Sorry Ram but anyone that knew Howard Cosell knew he was a heavy drinker. Al Michaels had so many stories almost half of the content of a book he wrote was about his drinking. I remember this story from when I was growing up.
Cosell and I worked together on a number of Monday Night Baseball games in the late 1970s. Our pairing became more regular in ’81, the year that the players went on strike in the middle of the season. Days before the work stoppage we were in Kansas City for a *Monday-night game between the Yankees and the Royals. Cosell and I both arrived at the Alameda Plaza Hotel on Sunday afternoon. The phone rang in my room, and I heard that unmistakable voice: “Alfalfa. What are you doing?”
Of course it was Cosell, using the nickname that Bob Uecker had conferred on me. “Nothing,” I said. “What’s up?”
“Dinn-uh. Let’s go to the Savoy Grill for dinn-uh.”
As usual, he consumed four or five glasses of vodka on the rocks before the food came. Cosell could hold his liquor very well, but by the end of dinner he’d had an aquarium’s worth.
In Kansas City the basic limos of the company that ABC used were stark white and twice the average size. We also had a regular driver there, a woman in her mid-50s named Peggy. Cosell and I finished dinner around 8:45, still twilight. We got into the backseat of the limo, and Peggy began to drive us back to the hotel. The route took us through a gritty neighborhood, and soon we came to a traffic light. On the sidewalk to our left we saw two boys, maybe 16 or 17 years old, in a serious fistfight, surrounded by other teenagers egging them on. Cosell opened his door and began to get out of the limo. Peggy screamed, “Mr. Cosell! Mr. Cosell! No!” I tried to grab him. It was too late. He was out of the car and onto the sidewalk.
I had a wife, an 11-year-old son and a seven-year-old daughter. Would I really fight a pack of teenagers to stick up for Howard Cosell? Should I tell Peggy to drive away? There were no cellphones in 1981; you couldn’t call a cop. Cosell was standing on the corner -- toupee on his head, cigar dangling from his mouth, ridiculous yellow blazer making him impossible not to notice. Suddenly the fight stopped. The kids looked at him dumbfounded, their eyes and mouths wide open. It was as if everyone was thinking, What the #%$*&?
Then Cosell spoke: “Now listen. It’s quite apparent to this trained observer that the young southpaw does not have a jab requisite for the continuation of this fray. Furthermore, his opponent is a man of inferior and diminishing skills. This confrontation is halted posthaste!”
Total silence followed. Then one kid said, “Howard Cosell? Howard Cosell!” An instant later they were all dancing around him as if he were a maypole. From somewhere a pen was produced, and Cosell signed autographs and patted the kids on their heads.
Reality officially had been suspended.
Cosell then reentered the limo and leaned back against the headrest in total satisfaction. Peggy was still in a state between shock and disbelief. I was just happy to be alive.
Peggy drove off, and about a block down the street she said, “Mr. Cosell, excuse me, but I have to tell you something. I have been driving for 25 years. I thought I had seen everything! I have never seen anything like that.”
Cosell took a long drag on his cigar. He looked straight ahead. “Pegaroo,” he said, “just remember one thing. I know who I am.”
Originally Posted by souljahbill
Bookmarks