The ultimate glossary of Mike Krukow and Duane Kuipers greatest sayings

Editor’s note: Throughout this week, The Athletic will profile many of the broadcasters who have been nominated for the Baseball Hall of Fame’s Ford C. Frick Award. The next recipient of the award will be announced on Dec. 6 at the Winter Meetings. Read all of our stories on the nominees here.

Find a Giants fan who doesn’t know anything about tennis in the late ’70s and early ’80s. Ask them to name five women tennis players from the era. There’s Billie Jean King, sure, and her brother even pitched for the Giants. There’s Martina Navratilova, of course. Chris Evert, probably.

Don’t be surprised if their first answer is Bettina Bunge.

For years and years, possibly decades, Giants fans have heard Bunge’s name at least a few times every baseball season. That’s because Mike Krukow learned a term from Bob Brenly for a fly ball that drops perfectly between an infielder and an outfielder. That kind of magic is known as a “Bettina Bunge backhand.” It’s a musical, alliterative phrase that’s been stuck in my head since the turn of the millennium, at least. Krukow uses it sparingly over the course of a season, but he always uses it at least a couple times a year.

Did Bunge know about her prominence among Giants fans over the decades?

“No, I had no idea until I got an email from the German Tennis Federation with your interview request,” Bunge said in a phone interview. “I’ve actually done a little research on it now, and I love baseball, although I don’t follow it. It’s very flattering, but I had no idea.”

It’s a Krukowism, and those suckers are the greatest gifts that an announcer can possibly give their audience. But as far as gifts go, they’re tied with Kuiperisms, which are also the greatest gifts an announcer can give.

Mike Krukow and Duane Kuiper are nominees for this year’s Ford C. Frick Award, presented to broadcasters who have made “major contributions to baseball.”

GO DEEPER

Giants broadcasters Duane Kuiper, Mike Krukow hope for a shared Hall of Fame celebration

It’s not technically the same thing as getting into the Hall of Fame, but it’s functionally the same thing. And according to the arbitrary rules of the institution, only one of them can make it at a time, which is ridiculous. It’s like bread getting into the Sandwich Hall of Fame, with meat having to wait indefinitely. They should both get the award at the same time, and they should share a suit with three-legged pants for their acceptance speech. Daniel Brown was way ahead of this idea, and he’s right. No one would be offended if the rules were changed to accommodate them riding a tandem bike from California to New York for the ceremony.

That’s not going to happen, but it’s time to celebrate Kruk & Kuip. It’s always time to celebrate them, but this is the time to really celebrate them. To do that, I’ve come up with a Kruk & Kuip Glossary, with as many terms and definitions as I could find. It’s an imperfect glossary, but it’s also a living glossary. Please add terms and definitions in the comments that I’ve missed.

Now that I’m greased up, let’s stop jimmy-jacking around and put both cheeks into it.

Kruk & Kuip: simply, the best!

Please enjoy, #SFGiants fans. ⤵️ pic.twitter.com/PA2cHtZET2

— SFGiants (@SFGiants) March 19, 2020

The Unofficial Kruk & Kuip Glossary

50-50 zone (Kruk)

A check swing that is neither ball nor strike, the boundary between fury and repose. A base umpire can choose to call this a strike, or he can choose not to. The reasons for either are whimsical and arbitrary. They can decide games and seasons.

Wilmer Flores’ check swing was most definitely not in the 50-50 zone.

60 pitches or less (Kruk)

The goal of every pitcher through four innings. Fifteen pitches per inning — every inning from now to the end of time — that’s the goal. If you can throw fewer less, bully for you, but don’t exceed the maximum, or you’re going to be out of the game before you should be.

Absolute pearl (Kruk)

A perfect pitch or a perfect throw. Note that 95 percent of all pearls on the market aren’t natural, so make sure not to settle for just any ol’ pearl. You need an absolute pearl if you’re going to get Corbin Carroll on the back end of a double play.

Action (Kuip)

When baseball gets fun. This is a ball into Triples Alley or down the line with runners on base. Baseball is a game of inaction most of the time, even with the pitch clock. It’s stepping into the box and stepping out of the box. It’s taking a pitch for a ball, which gets you one closer to the pitch you really want. And if you get that pitch and drive it, well, we’ve got action.

