Chip Caray (Transcript)

Robby Incmikoski: Chip, my first question is about your passion for baseball. You've been in ballparks your whole life. Now your son is experiencing that as a broadcaster, and your other son is doing Double-A baseball. It's a family tradition with that last name, but you've all worked hard and created your own names. Where did you begin to love the game of baseball?

Chip Caray: People have this misconstrued notion about our family—that when my dad was born, Harry Caray put a silver microphone in his hand, and when I was born I had a golden microphone in my hand instead of a rattle, and that I did the same thing for my kids. That couldn't be farther from the truth. My dad and Harry had a great relationship, but they got divorced when my dad was in high school, which back in the 1950s-early 1960s was really traumatic. He heard about it on radio and in the newspapers. My parents divorced when I was five years old. I remember my dad backing out of the driveway. I asked my mom, "Where's Dad going?" And she said, "He's going on a long road trip." That's how she explained it to me.

So to answer your question about how we developed our passion for the game, I think it's been part of the circadian rhythm of our family's lives for a hundred years. We don't know anything differently than the cycle of the season. Baseball season starts in spring, we go away for six months. The season wraps up whenever it does, and then we enter the homestead and try not to get in the way and screw things up.

That's all my kids have known. And to your point about my sons following me, I'm really honored that they want to do that, because they came into it with eyes wide open. They knew the wonderful benefits of being a baseball broadcaster, and there are many of them. But to quote a great lyricist I'm a big fan of, Neil Peart from Rush, "We do pay a fabulous price for our visions of Paradise." The important things in life are the things that you end up missing—weddings and funerals and your kids' first steps and flu shots, and seeing your kid perform in the high school play. We don't get to do those things because we're away doing our jobs. Knowing that my kids have seen that from both ends—as now professionals doing it themselves and being on the wrong end of that raw deal that the schedule provides—is really a cool thing, I think.

Robby Incmikoski: No question about that. People always think, "Chip Caray got it because of his dad" or "Joe Buck got it because of his dad." People mentioned this about my colleague Taylor McGregor, and Keller McGregor was our intern and I watched her work her ass off to get to where she is. So, people think you just stepped into a booth. Your son Chris is younger, but he worked in Double-A. It's not like he didn't sit on buses. Maybe not for as long as other people did. But the point is, yes, you had famous dads in the business, but you also worked your asses off too.

Chip Caray: I'd be less than honest if I didn't say my dad's connections didn't help. The last name obviously creates a great deal of recognition because, to your point, they worked very hard to build a reputation, build resumes, build careers, and build a list of contacts that could come in handy.

I've always described it this way: What we do is really a fun gig. We're on TV, we get to talk about sports, we fly with the players, we stay in first-class hotels and all that. But how is our family's generational passing of the torch different than a family law firm or a family grocery or a family auto dealership or anything else? It just so happens that we get to play and live in life's sandbox, which is professional sports.

I get it. I'd be jealous too. Wouldn't you like to be Shaquille O'Neal's kid and inherit millions of dollars? Of course. Wouldn't you like to be Mark Cuban's kid, or the DeWitts who own the Cardinals? Yeah, that would be wonderful. But all those people have to work their way up through the staircase as it were. And let's be honest, the teams we're working for are multi-billion dollar industries. They're not going to knowingly hire incompetent, incapable people simply because of their genealogy.

To your point, I worked really hard. My first jobs were cutting grass at 10 years old to pay for school clothes. I was an intern at TBS coiling cables, running camera at three o'clock in the morning, striking the truck, setting up the cameras, and helping get the TV truck ready for a game. That gave me great insight into how the real laborers and the real heart and soul of a broadcast go about their business, and a great appreciation for their skill. Because if they don't do their jobs, we can't do our jobs very well.

So, all of us work hard. All of us do it in a very different way. All of us have had our advantages, our helps, our guiding hands. It just so happens that one of the things that was helpful to me is my last name, and I'm very proud of what Harry Caray did and what Skip Caray did, and hopefully the legacy I'm creating for my own kids. But at the end of the day, that's only gonna do so much. Yes, I can get a door opened, or at least I can get them in line for an opportunity, but then it's up to them. If they go out and they perform—just like Tony Gwynn's kid. If Tony Gwynn's kid gets a chance to play in the major leagues and hits .140, guess what? He's not gonna be there very long. It's the same for broadcasters too.

