Foreword by Bob Costas

Sometime in the early ’90s, Marv Albert was a guest on Later, the wee-hours interview show I hosted on NBC. At one point, the conversation turned to the many branches of the Albert family sportscasting tree. There was Marv of course, fabled voice of the Knicks and the NBA on NBC. Brother Al Albert, the versatile hoops, hockey, and boxing announcer. And Marv’s son, Kenny, then just beginning his career in New York and on network TV.

“Yes,” said Marv, “we are very proud of Kenny.”

“And what,” I inquired, “about your youngest brother, Steve?”

“Yes,” Marv intoned, “We are concerned about Steve, who for the past year has traveled the country as a puppeteer.”

Turns out, that was not true. But, dear reader, you are about to learn that, all things considered, had it been so, it would not have been the most unusual or amusing chapter in Steve’s career, much of which is rendered in entertaining fashion on the pages that follow.

Here’s something Steve and I have in common: Many of our best stories come from similar episodes in minor leagues or leagues long since defunct. Broadcasting minor league hockey into a telephone because anything more elaborate isn’t in the budget? Check. Harrowing drives through snowstorms in rattling jalopies or broken-down team buses? Check. Coach’s or team owner’s wife as your broadcast partner? Check. At the mic when arena riots broke out? Check: Me in the old Eastern Hockey League, inspiration for the Paul Newman movie Slap Shot, Steve at various prizefights where the violence was not confined to the ring. Lifetime membership in the Voices of Defunct Leagues Club? Check. In that category, though, Steve has me at least four to one: He has the World Hockey Association, World Team Tennis, and the World Basketball League. And both of us were part of the late, great American Basketball Association. In fact, Steve and his brother Al (sorry, Marv) both called the last game ever in the ABA, game six of the 1976 Finals, Steve for the Nets of Dr. J, Al for the Nuggets and David “Skywalker” Thompson.

If ever a league embodied both the ridiculous and the sublime, it was the ABA, which provided both highlights and hijinks on a regular basis. For a broadcaster, it offered a free ticket to the circus, a treasure trove of anecdotes and memories, and experiences both beautiful and bizarre. And since those chapters came while we were young and impressionable, they resonate all the more decades later.

One more: Steve writes about an errant pass by LeBron James ricocheting off his head. Well, during the ’98 Eastern Conference finals on NBC, Dennis Rodman dove for a loose ball at midcourt and wound up knocking me ass over tea kettle and into the first row of seats at Market Square Arena in Indianapolis. So . . . check.

To tell you the truth, until I read A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Broadcast Booth, I never realized how much Steve and I had in common. We have to get together more often. If only Marv would stop monopolizing my time . . . so annoying.

Anyway, turns out Steve’s a darn good writer. This is a rollicking read, telling tales of a Brooklyn household with three budding sportscasters under one roof (two playing ping-pong while the third called the action), the Hamster Olympics (let Steve explain), Brooklyn street games, and a Boomer’s bonanza of references to The Honeymooners, The Ed Sullivan Show, The Rifleman, Winky Dink and You (don’t ask), and Claude Rains, The Invisible Man. Because, why not?

Steve’s story is brimming with humor, insight, and good nature. I think you will enjoy it as much as I did.

                      — Bob Costas