Commentary: Joe Tait was fans' early connection to Cavs, a true professional and embodiment of a bygone era

The death of legendary Cavaliers radio voice Joe Tait is the end of an era in Cleveland sports, and also a reminder of what a great era it was, thanks to Joe Tait. Joe was old school. He worked alone. Eighty-two games a season, every season. It was just Joe, his microphone and you, the listener. My earliest memories of Joe are sitting at home and listening to the seven-game road trip the expansion Cavs played at the start of the 1970-71 season, their first season in existence. They lost them all. Then they lost eight more in a row. Then they won a game. Then they lost 12 more in a row. By that time their record was 1-27, a winning percentage of .035. But the Cavs kept playing the games, Joe kept calling the games and I kept listening to the games — almost all of them losses. But Joe Tait announced each one like it was Game 7 of the playoffs. He was unknown in Cleveland when he was hired, but he quickly became known. His professionalism stood out. The team's record didn't matter. That he gave it his best shot every night did. It was a different era in sports, much different than now. Back then, in local sports, every game wasn't on TV. In fact, very few were on TV. But they were all on the radio. That made the radio voice the fans' one consistent link to the team. Radio was king, and Joe was royalty. It was different then. Very different. As Joe was announcing the game at courtside, you could literally hear the squeal of the players' sneakers, and the bouncing of the ball on the floor as the players dribbled past Joe. There was no thunderous music blasting non-stop through arena speakers. No flaming scoreboards. No ear-splitting screaming and shouting, and still more pounding music, during the timeouts. Basketball was not presented as a non-stop, assault-on-the-senses, entertainment extravaganza. It was just basketball. A basketball game. Dribbling, shooting, rebounding, defending. During the game fans in the stands could talk to each other, in normal, conversational tones. Not just talk to each other, but hear each other. That's what stood out most back then. Joe's broadcasts were a one-way conversation with his listeners. There was a connection there, with Joe Tait courtside, telling us all about it. Just Joe. He was his own analyst, artfully interjecting snippets of critique without missing a beat from his play-by-play. In time he developed his own catch-phrases, pet sayings and signature shout-outs that he sprinkled liberally throughout his broadcast. It wasn't show business. It was Joe being professional and creative. If they ever build a Hall of Fame for such audio dynamite, "Wham, with the right hand!!" should be a first-ballot inductee. Joe pulled that one out of thin air one night, the way the great ones do. Rising to the moment and delivering the goods, the way icons do. "Wham with the right hand!" Sheer poetry. As always seems to be the case with the great ones, all of it appeared to come so easy for Joe. The game would speed up, so would Joe. The game would slow down, and Joe would downshift. A favorite of mine was when the game would get stuck in the mud following an indecipherable call by one of the officials that halted play. Joe would exhale with exquisite annoyance over the confusion, before going for the jugular: "A whistle ... and what?" followed by a pregnant pause. Then, for a couple seconds, Joe would go zero dark thirty, just to underscore the officious officiating that was interrupting his symphonic play-by-play. The "what" hung there like a piece of stale lunch meat as the officials tried to sort out the (their?) confusion, forcing Joe to throttle down. Joe didn't enjoy throttling down. He was there to call a game, not loiter at a bus stop. I mean, come on. This was a man, in that first year. who could make a 1-27 team sound interesting. In that first year, that first win, a 105-103 heart-pounder at Portland that improved the Cavs' record from 0-15 to 1-15, Joe made it sound like a win for the ages, which, in a crazy sort of way, it was. It was the first shared win between the Cavs' rookie announcer and his win-thirsty audience. There weren't many that first year, when the Cavs lost all but 15 of their 82 games. But through it all Joe forged a bond with his audience that would last for generations. His career straddled the basketball-as-a-game and basketball-as-show-business eras. Joe was great through it all, but he was greatest when the game was purer, when it was just his microphone, his listeners and the great Joe Tait. Contact Jim Ingraham at jingraham4@gmail.com.