APWAS (Kruk)

An athletic pat with a squeeze. Something with a little more meaning than the typical butt pat. Don’t just hand these out willy-nilly. These are for special occasions.

Atom ball (Kruk & Kuip)

A hard-hit line drive that goes right to a defensive player. Typically, this is an infielder, with rare exceptions for an outfielder. Pitchers don’t get atom balls; they get balls up the middle that will haunt their nightmares several decades later (Kruk).

The etymology is fuzzy, but it sure seems like a portmanteau of “at” and “’em”. At ’em ball. When I found out it was “atom ball,” I took two days off work.

Ball babes/dudes (Kruk & Kuip)

The potential heroes of any given game. Their job is to collect the foul balls that go down the line, but they hang in the background like Chekhov’s gun, just waiting to insert themselves into the broadcast with humorous results. They can tumble, they can stumble, they can pick it, they can give a great effort, they can make the play of the year. Everything is on the table. The ultimate goal is camera time, which allows for riffing.

Everything is better with riffing.

Bettina Bunge backhand (Kruk)

A perfectly placed ball to the outfield that falls between an infielder and an outfielder. Kruk’s former teammate, Bob Brenly, would describe these as “Bettina Bunge backhands,” and it’s a description that makes the airwaves several times every season. Bettina Bunge was a German tennis player known for her one-handed backhand. It was a powerful shot that was very unusual in women’s tennis at the time, but she could also use it for perfectly placed drop shots between the opponent and the net.

Note: In our phone conversation, Bunge said that Tim Lincecum was much better looking with short hair. Agree to disagree.

Big-league hang-with-em (Kruk)

A rough outcome for a hitter. Sometimes it involves a sketchy call from the home-plate umpire, but other times it’s in reference to a perfectly placed, back-door two-seamer that just licks the edge of a strike zone. It’s a result that the hitter shouldn’t necessarily feel awful about. Sometimes baseball will yank on your nose hairs like that.

Big-league knock (Kruk)

A great outcome for a hitter, often a rookie getting his first hit. I would pay $100,000 for the feeling of just one big-league knock.

Bingo Card (Kruk)

A hitter with a batting average below .100. You do not want to have a batting average that reminds people of bingo cards. There is no B34 in baseball. There is no I34, N34 or G34 in baseball. There is an 034 in baseball, though, and if you have one, you’d better be a reliever.

Boiler (Kruk & Kuip)

A pronounced midsection on a male. Note that this isn’t the same thing as an individual who is larger than average. It’s a person who looks like he’s trying to shoplift a boiler from a hardware store. Head normal, arms normal, backside normal, legs normal, but in the middle, there’s a boiler.

When I first heard Krukow use the term, I was a fit, dynamic 20-something with my life ahead of me. Now I’m a squishy 46-year-old male who enjoys bourbon and red meat, so I have a boiler. Getting mad at it is like getting mad at the phases of the moon.

Both cheeks (Kruk & Kuip)

How you hit baseballs hard. If you’re swinging a baseball bat, and one buttcheek is heading toward the pitcher, and another one is saying, “Nuh-uh, I’m staying right here,” you’re going to hit the ball 140 feet, and that’s if you’re lucky.

When you get both cheeks into it, magical things happen. This isn’t just a baseball term, but it’s also a golf term, last used by me on the 14th hole of The Links at Bodega Harbour the day after Thanksgiving. I shot 150 or 160, give or take, but on that one tee shot? Both cheeks. And that’s what I shouted to everyone around me, who had no idea what I was talking about.

Calories (Kruk)

Units of energy that quantify how food can sustain a metabolism. They exist in every food item, except for the food that an adult is eating off a child’s plate. That food is scientifically proven to have zero calories.

Crooked number (Kruk & Kuip)

More than one run — and typically more than two runs — in an inning.

Look at the relatively uncomplicated lines of this number: 1. Not a lot going on there. Straight lines all around. Even better, look at the simple 0. There isn’t anything crooked about it.

A 2, though? Looking a little crooked. Don’t get me started on a 5 or a 7. Crooked as all heck.

