Hot Rod Hundley made every play of every game sound important.
That's how I'll remember the Jazz broadcaster. His distinctive, raspy voice and enthusiasm will resonate with me, whenever I begin to think I'm tired of watching games.
When the news of his death hit Friday, so many Hot Rod memories came back to me — about how much he loved the Jazz and how he treated even a blowout with his full effort, from start to finish. "I take pride in that," he once told me. "Up 20 or down 20, I'm not going to let up."
Alzheimer's disease apparently caught up to Hundley, who died in the Phoenix area at age 80. His legacy will last forever with anyone who followed the Jazz during their first three decades in Utah.
Hundley called more than 3,000 Jazz games in New Orleans and Salt Lake City, and he made them all meaningful prior to his retirement in 2009. Jazz staff members responded by raising a banner in his honor and turning a standard workroom at EnergySolutions Arena into the Hot Rod Hundley Media Center. The display that covers a wall and chronicles his life story is "unbelievable," as he described it, using one of his favorite words.
It's true. And now, I'm insisting that the Jazz figure out a way for every fan to visit that room sometime this year. It's something they've got to see, to help them remember an unforgettable man.
The Jazz were the last NBA team to simulcast games, using Hundley's call for both radio and television. When they divided the responsibilities 10 years ago, Hundley chose radio. He wanted to describe the action, not have a conversation. "I can't sit there and talk about where we went to dinner last night, while the ball's in the air," he said. "That's not me."
I'm old enough to have covered the Jazz in an era when writers were seated on the front row of most NBA arenas — we were spoiled, I'll acknowledge that — and I sat next to Hundley for nearly every game of five seasons. Those were the early days of John Stockton and Karl Malone, long before the Jazz's biggest achievements, and it was fun to experience the ups and downs of the team through Hundley's voice and body language, sometimes visible only to me. He agonized about every defeat, taking the Jazz's shortcomings personally.
That's why it is kind of weird to write stories in the Hot Rod Hundley Media Center now, with "You gotta love it, baby!" in big letters right in front of me. If my accounts of Jazz games ever have elements of exultation about wins and bitterness about losses, that's the disclaimer.
Hundley was the Jazz's only continuous employee for the first 35 years of its existence in New Orleans and Salt Lake City. His value to the franchise cannot be overstated. He became many fans' primary connection to the team, and for a long time was as recognizable as any player.
On that wall at ESA, many of Hundley's trademark expressions are immortalized. Well, "trademark" might be the wrong word, unless we're talking about Chick Hearn. Hundley initially worked with the Los Angeles Lakers' legendary broadcaster, who later complained about Hundley's stealing some of his famous phrases.
"Not some of 'em," Hundley once responded, "all of 'em."
So maybe "frozen rope" and "yo-yo dribble" and "hippity-hop" were not original, but Hot Rod was one of a kind.
His biggest regret was never being able to cover an NBA championship team, having worked for the Lakers when they lost twice in the Finals to Bill Russell's Boston Celtics and for the Jazz when they lost twice to Michael Jordan's Chicago Bulls. He also told me he wished he had delivered a more dignified call when Stockton's shot beat Houston and sent the Jazz to the Finals for the first time in 1997, instead of "just screaming," by his description.
Coincidentally, I was in Houston when I learned of Hundley's passing. I listened again to that clip. His recollection of the call is too critical of himself, because the message got through. So, clearly, did the emotion of the moment. That was Hot Rod's game.
kkragthorpe@sltrib.com
Twitter: @tribkurt