It just so happens that we have millions of people who would love to do our jobs, and I understand that very clearly, but they see the tip of the iceberg. They don't see what's beneath the waterline—all the other things that go along with getting to where we are. That's kind of unfortunate.

Robby Incmikoski: I couldn't agree more. I see people and how hard they work, and I hate that stereotype. It drives me nuts.

Chip Caray: Hard work is a relative term, right? I mean, we're not digging ditches, we're not cleaning up after hurricanes, we're not running for political office, we're not tarring roofs in 100-degree weather. But what we are responsible for is selling a product that people care deeply about—a product that, as I said, is a billion-dollar industry—and putting the players in the best possible light. Because it does no good for anyone to talk about how bad the product is; nobody's gonna buy it. Our job is to sell baseball.

And to your earlier question about why we do it that way—because we all love it. I dreamed of being a baseball player. Ted Simmons was my hero growing up in St. Louis. He had the long flowing hair. I was a catcher, I had long hair, I was too pudgy to play. I wasn't a switch-hitter like he was, and when they started throwing curveballs, I figured out maybe I should do something else.

But playing baseball in a baseball-crazy city like St. Louis was so much a part and fiber of who we are as people in that town. The Cardinals are a point of civic pride. They are a civic institution, and people care very deeply about them. And I come from an era where you knew the '64 Cardinals starting lineup before you knew your ABCs, and that stays with me.

I think that's something that I appreciate about being back there. It's something that I think our fans appreciate—the love affair and the passion for that team goes back to Stan Musial and Dizzy Dean and Marty Marion and the Gas House gang, even to Paul Goldschmidt and Nolan Arenado today. It's an unending railroad track of train cars that goes by season after season and generation by generation. If you grow up there and you go to a game or two, that love affair is as much a part of your DNA as your mom and dad are, I think.

Robby Incmikoski: I've been going to Saint Louis for 16 years for baseball. It's a special experience. Not a lot of people who go there or have had a chance to go there realize just how special the game of baseball is to that city. How do you put that in words—the relationship that a city has with its baseball team, and why is it so special there?

Chip Caray: Because people who live in that town feel represented by the name on the front of the shirts. Look, our town's going through some issues, like many city centers are in our country, but Saint Louis is a regional franchise. They draw from all across the Midwest. A lot of that has to do with the signal of KMOX radio back when Harry Caray and Jack Buck were doing the games. Before we had internet, before we had cable TV, radio was the telecommunications device between the fans and the audience, and the KMOX signal beaming out of St. Louis, Missouri—50,000-watt station—went west of the Rocky Mountains, south of the Gulf of Mexico, north to the Canadian border, and east all the way to the Atlantic seaboard.

Quick story: When I was in college coming home to see my dad or driving to see friends in college from Panama City, Florida—my first job—I could pick up the KMOX signal more clearly for a Blues hockey game than I could WSB out of Atlanta. I would listen to a Blues game for four hours while I drove through the dark at night to go back up to Athens and hang out and see people.

For St. Louis, we've lost the Rams, we've lost the football Cardinals. We have the Blues. The St. Louis Hawks left and became the Atlanta Hawks. The Browns left and went to Baltimore. The Cardinals were what's left. And the product has been so good for so long and so many great players that there is a sense of community. The players all live there when they play. Stan Musial, those guys—they lived in Saint Louis, they were your neighbors, they would sell insurance in the offseason. You'd need to run to the grocery store and there's Marty Marion managing a grocery store in the offseason before the salaries went so crazy.

There was just a great deal of civic pride. The Cardinals were from Saint Louis. This is our team, it represents our town warts and all. And obviously the tremendous amount of success that Saint Louis had as far as winning games is concerned made everybody proud to jump on that bandwagon. When you had Harry Caray screaming like a maniac and Jack Buck doing his thing and saying "Go crazy, folks," it was a very easy place for fans to find solace and comfort and community because the product was good. They were from there, and it gave them a great deal of civic pride.

Robby Incmikoski: No question about it. I try to describe to people what the vibe is like and how educated fans are in the city of Saint Louis for the game. You hear people going nuts over a sac fly. You don't hear that in most cities. And this is not a knock on other cities, but how would you describe the level of baseball education that those fans have there?