Crooked numbers will wreck your game, season or career, unless you’re the one putting them up. Then you’ll be very rich. Crooked numbers contain multitudes.

Dag yabel GOT HIM (Kuip)

Man, I have no idea what this is supposed to mean, but it’s beautiful. Shout out to Carmen Kiew for preserving it for posterity.

Damage (Kuip)

The number of runs that the non-Giants score in an inning. It’s typically invoked after a tough, grinding inning, with lots of base runners, pitches and stress. It’s used more in closer games, as opposed to blowouts, suggesting that it’s an obstacle that can be overcome. The damage is two runs. Could have been worse. The Giants are coming to bat.

Dangerous (Kruk & Kuip)

Someone — anyone — with a bat in their hands. Do not take them lightly.

On Aug. 6, 1993, an Expos rookie named Kirk Rueter stepped to the plate for the sixth time in his major-league career. He didn’t have a hit in the majors yet. He was facing John Smoltz, who had made the All-Star Game the previous month and would make the Hall of Fame two decades later. There were two strikes, two outs and the bases were loaded. I’m not going to run the numbers on this, but it would have to be in the running for the lowest probability for a hit in the history of baseball.

Rueter blooped a single. Two runs scored. The Expos blew the Braves out, 8-2, and it all started with Kirk Rueter with a bat in his hands. He was dangerous.

Dart thrower (Kruk)

Someone with uncanny command and control. They can hit the triple-20 at the top of the zone with their fastball. They can make you think they’re throwing a bullseye, but they’re actually putting it in the drywall just below the 3.

Eats him up (Kruk & Kuip)

What happens when a baseball is very, very, very, very, very hard to catch. It can happen to an infielder getting in front of a line drive, a first baseman trying to scoop a throw or a catcher trying to catch a scud (see below) that bounces off home plate with personality (also see below). Baseballs are hungry li’l fellows. Be careful out there.

Elephant ear (Kruk & Kuip)

When a base runner has a pocket hanging out. Don’t do this. You look like a fool.

Emergency swings (Kruk & Kuip)

A two-strike swing where a hitter has no intention of getting a hit or putting a ball in play. The only objective is to stay alive. It doesn’t matter how ugly the swing is.

Krukow said that this emergency swing from Cody Bellinger suggested that he was looking for a curveball. Two pitches later, he got one, right in the middle of the strike zone, and he hit it for a grand slam.

Emergency swings can have magic in them. Even for the wrong team.

Excuse-me swing (Kruk)

A swing that forces you to apologize, almost always a check swing with contact that goes foul. You had no business swinging. Look at what you’ve done. Excuse yourself.

Free 90 feet (Kruk & Kuip)

A walk, a wild pitch, a balk, an error, a passed ball or a stolen base by way of defensive indifference. This is the cardinal sin of baseball. Unless it’s Michael Wacha walking two batters ahead of Travis Ishikawa, which is the Cardinal gift of baseball.

But, in general, you do not want to give away a free 90 feet. Those free 90 feet will doom you, every time.

Gamer babes (Kruk)

A woman wearing Giants gear. Sometimes they’re from Half Moon Bay. Sometimes they have a glove on, and they’re responsible for foul balls down the line. It’s a term that can inspire all sorts of dialogue, but I’m of the mind that it’s a harmless companion to “dude” in this specific context, even if it’s not harmless in other contexts.

I mostly want to know why so many of them are from Half Moon Bay.

Gloves (Kruk)

Things you should bring to the yard. Bring your glove, get a ball.

In 2005, Vinny Castilla hit a foul pop into the stands down the first-base line. I caught it. While video of the actual catch didn’t make the telecast, Krukow laughed at me, saying, “A guy caught it, and I have no idea how he did it, because he was looking at his shoes when the ball was coming down.”

You know how I caught it? Because I brought my glove to the yard.

Bring your glove to the yard.

Good Giant (Kruk & Kuip)

(also: Great Giant or Forever Giant)

Almost every Giant was a good Giant. Almost every Giant was a forever Giant. There are exceptions. A.J. Pierzynski is off the mailing list. Melky Cabrera didn’t get invited to the 2012 reunion last year for a good reason. Orel Hershiser did his best, but he can also kick rocks. Duke Snider will never be described as a Good Giant or a Forever Giant.

