Throughout Sunday’s game the Kansas City Chiefs will honor Mr. Kansas City himself, Bill Grigsby. Bill retired at the end of last season after 62 years as a broadcaster, originally joining the Chiefs in the club’s first year after moving from Dallas in 1963.
Grigsby has entertained Chiefs fans on and off the field for the better part of five decades. We remember his calls, commercials and, of course, his one-of-a-kind personality. There’s nobody like Ole’ Grigs, and there never will be.
In honor of Grigs’ career as a broadcaster, writer and entertainer, enjoy this excerpt taken from the book that features hundreds of his archived articles, Don’t Spit in the Wastebasket.
Published in 1982
It was beautiful. Those Sundays in the country, riding down gravel roads lined with trees turning every color of the rainbow. Cider at the orchard. Wine at the winery. Lunch at Marge’s. A guided tour of the place where McCormick Whiskey is born. The latter was educational, even if they didn’t let me sample the product. Something about insurance regulations. I didn’t even mind that.
And that Sunday we cleaned out the garage. A lot of sneezes from dusty books and papers. I guess I didn’t have to go on a nostalgia kick and read everything. But then again, how can you turn down another glimpse of your graduation class? Gosh, they looked old to the last late-bloomer. I was glad we found your gardening tools. I bought those when we first moved to the country. I guess I was the one who misplaced them six years ago. I didn’t know I had so many nails. Of course, I buy a full sack every time I need one.
And the trip out of town two Sunday’s ago. Williamsburg in the fall – what a thrill! Everyone told me you’d spend a bundle on pottery and stuff. I couldn’t believe you only bought a couple of salt and pepper shakers. I thought they were silver. They were pewter. I’ve got a Christmas surprise for you from that trip. I hope I can keep the secret, but I will probably break down.
Even the art show at Mark Twain Bank last Sunday was a treat. I think I already don’t go for that abstract stuff, but you seemed to enjoy it and that’s what counted. Oh, the dinner later in Westport made the day complete. We haven’t spent a Sunday in October like that in 20 years.
By the time I get to L.A., you’ll be rising. You’ll find this letter next to the schedule on the wall. You might think that I’m just kidding about the leaving, but the guys are back to playing with the ball. Maybe it’ll be a nice late January and early February. Tune in at 3:00 PM.
Funny, but I’ll always remember the strike of 1982. It wasn’t all bad.
NOTE: This column during the strike followed an earlier column on the same work stoppage. Fran and I haven’t spent too many Sunday’s together in the fall – always a football to kick around. But one remembers the good times.