As another chapter in America’s fading love affair with baseball gets well and truly underway, some old-timers may be compelled to conjure up voices that once wooed us to the game.

Remember Russ Hodges, broadcasting on WMCA in 1951 shouting “the Giants win the pennant, the Giants win the pennant” repeatedly as Bobby Thompson circled the bases after lofting a ball into the cozy Polo Grounds bleachers? How about Mike Shannon almost jumping from the seat as he blurted a surprised “Brummer’s stealing home!” during an extra inning thriller in 1982? Harry Carey booming “Take Me Out to the Ball Game” in proudly off-key a cappella?

No? Well how about names like Ernie Harwell, Red Barber, Bob Prince and the others who painted pictures with their words over the nation’s radio networks?

Perhaps the greatest of these was, of course, Jack Buck. He described St. Louis Cardinals games on KMOX for decades. Because of him, the action, the vast green and even the aroma of Busch Stadium wafted through the airwaves.

His most memorable call came in the 1985 playoffs, when shortstop Ozzie Smith stroked a long fly down the right field line in the ninth inning of a tie game. Buck first issued a tantalizing “this may go” before his famous “go crazy folks!”

But I’m a little different.

You see, baseball and broadcasting may hold a romantic spell on most fans. “Forgetable” moments should, however, be equally preserved.

I remember the time Buck praised pitcher Bob Gibson’s fielding prowess, mentioning his string of gold glove awards. His next words:

“There’s a tapper toward the mound. Gibson picks it up, drops it, kicks it, throws it into right field!”

Before Carey joined the Chicago Cubs broadcasting team, he worked alongside Jimmy Piersall in the White Sox booth. Apparently the network’s standards were lax enough to allow—and I’m just guessing here—both men a little nip or three during games. Carey would pronounce names backwards (Jerry Dybzinski introduced as “Iksnizbyd coming to the plate”) and once crunched something into the microphone, explaining “ladies and gentlemen, the first designated pickle.” Piersall, meanwhile, provided succinct analysis.

An example: “Harry, our center fielder is terrible.”

You see, I’ve always been a fan of the little stumbles, quirks and questionable comments. I collected them in my head over the years—both from radio and television broadcasts.

Growing up a Cardinals fan, Chicago announcers were always a source of ridicule. In the ‘70s their three man broadcast team pointedly disagreed, almost to the point of argument, on the pronunciation of Ivan DeJesus’ last name. And the low-keyed Lou Boudreau at times left large gaps in the action. To a radio audience he said “here’s the pitch,” followed by a long silence, broken by the following statement. “He’s out at first.”

Carey’s son Skip worked for the Atlanta Braves and was responsible for a few of my favorites. Spotting a woman walking up an aisle toward her seat in the stands, he blurted “now there’s someone who’ll never win a beauty contest.” When Braves pitcher Rick Camp ripped a home run on an 0-2 pitch with two out…to tie the game…in the bottom of the 18th inning…in the wee hours of July 5, 1985…Carey could not hide his disgust.

“Home run ties the game,” he said in an ‘I wanted to go home three hours ago’ tone.

The great Dizzy Dean once became so enraged with the old St. Louis Browns’ pitching staff he threatened to climb down from the booth and take care of things himself. During World War Two, with censorship in full force, he announced “I can’t tell ya why the game is delayed, but if you stick your head out the window you’re gonna get wet.” A Braves color announcer whose name now escapes me answered the question “What causes thunder?” with “Isn’t it when clouds crash together?”

I still chuckle about the time player-turned (for a short time) broadcaster Nelson Briles said of a young player “most of his future is ahead of him.”

To me, these moments defined a game paced for long summer evenings. You could kick back, listen and not worry so much about robotic precision. These voices were friends, and—like friends—they gave you many reasons to smile.