Carl Beane

Death is a royal pain in the ass. It won't let go.It's all around you all the time threatening you, intimidating you, torturing you, confusing you.
I am obsessed with it. The first thing I do when I get a new issue of Rolling Stone is check out rock 'n roll obituaries. Time magazine comes, I go to Milestones. The recently dead.
People die all the time and you are reminded of it, but you react differently in each situation.
Sometimes a name is mentioned on TV and you take note of it but it doesn't really register. Doesn't ruffle your gut.
Sometimes it hits too close to home and you are floored, devastated, destroyed.
And sometimes death pops up and you get an unexpected reaction.
Carl Beane died on Wednesday. He was the Red Sox PA announcer. He was 59.
As soon as I heard the news I could hear his voice in my head. Distinctive and very cool. I was surprised at how upset I was.
Even though you don't know the guy, you feel like you do. He only had the job since 2003, but his voice was the voice of Fenway Park. His voice was woven into the magic and awe that is the beauty of Fenway, the tortured and recently vindicated history of the Sox, and the lives of every person who sat in those seats for the last nine years.
Especially kids. It is a cliche, but you can't think about warm summer baseball without picturing a dad proudly sitting next to his young son who is wearing a baseball glove in the one in a trillion chance a foul ball might come his way.
Young kids must be overwhelmed by the whole spectacle; the park, the players, the crowd, the game. And that voice. Hearing that voice booming out of the speakers has to burn something cool into a kid's memory banks. Contributing to the larger than life experience of digging a game with dad.
Don Orsillo said that every time he saw Carl Beane, Carl would say "We have the greatest jobs in the world, don't we?"
He knew what he had. He knew what he was a part of. He respected it and enjoyed it.
The Sox paid tribute to him last night before the game and did it with typical Boston class.
They replayed his voice announcing the '04 World Series, the '07 World Series, and from just a few weeks ago, the 100th anniversary of Fenway Park. It was surreal hearing that voice boom one more time knowing that he was gone.
There was no announcer during the game last night. That was a great tribute too. No players being introduced. Just silence. Because that voice is gone and even though it must inevitably be replaced, that silence last night celebrated a life in a way that no applause or accolades ever could.
Beane worshipped Sherm Feller. Feller was the Red Sox PA guy from 1967 to 1993.
When Carl was a kid, he told everybody that he would be a Red Sox announcer. How cool is that?
Before every game Beane would tap Feller's picture right outside the broadcast booth and ask him to get him through another game. And he told everybody who asked about the job "I'll never fill his shoes, but I do get to sit in his chair."
Everything I have read in the last couple of days, every testimonial I have heard, paints a picture of a man who was living his dream. He owned two World Series rings. People asked him to do wedding announcements and voice mails and other recorded or spoken messages and he was thrilled to do it. I wish to hell I had his voice on my phone. That would be cool.
Sometimes death serves to remind you how cool life can be.
He used the same before game greeting as Sherm Feller as a tribute because "it was and is perfect."
I had tears in my eyes last night as the Sox played that greeting one more time to open the game.
"Good evening ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, and welcome to Fenway Park, America's most beloved ballpark, for this evening's game between the Cleveland Indians and the Boston Red Sox."