Brett Pill was a Good Giant. Maybe even a Great Giant or Forever Giant. This also applies to Tom Lampkin, Dante Powell, Shane Loux, Austin Jackson and countless others who were just passing through.

Tony Perezchica, the third-base coach of the pennant-winning Arizona Diamondbacks? A Good, Great and Forever Giant. That’s just how it works.

Good pitch, good take (Kruk)

A nasty pitch out of the strike zone that the hitter doesn’t swing at. This is some of the purest baseball stuff you can find. I’ll argue that the appreciation of a good pitch or a good take is what separates the casuals from the hardcore baseball nerds. When someone like Camilo Doval throws a 102-mph fastball an inch off the top-inside corner of the strike zone and a hitter takes it, a normie might be mad at Doval for throwing a ball. A hardcore fan — the kind who subscribes to The Athletic, gift subscriptions available — knows that it was a good pitch and a good take.

Greased up (Kruk)

A reliever who is ready to come into the game. One minute, he’s creaking and clanking like a ’64 Nova, and the next minute he’s greased up. Beware ungreased relievers.

Ground attack (Kuip)

An inning that’s a fortuitous one for the team at bat, even though they’re hitting nubs and dribblers, infield hits off excuse-me swings. The Giants have won the World Series in seasons where they didn’t hit a single ball out of the infield. Look it up.

Harvard of the West (Kruk)

California State University, San Luis Obispo aka Cal-Poly, which is Krukow’s alma mater. It’s also the alma mater of Ozzie Smith, Kevin Correia and current Giant Mitch Haniger. It’s a really, really good school in a beautiful city, with some hyperbole added by Krukow for anyone who went there.

I graduated from San José State, which is the SUNY Oswego of the West, so I can understand the pride.

Heighth (Kruk)

Some umpires give it, and some umpires don’t. And, oh yeah, Merriam-Webster would like to tell the nerds to shut up. It’s a word now. Language is fluid.

Highs (Kruk)

Anything above a 95-mph fastball. If you have more highs than mids, you’re throwing gas.

Home (Kuip)

Where you go after a walk-off win. You can stop at a bar, if that’s your thing. Maybe get a bite to eat. But eventually you’re going home, and it’s because of a baseball player doing a very specific baseball thing at the perfect time. Go home. Take a load off.

Horse laugh (Kruk)

A hearty chuckle, usually at someone else’s expense. Don’t be on the wrong end of a horse laugh, if you know what’s good for you.

How games get started (Kuip)

They start with a baseball play. Could be a grounder up the middle or a swinging strike three on a ball that hits Lou Seal. However the game starts, that’s how this game got started.

If he hits that thing, it’s out of the park (Kruk)

An attempted check swing that’s very clearly a swing. This is related to the 50-50 zone, but it’s reserved for attempted check swings that go a little too far.

There’s a very notable exception, however. If an opposing player gets rung up on an attempted swing that’s in the 50-50 zone, it’s a ball with a chance to go over the fence, too. That’s the official rule, and it seems fair to me.

Interstate (Kruk)

A player hitting between .100 and .199. Better than the bingo card; worse than the Mendoza Line. A player who has one hit in nine at-bats is on the interstate. That same player getting a hit in his next at-bat is off the interstate.

Jimmy-jacking around (Kruk)

A most grievous offense. It’s such a grievous offense that players adamantly declare that they’re not jimmy-jacking around. They’ll get up there, and they’ll put both cheeks into a swing on a first-pitch fastball. The hitter isn’t jimmy-jacking around, and the pitcher certainly isn’t. Everyone’s got stuff to do, so let’s stop jimmy-jacking around.

Laugher (Kruk)

A blowout. At least, that’s what the original term was. If you won 13-0, you won a laugher.

In the Mike Krukow Cinematic Universe, however, a laugher is an extremely stressful and barfy game, where the other team had a great chance to tie, take the lead or win outright. It’s when the Giants hang on by a fingernail and cheat death.

