Ciao, Frank!

Here’s the real deal about announcers: they’re strange. Anyone who has ever worked with one will tell you the same, and even announcers can’t deny they stand apart in a crowd. More specifically, they are (for the most part) an eccentric bunch, awash with contradictions: boisterous but reserved; showy but private; fearless but cautious.

Most of the announcers I know have an insatiable love for the game — one so over the top that that alone may be considered a bit bonkers. I think it’s heightened by being holed into a little booth for hours on end, or the phenomenon of being an integral part of the show, but being detached from all of the other players.

In the same breath, they are praised for their greatness by one person, and ridiculed by another who (erroneously) believes they could do it better. In that regard, they aren’t unlike the rest of us in this industry. Regardless, that sort of pseudo-stardom must get daunting over time.

With only hundreds of them in the whole world, I often wonder what a convention of horse race announcers would look like. Or sound like? I guess loud is a safe bet.

So, yes, announcers are a tad strange, but it just so happens that I have an affinity for weird. Will I be desecrated for calling Frank Salive eccentric? Maybe? Will he be offended? Unlikely. Frank knows the score, and we’ve worked together long enough for him to know that such a proclamation is as good as a winkie-face or a fist-bump.

More importantly, the fans love the eccentricity that fuels a race announcer. It’s not in-your-face, but it’s there — a subtle element of the voice’s personality that peppers their expertise night after night. It’s the flair behind all of those other fundamental components of race calling: timing, clarity, knowledge base, accuracy, pronunciation, articulation, etc.

It’s currently two hours to post time at Grand River, and this is Frank’s last night with us. Next week, he’s off to Florida, to start a new chapter at Pompano Park. We will definitely miss him, and the fans . . . well, the fans are alarmingly melancholy.

Virtually every race night for the past two weeks, someone has approached me with a letter for Frank. I’m not confessing to peeking, but on occasion, a letter not contained in an envelope has fallen open before me, and before I know it, my eyes are upon it.

No announcer will profess to be the show, but surely they must consider their contribution to be of significance — and rightly so. As illustrated by Frank’s fans, his race calls are the soundtrack to the harness racing reels in their heads.

They provide the musical score to the memories that fuel a passion for harness racing. Last time I checked, the master maestros of the world weren’t renowned for their normalcy either, so I guess it all makes sense : )

Good luck in the sunny south, Frank!