I'm a little surprised that, as rabid baseball fans, no one breathed a word of eternal respect for Jack Buck or Darryl Kile. Buck was a gravel-voiced Hall of Fame broadcaster who devoted most of his adult life to bringing the St. Louis Cardinals to life for fans throughout the Midwest. Kids with Rocket Radios hidden under their pillows with the ear piece surreptiously placed, hoping that Musial could drive in the winning run, or Bob Gibson could complete his shut out. Most people have heard Buck's call of the Kirk Gibson game-winning HR in the 1988 WS. It's been repeated endlessly but it retains it's ring of incredulity to this day, much like Al Michael's call of the US hockey team's victory over the Russians at the 1980 Lake Placid Olympics. Burned in the mind forever. That voice will be missed, mostly by Cardinal fans, but we all enjoy baseball a little more for the word portraits painted by Jack Buck. Darryl Kile. Thirty-three years old with a strong family history of heart disease. Every reason to believe that he, too, would succumb to America's number #1 killer. But not just yet. Not now. Not in the prime of his life. Not in the same breath as Jack Buck. I don't know a great deal about Darryl Kile, other than the (probably) hyperbolic stuff that teammates and broadcasters had to offer in the aftermath. The bottom line, I think, is that he was like most of the other guys who play baseball: a big kid who had the good fortune to play a childhood game for more than love. Gamer? Apparently. Whiner? Never. Good guy? Absolutely. The Cards will miss his contributions, his numbers. They'll will miss his tenacity, his presence in the clubhouse, his camaraderie on the golf course. And his young children will miss their daddy, his wife her husband. We'll miss that big guy staring down for the sign, uncorking a big hook on some poor slob with a piece of lumber on his shoulder who never had a chance. And now, The Kid. Ted Williams. The Splendid Splinter. One of baseball's greatest living players. The hyperbole machine is in high gear. "Greatest ever" is being tossed around like an old, scuffed ball. Happens all the time when someone dear to us dies. The bad is often forgotten and the good suddenly takes on monumental significance. No one, however, can downplay the achievement of Ted Williams in 1941 when he finished the year at .406. He could have sat out the last day knowing that his .3995 average would have been rounded up to the magic .400. Ever the gamer, Williams played in both ends of am season-ending doubleheader and went 6 for 8. Amazing. Five hundred plus HR's, 1800+ RBI's and the highest OB percentage in history. Better than The Babe. Two-time Triple Crown winner. Two times!!!But he could be a real SOB. The guy despised criticism. Hated finishing second. It was the quintessential love-hate relationship with the Boston fans and the media. After his rookie season, Williams never tipped his cap again after a home run. Even after he homered in his last at bat in his last game as big leaguer in 1960, The Kid refused to acknowledge the cheers of the fans. But imagine this: the last game was attended by only 10,000 fans. Inconceivable. There's a tremendous exhibit at the HoF (attached) with Ted William's strike zone packed with multicolored baseballs representing the season batting average he felt he could achieve if pitched to that particular spot. The number ".400" appeared more than once. Most of us were little kids when Ted Williams retired. Not many memories of the everyday player unless you lived in New England with that same Rocket Radio under the pillow. Most of us remember old footage of Williams the player, or more likely, Ted landing the big tarpon in Florida with the same intensity and smoothness that made pitchers sweat a little bit more whenever he dug in. Boston's All-Star game a couple of years ago was his official farewell. I'll never forget seeing all of those players, young guns like A Rod and old hands like Tony Gwynn, jostling to get close to baseball immortality. Flashbulbs popping everywhere. Great moment. So now, it is farewell to another icon. But do we ever really bid a final adieu? Jack Buck, Darryl Kile and Ted Williams will live on in history and in our memories. I'm glad I have something to recall about these men. And fellas...tell The Babe I said "hello". TE *************************************************** Ikey..... A masterpiece, one that should be saved for the ages. It should be noted that Ted Williams did finally tip his cap, in 1991, at an old timers game. He will always live in the hearts of true Bostonians. An avid Red Sox follower.