I was only ten, but the biggest Cleveland Indians fan, and I remember that damn 4 homerun game.  I used to sit on my front porch and listen to Herb Score call the game on the radio, and I'd keep score on an official score card.  I was such a dork.

Bobby Murcer was an excellent ball player on a bunch of crappy teams and always carried himself with class and dignity.

I felt the way you do now when Mickey Mantle died. I assumed that his body would be brought to the stadium for fans to pay their respects. I don't even know if it was thought about but it seemed like a no-brainer to me and I'd have been there in a minute. His funeral in Texas somehow didn't feel right especially when Bobby Richardson went into evangelical mode.

That's such sad news. He was a quintessential gentleman. My world just got smaller and less friendly.

Green Grass and High Tides Forever

I was but a wee KamaKid living in upstate NY in the early 70's.  Seeing as my family were huge Yankees fans, Bobby Murcer was a household name in our home.  I don't remember a lot of the players, but I sure do remember him.

I thought for a moment that my memory was playing tricks on me.  I remember Murcer as a Cub, and your capsule didn't mention anything about playing for them.  I checked his career stats, though, and my memory is correct.

One of the most heart wrenching moments in my life as a baseball fan was when the Cubs were in the midst of an improbable pennant run in 1977.  Murcer hit a homer, and the Cubs announcer said he hit it for a kid who had terminal cancer, and gave the kid's name.  The problem was, nobody had told the boy what his condition was, and he found out about it from the broadcast.  Everyone involved was traumatized by the event, and both the boy and the Cubs went into rapid decline at that point.

Then I remember how Murcer was at the end of his career and didn't have much left really, and then Thurman Munson was killed.  And Murcer suddenly went on a tear, and played like he hadn't played for years.  It was as though he felt he had to do it for Munson, or for the team.

I didn't know he became a broadcaster, and hadn't thought about him for years.

the Monday Night baseball game on ABC after Munson died like it was yesterday. Murcer was no longer in his prime. But he hung in against tough lefty Tippy Martinez for a walk off base hit down the left field line.

The image of that game cinged in my memory is Murcer collapsing into the arms of Lou Piniella. Both were close friends of Munson. Willie Randolph scored the winning run. Murcer of course had delivered a heartfelt eulogy for Munson.

As a Yankee fan about Booman's age, Murcer was a part of my childhood. The only Yankee to play with both Mickey Mantle and Don Mattingly. Initially he was not a good broadcaster but he improved. And even when he screwed up you couldn't help but like him. Rather like Phil Rizzuto in that way.

One thing I remember was when he tried to become a county and western singer. After he hit his last homerun before his release in 1983 (so Don Mattingly could be called up for good) the PA system played Murcer's song, "Skoal Dipping Man."

Intrepid Liberal Journal

the loss of murcer reduces the true lovers of the game dramatically. while todays fan judges the game by the stats, it was the murcers,rizzutos,scullys,and their ilk that brought to life the true excitement and love for the game. it was their ability to tell the tales that gave bb the real story.
One loves the game and is willing to suffer through years of anguish and loss and dissapointments because of these "story tellers.
He will be terribly missed.

I was raised a Red Sox fan in New Jersey. It's funny how the mind connects things. When VP Nixon went to South America and was met with "Yanqui Go Home" riots, I thought it had something to do with the New York Yankees. And with the "red scares" I thought that my dad, being a Red Sox fan, must have been a secret socialist. Wishful thinking. He was a Republican. And I grew up learning the lessons of the downtrodden (at the time the Red Sox routinely finished seventh out out of eight teams in the American League; thank god for the Kansas City Athletics). When I moved to San Francisco in the mid-seventies I became a San Francisco Giants fan and walked away from the Red Sox-Yankee fissure that had ruled my sports universe.

In the late seventies I was back from Cali visiting family and friends in New Jersey and was brought along by a college buddy to the Yankee home opener. That was the year that Reggie Jackson was pushing his candy bar. They gave everyone a free Reggie Bar on the way into the stadium. Late in the game Jackson hit a homer and everyone threw their Reggie Bars onto the field. Took ten minutes to clean them off the field and get the game restarted. That night we drove to Yogi Berra's house in Montclair and drove up his driveway. It was embarrassing to me to invade Berra's space, but my friend thought it was the neatest thing.

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By the way, I asked my dad on his deathbed why he was a Bosox fan. After all, becoming a Red Sox fan in the greater New York area was taking on a lifetime of misery. He told me he was a Red Sox fan because red was his favorite color.