"Holly, this is Harry Kalas with the Phillies."

I stared dumbly at the Motorola, crackling on speaker mode. She had just come home Monday evening, dialed her voice mailbox and handed me the phone.

I had been home only a few minutes longer but I was already in pajamas. Putting on pajamas usually signifies, "I've had enough of this particular day." And so it was on Monday, overwhelmingly so.

***

It was 1:14 p.m. Monday when I visited philly.com at my work computer. A small breaking-news item posted at 1:09 said, "Kalas found passed out in booth, taken to hospital." I alerted my bosses, went out for lunch and soon got a text from a friend: "harry died :("

Harry Kalas and I never met or spoke on the phone. Hell, I never even got a voice-mail message from him. And he was 73 -- not terribly old these days, but with a history of drinking and smoking that perhaps took a little extra tread off the tires.

No rational reason I should feel so sad, even nauseous, at his death. But he described Phillies baseball games to me all my life, and I'm not the only sports fan who has blithely abandoned rational thought.

I craved listening to Harry and Richie Ashburn, his best friend and broadcast partner. I saw every game in 1993, the year the Phillies beat the Braves for the league pennant. I was shellshocked in '97 when Ashburn died and I remember reading an Inquirer interview of a numb Kalas the next day: "I've lost my best friend."

His home run calls, his strikeout calls, his impeccable sense of how and when to interject drama still remained after his partner died, but it was hard not to think Kalas had forever gotten a little sadder, less mischievous and fun-loving. His public criticism of Ashburn's successor, Chris Wheeler, was especially disappointing in a man I considered the epitome of class. In recent years, his eyesight and memory dulled, too, though not so much or so frequently that the Phillies had to consider ushering him off the stage.

What remained intact after Ashburn's death was Kalas's ardent love of the team and the game, and in the past half-dozen years, as the Phillies built a championship-caliber club, he was clearly thirsty for them to return to the October stage.

***

After near misses in 2002, 2003, 2005 and 2006, the Phillies had the lead in the final inning on the final day of 2007, an out away from ending a 14-year postseason drought.

"Fans are on their feet ... I'M going to be on my feet ... this is truly exciting!" Kalas hollered, seconds before Brett Myers flung a perfect knee-bender at Wily Mo Pena and the park erupted.

In 2008, I saw my first walk-off home run in person. Duc and I were at the park in early May. Phils were down one in the ninth with a man on base. Two outs, full count to Pat Burrell, and the poor Giants reliever poured a fastball down the middle. Minutes later, even as I jogged, grinning, to my car, I distinctly remember wondering how Harry had called it. I found out via DVD months later.

Harry had to be quick, because Burrell hit a laser-beam line drive over the wall: "Long drive ... it is OUTTA HERE! ... Pat Burrell! PAT BURRELL! Phillies win!"

I can say without exaggerating that one day this winter I watched that clip seven consecutive times. That's how invigorating Harry Kalas's voice was.

I was taking the Atlantic City Expressway to the shore during the penultimate regular-season game, and Harry and Larry Andersen were with me on the radio, since Fox was doing the TV broadcast. A win would make it back-to-back division titles, but heretofore-perfect Brad Lidge was dicking around in the ninth inning, loading bases and so forth. Harry and Larry were concerned, and then Ryan Zimmerman connected with a one-out pitch.

Harry: "Ground ball up the MID-dle, J-Roll DIVES, to Utley, ONE, relay--"

Larry: "YEAH! YEAH! YEAH!"

Harry: "--DOUBLE PLAY!!! The Phillies are the National League Eastern Division champions, on a specTACular DOUBLLLE PLAYYY, turned J-Roll, to Utley, to Howard! WHAT a play by J-ROLL!"

Larry: "Ohhh my word..."

I didn't hear much of Harry through most of the playoffs. I watched almost all the games on TV, with the national feed, and Harry was on the radio. But near the end of World Series Game 5, my best friends desperately tried to sync up a clock radio to a muted television, and I desperately tried not to go berserk as both transmissions cut in and out.

It worked eventually, though, and when Lidge struck out Eric Hinske to win the World Series, I dove face-first into the carpet and heard this:

"SWING and a MISS! STRUCK HIM OUT! The Philadelphia Phillies are 2008--"

--and he clearly savored these next words, each one like a fine drink--

"--WORLD, CHAMPIONS, of BASEBALL!"

And again, as with Burrell's walk-off, even as I was processing what the moment meant, I thought about the man who told us about it.