The more death was cheated, the more laughs in the laugher. Some historical records tell the tale of an “AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAAAHAHA LAUGHER,” but that’s unconfirmed.

Line drives (Kruk & Kuip)

Every hit is one of them in the box score the next day. A broken-bat bloop. A 47-hopper that refuses to go foul, despite the best intentions and wishes of the third baseman. A short fly ball that gets lost in the sun and falls in front of a center fielder. They’re embarrassing when they happen, but the Line Drive Fairy visits all of them in the middle of the night and changes them into absolute scorchers, and they will remain that way on Baseball-Reference for the rest of eternity.

Lows (Kruk)

A fastball between 90 and 93 mph. Note that a pitcher who throws more lows than mids can also dip into the high-80s, but that still counts as a low, even though it’s a high. You know it when you see it.

Magic wandoo (Kruk & Kuip)

A bat with magical powers. Some tell tales of being tossed a magic wandoo by the Lady of the Cove — whose briny hand emerges from the water near the Willie McCovey statue, but those are unconfirmed. A hitter with the magic wandoo cannot be retired. Refer back to the “Line drives” entry to get an idea of the kinds of hits this enchanted weapon can offer.

However, actual line drives and scorchers can also lead to a normal bat becoming a magic wandoo, at which point, the hits will keep falling, regardless of the quality of contact and exit velocity. The greatest example in my lifetime belonged to Terrell Lowery in 2000. The magic wandoo was so powerful that it consumed him, and he never appeared in the majors again.

Max and Molly’s kid (Kruk & Kuip)

Will Venable, former Padres outfielder and current associate manager to Bruce Bochy (the king of all That Guys, see below). He was almost certainly on the shortlist to replace Gabe Kapler as Giants manager, which might have accidentally forced an early retirement to the bit, but he declined to interview for any opening this offseason. He remains Max and Molly’s kid.

Measure (Kruk & Kuip)

What you do with a pitch down the middle of the strike zone that’s taken for a strike. You study it. You gauge the velocity, the spin, the movement, the release. And after you’ve measured the first pitch, you rake the second one. At least, in theory. One to measure, one to rake.

This one is also great for golf. When you chunk one out of bounds off the tee, that’s one to measure, and it doesn’t count. You get to rake the next one without a penalty.

Meat (Kruk)

An opposing player. A fan who interferes with a ball in play. An opposing manager arguing with the umpire. You, the person reading this right now, might qualify as Meat. Look, you seem nice, but you know what you’ve done. But it’s most commonly used to describe a player who just struck out and is heading back to the dugout. (See the entry for “Pine” below.)

Mids (Kruk)

Anything between a 92-mph fastball and a 96-mph fastball. If you have more mids than highs, you’re a pretty non-descript pitcher, at least as raw velocity goes. You can make up for this by being a dart thrower.

Minutes (Kuip)

Important measurement of time. You only get so many of them in your lifetime, and they’re precious. One day you find 10 years have got behind you. No one told you when to run; you missed the starting gun. For goodness’ sake, don’t just waste minutes like you have an inexhaustible supply. I promise you, they will run out.

This is why it’s very, very important to start baseball games on time. Not sure if the umpires are jimmy-jacking around, or if it’s a team taking the field too late, but c’mon. Let’s go, meat.

No-dot slider (Kruk)

The pitch that allowed Sergio Romo to pitch 15 years in the major leagues. With most sliders, the seams on the baseball rotate in such a way that they look like a telltale dot in the middle of the white orb coming toward you. Romo’s didn’t have it, which meant his slider was so good, that it could possibly force one of the greatest hitters in baseball history to look for it with two strikes and the World Series on the line.

Romo is not the only pitcher with a no-dot slider, however. Every so often, there will be a slider that is anointed with the term, and it’s the highest praise imaginable. What are you doing reading this when you could be teaching your son or daughter to throw a no-dot slider?

None speed (Kruk)

An uncommonly slow player. Please do not share this phrase with my teenage daughter, for I fear she will roast me into the ground with it.

Not a threat to steal (Kruk)

A player on first base with none speed.

Nutted (Kruk)

A baseball that is hit very hard. If you take one to measure, the goal is to rake a line drive that’s absolutely nutted.

