TIM KURKJIAN

I have written about Tim Kurkjian (and Pedro Gomez) on these pages before.

Two stellar scribes.

One, unfortunately, is no longer with us.

[Pedro Gomez died on February 7, 2021, at 58.]

On December 7, 2021, Kurkjian was named the recipient of the BBWAA Career Excellence Award for 2022, presented annually by the Baseball Writers’ Association of America and officially awarded during induction ceremonies for the Baseball Hall of Fame (07/23).

The diminutive Kurkjian is well-worthy of the honor.

Compadres, Buster Onley, Jeff Passan and Eduardo Perez–all highly-esteemed in their own right(s) — concur and offer interesting anecdotal observations about him.

Olney:

“I met Tim about 30 years ago in Yuma, AZ., in the most unlikely game of ‘21.’

Tim (whose listed height in your game program is 5-foot-5) vs. fellow Padres beat writer John Schlegel ( a legit 6–7) vs. me (5–7–¾ allegedly).

In that time, we’ve spent hours together in studios, on ballfields, in clubhouses, in arguments about whether Mariano Rivera belongs on the Yankees’ Mount Rushmore (I say yes; Tim is wrong), in cabs to and from airports, on flights.

[It is this writer’s opinion that if Kurkjian would exclude Rivera–the only HOFer EVER to be elected by a unanimous vote–from this select group, it would be an egregious error in baseball judgment, and the only one the man has ever made.]

I can address all the legends of my friend and colleague, whose first name recently changed–to Hall of Famer Tim Kurkjian.”

Olney was just warming up, gettin’ loose, as they say.

About his temper on the basketball court:

“You’ve seen the Incredible Hulk, yes?

When anger turns Bruce Banner’s eyes green, and he transforms into a monster?

Well, this is what can happen to Hall of Famer Tim, who can turn from the nicest human being you’ve ever met to Mr. Hyde by somebody’s bad etiquette in a pickup game.

Hit him with a really cheap foul call or a dirty undercut at your own peril.

And yes he’s really good.

As far as we know, he was the only sportswriter invited to participate in Cal Ripken’s full-court games.

The Iron Man does not suffer fools or basketball weakness.”

About the Hall of Famer’s inability to stay warm:

“It’s bizarre, but the man has been seen wearing a wool overcoat in July.

The only conceivable explanation is that his large heart must draw heat from the rest of his body.

[Or that his blood is too thin.]

About his anxiety about being on time:

“You know how your Uncle Joe and Aunt Betty head to the airport four hours before their flight?

Well, he would already be at the airport two hours before they arrived.

He once was scheduled to be part of an early-season 1 p.m. broadcast from Yankee Stadium, and because of concern about possible snow and a big crowd, he arrived at the parking garage at 4 a.m. — and did a podcast taping at 6 a.m.

As it turned out, the game was postponed.”

[His style is relatable to me.]

About his performance anxiety:

“It’s persistent.

About 15 minutes before every show, you can find Tim wandering in the vicinity of whatever broadcast booth or set that he is supposed to be part of, talking to himself, going over lines, rehearsing thoughts, getting settled in his brain, sometimes with nearby players wondering whether he was OK.

‘Yeah, he’s just practicing,’ I’ve told more than a few, adding that Tony Gwynn, Jose Altuve and other greats also practiced a lot.”

About his humility:

“More than once, Hall of Famer Tim has called with a simple question–‘What is it I’m missing about this situation?’

He’s always aware there may well be a lot he doesn’t know.”

About his humanity:

“What separates Tim in our business is really, really simple, a trait also possessed by Peter Gammons and Jayson Stark, two of our former ESPN colleagues who are also Hall of Fame writers:

Tim looks for the good in people.

He’s well aware of the complexities of baseball and those who play it, but he looks for the good, for the hope and wonder in every game, in each day, in each person.”

Passan and Perez were no less effusive in their praise of “Hall of Famer Tim.”

Passan:

“It’s 2019, my first year at ESPN, and I’m about to make my first appearance on Baseball Tonight, a show I’ve watched since I was 8.

Nervous does not begin to explain what I felt.

I was going to fumble over my words.

Say something stupid.

Get a fact wrong.