Chip Caray: They're passionate, they know how to play the game. St. Louis always had a very big, thriving American Legion baseball program, so everybody has played the game. They have a basic understanding of how it's supposed to be played. But they also grew up listening to it on the radio. Dizzy Dean would do his deal, and Harry and Jack Buck and Jay Randolph—they were educated on how the game is supposed to be played by the people broadcasting it, in large part.

And they do, as you said, appreciate a great player and a great play. They will cheer an opposing player. Paul Skenes this year comes out of the game with the Pirates, struck out 14 guys, walks off the field—he's been dominating against the Cardinals all day long. And as he walks off, the fans, seeing him for the first time, gave that kid a standing ovation. They might do the same thing in New York. They might do the same thing in Boston, but they'd be telling Skenes things about his mom that he probably didn't know as he walks to the dugout. That wasn't the case in Saint Louis.

And again, to my point about selling baseball and applauding baseball—that's what the fans do there. The fans want the Cardinals to win. They want their guys to do well, they want to go to the World Series, and they want a parade. They want to see the Clydesdales and the Hall of Famers, and they want a big ticker-tape deal down Market Street. But at the end of the day, they will come out and they will celebrate baseball first and foremost. And that's what makes it a special place.

Robby Incmikoski: Tell me about broadcasting games at Busch Stadium. You've had some great guest analysts come through that booth. You have a great broadcast booth, you have a great setup. What is it like doing games there?

Chip Caray: We've created a fun atmosphere. That was Harry's thing. He always said, "You can't beat fun at the old ballpark." It's a very serious job, a very important job, but I think you have to come to work ready to have fun. Baseball is supposed to be fun. It's big business, I get it—wins and losses matter—but it's supposed to be fun. Our group does a great job of that. We are very close, tight-knit. We are family more than friends and coworkers, which I think is extremely important. I'm really proud of the small portion of the culture that I've been able to help cultivate.

When we sit in that booth, for me growing up in St. Louis, it's just historic. Harry Caray sat in that booth from 1945 to 1969. Dizzy Dean was there. Jack Buck, Jay Randolph, Joe Buck, Dan McLaughlin. I'm just next in line. Hopefully, I'm able to pass that torch to the next person with the booth in as good or better shape than what I inherited.

But from a personal standpoint, looking out and seeing the city—the Gateway Arch was completed when I was born in 1965. In the shadows of the Gateway Arch is the old courthouse, which was the site and scene of one of the most infamous Supreme Court decisions in American history, the Dred Scott decision, which stated that slaves were still property even if they were free. Then you see all the great skyscrapers that have sprung up around the ballpark. You have this incredible mix of new and old and Saint Louis's place in not just baseball history but American history.

Staring out at this beautiful vista of red brick and red seats, and this incredibly green emerald in the middle of a concrete jungle. All of the stadiums are like that—it's a wonderful escape from all that is happening in the world. But for me, there's so much history that echoes through those halls. In recent memory, Albert Pujols and Adam Wainwright and Yadier Molina and Tony La Russa and Walt Jocketty—all great people who have emblazoned their names on the history charts of Cardinals baseball. It just sort of goes hand in hand with the historic nature of our city where so much has happened, though many people don't really think about that unless you're from Saint Louis.

Robby Incmikoski: I want to talk about the time you did a game with your grandfather and your dad at Wrigley Field. How special was that for you?

Chip Caray: In retrospect, it was a heck of a lot more special now that I'm on the other end of it. Back then I was the kid of that trio, and I didn't really appreciate it the way that I do now. I didn't know Harry particularly well. I didn't spend much time around him at all. I spent more time with my dad as I became a professional. In '91, I started with the Braves, was there a couple of years, then went to Seattle, then to the network, then to the Cubs, then came back to Atlanta where I kind of reconnected with him.

So for me, that day was super fun because I had the last name—I'm Harry the Third, so all three of us had the same name, I guess you could say. It was like doing a game with two different colleagues, and I just sort of smiled, nodded, "Yes sir, no sir," and went my merry way.

It was odd walking down the street with all these TV cameras and microphones. My dad's walking down in front and says, "I know what John Gotti feels like walking out of the courthouse," because for baseball fans, that was a big deal. It's something that had never been done before and maybe never will be done again—to have three generations do a game at the same time at Wrigley Field.

In Chicago, it was cool, but it was more emotional, I think, for Harry than it was for my dad or for me. Harry didn't have much of an upbringing when it came to family. Harry didn't really understand what it was like to be a father full-time, much less a grandfather. To see his son following in his footsteps was a gigantic compliment, and then to see his grandson following in his footsteps and showing minimum capability of being able to say "ground ball to second"—I think that filled him with a great deal of pride.

