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The statement was released through the Giants, but it was not from the Giants. Those were Duane Kuiper’s words delivered to fans as a whole because, as prodigious as he is, he can’t inform each one individually.
The Monday release echoed from phone to phone, raced from loved one to loved one because Kuiper is less a broadcaster and more a part of the family. Millions invite him into their TV rooms for close to 162 games per season. He teaches, he wryly smiles, he dryly cracks jokes; he is the fun uncle who is always welcome at the party.
And so, when he told his extended Giants family that he has a medical condition that requires chemotherapy treatment, it signaled that a loved one was encountering a personal battle. When a voice rings out in the TV room for about 486 hours per season, the relationship carries a real sense of intimacy.
Natasha Welingkar is 25, and once she heard the news, she reached out to her parents, as if a family member were in trouble because a family member was in trouble. Her mother, Uma, is in remission but fought through a cancer battle that sprung to Natasha’s mind as she processed the news. She lives in San Francisco and grew up in Los Altos, and her entire life has involved Kuiper being on the call for Giants games. She realizes the voices who have defined her baseball upbringing are getting older, but there is no desire for change.
“It’s just something that [my parents and I] think about a lot is, who’s going to be the voice of Giants baseball? And it’s hard to imagine anyone else,” Welingkar said.
Chris Dunne, now living in Turlock, read the news and immediately texted his wife, his father-in-law and brother-in-law. He was a late adopter to baseball, but Mike Krukow and Kuiper became his guides.
“They embody what it means to have a pastime, I feel like,” Dunne said. “You can sit around your house, and half the time you’re not even watching the game — you’re just listening to Krukow and Kuiper on the TV, and you know what’s going on. They make it feel like home. … They feel like part of the family. Because they’re there and even if you’re not totally completely engaged with the game on TV, you hear the banter.”
When word reached 62-year-old Dr. Daniel Cox in San Francisco, he told his teenage son right away — the same son who got into baseball as a kid and helped turn Daniel onto the game. He alerted his daughter, too, who is in San Diego. Cox’s voice was heavy and halting because he doesn’t want to lose Kuiper, too. Two years ago he lost his wife, who had cancer but died in a bluff collapse.
“It’s like one more member of the family who’s experiencing some tough circumstances. It hit me that way,” Cox said. “Of all the people — I didn’t expect Kuip to have to go through this.”
Kuiper, who turns 71 this month, lives between worlds. He can flash his big-league credentials and explain Xs and Os and strategy as well as anyone while calling games, but can self-deprecate his way toward relatability with his one career home run. He can be in the clubhouse and be one of the guys with players; he can be eternally cool and comfortable on the set; he can be among fans and smiling; he can make anyone laugh. And as Cole can testify, he can be a dad, too, in his literal family.
He is always himself, as he has been through 30-plus seasons alongside Krukow, which endears him to an entire fanbase regardless of age bracket or background.
Welingkar’s parents, Uma and Bharat, are from India, and Uma first settled in the Bay Area when she made the move to the United States. They loved cricket, and baseball was the closest the U.S. could offer. The broadcasters helped the couple get into the game.
“She considers [Kuiper] the broadcaster, if not Jon Miller obviously,” Natasha said of her mother. “And the duo … Kruk and Kuip were just always what Giants baseball means to all of us.”
Perhaps they are even better than actual Giants baseball to Natasha, who said the one downside to going to games is the lack of Kruk and Kuip.
The duo represent a lot to Dunne, including wing men. He was not much of a baseball fan until the woman he was falling in love with — Annie Alvira, who says her first words were “Hum Baby” — was already in love with Giants baseball.
“If I want to get this girl to like me,” Dunne said of the now Annie Dunne, “I better watch baseball.”
They began dating in 2011, and 2012 was a good year to be watching the Giants. He fell for the woman and the game, its daily grind an easy metaphor for life, and Krukow and Kuiper there to narrate it, contextualize it, giving it meaning while also consistently providing enough levity to remind it’s a game, and it’s fun.
“That’s when you realize: This is not just a baseball game, this is a story,” Dunne said. “You got these guys on TV and on the radio telling it to you, watching as it unfolds … Kruk and Kuip taught me the game as I was learning. I don’t like to say I’m a bandwagoner because I did know how special those [World Series] wins were — I quickly realized watching two more of them happen, and then seeing the struggles the last few years.
“But because I loved this girl, I started to watch these guys, and they taught me everything I needed to know about the game.”
Kruk and Kuip brought him closer to the family he wanted to have, and they brought Cox closer to the family he did have. He and his son bonded over Giants games, especially in 2010, before his son got more into basketball. His daughter took an interest, though, and then she was on the couch next to Dad.
Cox is into the strategy that Bruce Bochy was so good at, and he, too, felt like he was taking a crash course in the sport.
“The fact that Kruk and Kuip played ball, they just bring a different spirit to it than people who haven’t played ball,” Cox said. “I do appreciate that.”
Kuiper still will be heard on games but said he may miss a few more than usual. However much he misses the game and gig, the fans will miss him more.
That genuine affection is the throughline that unites Giants fans with their broadcasters. You don’t invite someone into your home for decades without considering the person family.
Cox, who said he was borrowing from Twitter, said “this will be the second time he hits one out of the park here, because I think he’s going to be fine.”
“I hope that he knows that we’re all really gunning for him,” Welingkar said.
“I hope he knows,” Dunne said. “I’m sure he does — I was reading all the comments today. It’s one thing to say, ‘Hey, we’re thinking about you’ — but I really did think about him all day. I’m sure there are thousands and thousands of people that have been.
“He’s loved. If he needs to know that, he should.”