"That was an awesome call, an awesome turn of phrase," I thought. Then I laughed at my own surplus of emotion, and I went to the fridge for a beer.

***

It was the dead of winter when Holly wrote to Harry, hoping he could record wedding-party introductions for her and her fiance's reception in May. He called back, and my hair stood up as I listened to his long-saved message.

"I got your letter, and I would be happy to introduce your wedding party when you're going to get married in May," Harry Kalas told my future wife. "The way to go about that would be to contact a Mr. Rob Brooks--"

Rob Brooks the head of broadcasting Rob Brooks, the Rob Brooks who found Harry unconscious in the booth in Washington. I pictured the blood draining from Rob Brooks' face Monday, as Harry told Holly the phone number, etc.

"--you can fax or e-mail a script, and then we'd be able to get it done before the nuptials." Harry says, peaking cheerfully on that last word. "I'd be happy to do it, and my very best wishes to you and yours. Thanks."

She sent the script, but we'll probably never know whether he'd gotten to it. Doesn't matter. She thought of it, and he agreed to it. Both those things mean an enormous amount to me.

***

I wasn't really looking forward to Opening Day this year. I was still trying to savor the championship season, and then when the Phillies came out flat I was frustrated that they seemed to be doing the same thing. I tuned into the first couple of games here and there, but with less than the usual mania. "After all," I reasoned, "I can get fired up later. It's a long season."

Boy, will it be a long season.

Another one bites the dust

Alright, everyone, let's start grooving pitches to Albert Pujols. Only 444 home runs until he passes Bonds ... sigh.

O frabjous day!

My second niece was born about 4:30 this morning.

She weighs eight pounds, including her mullet, reports my relatively tired sister, who went into labor at 7:30 p.m. but still managed to watch all three hours of Lost!

Jeez, I was exhausted just from THAT myself!

So welcome to the family, the great state of Virginia and the world, Susanna Campbell Johns. Can't wait to see you next weekend!

Birds, baby!

The Eagles beat the Giants in a divisional playoff game that was offensively ugly (in both sense of the word) but was a defensive masterpiece.

It's not hyperbole: this is the best Eagles defense I've seen in my three decades. Rejuvenated veterans, frisky youngsters.

It was certainly hyperbole when Andy Reid called Donovan McNabb the best quarterback in football ... he was good today, certainly not great, and mostly just better than the dreadful Eli Manning. But he made some tough plays when he had to, and I give him credit for that.

I can't get accustomed to the idea that, this year, the NFC has been winnowed down to the Cardinals and the Eagles. I love the Eagles' chances, though. Now if I can just get someone to switch shifts with me, for the third Sunday in a row...

Here goes nothin'

Quite a busy year ahead.

First, Paige and Brian have their second baby due on inauguration day.

Then Holly and I find out in mid-March where she'll be working for the next four years.

Then we'll house-hunt, and depending on where it is, I might also job-hunt or school-hunt.

There's also the possibility that other friends and family could be moving in that period.

Hopefully, we'll move into our new home before we get married in Louisville May 24.

After we get married, it's off to California wine country for a week of honeymoon revelry.

Then we move everything out of our Louisville apartment, which we're keeping through June.

Then Holly starts her residency around the beginning of July, and I do whatever I'm doing.

Whooof.

Merry Christmas

My Christian faith is at a low ebb. Has been for years. I'm not even sure I'd identify myself as a Christian anymore, and I don't know why I turned away from it, but I'm most reminded of this when Christmas comes around and occasionally I think, "Am I being a hypocrite?"

Maybe, though putting up nice decorations and exchanging presents with friends and family probably doesn't hurt anybody, regardless of what the reason is.

I guess I don't really know what to think of Christmas anymore. It's certainly a much more complicated holiday in adulthood than in childhood. It's been a long time since I was able to see everyone I want to at Christmas, and I don't imagine it will ever happen again.

Didn't mean to pee in anyone's eggnog, and I really am fantastically lucky -- lots of healthy loved ones, reliably constant food and shelter, regular intellectual stimulation -- so don't pay any attention to me. Really, Merry Christmas.

Drink motor oil, Chris Johnson

Stupid dipshit football players celebrating touchdowns before they reach the end zone (especially when they are almost tackled as a result) makes the little hairs on my neck stand up.

Disco mayhem

Send your own ElfYourself eCards

Really? REALLY really?

Prop 8 supporters, having prohibited gay weddings in California, are trying to nullify existing gay marriages.

