Stefan Martin and Ben Shahn: Baseball (1968)

"I feel reassured then and tuck my head down …"

Besides TalkingMyselfInto, Through, and OutOf, my inner dialogue, my iAlogue, mainly consists of what I might best describe as Play-By-Play commentary. Like a sportscaster, I'm reporting on my performance in real time as the movie unfolds. Sure, I do my share of after-action reporting, but most of my attention focuses on the action happening right before me. Unlike most sportscasters, though, I also perform the role I describe. It's as if a pitcher was wired up and offering color commentary as he throws the game. If this seems as though it must be distracting, it tends to be, as you, dear reader, certainly know, for you probably fill the same role in whatever game you're calling. This must be how we each first attempt to make meaning of our performances. We'll reserve the right to make second, third, and even more guesses, but initial impressions tend to get laid down as the play progresses.

I deeply admire Play-By-Play announcers, the good ones, anyway. The great ones seem very few and far between. The Vin Scullys and Red Barbers come along every other generation or so. Likewise the Bob Costas, of which there could never be more than one. Each Major League Baseball team retains a couple of Play-By-Play announcers to call their radio broadcasts, as well as a couple for television. In every case, the radio announcers seem much more skilled than even the best television broadcasters, perhaps because they need to describe much more context than their TV counterparts. The radio ones must create the stage as well as the play to fulfill their duties. The television picture tends to diminish the magic required to describe the play. TV's naturally more distracting.

The sole exception to the otherwise iron-clad rule about television Play-By-Play was the duo of Dizzy Dean and PeeWee Reese, who worked the Game Of The Week in the sixties. They were great for reasons besides their actual Play-By-Play descriptions. They were clowns, a comedy duo acting out for their audiences. Sure, they could slip in some apt descriptions of the play, but they were working television. If they neglected to call the game, their audience witnessed it for themselves. Baseball moved at a pace—before modern rules turned it into horse racing—that allowed plenty of distracting clowning without materially diminishing the space for watching the action on the field. Unlike many Play-By-Play announcers, Dizzy and PeeWee were veteran players and legends on the field before they retired into clowning. They were less than professional announcers, like me and probably like you, too.

I do my share of clowning around in my broadcast booth. I am not usually all that tightly focused on what's happening on the field. I often catch myself not paying nearly close enough attention and missing something important. I sometimes have to wait for the officials to call in a judgement to determine whether I was safe or out on close plays. But day-to-day, I continue my Play-By-Play, competent enough for such personal work. I am not only the player and the broadcaster, but also the primary audience of my efforts, and I rarely feel inclined to criticize my performance. Long ago, I grew accustomed to my voice and my style. My patter doesn't always share useful information about the game but often consists of little more than reassuring noises, like leaving the radio on for company when home alone. It seems I am often home alone, and I appreciate whatever background patter I might provide for myself then. I'm not really listening, and I'm also not really describing. I'm more like humming to myself.

At times, though, my Play-By-Play work proves essential. I sometimes catch myself catching myself in something and realize that I did not know until my apt description came over the internal speakers. A phrase might somehow break my trance and offer greater awareness. Then, I'm glad I engage in this silly-seeming endeavor. Those moments of insight were sparked by some offhand comment I wasn't even aware I made until just after I broadcast them. Then, my speakers' tinniness and my voice's thinness do not matter. I rival Costas for clarity and tone. I nail one, and everyone listening registers that moment, that magnificence. For that instant, I am precisely who I just told myself I was being and nobody else. Nobody else could have fulfilled that sacred role in that second. I feel reassured then and tuck my head down to continue broadcasting my Play-By-Play.

©2024 by David A. Schmaltz - all rights reserved

Tags: #iAlogue , #PureSchmaltz