Barry Tompkins: Difficult times and a bright beginning

I wrote in this yarn last week about the suspension of Oakland A's play-by-play commentator Glen Kuiper. He got caught up in something every one of us in this business fears — falling over a word and having what comes out mean something totally unintended. Something that sounds reflective of a personal bias, or worse yet a racial, sexist, or homophobic bent.

As I said last week, I know Glen Kuiper. I know he's a broadcast professional, and I know his entire family. What I also know is that I’ve never heard anything come out of his mouth that was remotely racist, sexist, or homophobic. Not from him, nor his brothers — one of whom is the voice of the San Francisco Giants and the other a guy I’ve worked with for decades, who produces the Giants’ television broadcasts. In my opinion, it's just not in their DNA.

This week, Glen Kuiper was fired by NBC Universal, the producers of both the Giants’ and A's broadcasts. Glen had been behind the mic of Oakland's games for 21 years.

These are difficult and sensitive times, and all of us who do this sort of thing go into every show we do knowing that one slip of the tongue can paint a picture in the mind of an employer, fans of the team, social media pundits and the public itself that speaks nothing of who you really are. It's a helpless feeling. And I know that's what Glen is thinking as I write this.

This week, NBC Universal unceremoniously pulled the plug on Glen Kuiper. There was no trial. This wasn't only a case of guilty until proven innocent. There was no opportunity to prove innocence.

What happened, happened. You can't take the word back that fell out of his mouth. As I said last week – it was a mistake. It happened and you can't get it back.

Kuiper has been an employee of NBC Sports California (NBC Universal's local affiliate) for more than 20 years. I will confess there are rumors afoot about a history of the sort of malaprop that caused the current uproar. But I’ve never heard any rumblings of Glen Kuiper being anything but a non-biased professional broadcaster.

If he was a racist would that have not reared its ugly head at some time, in some form, in two decades? Simply said, what Glen Kuiper is guilty of is making a mistake. It could be that the latest event was the straw that broke the camel's back. I can't say it enough times, Glen Kuiper is not a racist. But the immediacy of his firing would certainly contradict that in today's social media world.

Could a sincere apology suffice in the interim? Then if NBC Universal decided enough is enough, at the end of the season it could fall back on the "We’re going in another direction" cliché. For Kuiper, the former is a career killer; the latter would at least give a good guy a chance.

To put it all into today's vernacular: It really sucks!

I grew up in a mixed family.

What I mean by that is that my mother's side of the family were all characters. They were singers, dancers, performers, gamblers and rogues of one sort or another. The common thread amongst them all is that to the number, they were really funny. If you couldn't tell a joke, you couldn't sit at the dinner table.

My father's family was as funny as a crutch. Humor in that family consisted of one brother stabbing the other with a fork. Laughter was caused only by a gas pain. The most stimulating conversation around that dinner table was a scintillating give and take on my Uncle Max's radish crop.

I mention this because my family is somewhat analogous to this year's version of the San Francisco Giants.

Until about two weeks ago, the Giants were my father's side of the family.– humorless and not very interesting. Their brand of baseball just about as fascinating as a radish crop. They were faceless.

And then a kid walks into the clubhouse as though he belongs there. And, like my mother's family, is a hell of a performer. And you know what? He's shown he belongs at the dinner table.

Casey Schmitt showed up a couple of weeks back, had three two-hit games in a row, hit a couple of home runs and lit a fire under this team. He gave it a face that was sadly missing, and he must be a heck of a joke teller because his teammates have been smiling since he got here.

Schmitt is one of those guys who hasn't taken a backward step since being signed as a second-round draft pick out of San Diego State in 2020, as a pitcher/third baseman.

He went through the Giants minor league system quickly enough that he didn't have to unpack in his journey from San Jose to Eugene, to Richmond to Sacramento and here in the space of two and a half years. Now he can throw away his suitcase.

Schmitt was considered the 93rd-best prospect in Major League Baseball at the start of this season. I don't profess to be an expert. But if there are 92 prospects better than Casey Schmitt waiting for their big chance, I will be more than happy to ingest a resin bag.

But for me, there's more than numbers about this kid (although throwing a 94-mph fastball from third to first is a pretty impressive number). He's got the ever mysterious "It".

I harken back to Tim Lincecum when I think about Casey Schmitt and the Giants. Both still had lots to learn; both just seemed to belong; both had a galvanizing effect on a team. Baseball is a 26-man game, but every now and then one guy comes along that suddenly makes the other 25 better.

Lincecum was one. We might have just said hello to another.

My mother would be proud.

Barry Tompkins is a 40-year network television sportscaster and a San Francisco native. Email him at [email protected].

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