One more stilled voice

Winter again, and here comes a chilled bulletin out of California to go with it.

Dick Enberg is dead.

He died of an apparent heart attack as he was preparing to fly to Boston, and there goes another voice of my generation, another piece of my childhood soundtrack. I can hear him still, if I close my eyes. Every sports fan who grew up in that particular time in America can hear him.

Dick Enberg? Dead?

Oh, my.

And now I look out my window on this gray day-after-the-winter-solstice, and I think how much Dick Enberg was always tied to winter for me. He did so much other stuff -- he was the voice of Wimbledon for 28 years, called 10 Super Bowls, called the Magic Johnson-Larry Bird NCAA title game -- but for me he will always be the voice of a certain winter afternoon in South Bend, always be tied to one moment in  January 1974, and one man.

The moment was Notre Dame 71, UCLA 70, when the Irish snapped UCLA's 88-game winning streak in the madhouse that was then called the ACC. The man was Notre Dame guard Dwight Clay, who hadn't really done anything that day until he rose awkwardly on the baseline to toss in a leaning, falling-out-of-bounds jumper that gave Notre Dame the lead for good.

Enberg's signature "oh, my!" was born that day, at least in my memory. It was exactly the right note to strike for a game in which UCLA was in total control until, shockingly, it was not, as Notre Dame scored the last 12 points to pull off the shocker.

And now Dick Enberg is gone. But that day, that moment, that winter, will never be.