NOT JUST ANY ORDINARY JOE

By STEVE KING
I gasped and groaned when I became aware of the passing of Joe Tait.
It was as if someone punched me in the gut.
I knew — you knew, I knew, he knew, everybody knew, unfortunately — that the passing of the iconic longtime, lovable, so-well-respected and tremendously-admired Cavaliers radio play-by-play man was imminent. But when it finally happened — just after 4 p.m. Wednesday — it still hurt. Death is hard, no matter how it happens.
Yes, I know that this is a Browns website, but if you’re chomping at the bit to read something about the team, then, for today only, you’re going to have to go elsewhere. Yes, Joe Tait was — and still is, for that matter — that big, and his passing, at 83, is cause for community mourning.
Thank you. Browns fans, for allowing me this brief — but much-needed — detour
Just as a tease, though, there is a small Browns tie to this piece.
And here it is:
Joe was the best. He really was. And his strength was realizing the simple premise that people listening on the radio can’t see what’s going on at the game. They need a description of it. His descriptions were unbelievably good. You could picture the scene in your mind.
Long-ago Browns play-by-play voice Gib Shanley was the same way — “The nose of the ball is touching the New York 43, so we’ll call it second and a long four.”
Nev Chandler followed suit, and so has Jim Donovan.
Nice.
Joe always said that his greatest memories were of calling the “Miracle of Richfield” Cavs season of 1975-76. It made him a household name in the region, and it also put the Cavs onto the map for the first time.
I worked at the Medina County Gazette for 14 years when I first started covering the Browns. Joe lived in the southern portion of the county, in Lafayette Township, and loved our paper. Every year, he would serve as the master of ceremonies for the Medina County Sports Hall of Fame Banquet, which the paper still helps sponsor. As part of the banquet, the county all-star high school teams in every sport were honored.
I hoped those young people knew how fortunate they were to have Joe Tait at their event.
I know I — and my fellow staffers, including at the time Sports Editor Betty Szudlo, Rick Noland, Todd Stumpf, Brian Dulik and Tom Skernivitz — sure did. It was not lost on us at all. Joe would sit there at our table and talk to us, not about the Cavs, for he wasn’t interested in that conversation, but rather about the banquet, our paper and what was going on in the community.
I didn’t care what he talked about. He could have read the phone book — if you don’t know what that was, look it up — and I would have listened, intently, while on the edge of my seat. Just hearing that voice. It was mesmerizing. Chills go up and down my spine simply thinking about it as I write this.
It was painful for us — and obviously, I’m sure for Joe as well — to watch him age through the years when we would catch up with him at those banquets. It got harder and harder for him to stand there at the dais. But again, because it was Joe Tait, everybody was accommodating. We all knew that this was something special to which we were privy, and that it would not last forever but rather for just a certain segment of time.
All truly great things are like that. That’s why they’re truly great, because they are rare and stand above the rest.
But I won’t remember all the bad stuff, only the good.
And the best of the best with Joe was this, his call of Dick Snyder’s game-winning shot in Game 7 as the Cavs beat Washington Bullets 87-85 in the 1976 Eastern Conference semifinals at the Richfield Coliseum:
“(Jimmy) Cleamons to inbound the ball. To Snyder. Synder sideline left. Snyder on the dribble drive … he shoots … he scores!!!! Dick Snyder scores with four seconds left, and the Cavaliers lead 87-85!!!! The Bullets take time.”
Rest in peace, Joe Tait. 

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