Sorry for all the sad posts...

This one isn't any happier.

Two months ago today, a very good friend of mine was murdered. I haven't written about it because I didn't know how exactly to say the right things. I still don't and the truth is, whatever I say won't bring him back.

Daniel Coverston was 22 years old. He stood by me on my wedding day and I was proud to have him there. I met Dan through my wife, who grew up with him. They were like brother and sister. I think the toughest part about his death is expecting to see him the next time and not totally realizing there won't be a next time.

We know why Paul Harvey died-- he was old. We know why Harry Kalas died-- he had a bad heart, and had lived a full life. We may never know why Daniel was killed. There are rumors and theories and speculation. The truth is, we'll probably never find out. That just makes it harder.

Anyone who knew Daniel, knew him as someone who couldn't sit still-- EVER. Most of you know that I detest the sport of soccer. There was no more perfect fit for a sport than soccer for Daniel. He could run around as much as he needed. I spent a lot of time with Dan and he was one of the most genuine kids I've ever known. He wore his emotions on his sleeve and told you straight out how he felt.

While words seem to escape me, I just wanted to say I miss him. I can only imagine that God called him way too early so he could run around up there and play soccer because he needed more time to get all that energy out of his system.

We miss you, Dan. Until it's our time, watch over us and put one more in the Upper V just for me.

"Outta here!"

Every Phillies game I've ever listened to on the radio was called by the same guy, Harry Kalas. The next one won't be.

Harry passed away this afternoon at the age of 73. Never again will we hear the dolcent tones of Mr. Kalas. There will be no more, "Michael Jack Schmidt"s, "Mickey Morandini"s, "Ricky Botalico time", or "Pat Burrell"s.

For 38 seasons, and the only 2 world championships in their team history, Harry called nearly every game the Phillies played. The only days he missed were for the enshrinement in the Hall of Fame of his best friend, Richie Ashburn, and his own enshrinement. I never met Harry Kalas, but I feel as if I've lost a friend. The friend who told me stories of Greg Luzinski and Garry Maddux home runs and Steve Carlton and Tommy Greene no-hitters. I didn't get to hear the game today without Harry behind the microphone, and that may be a good thing. In my head Shane Victorino, Raul Ibanez, and Ryan Howards homeruns still got that familiar, "swing and a long drive, watch that baby, way out of here!" call that I've heard every summer I've ever known.

I know that the season will go on, and the Phillies will continue to hit homeruns, they may even win some games. This season just won't be like any other. The Phillies aren't the same Phillies without Harry. To me, baseball won't ever be either. Maybe he didn't call a game on the radio the way the experts would like, but you certainly knew he was calling the game-- you just may have had to wait a couple of seconds to get the count.

Twelve years ago, Harry lost his best friend. I can imagine the stories they are sharing together up in heaven. Chances are Harry is asking Whitey if J-Roll should be bunting more, and Whitey probably replies that the game is easy. And then they'll wish some Phillies fan a happy birthday.

The game is easy, but it will never be the same.