There's Crying in Baseball

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An impromptu memorial to Phillies broadcaster Harry Kalas has sprung up outside Citizens Bank Park the day after his death. ( Clem Murray / Staff Photographer )

A lot of gorgeous tributes today to Harry the K.

Bill Lyon, dragged out of retirement to write:

"Close your eyes, and it's a muggy summer evening, and on the TV in your den and on the radio in your car, and you've just tuned into the Fightin's, and all you need hear is The Voice and from the sound of it, without knowing the score, you can tell instantly whether they're winning or losing."

Bob Ford, dragged out of bed to write:

"Somebody stole the Liberty Bell yesterday, unhooked it from its case and carted it off when no one was looking. We won't see the Liberty Bell ever again, and a part of us all, of what makes our city special, is lost."

Lots more you may have seen. And then something you might have missed.

Instapunk, dropping the snarl, and writing from the heart, about how Harry Kalas brought back a young man's love of the game. The writer left Philadelphia after the '64 collapse and found himself surrounded by Pittsburgh Pirates fans. Who could blame him for losing faith? And then The Voice brought him back into the fold.

Read it all here.

Here's a taste:

"Two things I'd never heard on the radio before Harry Kalas came along. He knew instantly when a batter had hit a homerun. I never heard him make a mistake about it. When his voice barked "long drive," it was leaving the park. Think about that on the radio. It's like being there. Second, only Harry Kalas could make you see the brilliance of infield play on the radio. I learned from Harry Kalas that Mike Schmidt was a better third baseman than he was a hitter -- by listening to him call the games."

It's a winner.

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