Having a Vin Scully among us, having had our Red Barbers and our Bob Murphys, our Russ Hodges and our Lindsey Nelsons, our Ken Colemans and our Ernie Harwells, has been something incandescent. But what would baseball from the microphones be without having had our Dizzy Deans and our Joe Nuxhalls, our Herb Scores and Jerry Colemans?
Fair enough. San Diego Padres fans have enough to fume about these days: another fire sale, the disgraceful treatment of Trevor Hoffman. They may not particularly care to discover their beloved broadcaster may have had an equal at least, a superior at most, for malapropriety on the air. At least, Jerry Coleman may have had one until Herb Score retired after the 1997 World Series.
And, since over a decade of physical (a near-fatal road accident, a stroke, a staph infection, pneumonia, and a final residence in hospital) and spiritual (his youngest daughter, a Down's syndrome child, died of heart failure in 1994) ended in Score's death on Veterans Day, Cleveland Indians fans been remembering at least as much of a Score of malaprops as they've been remembering the understated class act who demurred from agreeing with them that he was ill-fated.
How beloved was Score behind the microphone and out and about among Indian Nation? When the Tribe finally put a finish to four decades' disaster with a romp through the American League Central, en route a triumph for the pennant in the American League Championship Series, Indian fans weren't the only ones thinking this one was for Herb. Ernie Harwell told his faithful Detroit Tigers fans, "Herb deserves this."
Score, typically, demurred. "I don't deserve this," he said gently. "The city deserves this."
That from a man who was once thought capable of sounding cheerful doing the play-by-play aboard a Kamikaze flight. Bob Dolgan of the Cleveland Plain-Dealer dreamed that one up. "He is the kind of guy you almost can't knock," Dolgan continued. "An awful lot of listeners are going to be awfully angry with you if you do. I have a hunch I know why. In this nasty old world, filled with thugs, malcontents, and narcissists, gentlemen are finally beginning to be appreciated. And Score has always been a gentleman."
Former Indians third baseman Buddy Bell has seen and raised. "[Score is] such a nice guy that I'll bet he makes the bed in his hotel when he waked up in the morning." Author Curt Smith, whose Voices of the Game remains the definitive historiography of baseball announcing, cites an unidentified friend: "So what if he's never been a Hall of Fame announcer? Look at it this way. Wouldn't the city of Cleveland have turned somersaults over the last twenty years just to have ball clubs as decent as their announcer?"
Coleman has inspired comparable affection over the years. He's also inspired as much of a trainload of laughs for his linguistic mangles as Score did, and they had the sometimes unfortunate effect of obscuring how intelligent and knowledgeable each man really was. Care to square them off against each other?
By the time you're finished, you'll be tempted to launch a campaign to put Score into the Hall of Fame's broadcast wing right next to Coleman. Whether that will be before or after you need to reach for the oxygen tank is a matter of individual condition.
The following malaprops are brought to you in living color.
JERRY COLEMAN: They throw [Dave] Winfield out at second, but he's safe!
HERB SCORE: There's a long drive down the left field line — is it fair? Is it foul? It is!
Coleman once identified himself as Jerry Gross. Score — who once identified Eddie Murray as Eddie Murphy — once signed off saying, "This is Steve Lamarr, signing off for Herb Score."
Coleman may or may not have stolen this one from Score: Swing and a miss and a foul back to the screen. But Score never gave the big ballpark credit for doing it all. (Most of Score's broadcasting career occurred in Cleveland's old, cavernous Municipal Stadium.) On the other hand, Coleman never seemed to have a problem identifying his working station on a given day: This is Herb Score coming to you from Milwaukee's County Stadium — oh, Chicago's Comiskey Park. Wait a minute, I'll get this right — Kansas City's Royals Stadium.
The trouble was that Score had it right the first time. He got even better after he took the mike from radio partner Nev Chandler to call the Indians' second. The six-pitch inning ended thus: And after one and a half, the score is Kansas City two, the Indians nothing. Coleman wasn't immune to that sort of geographical vapour, himself: the Padres need one to tie and two to win, so going into the ninth the score is San Francisco one, the Yankees nothing.