The studio lights were bright, and this was going to be a disaster, and… suddenly a hand touched my left shoulder.

‘This is going to be great,’ Tim Kurkjian said.

Perhaps you’ve heard that Tim is the greatest guy.

That actually undersells him.

In that moment–in any moment–someone as accomplished as Tim could very easily keep to himself, and nobody would begrudge him for it.

Instead, Tim is habitually generous with his time, his knowledge, his words of wisdom.

When his hand hit my shoulder, it was like a muscle relaxant.

‘Just follow Ravy,’ he said, motioning to Karl Ravech, our indefatigable anchor who did, just as Tim suggested he would, lead us exactly where we needed to go.

I probably screwed up a few times that day, but I don’t remember how.

All I recall is the relentless positivity of Tim Kurkjian: elite teammate, great friend and, finally, most deserving Hall of Famer.”

Perez:

“He is our Tim Kurkjian.

The ultimate teammate from day one.

Always extending a hand to make us all better.

Always providing sincere advice and with a knack for getting the story without cutting corners.

Even if we have to be at the ballpark at 3 p.m., Tim is there at 1 because he believes that’s when you can get the best stories out of the players.

And better yet, even when there is a “lockout,” Tim shows he has a way of getting the story.”

Olney, Passan and Perez are broadcast journalism veterans.

MLB writer Joon Lee is not.

Not yet.

“When I started at ESPN, I had a lot of doubts about whether I even deserved to be on a team full of so many writers I grew up reading.

Before the pandemic changed our world, Tim came up to me at Red Sox spring training and greeted me with the warmest of welcomes.

As we walked around the facility, he told me stories about his career, how he transitioned from newspaper writing to television and was able to maintain his passion for his work over such a decorated career.

My favorite Tim Kurkjian story came at the 2021 American League Wild-Card Game.

Bucky Dent was at Fenway Park getting interviewed by ESPN shows about his home run in 1978 that gave the Yankees the lead in the AL East division tiebreaker game.

While everyone wanted to know about Dent’s most famous career moment, Tim instead talked to him about his time with the Texas Rangers in 1982 and 1983.

As I stood alongside the set, Tim came up to me and started recalling every detail of the conversation he had with Bucky about the trials and tribulations of those Rangers teams with the enthusiasm of a kid who had just discovered their passion and love for baseball for the first time.

Watching someone as accomplished as Tim still be this enthusiastic about random, mediocre teams from the ’80s was inspiring.

That after all this time, Tim still loved storytelling and was not jaded by his years of seeing how the sausage gets made in the baseball industry.

This is what makes Tim Kurkjian, Tim Kurkjian.”

Finally, there is a final word–words–about Kurkjian from former MLB editor, Nick Pietruszkiewicz:

“Sometimes the phone rings before 7 a.m.

It has gone on this way for more than a decade.

I look at the caller ID and just smile, because I know what I’m about to hear–that voice.

Few things make me smile or feel better at the start of a day quite like Tim Kurkjian’s voice on the other end of the phone.

Certain days the call is about a story idea, one he had kicking around in his head that the minute you hear it you just know it’s going to be memorable, because, let’s be honest, no one tells a story–on any platform–quite like or better than Tim.

Other days it’s a thought–what if we did this or I’d like to take another crack at that last draft–because he cares so much about the work, about getting it right.

My favorite calls, though, are the cries for technological help.

‘Now, Nick, I think I messed up on Twitter.’

Of course, he never did, but that doesn’t stop him from worrying about it.

During the dark days of the pandemic, when no sports were being played, together we came up with an idea.

The way it was pitched to others was, well, simple– “Story time with Uncle Timmy.”

It turned into Tim Kurkjian’s “Baseball Fix.”

The stories, like every one he has told in a Hall of Fame career, are fascinating.

‘Nick, I think people need to smile right now,’ he told me.

‘I want to tell stories that make them smile.’”

There you have it.

A perfect wrap.

Tim Kurkjian is a renowned broadcast journalist and well-deserved Hall of Famer.

He is revered by all as the ultimate teammate.

High praise indeed.

Maybe the loftiest.

But it’s clear that he’s an even better person.

[Editor’s Note: This piece was written by Mr. Kaplan in August 2022.]