Harry Kalas called it all

Sea gulls flocked over the blanket next to our family plot on 30th Street Beach in Ocean City, N.J.
A group a shoebies let their kids throw bits of their ham and cheese sandwiches up to the birds.
It’s a seaside disaster in the making, but it’s something you can’t tell people. You have to let them experience an aggressive flock of swarming gulls before they start yelling at their kids to stop the feeding frenzy.
Dad turned up the radio against the roar of the surf and the incessant squawking of the sea birds.
My uncle Paul bolted to his feet.
“It’s a Russian trawler, I tell ya,” he said.
Uncle Paul always brought binoculars to the beach.
Often, when he saw a big boat off shore he’d be convinced it was a Russian trawler.
Ship names that weren’t printed in English were Russian. And they weren’t doing any fishing either.
Uncle Paul was a medic in WWII and was as jumpy as a toad in a hailstorm.
My dad, a Marine, sat with a towel over his feet and zinc oxide on his nose. He wore a big floppy jungle hat and cracked open another can of Schmidt’s.
Uncle Paul was a lizard. He could stand in the sun all day and get nothing but Vitamin D from it.
Dad has skin like fine Irish porcelain. He gets a sunburn from too much television.
When Uncle Paul was satisfied that he had spotted a Russian trawler, he’d pass the binoculars to Dad.
Dad would look, but probably couldn’t see much with his bad eyes.
“Let me know when they’re coming ashore,” he’d say and pass back the binoculars.
A sea gull swooped down and took a peanut butter sandwich from my little sister, Trisha.
Another gull dropped a bomb down the front of my Aunt Marie’s swim suit.
My mother and Aunt Beth agreed that dad and Uncle Paul shouldn’t drink so much beer when they’re out in the sun.
Grace Karpinski said she’d go to the boardwalk with me that night.
There was a deep drive to left-center field and the Phillies were not at bat.
“Aw, for cryin’ out loud,” Uncle Paul complained to the voice on the radio.
Harry Kalas was calling the Phillies game. He was the de facto narrator of so many of our family outings.
On the beach, on the back deck, at night dozing off in my room, Harry called it all.