Mike Shannon died on Saturday night. In St. Louis, it would be hard to write a more compelling headline.
Shannon was a former Cardinals player and in a town where baseball is the suggested daily dosage, that alone made him special. Under the Gateway Arch, Cardinal red isn’t just a color, it’s a way of life.
But Shannon was more than a baseball card, much more. Not only did he wear birds on the bat, he grew up with them. He probably remains the most talented athlete ever to come out of St. Louis. As a senior at CBC High, he was the 1957 Missouri High School Player of the Year in both football and basketball. Sixty-six years later, he is still the only kid to win both awards in the same year.
Repeat, that was “football and basketball,” not baseball.
Every school in the country wanted him but he stayed home and went to Missouri, where coach Frank Broyles suggested he might win a Heisman Trophy. But when the Cardinals offered a signing bonus in 1958, circle got the square.
Mike Shannon went from a fleet-footed, strong-armed quarterback to a fleet-footed, strong-armed outfielder. He made it to the big leagues in 1962 and became part of three pennants and two world championships during the decade. When the Cardinals upset the New York Yankees in the ‘64 Classic, the local product homered off Whitey Ford in Game 1.
“I was pinching myself,” Shannon said years later. “Even I can’t dream that big, and I’m a pretty big dreamer.”
The monstrous blow slammed into the Busch Stadium scoreboard above the left-field wall and broke the “u” in the neon “Budweiser” sign. Later, as Shannon left the dugout, he was called over to the owner’s box. Gussie Busch was sitting with John Kern, the man who built the sign, and Kern showed Shannon an invoice for the cost to replace the sign. As Shannon contemplated forfeiture of his entire World Series share, Busch grabbed the paper.
“That’s all right son,” Busch bellowed in his gravel-choked voice. “I’ll take care of that. Hell, you can tear that whole God—- scoreboard down if you want.”
Why Mike Shannon never left home
In the end, Mike Shannon never wore another uniform. He wasn’t just a hometown hero, he was among rarest of professional athletes — heroes that stay home. After nine seasons with the Cardinals, Shannon had to retire at age 30 with a life-threatening kidney ailment — nephritis. He survived and from that time forward, determined he would never again be shortchanged.
As mentioned, all of these things made Mike Shannon royalty in St. Louis. But what made him synonymous with this town is the association with which every baseball town in America can relate. When his playing career ended, Shannon entered the team’s broadcast booth. He would not leave until the end of the 2021 season, 50 years later.
In short, his voice became the sound of baseball. In Los Angeles, it sounded like Vin Scully. In New York, like Mel Allen and Phil Rizzuto. Wherever you live, it has sounded like someone, like Harry Caray, Ernie Harwell, Bob Prince, Milo Hamilton …
They weren’t just voices, they’re more like the Beach Boys. They’re what summer have sounded like. They were soundtracks, theme songs, baseball by the decibels. His predecessor, Jack Buck, was considerably more polished product — Shannon was a warrior, not a wordsmith. He was thoroughly fallible, seldom flashy.
The metaphors could be mixed and the expressions quirky. He had a different way of saying things, and a different way of seeing them. To those who knew him well, the peculiarities led to Shannon’s nicknames, “Moon,” or “Moon Man.” His former teammate Tim McCarver once was asked why Shannon carried such monikers, and he gave a quick answer: “Just think about it.”
But there was something organic and engaging about it. Mike Shannon’s favorite expression, “Ol’ Abner has done it again” wasn’t especially insightful or profound — Ol’ Abner has done what? And why has he done it? It was painfully corny, but famously folksy and completely endearing.
When Shannon begged fly balls to “Get up, baby,” the hopeful plea belonged almost exclusively to his radio audience. Those watching could see if it was a home run. And when he said things like, “It’s raining like a Chinese fire drill!” … well, you couldn’t help but scratch your head and laugh.
Time has beat up on the ’64 Cardinals lately. Bob Gibson died late in 2020, Lou Brock a few weeks earlier. Curt Simmons died late last year, McCarver in February. Dick Groat’s death was announced just two days before Shannon’s passing.
Mike Shannon was 83 and the last few years have been tough. He was hit hard by COVID-19 in late 2020, spent 15 days in a hospital, some of it in an induced coma. He pulled through, but not unscathed. He returned to a limited schedule in 2021, but his energy was depleted and his cadence compromised. He had lost some zip off his fastball, as he might put it, and there was no hiding it.
But he still took the ball, still kept chucking. He got in his 50th season, and for Cardinals fans who appreciated what it meant, those who loved him, the feat was a blessing.
“One of a kind” is an expression that gets overused in epitaphs. Think about it, there can only be one of a kind. But in Mike Shannon’s case, no other description fits. He lived life to the fullest, played hard ball between the lines and out. He wasn’t perfect, by any stretch of the imagination.
He was just perfect for St. Louis.
Dan O’Neill writes columns for Sportsnaut. Follow him on Twitter at @WWDOD