The Death of a Teacher

Lots of people taught me baseball.

When I was barley old enough to pee straight, I saw a movie about a corn field with the guy from the Bell Atlantic commercials in it, and although I didn’t quite understand what was going on, Kevin Costner taught me there was something special about this silly game, something that went beyond the final score.

When I was a little older, my dad taught me how to actually play. He taught me that you score runs not points, that if you swing at three pitches and miss you have to sit down, but if you don’t swing at four bad pitches you get to go to first base, kind of like a hit. Years later when it became clear that my 34 m.p.h. fastball wasn’t going to get me to the bigs, he taught me to sit in the stands, studiously filling in my scorecard and cheering until my face was the same color as my Phillies hat.

Then, one evening after a Phillies game, I happened on a guy who seemed right out of one my old man’s union parties. He was on TV, but didn’t have the stiffness and apathy that too often comes with objective journalism. He was a smartass without being a jerk. He was bombastic without making himself into a sideshow. He still had his Philly accent and definitely wasn’t scared to be a fan. That was John Marzano, and it was never anything short of a joy and privilege to let him teach you a thing or two about the game.

Chicks might dig the long ball, but Johnny Marz could talk for hours about the beauty of a perfectly executed squeeze play. Strikeouts are sexier than groundouts, but Johnny Marz would be quick to point out that that double play ball is a helluva rally killer. All the finer points of baseball, the overlooked nuances both mental and physical, John Marzano was happy to share with the Delaware Valley. And never was it condescending, instead it was like a talk from your big brother before he took you to the sandlot for the first time.

When asked to comment about Marzano’s passing, ESPN senior baseball writer and former reporter for the Philadelphia Inquirer Jayson Stark echoed that sentiment, while also pointing out Marzano’s ability maintain the veneration of the people he worked with and covered.

“[John Marzano] understood his audience wasn't the players or the manager, but the people watching and listening. So he wasn't afraid to say what needed to be said. But he showed up at the park all the time with a smile on his face, was always willing to listen to anybody's complaints and earned incredible respect in a short time.”

I’m not going to sit here and pretend that the John Marzano’s death is tragically impacting my life. The pain and frustration his wife and daughters are going through is far greater than that of any of his viewers. Our relationship with Johnny Marz was one of post-game detachment. But for a lot of us who learned from him it doesn’t feel that way, because nothing about John Marzano was detached from the Philadelphia fan mentality. And I, like a lot of Philadelphians, felt a genuine sadness when I realized Philly-sports carnival barker Michael Barkann would never again excitedly yell, “Johnny Marz is in the house!”