed a long time ago, at least it feels like long. Now Ernie has joined him. Maybe in heaven the great game continues and there are a lot more than just nine innings. Or perhaps it's more accurate to say that if there is a heaven for these two, then the game definitely plays on, and the only thing that's "long gone" is still a well hit baseball.
R.I.P. Ernie Harwell.
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