SAN DIEGO — Of course, Ted Enberg hears the voice. If America is unable to forget the rich, reassuring warmness of one of the best sports broadcasters in history, how could his son?
It's been five years since we lost Dick Enberg, the 14-time Emmy Award winner who routinely rubbed shoulders with a conga line of sports luminaries ranging from Lew Alcindor and Muhammad Ali to John McEnroe and San Diego's own Dan Fouts.
He covered Wimbledon an astounding 28 times. He called 10 Super Bowls. He sat courtside during eight NCAA championships at UCLA. He was arguably the most accomplished and trusted sports personality to hold a microphone.
Enberg, who passed from an apparent stroke at age 82, transformed images into elegant and insightful words. He was as much an artist as a storyteller who chronicled history, shaping moments with beautiful and poignant context.
And that voice? Oh, my.
"During the National Anthem, I do a quick kind of self-talk about being present in the moment," Ted, a broadcaster with Stanford and the Pac-12 Network, said of his father's longtime advice. "I kind of reach out, 'Dad, I hope you're here with me on this one.' "
Enberg was immensely proud of Ted. He would bring up his son's earliest days in their shared profession and their talks about polishing and refining approaches.
Nothing would make the elder Enberg prouder than the versatility of his 34-year-old son, who has covered baseball, soccer, volleyball, swimming and more. One of the hall of fame broadcaster's calling cards was the ability to tackle any sport.
An off-beat sport the two share is water polo, a connection that would have made Dick smile. As he neared the end of his broadcasting career while working as the television play-by-play voice of the Padres, he told a story about his fearlessness during his infancy as a broadcaster.
At KTLA, the station assigned Enberg a water polo match.
"I said, 'No, problem,' " Enberg told the San Diego Union-Tribune. "I'd never seen a water polo match. I wondered how they got the horses out of the pool and I had one week to prepare. I'm as proud of that telecast as anything I've ever done because no one complained about it."
Ted was equally proud of his father.
"If you looked from the outside, you might think, oh man, it was just easy sailing and he didn't have any problems," he said. "He broadcasted when his daughter (Jennifer) died and you wouldn't be able to tell any difference.
"When he called the Olympics in Barcelona, he flew back to San Diego for 12 hours for my birthday, then he went back. He was all about family and positivity."
The gentlemanly sincerity seemed lifted from a bygone era.
"He showed you can be at the top of your game or top of whatever you do and be a kind, generous, respected person," Ted said. "You don't have to be a hard-ass or a (jerk). Being in Silicon Valley, I meet senior VPs or top tech guys. People aren't very courteous anymore.
"My dad would treat people kindly. Right now, we need that more than ever."
Gaining age and experience showed Ted that the rare mix of astronomical success, humility and graciousness was his father's greatest gift.
The magnificent broadcasting tools were special. The person wielding them, more so.
"When (NBA legend) Magic Johnson got (HIV), people wondered if it was contagious or could be transmitted by basic contact," Ted said. "On the first broadcast he did with Magic, he put his arm around him in the opening shot.
"He told me he did that deliberately for the audience and world to wipe away any notion it was a touch-based disease."
It's impossible for Ted to mask the feelings of profound loss, even amid all those heartwarming and lasting memories. Dick never met his daughter-in-law, Sara. He missed out on the opportunity to dote over granddaughter, Maia, a twist of Riviera Maya, where the couple met during a day of beach volleyball.
Another child is on the way.
"I feel sad that he's not here," Ted said. "He wasn't there for our wedding, he wasn't there for our daughter. It's very rare in life to have that one person you can go to for advice who's looking out for you and is so positive.
"I miss the chance to talk to him about navigating my career, kids, everything."
A unique reconnection awaited, though.
One day, the phone rang. It was a representative of the HBO drama "Winning Time: The Rise of the Lakers Dynasty." They wanted to know if Ted would be willing to play the part his father.
"They asked, do you want to play your dad? I said, 'Of course I do,' " he said. "I was in hair and makeup and they gave me the sideburns and red coat with the NBC logo. I only had a couple of lines, but I was there at 4:30 (a.m.) and sat there for two or three hours.
"Then a golf car zips me over to this huge sound stage with a gymnasium and fake crowd of like 300, 400 people."
Lights, camera …
"The director says, 'OK, you're calling the championship point,' " Ted recalled, " 'Everybody ready on the set? OK, action!' There's no sound because everyone's fake talking. It's just me trying to call the championship point at the crack of dawn.
"The first couple times, I didn't quite hit the right note. But we eventually got it right."
How does a son carve out his own legacy in the shadow of a broadcasting giant?
"I think about that all the time," Ted said of the legacy question. "It's a hard one because you're taking someone who's achieved so much and entered into every major hall of fame. Dad told me he wanted to get in the tennis hall of fame, too, but there might have been some political stuff going on.
"But for me, like the saying, comparison is the thief of joy. When I compare what I'm doing to what he did, it will never equate. It will never be in the same ballpark.
"I probably won't ever get to that stage, but I can take his lessons and teachings with me and improve along the way."
A father's voice lingers, always.
