Milo

I can't stand Milo Hamilton, the voice of the Houston Astros. Refuse to listen to him, in fact, because he calls such a bad game, so I missed him last night. But Laurence Simon had this to say (large excerpt to follow because the blogger archive bug seems to have hit again):

We here at Amish Tech Support wake up to the soothing news of KTRH-AM radio. Normally, I wouldn't have known about the September 11th game with the Astros, but the morning newsreaders felt it necessary to point out the fact and then play back the respectful moment of silence for the victims of 9/11.

How did we at home know that was the respectful moment of silence? Milto Hamilton talked through the whole thing to tell us that it was a moment of silence for the victims of 9/11, and that yes, now everyone was silent.

For a multi-decade "veteran" sports broadcaster, you are now officially an embarrassment beyond the strike-happy players' association, Milo Hamilton. You've just hit the Harry Caray Event Horizon, slipped beyond your legend into a broadcasted nuisance. Either tell your partner to beat you with a shoe when you don't have the sense to shut your wrinkled pie-hole or get out of the booth. You should be put in the Hall of Fame, literally, and in chains to keep you from ever coming close to a microphone again.

That's Milo Hamilton, who always seems to call a game (or an event) as if HE is what's important, and not what he's covering.

Just for fun, here's a great Harry Caray/Milo Hamilton story. It still makes me laugh out loud (even if Milo did kinda get the shaft):

Milo Hamilton was furious and Harry Caray was delighted.

The scene was Opening Day, 1982, Caray's first home game as the newly anointed top banana in the Cubs broadcast scheme, and the outside chill was nothing compared to the frosty conditions inside the WGN booth.

Hamilton had expected to ascend to first seat when Jack Brickhouse left the Cubs booth, but Caray had bolted to Wrigley Field and Hamilton didn't like it. Then, during the seventh-inning stretch on Opening Day, Hamilton's quiet rage became public.

Caray rose to sing ``Take Me Out To The Ball Game'' and Hamilton tore off his headset, flung it down and snapped: ``I don't have to listen to this [bleep].''

Brushing past producer Jack Rosenberg to exit the booth, Hamilton encountered a writer out on the catwalk.

Poking his finger repeatedly in the media visitor's chest, Hamilton raged: ``You know, it's my [bleeping] booth, too. I'm still a part of this. But that [bleeping] bastard inside's got all of you under his thumb. So now you're here to do another piece of [bleep] about that guy without asking me a single question. You're all a bunch of [bleep].''

The poking and the tirade continued until well into the bottom of the seventh when Rosenberg directed Hamilton back inside the booth.

After the game, Caray summoned up enough stagedoor innocence to ask the writer, ``Hey, what did you say to get Milo going like that? I just can't figure that guy.''

Figure that guy?

No, no, Harry. It was you that all of Chicago always wanted to figure.
--Jim O'Donnell

I don't think Milo has ever gotten over that.

[Posted at 20:59 CST on 09/12/02] [Link]