When we think of our sports heroes, we often look back and wish they could work their magic just one more time. Surely Joe Montana can play one more year. Surely Nolan Ryan can strike out one more batter. Surely Larry Bird can hit just one more three. And even though he had retired twice already, surely Michael Jordan can give us one more circus dunk. I think when someone retires, it not only affects the actual person, but the people who have become encapsulated by their defined craft. That’s where I find myself today with retirement of Jim Ellis. I wish I could turn on the radio in the truck, on the back porch, riding the tractor...just one more time.

“Swing and a miss!”
“If it’s fair, it’s trouble!”
“Hot shot to short…could be two!”

These are just a few of the seemingly mundane lines that seemed to be dropped into every radio broadcast. And these are the things I’ll remember. Of course, we all remember “Grand Slam for Masters”, “All of the maroon and white…everywhere…celebrate a National Championship” and you could go on and on about the famous calls. But I’ll remember the detailed description of a Tuesday game on a cold February day. Jim always had the knack of making you feel as if you were at the ballpark, sitting right beside him. Mainly because he didn’t make the broadcast about himself, or his vantage point. He told the story of the game in front of him, with story-telling wizardry that made it feel like you were a part of a simple conversation between a man and his friends, while talking about a baseball game. And when he’d say things like “wow that looked a like a play we saw in the 1990 Regional”, we were all taken back years, in our minds, to those grand moments as well.
But that was Jim, the elite broadcaster.

When I think of Jim (and I’m hesitant to use the term “I” today, because this is about him), I think of a man who offered me my first job, fresh out of college. A man that listened to my broadcast tapes in the early years. More importantly, a man I admired for not hysterically laughing at those said tapes. I think of a man who always said, “when you’re home with your family, make sure your kids know they’re the most important thing to you. Read them bedtime stories, ask them about their day. Our job involves missing a lot of their milestones…so be present when you’re there.” And I think back to those words and how they made me a better dad. And a better husband.

I think of all the road trips. I never thought my first trip down a beach in Maui would include Jim. So many basketball games. Bus rides. Flights. Stories at the pregame meal. And the thousands of Diet Cokes.

I’ve always thought one of the defining moments of Mississippi State’s baseball history was his tireless work to build the largest baseball radio network in the country back in the 80’s and 90’s. So many people fell in love with Bulldog Baseball while listening to endless games, and for many people, before they ever witnessed a game in Starkville.
So today, we’re all reminiscing and thinking about the greatest college baseball radio announcer in history, and thinking about how it’s not going to seem right when a baseball season begins without him. We feel a little bit of emptiness. But I’m excited for him to finally be able to take a deep breath and relax. Come to some games with Ms. Jammie and get to travel more. And I’m sure he’ll take some trips in the spring to see some of the former players in big league stadiums. He’s earned it.

Thank you, Jim. Thank you for all you’ve done to make this place special. Thank you for your friendship and for being a great mentor. And know, without doubt or hesitation, you’ll always be the “Voice of the Diamond Dogs”.