Dwight Hood - Gary Cohen and the Reinvention of the Sports Hero

I grew up with the broadcasting team of Lindsey Nelson, Bob Murphy, and Ralph Kiner. The plaid jackets, the slick-backed hair, and the slim microphones that looked like oversized lollipop sticks. Nothing like the nasal, melodrama of 1970s play-by-play action on a cathode ray, tube television complimented by a shrill, bass-less transistor radio.

I have been a Mets fan since 1978. Yes. The “lean” years. In years prior, Tom was perceived as “not so terrific” by ownership as he battled with them for more compensation. After all, he was “The Franchise”, and felt he should be paid as such. 

Then it happened. The “Midnight Massacre”. Seaver was sent and sold to Cincinnati for the likes of Steve Henderson, Pat Zachry, and countless others. They played admirably, and demonstrated their respective baseball talents.  But any glimmer of the Mets Magic of the late 60’s and early 70’s left that night, like pixie dust cast aside by a catastrophic, nocturnal gale force wind.

I have been through a host of players, announcers, and color commentators. There was an Albert brother, Tim McCarver, Steve Zabriski, Fran Healy, and even Tom Seaver came back for a stint. These names are not presented in order of appearance, nor is this list by any means “complete”, or “exhaustive”. I’m just a fan(atic), reminiscing as I write.

There was one guy. I think I first saw him on the road. Maybe it was a game at the old Olympic Stadium. Late 80’s. Early 90’s. Hmmm…not quite sure. Regular looking guy. Balding. This struck me, because, he was a regular guy. 

He wasn’t some stud ex-athlete who was just making awkward, ancillary banter to fill space. His voice was commanding, but not over-indulgent. I think he might have been with Kiner or Healey. I didn’t exactly remember. But I remembered HIM. 

I could just tell he was not an ex-athlete. He was a fan. Like me. A trained broadcaster, but a fan. He approached the game with the same exuberance and appreciation of someone that was so happy to be in the booth. I kind of liked THIS guy. He seemed regular. Like…me…

Fast forward. The 1999 NLDS. Game 4. Mets vs. Diamondbacks. The Mets were ahead in the series 2 -1 after winning both games at Shea.

Game 4 is tied 3-3 going into the bottom of the 10^th. Matt Mantei is pitching to Todd Pratt.

Todd Pratt. Piazza is our catcher. Let me re-phrase. Our perceived SAVIOR. In our Met minds, HE made us relevant again. Now we are a contender. But…for some reason, he is not there. It is Todd Pratt. The backup. He isn’t a savior. He isn’t even a starter. But, little did I know, he would be our HERO for the day.

Speaking of heroes. I will NEVER forget this call. It’s that guy. Cary Cohen. Yeah. The fan. The regular looking guy with the balding head and the kind of asymmetrical face. Kind of like…me…losing the hair at that time. Like it was retreating for an inevitable union with the top of my neck. I never had a cool-looking symmetrical face. I was never a stud athlete. I’m a regular guy. Like this guy. Gary Cohen.

Let me get back to this call. This call I will NEVER forget. This call that meant SO much to me, and my team. The Mets. The Mets who were never expected to win anything. Gary’s call. It is commanding, yet shrill. It is loud. It is incredulous. Like the, “I can’t believe it!” “WE WON!” It’s like you actually got THE prize in the Cracker Jack box. You actually called her and she said “YES!” It’s like you got THE job after you submitted your application with the 100 others…

Mantei serves it up to Pratt. Pratt has this FUNKY swing. He swings righty and actually lets go of the bat with his right hand and kind of swings the bat through the zone with his left arm. I though the arm was going to come out of the socket.

As the ball travels toward dead center, I watch. Any Gary’s voice is the soundtrack for that evening in 1999:

“Fly ball. Deep to center field. Back goes Finley. Going back. At the warning track! At the wall…”

Gary’ voice is hoarse with excitement and anticipation. His voice quivers with the weight of all our hopes and dreams. His voice breaks and bends with the weight of all the disappointments were endured, and would endure. 