I regret that I didn't get to work with him. That was in the playbook and was in plans when he died, because there's so many things about our family that I don't know. I don't know what my dad's favorite color was. I don't know how Harry met his wife, my grandmother. I don't know what it was like traveling on the train from Union Station with Stan Musial and Harry Brecheen going to see Jackie Robinson play for the first time. Those are all baseball things that were lost to time.

But from a family standpoint, I would have loved to know what his youth was like, what did he know about his father who left him, what did he remember about his mom, what was it like being in Webster Groves in the 1930s. All of those things. So that day was more for Harry, I think, than it was for my dad or for me.

And as I said, looking back on it now, I have a greater appreciation for what it meant to him because, as you mentioned, I have two sons and a third who's 15 years old who wants to do this too. It's really rewarding to see them follow their dreams and achieve them at the highest level.

Robby Incmikoski: And I'm gonna flip the script a little bit—you had something similar in Oakland this year with your son Chris. How special was that to be the dad and him be the son? Although you were calling for different teams, it was still a cool moment.

Chip Caray: It was great. As I said, it's really different being on the other end of the torch passing. It's a lot more fun when it's getting handed to you, not handing it off, because that means you're the old guy. But it was thrilling, it was really special. My wife was there, my youngest son was there, and Chris was very emotional about it.

All you want to do is see your kids have a dream and then follow it and have it happen. I was 24 when I got my first big league opportunity, and for him to do it at 24 is amazing. We're all really grateful to the A's for giving him a chance to show that he's ready for this opportunity. And he's made the most of it. I think even bigger and better things are coming for him, the same for his brother.

But as I said, to look down and see your 24-year-old kid with eyes wide open and full of vim and vigor and excited and not jaded by the business of baseball and not yet scarred by the good and ugly that happens in life is really a cool thing. And to see him start on that path with such great partners and friends is incredibly comforting for Mom and Dad.

Oakland's a long way from where we live, and the world's a big, tough place. Big league baseball is competitive and cutthroat, and to see him manage his way through that first season with a fun, exciting team in a historic year with Oakland is really fun. We're really proud of him. And as my dad said to me when I got my first opportunity, "Hell yeah, go get 'em," and I can't wait to see where this chance takes him.

Robby Incmikoski: I want to talk a little bit about Atlanta. When Truist Park opened in the Battery in Cobb County, what was it like calling the first couple games there? Another fantastic baseball city with great history. I love going to Atlanta. I love the baseball there. I love the Braves.

Chip Caray: First of all, I think it was industry-changing. Truist Park, when you think about the things that go on around the ballpark, was the first one that was really able to put it into play. The Cardinals had Ballpark Village planned, but their economic issues made the start of that slow down. So when the Battery came about and the financial wherewithal—and the financial windfall, I should say—that came from that, that's what really drove the success of the team and allowed them to build the juggernaut that they have.

Atlanta is the baseball home, if you will, of Henry Aaron in the regard that he broke Babe Ruth's record just down the road at Fulton County Stadium. And in 30 years since 1966, Truist Park is the third stadium, and it's an amazing place. It's fan-friendly, it's cantilevered, the fans are right on top of you. When that place gets loud, it's one of the best even without a dome.

And obviously, they've had a great product to talk about. Look, baseball's a star-driven business. When you have stars, people come out, and the Braves have a bunch of them—Spencer Strider and Matt Olson and Ronald Acuña Jr. and Austin Riley. They've got an endless supply of offensive juggernaut-type players that people will clamor to see. And even if the game doesn't play the way that fans want, there's still something to do outside the ballpark. Even if the team's not in town, fans can go down there and watch the team on TV and stay connected with all the other cool things that are in the Battery.

So that was a truly revolutionary sea change in how baseball operates as a business—not just balls and strikes, but dollars and cents outside the gates, which helps promote your product and build your product.

Robby Incmikoski: No question about it. That booth is really high up there. It's one of the higher ones. It's a pretty high booth. Is there any input that goes in from broadcasters to the booth in the building of a stadium? Do they say, "Hey, this is the booth and here's where you are"?

