I first met Marty Brennaman in July of 1993. My older brother, Mike, had just been called up by the Cincinnati Reds and I traveled from Texas to Chicago to join Mike on a big league road trip and maybe weasel my way into a broadcast booth. This was a practice I had already pulled off many times throughout Mike’s Minor League career. Every summer from 1988-93, I would go visit my brother in the town of his assignment by the Reds. Billings, Mont.; Greensboro, N.C.; Chattanooga, Tenn.; Indianapolis ... and then Cincinnati. At every stop, Mike would make the request, and I would make my way to the broadcast booth. When Mike made it to the big leagues, I figured my luck would finally run out. MLB announcers seemed like untouchables to me. In 1993, I had just finished my final year of competitive baseball with the St. Mary’s University Rattlers. I still had one more semester to complete my degree but knew I wanted to pursue a career in play-by-play broadcasting.

So there I was at the Westin Chicago, and I spotted Marty Brennaman sitting with his son, Thom (then the Cubs radio announcer) at the bar. I drummed up the courage to introduce myself. I was expecting to be blown off. But I was offered a seat, and by the end of the night, felt like I was an actual Brennaman. They were so gracious towards me, especially Marty. The Brennaman’s talked to me about big league life, baseball, Harry Caray -- they told some great stories. When the night concluded, Marty shook my hand and said if I ever needed help, let him know. I did need help, so I let him know right there. Marty told me there would be plenty of time. He said my brother would be with the Reds and in the rotation for the rest of the year. Mike was sent back to Triple-A Indianapolis the next week. (My first lesson that broadcasters are the last to know about roster moves). 

But Marty did not forget. When Mike was called back up in September, he passed a message along that I could join him in the booth anytime and offered his phone number (in the days before email). I called him that winter. He was encouraging, yet cautionary. He told me how hard it was to even land a Minor League job. He gave me advice on how to pull it off and offered instruction on how to build a demonstration tape -- a “demo.” He had been a Minor League broadcaster. He knew the odds of making it were long and made no apologies for the difficulties that lied ahead. He told me to tell any prospective employer that he was a fan of mine. “I don’t need a tape to know you can do this,” he said. I took his advice, made the best demo I possibly could without any formal experience and pursued every Minor League gig available.

While applying for radio positions, my only assets were my collegiate playing career, my experience in TV production, my brother, and Marty Brennaman. As it turned out, all of those checked the boxes of my hometown team, the Double-A San Antonio Missions. There was an opening and I got an interview. During the process, I shared my stories of how I’d been preparing for this position, trekking with my older brother throughout his journey from the Minors to Cincinnati. I shared that I was unaware of any aspiring broadcaster (who did not have a famous father) that had a better residency than the one I stumbled into for the last six years. All of which culminated the year prior with an encounter with Marty Brennaman. I truly believe that my future boss decided that if current Major League announcer Marty Brennaman chose to spend time with Brian Anderson, then Brian Anderson must be a broadcaster worth taking a chance on for Double-A radio. In February of 1994, I got my first Minor League play-by-play job at age 22. It paid $25 a game. Marty was right. This was going to be hard.

Once I had landed an MiLB job, I was able produce better demos. On a few occasions, I’d send one Marty’s way. I sent demos to a dozen or so MLB broadcasters. Only Marty and Mark Holtz responded. Marty would respond with a critique and an encouraging word. On two different occasions, with the Reds playing the Astros in Houston, he invited me to shadow him in the Reds radio broadcast booth. He sat me between himself and Joe Nuxhall. I watched the legendary Reds broadcasting duo in their natural habitat. Marty was a precision-navigator. He’d weave his way through a broadcast, sprinkle in some stats, some stories, some silence, never losing connection with the game. His energy, his feel for the game, it was master class. It gave me a standard to pursue.

I later found out the treatment I received was not all that special. He did this for many. When I finally made it to the Major Leagues in 2007, I could not wait to walk into his booth and say, “Remember me? I made it! And you helped!” I could tell he was searching his mental Rolodex. I reminded him that my brother was a Red, and then he hugged me and asked, “What the [expletive] took you so long?” Then we laughed as I filled him in on the details of the previous 13 years in the Texas League and the Golf Channel. Marty had a huge influence on me getting there, whether he remembers or not. He had offered his assistance to so many aspiring broadcasters that the sheer volume of names and voices he had heard were impossible to distinguish. He dismissed his influence. It was simply a way of life for him. If you could get to him, he’d help you out.

Over the years, as the Brewers television announcer, Marty has been a trusted resource. There are many stories to tell. I loved rain delays in Cincinnati. His “Atta boy!” texts after big basketball or baseball games are so satisfying to read. I’ve spent many days in his booth either in Cincinnati or Miller Park talking about my future. He is in my circle of trust. I have been offered a number of opportunities to leave the Brewers and work elsewhere. I’ve considered a few. There are many who have influenced my decision to stay. Marty is prominent on that list. He has always been a sounding board. He always asks the right questions and forces me to dig deep on the ‘why’s?’

I owe many who have helped me find my way into professional broadcasting. Marty Brennaman’s kindness and unselfishness not only helped me make it to the Major Leagues, but helped me figure out how to stay. These days, I spend countless hours listening to demos and offering critiques to aspiring broadcasters who reach out to me personally. I make time to help wherever I can. When I hear a “thank you” from them, I always say, “... You can thank Marty Brennaman. I do it for you because Marty did it for me, and all I ask is that you do it for someone else.” Just as Marty asked of me 26 years ago. His legacy as a broadcaster is the gold standard. His legacy as a man and mentor for me, and many like me, is why he is so revered.