Lucky Bastard: My Life, My Dad, and the Things I'm Not Allowed to Say on TV

by Joe Buck

He would criticize me for only one thing: getting on the umpires. If I said, “That’s a terrible call—that’s not a strike,” he’d look at me like, “Shut up.” He taught me that umpires are professionals just like major leaguers. They work as hard at their craft. They deserve the same respect. And you know who else deserves that respect? Minor leaguers. When my dad dropped me off in Louisville to broadcast Triple-A, he said, “You know, you spent your entire life watching Major League Baseball. Now you’re going to the minor leagues. These guys are kids. Remember how hard the game is. Unless you believe you could have made that play ten times out of ten, don’t act like you could do it.” It was such great advice. Some announcers rip players—Harry Caray did it a lot. He would openly say, “How in the heck can you miss that fly ball?” I’ve tried to avoid that. But it was the only big advice my dad gave me.