Chip Caray: In some places they get input. In Atlanta, it's "here's where you're sitting, and that's where you're sitting." It's higher than Turner Field. I've never understood it. That's gonna change too. But in the days where broadcast entities are spending 80-90 million dollars for rights fees, the team doesn't give the broadcast people the best view to sell their product. It makes no sense to me. They'll sell those boxes for a million dollars a year, but they give the broadcast team and the writers the seats on the roof, which makes it more difficult to sell what they're trying to show every night.

The genius of the NBA and David Stern when he was commissioner was that when they were building basketball arenas, they were building TV studios. And that's what a ballpark is—it's a TV studio. If you don't give your broadcasters the best camera angles and the best booths and the best access, you're not giving them the best opportunity to showcase your multi-billion dollar product.

That said, Truist Park is still a great place to work. The booth is fine, it's not ideal, but there are a lot worse, as you said. If you look out the booth in Washington, if you look closely, you can see Mount Rushmore. That's not quite the case in Atlanta, where we're just perched up high and we do the best we can.

Robby Incmikoski: That's amazing. This is great. Kyle, got anything for Chip?

Kyle Fager: I was gonna ask about Wrigley.

Chip Caray: For me, Wrigley is the perfect synthesis of a baseball team and a ballpark being in touch with the heartbeat of a city. It's right in the middle of a neighborhood. For me, the most fun about going to Wrigley Field during my tenure there was getting to the ballpark at 9:30 in the morning when it's quiet and the only people there are the grounds crew. They're scraping the infield and rolling out the creaky old batting cage, and the wind is blowing. You see the ivy just sort of wafting in the wind on the red bricks in the outfield, and the flags popping because the wind's blowing, and you think, "It's gonna be a hitters' day today."

And then all of a sudden, gates open and the fans start to stream in. The ballpark starts to come to life, and then batting practice starts and the organ music starts. Then they play the game and the Cubs win, and they play "Go Cubs Go." All the fans are happy and they spill out onto the streets and head down to Wrigleyville or to home or on the El to go home.

Every day there is kind of a microcosm of the cycle of life—birth, life, death, and renewal. And that's what makes that place so special, in that it happened every day. Even before the night games, it was just part of the circadian rhythm of the city. And as beautiful as Wrigley is in the day, to the chagrin of the neighbors, it's even more beautiful at night because it looks unlike any other place.

I credit the Cubs for all the modernization that's taken place. It still reminds you of what an old-time ballpark was supposed to be. The old locker room is still down the left field line where the grounds crew is. You can't believe that Billy Williams and Ron Santo got changed there. When the umpire would kick out the Cubs manager, Jim Frey would have to walk slowly down the third base line to get into the clubhouse to get off the field.

It's really my favorite place, for personal reasons obviously, but just for how much fun it was to go to as a young father at the time—get up, take the kids, rush to the ballpark at 9:30, get home at six o'clock and have dinner, and then start again. It's a magnificent place. And when the Cubs win, there's really nothing like Wrigley at all.

Robby Incmikoski: No question. Could we trouble you again another time to get you for 10 minutes? There's so much more to discuss.

Chip Caray: Yeah, call me later. I'll be around. Whatever you need. I ramble on and go from tangent to tangent, so if there's something specific you want, I'm happy to help with whatever you guys need.

Robby Incmikoski: No, you're kidding—this is great. Kyle's a big Cubs fan. He watched you as a kid.

Chip Caray: I just lied about the "Go Cubs Go." I hate that song. Just kidding.

Kyle Fager: I'm gonna be honest, I can't stand it either.

Chip Caray: If you go to Harry's, in one of the rooms—it might even be upstairs—there's a shot of Al Capone sitting in the front row on-deck circle talking to one of the guys. It might be Frank Chance or something, I don't know who that was.

Robby Incmikoski: That's great.

Chip Caray: St. Valentine's Day Massacre, if you didn't know that, it's three blocks north of the ballpark. It was in a garage on Clark Street.

Robby Incmikoski: I want to set this up again because these stories are way too good to not go in the book.

Chip Caray: Whatever you want. Just call me anytime. I'll be around. I have nothing to do.

Robby Incmikoski: I'll give you another 10-15 minutes. I won't keep you long. This is so good.

Chip Caray: The more I talk to you, the less yard work I have to do. So that's fine.

Robby Incmikoski: Yeah, blame me for when that doesn't get done. You're the best, man.

Chip Caray: Thank you. Take care.