Voices, Still

By Stuart Shea

Mr. Scully hangs up his microphone,
Dick Enberg does as well.
Bill Brown retires from Houston’s booth,
Ain’t it the truth–
Things ain’t like they used to be.

Things ain’t like they used to sound.
The men who call the games
Don’t have the varied background
Of the older famous names.

Oh, the older famous names,
With their gravitas and experience,
They understand the common sense
Of silence.

Now they’ll be silent forevermore,
Closing the door
On a time and a style that will never return.

 


Published in Broadcasters, History, Lyric, Stu Shea | Link to this poem | No Comments

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