Oil (Kruk)

A viscous substance that resides in the body of every major-league player. It’s what separates them from you and me. Baseball players have oil. We don’t.

However, that oil is kept in place by a thin membrane, which can be ruptured by running too hard for too long. Occasionally, players will start leaking oil as they round second base or head home. It’s actually a very serious medical condition, and it’s not funny at all. Hold the players who are leaking oil between second and third in your thoughts.

Ooooooollllld left-hander (Kruk)

A left-handed pitcher who has been in the league for at least nine seasons. Typically a reliever, and very often a lefty-specialist. In days of yore, they would often come with boilers (see above), but an ooooooollllld left-hander with a boiler is a vanishing breed these days. It’s the danged weights and the quinoa.

Starting pitchers can be ooooooollllld left-handers, too, but it’s rare. Madison Bumgarner was an ooooooollllld left-hander by the time he was 29, but if you called him that, he would have dunked your head in a public toilet.

Ownage (Kruk & Kuip)

Ownage is ownage. That’s the definition. It first appeared in the poem “Sacred Emily” by Gertrude Stein:

Color mahogany.
Color mahogany center.
Ownage is ownage is ownage is ownage.
Loveliness extreme.
Extra gaiters.
Loveliness extreme.
Sweetest ice-cream.

And it eventually became an official part of the English language according to Merriam-Webster:

When a pitcher dominates a hitter repeatedly, he is possessed with the power of ownage. The same goes for a hitter who dominates a pitcher repeatedly. They are possessed with the power of ownage. Ownage is ownage. Always and forever.

Pea-rod (Kruk)

A strong throw, typically from a middle infielder. A pie thrower could never throw a pea-rod. Less rarely used to describe a line drive, although that usage is acceptable too. Often found in conjunction with “absolute.” Heaven help the fielder who isn’t prepared to catch an absolute pea-rod.

Perfect game (Kruk)

The goal of every umpire. All they want is for every call they make to be a correct one. But almost always, without exception, they screw up a call. If they do it in the first inning, well, there goes your perfect game.

Personality (Kruk & Kuip)

The living spirit inside every baseball that can cause it to act unexpectedly. A ball that bounces off the lip of the outfield grass can have personality. A wind-blown popup can have personality. According to the history of the baseball gods, a trickster figure is responsible for this living spirit, and baseballs in play have been more interesting ever since.

Picked off (Kruk)

Mike Krukow, if he were a base runner against a pitcher with a good pickoff move. The actual base runner gets back, but Krukow? He’s out. (See the entry for “meat” above and “pine” below.)

Pie thrower (Kruk)

A pitcher who doesn’t even throw more lows than mids. He wishes he had lows. All he has are mids and highs, but they’re in the 80s, so they don’t count. If a pie thrower isn’t a dart thrower, he’s in for a lot of trouble. And if he’s both, don’t eat that pie. It’s got darts in it.

Pine (Kruk)

The wood that benches are made out of, particularly in ballpark dugouts. Although, I’m not sure if that’s actually true. Pine is a soft wood that absorbs liquid and requires diligent treatment. A nice white oak might work, but my guess is that actual ballpark benches are made from wood-plastic composites (WPCs), a combination of wood fiber and thermoplastics.

However, “Grab some wood-plastic composites (WPCs), meat” doesn’t have the same ring to it. So let’s all just agree to believe that every bench in every ballpark is made out of pine, and that the ones in the opposing dugout should be grabbed in frustration by an unsuccessful baseball player.

Popup dance (Kruk & Kuip)

A terrifying dance, especially in windy Oracle Park. An infielder thinks he’s under a pop fly, but, wait, no, it’s over there. Now it’s over here. It’s over here and it’s over there. Now you’re doing the Popup Dance, and it’s not very graceful.

Randy Johnson’s hat (Kruk & Kuip)

Technically not a term, but a very important part of Kruk & Kuip lore. During a game in 1999, Giants third baseman Charlie Hayes charged the mound to attack Diamondbacks pitcher Todd Stottlemyre, who probably deserved it. The benches cleared and the bullpens emptied. In the ensuing melee, the ooooooollllld left-hander Randy Johnson lost his Diamondbacks hat. Then he found it and put it on. Or so he thought.

