Let’s Raise a Can of Schlitz to Orioles Broadcaster Kevin Brown
If you subscribe to the many-worlds interpretation of quantum mechanics, then you’ll probably agree that somewhere out there in the vast cosmic whatever, there’s a parallel reality where the Kevin Brown-Baltimore Orioles situation makes even a little bit of sense. Trouble is, we’re all stuck in this simulation, a jaw-droppingly stupid reality that runs on a few immutable laws (gravity is a thing, a fielder who makes a spectacular play to close out one half-inning will be the leadoff batter in the next) and is wholly governed by billionaire doofuses.
By now you’re probably aware that the MASN play-by-play announcer has been riding the pine since July 23, when he had the temerity to state that the 2023 Orioles have won more games at Tropicana Field than they had in the last three seasons combined. Apparently, Brown’s recitation of this simple fact—which was illustrated/enhanced by an onscreen graphic labeled “Trop-ical Depression”—rubbed O’s owner John Angelos the wrong way, which led to the 33-year-old taking an extended timeout from the TV booth. (Brown provided the radio call for the July 26 Orioles-Phillies game, but only because the regular play-by-play announcer had been benched for similarly inane reasons.)
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Brown is expected to resume his duties starting with Friday’s opener in Seattle, which means he will have missed 16 TV dates because a megalomaniac with more money than sense is being guided by a Napoleon complex of the first order. (Earlier this week, an unknown prankster modified Angelos’ Wikipedia page to indicate that the owner stands “4 ft 9 in (145 cm).” The addendum has since been removed.)
While this extended dance remix of folly couldn’t have happened at a less felicitous time—the fun-to-watch Orioles squad is on pace to win the AL East for only the second time in the last 26 years—the sting of Brown’s untenable suspension likely has been allayed by the show of support he’s received from fellow broadcasters and fans. Since word got out about Brown’s baffling exile, major-market mic minders across the dial have ripped O’s management; among his more vocal supporters include YES Network’s Michael Kay, SNY’s Gary Cohen and NBC Sports Chicago’s Jason Benetti.
In addition to the boost Brown’s gotten from his colleagues, the fan response has been heartwarming. Rarely a shy bunch, Baltimoreans on Tuesday started a “Free Kevin Brown!” chant that boomed throughout Camden Yards in the seventh inning of TBS’ Astros-Orioles telecast. In the absence of a reliable decibel meter, I can only suggest that the FKB chorus seemed to fall within the range of an active aircraft carrier deck and an autumn “Yankees Suck!” round at Fenway or Gillette Stadium or just about any Stop & Shop located within the bounds of the 617/857 area codes.
If the respect of one’s peers and audience isn’t sufficiently ameliorative, Brown can take solace in knowing that this sort of thing is not without precedent. As history has shown, the absolute power conferred by ownership can make an absolute mess of anything it puts its money-grubbing mitts to, and Brown’s forced absence is only the latest in a long series of convulsive overreach. It’s coming on 60 years since the Yankees dismissed legendary broadcaster Mel Allen, for reasons that remain shrouded in mystery. (Allen went to his grave burdened by the lingering ambiguity of his ouster; today, he’s probably best remembered as the voice of the weekly syndicated program, This Week in Baseball.)
Allen’s mystifying departure from the Bronx may not even be classified as the most egregious example of Yankee implacability. In 1995, WPIX’s beloved Phil Rizzuto was denied permission to attend Mickey Mantle’s funeral in Dallas, as it conflicted with a Yankees-Red Sox game up in Boston. The Scooter acquiesced to the club’s demands, only to become so distraught over missing the service that he slipped out of the booth after the fifth inning. Rizzuto sat out the rest of the season, and while he would be persuaded to return to the job in 1996, that unhappy coda would prove to be his last stint with the club. Holy cow, did the Yankees ever botch that one.
The Yankees’ media myopia is a longstanding condition; way back in 1941, when Joe DiMaggio was piecing together his enduring 56-game hitting streak, not a single one of his at-bats was broadcast to the New York radio audience. In fact, the Yanks’ entire 101-53 campaign, which ended with the franchise’s fifth World Series victory in six years, went unheard on the home front, and for sheer pecuniary reasons. Having been unable to secure a sponsor for their radio broadcasts—the asking price was $75,000 for the full season, or $1,556,678.57 in today’s hyperinflated currency—the Yankees simply decided to dispense with live coverage altogether.
The Bronx Bombers aren’t the only organization to have made its share of broadcast blunders; in 1969, the Cardinals stunned fans by showing Harry Caray the door after 25 years of booth service. Club owner Anheuser-Busch framed it as a marketing decision, but word around the Clydesdales’ stalls said the voluble Caray had been conducting an affair with one of the Busch wives. (In which case: Understandable!) To Caray’s enduring credit, he guzzled conspicuously from a can of Schlitz during his farewell press conference. More to the point, he was almost immediately picked up by the Oakland A’s, and until his death in 1998, Caray was never without a top-drawer broadcast gig.
If MLB owners can be a flinty, unsentimental bunch, the league itself has shown a bit more leeway with its on-air talent. Last season, an 83-year-old Jim Kaat got the Internet in a pearl-clutching uproar when he referred to Yankees pitcher Nestor Cortes as “Nestor the Molester” during a Twins-Tigers game on MLB Network. Now, this was a peculiar thing for Kaat to say, and for any number of reasons, although it did recall some of Rizzuto’s daffier senior moments in the WPIX booth. As anyone raised in an English-speaking country can tell you, this rhyme scheme is an inevitable consequence of being saddled with the name “Nestor,” although Cortes’ parents likely did not anticipate that an octogenarian would trot it out 27 years after their son’s birth. (“Nestor el Abusador” just doesn’t have the same ring to it.)
At any rate, Kaat wasn’t penalized for his playground versification, although he did decide to retire a few months later. The moral of the story is maybe something along the lines of, an 83-year-old baseball guy will say the first thing that pops into his head. As for Brown, the upshot is clear: Angelos’ dopey heel turn only served to illuminate the respect and admiration people have for the broadcaster’s work, and while many owners can’t help but behave like gimcrack absolutists, talent will always win out.
As Cohen said Monday during SNY’s Cubs-Mets telecast, “If you don’t want Kevin Brown, there are 29 other teams that do.” Let’s all raise a Schlitz to the prospect that both Brown and Angelos have gotten the message.
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