Not Knowing Whether to Cry or Wind My Watch

Saying Goodbye to The Voice of My Childhood Sports Fandom

The fifteen-year old boy takes in the view of the Coliseum, one of the most storied venues of battle in all the land. He is almost blinded by legions of local citizens, who have covered themselves in the regional celebratory red attire, an ominous “sea of blood” welcoming him to a new land. A beautiful summer day does not warm the boy of his nerves, as he is an adversary in a foreign land. Millions crowd the streets of this foreign city, rousing themselves for a battle of soldiers that will take place in the storied venue in a few hours time. The locals serenade the boy with vicious and vulgar curses as he makes his way to the entrance of the hallowed hall. He’s lucky his father stands at his side, severely outnumbered and overwhelmed in enemy territory. The father and son have traveled far and wide, across the plains of the Midwest, to support their soldiers in battle. They hope to see a historic, legacy forming triumph in victory of their legion. The mix of nerves and fear, and most of all excitement, flows through the teenager. He cannot believe he is here, ready to witness a legendary and historic battle, regardless if the faction he supports comes out victorious or not. The two of them continue forward, robes of white and black in a sea of red, and lose themselves in the congested entrance to the rumbling structure, barely able to hear thoughts over the shouts and cheers of the hostile crowd, seemingly drooling for a taste of blood.

The above story was not a parable from ancient Roman times, but one of a similarly storied City: Detroit, Michigan. The time was not thousands of years ago; but June 12th, 2009. It is also not a work of historical fiction, but my recollection from attending Game 7 of the 2009 Stanley Cup Final with my Father.

Two days earlier, a simple statement on a radio call of Game 6, had sent chills through my spine. Listening as the team I had fallen in love with four years early staved off a second consecutive elimination in the final round of the NHL playoffs, I knew with every possible part of my being I had to see this story to its final conclusion. Redemption on the grandest stage, against the team that had won the biggest prize on our home ice a year earlier. We HAD to travel to Detroit to see my beloved Pittsburgh Penguins hockey team play for their first chance to win a Stanley Cup Championship in 17 years. I had been a fan for roughly four years, but in that time I went from a quiet kid who preferred to read comic books (before that was cool) and play video games, to an absolute sports obsessive. In 2005 the Pittsburgh Penguins drafted Sidney Crosby. I didn’t know who that was at the time, just that he was described as the next “Great One”, and much to the excitement of my hockey-playing Father, I began a love affair with the sport and team. While Crosby was the player on the ice who made me start following the game, another man bridged the gap from the stories of heroes and villains I followed in comic books, to the narratives and action on the the ice. This man spoke with such fervent energy, crafted such unique phrases, and had such authentic passion for the game: it became impossible to not absorb some of that through the television or radio. All of that made a kid who had previously rejected sports purposefully, fall in love with not just the sport of hockey, but sports in general. That man was legendary Pittsburgh Penguins broadcaster, Mike Lange.

Two nights before Game 7, as the Penguins fought off a repeat elimination at the hands of Detroit’s Red Wings - Lange let at a howling sermon across the local radio waves: “...annnnnddddd I’LL MEEET YOU IN THE SCHOOLYARD FOR ALLLL THE MARBLES, Friday night in Detroit”.

36 hours later my Father and I were in Detroit, where we would witness history, and create a memory I'll have with me for the rest of my life. In a franchise that has employed several first ballot Hall of Fame players (and two of the five greatest players ever), the fact that Lange arguably had just as big of an impact on the franchise’s success as a broadcaster, is a testament to how much he meant to the team and the city of Pittsburgh. I have been thinking about that call in the victorious dying seconds of Game 6, the memory of that trip, and my falling in love with sports in the wake of Lange’s passing on February 19th. Lange was a titanic figure in Pittsburgh sports, a truly “one of one”, and the voice of my growing obsession with the Penguins and the sport of hockey.

