February has seen the passing of two great broadcasters: Tim McCarver, 81, a baseball broadcaster, and Billy Packer, 82, a basketball broadcaster. What fans most appreciated about the two was their “down to Earth,” simple explanations about events during a game, as well as their unique insights and perspectives.

Packer was a standout player for the Wake Forest Demon Deacons. The son of a coach, he scored 1,300 points at a time when freshmen couldn’t play varsity and led Wake to two ACC titles and their only Final Four in 1962. He went into coaching but quickly found his true calling in broadcasting.

Tim McCarver wasn’t a spectacular ballplayer, but he was a solid one, mainly for the Cardinals, hitting .271 in a career that spanned four decades. He played on three Cardinals pennant teams and two World Championship clubs. In fact, McCarver did achieve spectacular heights in the big spot, hitting .311 in the World Series, including clutch hits in the 1964 and 1967 classics.

Ironically, on a team known for speed thanks to teammates Lou Brock, Curt Flood, and Bobby Tolan, McCarver was the last National League catcher to lead the league in triples, with 13 in 1966 in one of his two All-Star seasons. While he lacked Johnny Bench’s stature, McCarver was the catcher du jour for two Hall of Fame pitchers, righty Bob Gibson and portsider Steve Carlton.

Image: Tim McCarver at the Pearly Gates by Will O’Toole.

In fact, the major reason the Phillies traded for McCarver was to give the lefty Carlton a personal, reliable, erudite backstop to call his games. Although McCarver didn’t play when the Phillies had their first championship team in 1980, he was an integral part of building the team to championship caliber.

Both men had great stories to tell. For Packer, these stories were about all things college hoops, especially the Atlantic Coast Conference. As for McCarver, he was “MLB SQUARED.” Importantly, though, when it came to calling games, both men knew that they weren’t “the story.” Instead, they focused on erudite analysis that augmented the games.

During his broadcast career, Packer was matched with Al McGuire and play-by-play man Dick Enberg on college games. By contrast, McCarver had an array of broadcasters with whom he partnered while he was with the Phillies, Mets, and the national networks. Neither had a voice that was silky-smooth, but neither was so loud or grating that he turned off the viewer. In fact, they reminded many of the same voices they’d hear when they were with their drinking buddies at the neighborhood tavern.

Image: Billy Packer at the Pearly Gates by Will O’Toole.

Packer’s love of college basketball and especially the ACC was clear, but he also appreciated and applauded other conferences, coaches, and players. He never alienated his audience by letting his bias for the ACC reveal itself in broadcasts. When he was teamed with Al McGuire, the former Marquette University coach who led the Milwaukee school to NIT and NCAA titles, their broadcast conversations were fun, insightful, and educational.

McCarver would work with two Hall of Fame players, Richie Ashburn and Ralph Kiner, with all of them enriching the broadcast with anecdotal baseball stories that fit into the context of the broadcast. They were marvelous storytellers chockful of tidbits leaving the listener with a sense of awe, as in, “Wow,..it must have been great to be a ballplayer.” McCarver, like Packer, had the innate, instinctual knack for predicting what would happen before the play—which is what many fans expect from a top color analyst.

As NY Post columnist Andrew Marchand recounts:

It was Game 7 of the World Series. The bases were loaded with one out and the score was tied in the bottom of the ninth. Mariano Rivera faced the Diamondbacks’ left-handed-swinging Luis Gonzalez.

“The one problem is, Rivera throws inside to left-handers,” McCarver said as Rivera stared down Gonzalez. “Left-handers get a lot of broken bat hits, into shallow outfield, the shallow part of the outfield. That is the danger of bringing the infield in with a guy like Rivera on the mound.”

Prescient or just knowing the game, Gonzalez blooped a hit over the drawn-in SS Derek Jeter to drive in the winning run and give Arizona its only World Championship.

Despite their knowledge, neither Packer nor McGuire ever displayed arrogance or hubris. Instead, when they disagreed with their co-broadcasters, they led with their convictions, not their egos. In other words, they knew when to shut up and let the game breathe. In this way, they were distinct from so many color analysts today who prattle, blabber, bloviate, and gossip ad nauseum. They also showed their partners respect, allowing them time to tell stories, analyze games, and muse about the passing sports scene.

Each will be missed.