You Can't Make This Up: Miracles, Memories, and the Perfect Marriage of Sports and Television by Al Michaels, L. Jon Wertheim Page B
Authors: Al Michaels, L. Jon Wertheim
Ads: Link
column in the Sporting News detailing my departure and questioning the wisdom of the Reds in letting me get away. Dick Wagner took issue with the article and wrote a letter to the editor in which he implied that I’d signed with San Francisco prior to negotiating with the Reds and questioned my “maturity.” He also released the salary I was earning with the Giants. I had to respond. I wrote my own letter to the editor that read in part: “I negotiated in good faith with the Reds. I have known Dick Wagner for years now, and have come to the conclusion that his definition of maturity is total subservience.” Today, I can look back and laugh. But this was before the days of media agents and the Internet and Twitter battles. These were the days of dueling letters to the editor. And by the way—now you know what I said to George Clooney when he asked me why I had ever left Cincinnati. He understood.
In any case, while the Big Red Machine went on to win the World Series in 1975 and 1976, I would be in San Francisco. It was a very hard decision—I was walking away from what I knew would be one of the great teams in the history of baseball.
But San Francisco had made me the offer I couldn’t refuse.
CHAPTER 7
The Giants of Candlestick, and the Wizard of Westwood
B Y THE EARLY 1970S , the marriage between sports and television was evolving and strengthening. More and more games were being televised—on the three networks and local TV as well—and the fit was working. Fans could see their favorite teams more often—without fighting traffic, or paying for parking, or waiting in line at a concession stand, or having their view blocked by someone who wouldn’t get down in front. Instant replay and other innovations were enhancing the experience. And television sets were improving. The pictures were sharper, and in 1972, for the first time, more Americans bought color TVs than black-and-white sets.
Television networks and local stations were adding more sports programming. And they were paying for it. By the seventies, the broadcast rights fees for leagues, primarily the NFL and Major League Baseball, were steadily increasing. Same for the Olympics. ABC had paid $1.5 million to air the 1964 Summer Games in Tokyo—and then for the Munich Games eight years later, the rights fee multiplied by six to $7.5 million. That was a lot of money then, but also provided a lot of inventory—dozens, sometimes even hundreds of hours of airtime. And sports programming was still generally cheaper than developing original shows that might or might not become hits. Local stations were carving out more and more deals with teams in their markets.
On a personal level, I loved it. There would be more sports programming to watch, more jobs in the industry. But as far as my particular job was concerned, I would be doing play-by-play for the Giants both on radio and television. At that time, television play-by-play wasn’t radically different from radio play-by-play. Replays were generally just slowing down the same few seconds of action that we had just seen live. And graphics would be added. In the seventies, there were a number of team broadcasters, for instance Vin Scully with the Dodgers and Chick Hearn with the Lakers, who regularly did TV and radio simulcasts—the same audio was being provided simultaneously by the same announcer for both mediums. (To this day, Vinny still simulcasts a couple of innings for the Dodgers.)
I’ve always subscribed to the philosophy that on television less is usually more. What I mean by that is that on radio, verbs are very important, because the audience can’t see the game. But on television, the viewers are absorbing the action with their own eyes and in effect, the verbs are being played out visually in their brains. If an announcer says, “he swings and rips one into right field for a base hit” but at home you see it as more of a soft line drive, it’s disconcerting. What I try to do on TV
In any case, while the Big Red Machine went on to win the World Series in 1975 and 1976, I would be in San Francisco. It was a very hard decision—I was walking away from what I knew would be one of the great teams in the history of baseball.
But San Francisco had made me the offer I couldn’t refuse.
CHAPTER 7
The Giants of Candlestick, and the Wizard of Westwood
B Y THE EARLY 1970S , the marriage between sports and television was evolving and strengthening. More and more games were being televised—on the three networks and local TV as well—and the fit was working. Fans could see their favorite teams more often—without fighting traffic, or paying for parking, or waiting in line at a concession stand, or having their view blocked by someone who wouldn’t get down in front. Instant replay and other innovations were enhancing the experience. And television sets were improving. The pictures were sharper, and in 1972, for the first time, more Americans bought color TVs than black-and-white sets.
Television networks and local stations were adding more sports programming. And they were paying for it. By the seventies, the broadcast rights fees for leagues, primarily the NFL and Major League Baseball, were steadily increasing. Same for the Olympics. ABC had paid $1.5 million to air the 1964 Summer Games in Tokyo—and then for the Munich Games eight years later, the rights fee multiplied by six to $7.5 million. That was a lot of money then, but also provided a lot of inventory—dozens, sometimes even hundreds of hours of airtime. And sports programming was still generally cheaper than developing original shows that might or might not become hits. Local stations were carving out more and more deals with teams in their markets.
On a personal level, I loved it. There would be more sports programming to watch, more jobs in the industry. But as far as my particular job was concerned, I would be doing play-by-play for the Giants both on radio and television. At that time, television play-by-play wasn’t radically different from radio play-by-play. Replays were generally just slowing down the same few seconds of action that we had just seen live. And graphics would be added. In the seventies, there were a number of team broadcasters, for instance Vin Scully with the Dodgers and Chick Hearn with the Lakers, who regularly did TV and radio simulcasts—the same audio was being provided simultaneously by the same announcer for both mediums. (To this day, Vinny still simulcasts a couple of innings for the Dodgers.)
I’ve always subscribed to the philosophy that on television less is usually more. What I mean by that is that on radio, verbs are very important, because the audience can’t see the game. But on television, the viewers are absorbing the action with their own eyes and in effect, the verbs are being played out visually in their brains. If an announcer says, “he swings and rips one into right field for a base hit” but at home you see it as more of a soft line drive, it’s disconcerting. What I try to do on TV
Similar Books