Still, Score never quite nailed down a future Hall of Famer's credentials with Coleman's flair: Ozzie Smith just made another play that I've never seen anyone else make before, and I've seen him make it more often than anyone else ever has. And when it came to big men doing the little things, Coleman had Score slightly overmatched: that big guy, Winfield, at 6'6", can do things only a small man can do.
But did Coleman ever set his Padres up against themselves? He makes the catch for the final out. And after three, the score, Cleveland 4 and the Indians 2. And that must have been some wind blowing in from the outfield when Score described a long high fly ball under which the ... second baseman circled for the catch. Unless said second baseman managed to run it down all the way to the track.
And I'm not sure Coleman ever misplaced a future Hall of Famer in his final game in front of his home fans, either: a standing ovation here from the fans in Baltimore for their hero. Yaz played 23 years for the Orioles.
Oakland Athletics fans probably weren't the only ones who sometimes got reserve catchers Mickey Tettleton and Terry Steinbach confused. Score referred to Tettleton during one at-bat as Mickey Tettlebach. Terry Steinton was unavailable for comment. Efrain Valdez, a short-lived pitcher who may have deserved better (lifetime ERA, 26 games over 1990-91 with the Indians and 1998 with the Arizona Diamondbacks), was born too late to have starred in 77 Sunset Strip, but that didn't stop Score from calling him Efrem Zimbalist, Jr.
But Score never saw Johnnie LeMaster spear a hard shot and throw Bill Madlock into the dugout; he never saw Jesus Alou in the on-deck circus; he never saw George Hendrick lose a sun-blown popup; and, he never saw Dave Winfield lose his head: There's a fly ball deep to center field — Winfield is going back, back, back — he hits his head against the wall. And it's rolling toward second base!
There are only two conclusions to reach:
1) A shame it would have to be posthumously, now, but there ought to be room for Herb Score in the Hall of Fame's broadcast wing, right next to Jerry Coleman, perhaps the two of them depicted in statuary set in easy chairs surrounding a table lamp.
2) Both Herb Score and Jerry Coleman ought to have been grateful that nobody thought to move Yogi Berra into the broadcast booth.
In Case You Were Curious...
Jerry Coleman and Herb Score may come out dead-even as broadcast malaproppers, but as Major League Baseball players Coleman lasted long enough as a player to have nine at-bats in three games against Score, all during Coleman's final playing season and Score's sophomore season, 1956. Coleman comes out ahead, though not really by much.
JUNE 16, 1956 — Coleman squared off against Score in Municipal Stadium with no score and the Yankees having first and third and one out. He skied one to center field for the second out. He came up again in the fourth with the Yankees up, 2-1, nobody out, and Andy Carey on first, when he drove one to the back of center field, virtually guaranteeing Carey coming home in that unfathomably deep Cleveland park. The score stayed what Coleman had made it when he came up again in the sixth with two out and lined one to center for the side.
JULY 14, 1956 — This time, Coleman and Score met in Yankee Stadium, whose deadly-deep center and left-center worked a lot more in a left-handed pitcher's favor. This time, Coleman led off the Yankee third, after the Indians had jumped Tommy Byrne for a 3-0 lead, and lined one out to center. With two out in the Yankee fifth he bounced a ground-rule double over the right field fence, and in the seventh with first and third and nobody out he singled home Hank Bauer, before Byrne himself drove in Andy Carey to tie the game. (Reliever Don Mossi would lose it for the Indians when he gave up a two-out walk-off single to Billy Martin.)
AUGUST 2, 1956 — Back in Cleveland, Coleman got three final cracks at Score, who had made his second all-star team in his first two seasons and was on his way to a 20-win term. With no score Coleman opened the top of the third with a line out to left. With one out in the top of the fifth and the Yankees down 4-0, Score dropped strike three in on Coleman, repeating it in the top of the seventh with two out and a man on second.
Jerry Coleman's final jacket against Herb Score: 3-for-9, 2 RBI, 2 strikeouts (both looking); a .333 batting average and on-base percentage, with a .556 slugging percentage.
Score wasn't the only Indians pitcher Coleman abused when given the right opportunities: he hit, slugged, and reached base for .462 against eventual Hall of Famer Bob Lemon; and, he went .400/.500/.400 against the none-too-shabby Jerry Garcia. (He who malaprops last malaprops best, I always say... )
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