Kovacevic: Lange expertly, eloquently bridged Penguins with Pittsburgh

My Mom knew it was there. She had to.

I slept on the upper bunk as a young child, and my pillow wasn't all that puffy. So when she'd pop into the bedroom to spy on whether or not my brother and I were asleep, it's inconceivable that she wouldn't have spotted my head being propped up at some absurd angle ... because of the phone-book-thick transistor radio under that pillow.

Maybe the game was in L.A., maybe in Vancouver, but it'd be a 10:35 p.m. Eastern faceoff, way too late for any self-respecting child. Unless, of course, that child was really, really invested in the proceedings being aired.

Mike Lange made us all invested. He made us all care about the Pittsburgh Penguins.

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Mike Lange and Phil Bourque in the PPG Paints Arena broadcast booth.

And there's where I'm going on this Tuesday after our city's greatest play-by-play voice ever -- I'll accept no arguments to the contrary, with all due respect to the rest -- announced his retirement from the broadcast booth after 46 exemplary years on the job. I'll leave the goal calls, the catchphrases, the bar tab for Sam's dog, the monkey sales, the moose fleeing Harleys and all that to others.

In my eyes, Lange has always towered above all of that, and I'll put forth a hat trick of ways he's done so:

1. The connection.

Anyone who shrugged at my reference above to a transistor radio -- or a phone book, for that matter -- can't appreciate this, but there was a time when our only avenue for following the Penguins or hockey was through this one individual. He did most games by himself back then, and only a handful all season were on TV. So for those of us who couldn't get to the Civic Arena in the 1970s, he was it.

And he loved it. I could tell back then, and he'd told me many times since: He wasn't just the voice. He was our eyes and ears. He was simultaneously explaining and educating a fan base that was infinitely more tuned in to the championship Steelers and championship Pirates. If that seems like a near-impossibility today, know only that I'm actually understating that. The Penguins were a terribly distant third in town and yet, because of his professionalism and passion, we kept tuning in. He alone made the team feel big-time.

More important, he made us feel big-time, too. There isn't a fan in the base who can't relate to the feeling when Lange would welcome us into the 'Night Owl Club' with any game that pushed past midnight. And he'd do it right with the strike of the clock. Every. Single. Time. What's more, he'd aim that toward kids, often whispering those words as if we all were sharing some awesome secret.

Picture this man, in a press box in L.A. or Vancouver, waiting for 9 p.m. local time to do that with us. Picture that level of attentiveness to the listener.

2. The anticipation.

The hardest part of hockey play-by-play, as anyone learning it will attest, is keeping up with the fast-paced action.

When listening to Lange, it seemed as if the game couldn't keep up with him.

Close the eyes and envision Lange describing a mythical sequence in the Penguins' zone. They've been stuck there for a while.

'Hillier tries to clear, can't get it out. Boy, you can really feel the Capitals coming now. The puck's down deep. Wregget thinks about coming out, thinks better of it. The Caps are bringing it now, and you've gotta watch it. Here's Pivonka with a center feed now ... Bondra SHOOTS ... and Wregget the save! Puck goes across to Hatcher now ... another shot ... and Wregget SAYS NO!'

It's at this point that his intonation's changed. Maybe even he didn't realize he'd do this, but there was definitely a defensive-urgency sound he'd bring in these settings. With two distinct dialects, one being excitement that the Penguins were defending it well, the other being dread that Washington was about to pump one behind Ken Wregget.

'Caps just relentless now, the Penguins have some tired bodies out there ... and now Zalapski finally recovers to take the heat ... out of a hot kitchen!'

And with that clearance, he'd exhale. As would we all.

While at the same time sensing through his intonation what was going to happen, anyway.

To put that into a real-world setting now:

Wow. Just wow. He knew. He didn't need the rebound to reach Mario Lemieux's blade. He didn't need Larry Murphy to whip that point shot through. He probably didn't need Ron Francis to clean up on the draw. He just felt what'd been building all night, from both the Pittsburgh and Chicago perspectives and let it all fly.

It's an amazing gift, one I've never heard matched in any sporting walk of life.

3. The professionalism.

There's that word again, and I can't overuse it in this context.

It'd be easy to think of Lange as some ... I don't know, cartoon character with all the fun he had. But what I was blessed to be able to witness later in life was a man dedicated to performing at the highest level of his craft right to the end. 

