A Million Stories

Several hours after Harry Kalas, Hall of Fame voice of the Phillies, died after collapsing in the announcer's booth of Nationals Park in Washington, D.C., Scott Franzke, who will assume some of Harry's play-by-play duties, took over Harry's innings in a contest between the Phils and the Nats. Obviously emotionally drained, he went through the motions and reminisced about his friend.

Then, in the third inning, Phillies center fielder Shane Victorino hit the first home run Harry couldn't call, forcing Franzke to tell the world about it. It wasn't easy. Kalas had made the words "It's outta here" famous, turning every Phillies long ball into an event. If you live in Philly, you've heard those words, and know what they mean. Franzke, trying his damnedest to keep his composure, mustered a weak "outta here," and tried to move quickly on to the next batter. He couldn't. His voice cracking, he sat back in the booth and attempted to compose himself as Chase Utley came to bat in silence.

We miss you, Harry.

Thou shalt not "profane the Lord's name," said a letter from the Pennsylvania Department of State. The notification was sent to George Kalman, a Downingtown filmmaker, who is in a legal battle to incorporate his business, "I Choose Hell Productions." Kalman and the ACLU hope to change a state statute that bans blasphemous language in the names of corporate entities.

The law dates back to 1977, when a Democratic state representative wanted to block a man from opening up the "God Damn Gun Shop." Which is not to say enforcement is consistent. The band Satanic Butt Slayer received corporate status in Pennsylvania in 1998.

Kaia Burke-Little is only 12 years old, but she's not scared as she takes the microphone. A crowd of about 30 people has gathered for open mic night at Art Sanctuary in North Philadelphia. Kaia, a sixth grader, has been coming to the Sanctuary since January. She says it's helped her progress past writing about violence and pain.

In her poem, Kaia expresses pride in her natural hair, saying that her thick dreadlocks are beautiful. Her voice is rhythmic and melodic, and members of the audience tap their fingers along with the beat of her words. When she finishes, she lifts her chin and smiles triumphantly. Then she struts back to her seat.

Technically Wilson Reis was the headliner, but by the time he climbed into the cage last Friday night at Connecticut's Mohegan Sun Casino, the crowd was thin. Reis (pronounced "Hayz") was born in Brazil and fights out of Philly; many of the attendees had come to see a New Yorker in the preceding bout.

Their loss. Though Reis' opponent, Henry Martinez, stood 4 inches taller, Reis spent much of the fight seated cowboy-style on his opponent's back, legs hooked tightly into his thighs. From there, he dropped heavy blows around the side of Martinez's head. The only thing that could dislodge him was the bell.

Reis was all smiles after the unanimous decision. He didn't even notice the sparse audience, he said. "I only see the cage. It's all I focus on."

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