Are we still serious about this preservation-of-marriage nonsense? People are having historic difficulty feeding their families and keeping their homes, but sure, we should totally focus our energy on STOPPING COUPLES FROM MARRYING.

I have friends and family from all political ideologies, and sometimes I really enjoy discussing the things on which we disagree. This can't be one of those things.

If you think gay people shouldn't be allowed to marry, fine. But if you try to tell me it makes sense, especially right now, to devote any resources to stopping them, see ya.

Done!

Got all the gifts I needed, and my groceries, and I'm drinking orange-strawberry-banana juice. I think you'll agree, this is the life. Oh, and now I hear one of my cats flinging litter around, possibly out of its customary box! The cherry on top!

Also:

• Is it legal to set a holiday-comedy film trailer to any song other than "Russian Dance" from the Nutcracker?
• All I want for Christmas is for Rod Blagojevich to be impeached and removed from the Illinois governor's office as speedily as the law allows, a.k.a. well before Jan. 20.
• As someone who loves Camden Yards and sympathizes with fans who've seen their team starved to death by idiot owner Peter Angelos, I hope the Orioles get Mark Teixeira.

Dreams will never, ever, make sense to me

In my dream last night, the Detroit Lions finally won a game, and people everywhere were so relieved.

What is wrong with me? I couldn't care less about the Lions, although I don't wish 0-16 on anyone. Why would my subconscious care about them?

"Weekend"

My weekends are ALWAYS "weekends," since I work Sunday through Thursday. Usually, my Sunday shift is at night, giving me basically a 2.5-day "weekend."

This weekend, though, I swapped days with a friend, in exchange for a future swap.

Boring details really quickly: I usually work Sun-Thu and she Mon-Fri, but once every five weeks she works Mon-Sat, then Mon-Thu the next week to compensate, see? However, this week she has Christmakkah on Saturday, so I'm working Saturday for her and she's working Sunday for me, see? So I'm on Thursday, off Friday, on Saturday, off Sunday, on Monday. M'yah, see?

Of course now, she's pregnant and quitting and compensating me by buying me lunch, instead of swapping. She better have a very merry and hybriddy Christmakkah.

Meanwhile, Friday is going to be all shopping: hours of gift-buying, and hopefully a surgical strike at the grocery store. We'll also see an all-out assault on my stubborn belly fat, in the form of a long run through Absecon.

And, yeah, it's been two days of me and the cats, and I cannot stop talking to them. Just babbling mindlessly, things I'd otherwise just let run through my head. Disturbing.

I'll let Will Leitch say exactly how I feel about this Bush-shoe thing...

"You'd be hard-pressed to find someone more critical of the policies and actions of President Bush over the last six-and-a-half years than me, though I'm sure there are some people out there. I think he has caused this nation perhaps more harm than we'll ever be able to overcome. I think the only person who wants him out of office more right now than me is ... well, George W. Bush. But I find it appalling that anyone could see the leader of our country, the President, avert an assault in a foreign land and somehow find it funny, or see the guy who tossed the shoe as some sort of "hero." I mean, that's the President, guys. Sure. It was a shoe. But god, really? We're supposed to chuckle? I watched that video with horror; not just that it has come to this, but that people here could actually celebrate it. I hate that video. It makes me ill. It makes me scared."

His full, mostly unrelated post

They called me Mr. Kitty Daddy

Yup, I've got custody of my two cats for a while, here at the new apartment.

They've stayed with Kitty Mommy for most of the year since I came east for the new job, but interviews for HER new job will cover another month, and blah blah, other factors, I have them now.

For those who forget or never knew, they are Mojo (black) and Moxie (tabby), a brother and sister. They were part of a litter of six born approximately Jan. 30, 2006, in an animal shelter in Jeffersonville, Ind., across the Ohio River from our home in Louisville. We got them that March, and the above photo is from the first week, when they were babies and Holly took a trillion pictures of them. (Another one shows them skittering around in a wok I'm holding.)

Believe it or not, Mojo has grown into his looks a little bit. He still looks pretty owlish from a few angles. Moxie is cheerfully dumb, always wearing an expression that suggests she's looking for her car keys.

Because I project my feelings on my cats -- like all pet parents, whether they admit it or not -- I think things like, "It'll be great when we all move back in together in the spring, when we get our new place, because then they'll have some stability for a while and won't have to get acclimated to new apartments and stuff."

Yes, that will be nice for the cats, and I wouldn't mind not constantly being on Craigslist's apartment pages, either.

Oh, Cole

I don't get this. Why are the Phillies needling the Mets?

