Jarred awake by the need to go to school, you made sure to bring your baseball cards so as not to be distracted by math or science. As the years went by, nothing was as agreeable, or as dependable, or as reassuring as the sound of Richie Ashburn's voice on a summer night. His was anything but a radio voice. Nor was he particularly proficient, especially in the beginning. He mispronounced '60s-era Cardinals infielder Julian Javier's name as if it rhymed with caviar .
Older folks can say they've been Ashburn fans all their lives.
But when Ashburn threw out Brooklyn's Cal Abrams at the plate in 1950, that was five years before I was born. For my generation, Richie was not so much a fan's idol as a trusty friend. Richie never ordered you to clean up your room, or called you in from a ballgame to finish your homework. Richie never picked a fight with you down the street, or cut you down in the classroom. He didn't care how you were dressed or where you came from, and he didn't speak unless he had something to say.