All the rookies that we traded for the free agents that never quite worked out. All the swings and misses that ended games. The hooks that we watched for called 3^rd strikes. All the deep flies our pitchers gave up. The 120 losses in our inaugural season. All the snickers and taunts were would endure and continue endure from the Evil Pinstripe Empire and its minions a few miles “up the road” …

I don’t have to go on. Because, for that one evening in 1999, WE GOT EVEN!

Gary goes on…

“…Jumping…AND….”

Wait for it. This is Gary’s signature…

“It’s... 

AAAAUUUUTTTAAAAHEEEYAH! 

AAAAAUUUUTTTAAAAHEEEYAH!!”

This is our battle cry. We should own this. The Mets Warriors. We own the 120 losses. It is ours. We replay 2006 and 2015 on SNY like we actually WON something…

I remember Finley coming down from that center field wall. He could not believe that he did NOT come down with the ball. Finley. Tugged at his pants and looked away in dejection, as if to say, “I can’t believe we just lost to the…. METS….”

Gary’s voice was right there through it all. Painting the canvas of jubilation…

“...Pratt hit it over the fence! Finley jumped and HE MISSED IT!! THE METS WIN THE BALL GAME!! THE METS WIN THE BALL GAME!!

Pratt is circling the based. Jumping up and down. The dugout empties. Pratt himself was in disbelief, as he had momentarily parked himself on the base pads. Watching Finley. Waiting to see If there was some semblance of white in that huge glove as Finley brought it down from the top of the wall as he descended from his leap.

Pratt is still jumping and running around the bases. It looks like Franco, Fonzi, Bobby V., and a host of others are jumping around, like pre-pubescent cherubs unleashed from the house into the freshly fallen snow. Like cougars from a conservation area set free into the wild. Finally earning their freedom…

It was like Gary Cohen and Todd Pratt freed me, for that one evening. Freed me from my cares, my worries, my late 20’s approaching 30’s insecurities and sense of impending “what am I going to ultimately do with my life” sense of dread…

I have to say it was Gary. All those cares, worries, feelings of dread, feelings that my Mets and I were never going to quite DO IT…. We won that day. In surprising, jubilant, exciting fashion. All those cares, worries, and feelings of dread were:

AAAAUUUUTTTAAAAHEEEYAH! 

AAAAAUUUUTTTAAAAHEEEYAH!

There would be more calls like that throughout the years. The Piazza, Beltran, Delgado, Duda, Cespedes bombs at home and on the road. The one constant has been Gary. We have had Darling, Hernandez, Ziele, Figueroa, Burkhart, and…Gary. The constant: 

AAAAUUUUTTTAAAAHEEEYAH! 

AAAAAUUUUTTTAAAAHEEEYAH!

I would argue that he is the best play-by-play guy in baseball today. He is rivaled only by Vin Scully. Vin was a constant on Saturday afternoon baseball in the early 80’s. Vin gave me the stories of the people behind the pinstripes, cleats, caps, and stirrups. Who can forget, “…In comes Knight and the METS WIN IT!”

Don’t let be misunderstood. I’m not a Gary Cohen sycophant. At times, he senseless banter with Keith, or the un-earthing of these useless statistics can be irritating. At times, he tries to “bring in” the ex-athletes like Hernandez and Ziele, to provide some insights. 

At times, Gary’s verbal olive branch hits the floor like a steaming potato that no one wants to or is able to handle.  But he is knowledgeable of the sport.  He works hard as a professional, and as a FAN (atic) for us, the audience. Gary is by no means a HOMER. He tries his best to be objective. However, when the Mets fail, he feels it. His voice carries that weight. The weight of the double plays. The weight of the surrendered walk off homers. The weight of the blown saves…

Gary is not a stud ex-athlete. Gary is not the anchor of the nightly world news. Gary does not host a nationally-syndicated sports talk show. I’m SO happy he does not. Gary is ours. We need him. We deserve him. We regular people need a hero. We need someone to feel our pain when we fail, and exalt with us when he hit it:

AAAAUUUUTTTAAAAHEEEYAH!

Please, Mets. For our hero Gary’s sake. PLEASE turn this season around. For Gary.