You've already proved yourselves on the field. You're champions. This just strikes me as unnecessary.

Maybe Cole's cranky from missing a chiropractor appointment.

Nutso weather

Frigid one day, balmy the next, and neither of those adjectives is an exaggeration. Oh well, good to open the windows for an evening.

MNF

Man, it is frigid in Absecon tonight. I'm prepping for interviews tomorrow (on-the-job interviews, not job interviews) and shopping online, but most importantly, I'm rooting against Steve Smith, Jon Beason, DeAngelo Williams, Matt Bryant, Chris Gamble and Ronde Barber.

This is my eighth year in the Diamondbackfield, a fantasy-football league including alumni of the University of Maryland's INDEPENDENT student newspaper. And I have never made the playoffs. But depending on what happens tonight, in the final game of the fantasy regular season, I could make it this year.

The six guys listed above play for the Carolina Panthers or Tampa Bay Buccaneers, who square off in Monday Night Football tonight. In fantasy football, teams pair off in head-to-head matchups each week, where good real-life performances from your chosen guys are rewarded with points -- most total points wins the matchup. Some of those Panthers and Bucs play for my opponent, and some play for the guy I'm trying to beat out for the final playoff spot.

My guys ("Just Ate A Grape ...") have all played already, as have the guys for Other Playoff Contender's Opponent. And both of us have leads going into this game. It's just a question of whether the six guys listed above will do poorly enough to allow me to win and OPC to lose, because I need both things to happen.

The Yahoo! projections put me at even money. Whooooooooo even money!

(Update after first quarter: Things are going well! Matt Bryant's field-goal attempt clanked off the upright, and Steve Smith hasn't caught a pass. DeAngelo Williams has rushed a couple times for a couple yards. I haven't heard the three defenders' names yet, and that's good, too.)

(Update in third quarter: Long TD catch for Smith, and I think I'm toast.)

Eli sez: Leave me and my invisible shopping cart alone!

Brian Westbrook spent his afternoon making Antonio Pierce look sillier than a guy who covers for a guy whose gun discharges in his sweatpants, to use a theoretical example. Now suddenly the Eagles control their playoff admittance, provided the Falcons don't win out. How can this possibly be the same team that sleepwalked around Cincinnati's field three weeks ago?

<><><><><>

I have seven groomsmen in my wedding Memorial Eve. Brian, Chris, Duc, Joel, Jon, Sean, Shea.

Prior to today, I had only seen ONE of them with an appreciable amount of facial hair: Shea, who grows it unsettlingly fast. Now that number is TWO, after the discovery of a Facebook photo of Chris with a full beard, and a neatly manicured one at that!

Question, to those who are familiar with any of the other five: Assuming they'd agree, how many groomsmen, and which, should I persuade to grow full beards for the wedding?

From the vault...

I wrote the following Phillies post Oct. 3, 2005, on my previous blog, Bluegrass Beginnings:

Man. That was close. You guys were so close to a playoff-playoff, one game away from one game away from glory. If Jose Macias hits his linedrive 10 mph sharper, it gets into center and the Cubs tie the game against Lidge for sure, and maybe win in extra innings. But that's life.

I may be an optimistic sap, but I'm looking forward to the 2006 season -- umpteen times more than I looked forward to 2005. Things to look forward to:

-Brett Myers putting it all together under a pitching coach he knows and trusts.
-Chase Utley and Ryan Howard doing exactly what they're already doing: becoming superstars.
-Jimmy Rollins gaining confidence from his hit streak and learning not to press -- and MAYBE learning to take more pitches to wear out opposing pitchers? Maybe?
-Shane Victorino getting a shot as the leadoff hitter and starting centerfielder.
-David "Nice Guy, But..." Bell playing somewhere else.-Discovering if Gavin Floyd has what it takes or not.
-Crossing my fingers that Cole Hamels and Jason Michaels can behave themselves in bars all year. Pssh.

I don't think they can keep Billy Wagner or Ugueth Urbina, and I'm terrified that they'll trade Ryan Howard instead of cutting bait with an oft-injured Jim Thome. But hey! Hope springs eternal, and I figure maximizing my enjoyment and minimizing my disappointment is the way to go.

Running

I'm in a new apartment until May, in Absecon. That's across a few miles of back bay from Brigantine and northern Atlantic City.

It's a nice secluded neighborhood, and I found a good running route out to the docks and marshes. Did two miles today after I wrote the Phillies poem.

Mojo and Moxie come next weekend to stay with me for a couple of months. Cat party!