Just as I'd seen him working both teams' locker rooms every morning at the skates, trying to soak up stories and information to share, I'd also seen him planted in his booth or the media lounge hours before faceoff arranging his notes, all hand-written. He probably didn't need to do much of that beyond the, oh, quarter-century pole of his career. He could’ve just shown up, shouted 'MAKE ME A MILKSHAKE MALKIN!' and everyone would've been fine with it. But he didn't. I saw zero variance in that work ethic, right to his now-final day in that booth before Game 5 against the Islanders.

This is how one achieves excellence.

I'll miss him. I'll miss the stories, the laughs and that hilariously disdainful look he'd shoot my way every time he'd see that I made the Winnipeg trip. (Thought it was a really weird thing, and was among the few to say so!) I'm proud beyond words to have shared a workplace with him, never mind to have been the one to document his well-earned induction into the Hall of Fame 20 years ago this summer.

But I can't lie: I'll miss that voice over this beautiful game most of all. There's never been a more perfect match.

• Watch this. Lovingly done by the team:

• Not everything went smoothly between Lange and the team over the years, but all concerned couldn't have handled his final period any better, from David Morehouse on down. And that goes double for the broadcasting team of Steve Mears, Josh Getzoff, Bob Errey and above all, Lange's partner and great friend, Phil Bourque. Nothing but bona fide respect -- no, reverence -- to the end.

• One of the things that's made the Penguins what they are is that they've been fortunate to find people who care deeply about the brand. Everyone mentioned in the previous paragraph cares. And the respect's passed down. Ryan Mill's been an excellent successor to John Barbero, for example, in the P.A. role. Mears and Getzoff are cut from similar cloth as Mill, aware of who and what preceded them but very much their own individuals. They'll be fixtures.

• We talk a lot about statues around here, who should get one, who shouldn't. The scope of Lange's contribution to the Penguins can't ever be matched by anyone in his profession. Just saying. Doesn't need to be Mario-sized, and doesn't even need to be an actual statue. But fans of future generations should always have an easy way at PPG Paints Arena to find out who all helped build the place.

• Hard for me to write about anything else, really.

Do I have to?

OK, then ...

EDDIE PROVIDENT / DKPS

Dwayne Haskins runs through a drill Monday at Heinz Field.

• It shouldn't matter much what Dwayne Haskins achieves in any non-exhibition training camp setting toward his ultimate slot on the depth chart. But it should matter toward his exhibition usage.

Which is to say, I'm hoping to see a lot of him Thursday night in Philadelphia. As in starting.

Because what I'm seeing at Heinz Field in team drills is bordering on special, and yeah, I'm comfortable stating that even while realizing he didn't look quite as crisp last Thursday in Canton. He's making every pass. He's creating offense singularly at times. He's carrying himself with confidence. And this is the time to at least try to seize upon that in the best setting available.

Repeating for emphasis: He's throwing the best balls in camp.

• Extension for Joe Haden?

For a 32-year-old corner already signed for the coming season?

Eh.

Don't get me wrong. I love the player, the guy, everything. The man singlehandedly transformed a decade-long team weakness into a strength. He's been all that and then some. What's more, he showed he's still got it all through 2020.

But if he's as eager to sign as he sounded Monday in the one-on-one with our Dale Lolley, then there's no real rush. Just because there's currently a load of cap space for 2022 doesn't mean it's all got to be committed. Remember, a big chunk of that might need to go to a quarterback. Not to mention T.J. Watt and Minkah Fitzpatrick.

• The Pirates have precisely 50 games remaining, beginning tonight against the Cardinals at PNC Park, and they'd need to go 22-28 to avoid 100 losses.

That's not happening.

I often write -- and did back in spring training -- that it's awfully hard to lose 100, and it's almost always foolish to forecast on that count alone. But let the record, meaning the literal 41-71 record they're carrying, underscore that a lot went wrong in 2021. I realize this is obvious, but it feels like too much happy-happy can come from a franchise in this natal stage of building because expectations were so low. Well, they should never involve 100 losses. For every Bryan Reynolds, there's been a Kevin Newman. For every JT Brubaker, there's been a Mitch Keller.

This isn't acceptable.

• Not that it'll stop me from bouncing over to the ballpark. I'll be there all day and night for the live coverage, as well as tomorrow's 10 Takes.