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You didn’t need to hear John Sterling report the score when you tuned into a game to know how the New York Yankees were doing. “They’re losing,” I’d say to my son.
“How do you know that?” he’d ask.
“Just listen to his voice,” I’d respond.
Sterling’s sound was shaped by his disappointment, his frustration, his joy, his happiness. Red Sox fans would often complain about what they felt was a shticky close to each Yankees victory — Theeeeee Yankeeees win! — and I would tell them, as someone who had gotten to know Sterling in covering the team, that no, he was sincere in how he felt about the Yankees’ success — and they won a lot in his time as broadcaster. He had as many championship rings as Derek Jeter.
After the world learned of Sterling’s death on Monday morning, Michael Kay, his longtime booth partner, wrote in a text, “He loved his life.”
Did he ever. Sterling would arrive at the press box hours before each game, usually wearing a light-colored suit in the summer and a scarf in the spring or fall, carrying a briefcase, and he loved to gossip — about teams, about players, about writers. He wanted to know what you heard and what you knew, and he designed each question as if it were open-ended, even when you knew it wasn’t. “Why does George Steinbrenner get so much criticism?” he asked, in his deep baritone. “I just don’t understand it.”
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He could laugh at himself. Years ago, we had a “Baseball Tonight” podcast competition inviting fans to give their best Sterling imitation, and he graded the work of each participant, appreciating the enthusiasm — understanding, as a true showman, that if his work was being discussed, it was a good thing.
What listeners sometimes missed, if they weren’t paying attention, was that while Sterling openly rooted for the Yankees, he would also give sledgehammer blunt criticism when the team played poorly. He gave voice, at times, to what Steinbrenner might be thinking about a struggling pitcher or an underperforming free agent signing. The booing of Yankees by fans was noted and explained, not ignored.
He would compliment players from other teams, rave about a spectacular play or effort. He appreciated the art that he described daily, good or bad. “You can’t be any other way,” Sterling once stated.
As with any broadcaster with decades in the booth — and he called games for a variety of sports, including a record-setting performance by Boston Celtics legend Larry Bird against the Atlanta Hawks — he made calls that will live forever. I thought his best moment was what is remembered as the Rick Camp game — a rain-delayed, extra-innings game between the New York Mets and Atlanta Braves on July 4, 1985, that carried on until close to dawn. Both teams had used just about their entire rosters, leaving Atlanta to insert weak-hitting pitcher Rick Camp as a pinch hitter in the bottom of the 18th inning.
You didn’t need to know the score. You just needed to hear Sterling’s voice to understand the absurdity of it all — and the improbability of what happened. “The Mets are waving their outfielders in,” he stated, working alongside Ernie Johnson Sr. “Ernie, if he hits a home run to tie this game,” Sterling chuckled, “it will absolutely be certified as the nuttiest in the history of baseball.”
“And here’s the 0-2 pitch … AND HE HITS IT TO DEEP LEFT! HEEP GOES BACK! IT IS … GONE! HOLY COW! OH MY GOODNESS! I DON’T BELIEVE IT! I DON’T BELIEVE IT! RICK CAMP! RICK CAMP!”
“Remember what I just stated?! That certifies this game as the wackiest, wildest, most incredible game in history!”
Sterling’s incredulity was perfect, in a voice that so often spoke for how fans felt.
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