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The Voice of Summer Has Left the Ballpark

The following was contributed by reader and long-time Mets fan Dave Mills. We all have different memories of Bob Murphy, and this is his:

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Between the ages of seven and 48, there were two male voices that I spent more time listening to than any other 20 people put together, my dad and the "marvelous Murph"—Bob Murphy. Both have left the ballpark this year and at the age of 79.

Whether I was laying in bed on a late night west coast swing, or mowing the lawn, or riding my bike home from a Little League game, or riding in the car with my dad or driving to and from Beantown, Bob Murphy was with me. From Casey's lovable losers to the emergence of Tom Terrific in '67 and Koos in '68, and the amazing stretch run in '69; the "Gotta Believe" Mets and the losers of '77-'82, as well as the great years from '83-'88—Bob Murphy called them all. And he was NEVER a homer. He was a broadcaster who told it like he saw it in an impartial manner with integrity and dignity. Many of the home team broadcasters of today (and yesterday) could learn something from Bob.

In 1988, I ran into Murph and his wife Joye, ironically, outside of a funeral home on Amsterdam at 75th Street. Even though I was intruding on his time and space, I politely approached him, stuck out my hand and thanked him profusely for ALL the enjoyable Mets games and moments he spirited me through from 1962 through that day (and beyond). I even mentioned that he was probably the most listened to voice in my life. Joye seemed to get a kick out of that even more than Bob, who had undoubtedly heard it before.

I can't even imagine how many hours I spent listening to Murphy, Kiner and Nelson, but the way Bob Murphy painted word pictures on the radio was breathtaking and profound. I was at the ballpark. Eyes wide open and all ears. His word pictures lit up my life and took me to a place where the verdant hues of grass blended with the sounds of the fannies in the seats and the crack of the bat. Baseball was in the air. Nothing could be finer and I...WAS...THERE!

So, I have now lost the man who taught me the beautiful game and we have all lost the man who etched it on the canvas in such a fetching manner. The Happy Recap is not as happy as it could be in Metsville, but the memories and the voice lingers on.

Forever grateful,
Dave Mills aka DaMetsman

August 03, 2004