A 46-year career, a Hall of Fame enshrinement, and countless other broadcasting awards, Lange’s resume is enough to garner respect. It’s not those accolades that made his passing such a devastating event for Pittsburgh sports’ fans however: it was the relationship he fostered with Penguins fans and the city of Pittsburgh as a whole. Lange build that bond with the town and fans through genuine authenticity, a love of the game and team that came through in his voice, and uniqueness of which he described action and goals on the ice of the Civic Arena. Prior to the arrival of Mario Lemieux in 1984, and years later in the dark days post-Lemieux’s retirement before Crosby, Lange was oftentimes the sole reason to watch or listen to the team. The unique phrasing and vivid detail of which he called the game action, painted a rare audio and visual landscape, all the while the product on the ice was most times abysmal. Countless kids in driveways across Western Pennsylvania playing street hockey, letting out an impression of Lange’s famous “ohhhh he bent ‘em like a rented mule”, or “he doesn’t know whether to cry or wind his watch” as they scored a goal, paying homage to the local sports legend. Lange was a unicorn in sports broadcasting, not only because of his way with words, but because he did something that is sorely missing from “sports entertainment” today: he genuinely cared. Lange cared about the franchise, but more importantly he cared about fan’s investment in the team. For Lange, it wasn’t just acceptable to describe the action on the ice, he had to craft a narrative, paint a picture of struggle and growth, and explain and educate the nuances of the game. Being so adept at the latter, he made a 12 year old boy who had no interest in sports fall in love with the game after just a few broadcasts (and Sidney Crosby goals).

Hearing the news of Lange’s passing, I immediately began watching some of the classic goal calls, memorable moments, and tears began flowing from my eyes. I never had the pleasure of meeting the man, but his impact on me was profound. His genuine love for the team and the city of Pittsburgh, and his dedication to his craft and storytelling inspired a whole generation of sports fans to fall in love with the team and the game of hockey. It made me reflect on the lost meaning and communal attachment to sports, when it truly was a localized cultural experience. Today, sports has become a trillion dollar media streaming product. Lange was a product of an age where sports was still about the city where the team was based, and those who provided the audio and visual commentary and descriptions were just as much a part of the team as the players on the field/ice. His loss hurt so much, because of the countless great memories he was the voice of for Pittsburgh hockey fans. Five championships, the entire careers of essentially of Mario Lemieux and Sidney Crosby. The greatest gift Lange had was that he could make you feel like he was celebrating with you, that he too, deep down, was a fan. He wasn’t just taking a paycheck from Netflix, Amazon, or ESPN+. He was living in the memories with us.

Sport is, quite frankly, just a game. Ask anyone who seriously invests themselves into sports fandom though (in a healthy manner - not the gambling nature), and it really is something more. It’s the time you road-tripped with your friends to any enemy's stadium, or took your future wife to her first game. The college friend group’s yearly ritual of traveling back to school for one game. Sports is truly the last communal bonding, live event, most of our society partakes in. Living in the real world, together, experiencing something in real time. To quote my new friend Jordan Goldstein in his wonderful new piece The Athletic Philospher - You're Watching Sports All Wrong, “When someone says’ ‘it’s just a game’ they’re wrong. It’s more than just a game. It’s an expression of the depth of human experience.” People like Mike Lange create that depth, they make us remember why we watch the games, why we cheer when goals are scored, or cry when seasons end with heartbreaking losses.

I struggled for a while to try and put some words together for what to say about my parasocial relationship with the broadcaster. How could I honestly write about someone I didn’t know, who has been profiled by people way more credible and knowledgeable than I. Yet he meant so much to me, some of my greatest memories of childhood and falling in love with sports were to his voice, I wanted to honor him someway. I thought about recapping and explaining all his famous sayings, going through different famous goal highlights, but none of it felt right. I kept coming back to the “school yard and marbles”, and the trip to Detroit for Game 7, and that felt right. A moment created because of shared passion for team and sport, a Father and Son creating a memory we will cherish forever, and the man's words who sound-tracked the entire journey. I never got the pleasure to meet Mr.Lange, but he had a way of making you feel like you already knew him. Maybe that is legacy. Mike Lange, thank you for making a 12 year old kid fall in love with the Penguins, the game of hockey, and inspiring us to go see the Pens win that Cup in Game 7.

Goodbye old friend, and thanks for a wonderful childhood of memories. To end with Lange’s famous post-victory phrase: Elvis, has just left the building.

Dedicated to Mike Lange

March 3rd, 1948 - February 19th, 2025