Adrian Barich: We farewelled the greatest broadcaster, Dennis Cometti, but also a way of calling sport

Dennis Cometti’s passing seemed to me a little like the song lyric: “The day the music died”.

Dennis loved Don McLean and, truth be told, probably wouldn’t mind being mentioned in the same breath as Buddy Holly, Ritchie Valens and The Big Bopper.

When we lost Dennis, we lost some of the rhythm of our lives, didn’t we?

And as is often the case, you find yourself wishing you had talked more with this great man. How did he come up with the phrase “optically misted”? He was asking stupid questions like: Or trying to figure out how he developed such great timing. Remind him: “In your last football call for Seven in 2016, you described Tom Boyd’s match-winning grand final goal as: ‘How will he bounce? The stadium is holding its breath. It’s a goal. And the western suburbs will explode.’ It was delivered absolutely perfectly. How?

When Dennis got excited, we got excited too. The call for the Australian men’s 4x100m freestyle relay at the 2000 Olympics, the famous “smash ’em like a guitar” match, still gives me goosebumps.

It was a moment of pure, raw excitement, his voice hoarse and shaking. I listened to it maybe 40 times. And yes, you can jump in mid-interview and say, “That’s a new world record!” I’m still angry at the “private commentator” who said: Come on man. . .

Unfortunately, I also fell into this trap while working with him in football. Tell us about Bach’s encounter with the junkyard.

Yes, it’s true that silence has a different impact when someone like Dennis dies.

His passing was a farewell that made you pause and evaluate. Not just honoring life, but honoring your own life. “What really matters?” It forces uncomfortable questions like: And “What does all this mean?”

At this week’s state commemoration, there was a shared sense that we were saying goodbye not just to a broadcaster, but to a way of calling sports. When someone who is part of the soundtrack to your life suddenly leaves, it cuts out the noise.

Den, as we called him (comets on merry days), was the man with the golden voice. She protected her hair very well and always had hairspray in her bag, but it was her voice that excited us.

Cometti had a rare gift: the ability to find the perfect line at the biggest moment without ever appearing to be trying. Peter Wilson stepping up for a crucial West Coast goal? “A mushroom in the ocean.” Heath Shaw choking Nick Riewoldt? “He came after her like a librarian.” Tony Liberatore charging into a group? “He went in optimistically and came out optically foggy”. What about young Adem Yze? “Remember his name: YZE. Great young player. Bad Scrabble hand.”

These lines have become part of the fabric of the game. . . and Cometti-isms will be quoted where all football lovers gather. But the truth is that his genius ran much deeper than one-liners.

Dennis Cometti’s real talent was timing. Restraint. Knowing when to speak up and when to let the beautiful voice carry the moment. Even he had a favorite saying that blended his love of football and music. As the referees stepped in during a heated moment involving Andrew McLeod, Cometti couldn’t resist: “Hey, you… get off McLeod.”

A perfect nod to The Rolling Stones.

And then there’s a story that may or may not be true that perfectly captures his sense of humor. He thinks his predecessor gave him three envelopes when he took over as manager of West Perth: one to open when things were going bad, another for when things got really bad and a third for when all hell broke loose.

In the midst of a difficult period, Cometti opened the first one. Inside: “Blame your predecessor.” Simple, sarcastic, self-aware.

Things didn’t get better. He opened the second envelope. Inside: “Blame the players.”

And he finally opened the third as the club reached crisis point. Inside: “Prepare three envelopes.”

Classic Cometti. And he saved his best for the biggest stage. The 1989 VFL grand final is regarded as one of the greatest games ever played. He said this with dramatic and controlled poise, and when the game was over he said: “And here’s the siren… Hawthorn won by six points. Ladies and gentlemen, you’ve just seen a classic.”

He could have been talking about his own career.

Special praise goes to his family. Behind every man who rises to the top, there is a wife who holds the ladder strong and children who learn to share their father’s dream. Their sacrifices are the foundation on which His greatness is built.

Dennis Cometti was the GOAT: The Greatest of All Time. And the music of our lives will never be the same