Mike Krukow sat at the edge of the broadcast booth, his usual upbeat demeanor replaced by a somber look. His voice, normally filled with excitement for the game, was quieter today.
“There’s something I’ve been thinking about lately,” he began, glancing over at his co-host. The microphone picked up the slight tremble in his voice. “I’ve been dealing with something… terrifying, to be honest.”
The room went silent. Even the crowd noise below seemed to fade as he continued.
“It’s this condition I have—it’s progressive, and it’s affecting me more and more each day.” He took a deep breath, eyes fixed on the field but seeing something far beyond it. “I can’t move the way I used to, can’t even grip things right. Some days, I wonder if I’ll be able to make it through another season.”
His co-host looked shocked, but Krukow kept going. “It’s one thing to know you’re getting older. It’s another to feel your body betray you. I don’t know how much longer I’ll be here, calling games like this.”
For a moment, the stadium felt frozen in time. Everyone who could hear him, whether in the booth or on their radios, sensed the gravity of his words. It wasn’t just about baseball anymore. It was about a man facing something far more daunting than the game.
Mike took a deep breath, offering a faint smile. “But as long as I can, I’m going to keep doing what I love. That’s the only way I know how to handle this.”