This gets played on the telecast every year on the anniversary, which leads to horse laughs (see above) from everyone in the booth and everyone at home. Seriously, it’s the best. Mark your calendar.

(Note: Current Pittsburgh Pirates infielder Ke’Bryan Hayes is Charlie and Gelinda’s kid.)

Shinburger (Kruk)

A baseball that hits a batter or fielder in the lower leg. It’s named after the swelling that results, which is pronounced and round and red and resembles a mound of raw hamburger and OK, I didn’t actually realize how gross this term was until just now. Good gravy.

Sinker-slider guy (Kruk)

A pitcher who throws a sinker and a slider. Recent estimates suggest that 95 percent of all right-handed relievers are sinker-slider guys.

Scud (Kruk)

A pitch with none chance to be in the strike zone. Typically a slider that’s thrown hard and low, with a chance to bounce in the grass before the dirt around home plate, although it can also skip off the plate and eat up the catcher. It’s rare, but you will occasionally see a scud that directly leads to a shinburger (see above) on the bounce.

Slumpbuster (Kruk)

A hit from a struggling hitter. When a player is rocking a bingo card or on the interstate (see above), a home run is a sure sign that he’s ready to break his slump. However, a bloop or an infield hit can also be a slumpbuster.

Sniffing (Kruk & Kuip)

What you do as you run down the line on a close play. You sniff the hit. What do hits smell like? Vanilla beans, freshly scraped. The shampoo used by your first kiss. Those hot dogs with bacon and grilled onions outside of every sporting event and concert. When you’re sniffing a hit, you’re likely to get it. That’s because hits smell just that good.

Squaaaaat (Kruk)

What catchers do for a living. It’s what Kruk says every night when introducing the Giants’ defensive arrangement, and I wish we had the video from the first time he used it. More than that, I wish we had a YouTube compilation of people reacting to it for the first time.

Stankeye (Kruk & Kuip)

The evil eye, but for baseball. If a pitcher buzzes one under your chin, drop a little stankeye on him to let him know you didn’t like it.

That (Kruk)

It’s what you wanna get. It might be a Ghirardelli sundae, or it might be a plate of nachos. When you see it, you wanna get that wanna get that wanna get that.

That guy (Kruk & Kuip)

A former teammate, Giants player, coach or employee who has moved on to another team, job or role. You miss that guy.

The garden (Kruk)

Where you drag a hitter who refuses to make an out. When a pitcher throws a fastball, slider, curve, change, sweeper, knuckler, splitter, shuuto and eephus, but still can’t retire the hitter, he’s dragging him through the garden. This is also a term used for Chicago-style hot dogs, which are delicious.

Three-pitch see ya (Kruk & Kuip)

When a batter strikes out on three pitches. Also referred to as “good morning, good afternoon and good night.” You wait at least a half-hour for your at-bat, usually longer, and then you get up there and it’s a three-pitch see ya. Ouch.

Torture (Kuip)

Giants baseball, often. While this video uses a national broadcast, I believe this is the game that was responsible for the term, which was used often (and correctly) throughout the 2010 season:

That video is of a single at-bat and it’s over eight minutes long. Why? Because Giants baseball: torture.

Ugly finder (Kruk & Kuip)

A line drive heading toward a dugout, coach or ball dude, often accompanied with a high-pitched “Looooook out.” Seems unfair that the line drives attack only the ugly people. The pretty people deserve it more. Might make them ugly, and they can see how it feels.

Unbelievable (Kruk & Kuip)

Something very good or very bad. It’s the “aloha” of baseball terms, a single word with two completely opposite meanings. If a pitcher balks three times in a row to let a run come home? That’s unbelievable. If a batter gets his fifth hit of the game, with the last one tying the game in the ninth inning? Also unbelievable.

This word is used about as often as “swing” or “baseball” on the broadcast, so get familiar with its nuances and subtle variations.

Weeds (Kruk & Kuip)

Where you hide when you’re hunting a fastball. Shhhhhhhhhhhh. I’m lying in the weeds, hunting a fastball. Don’t make any sudden movements, or you’ll blow it.

What the little bird left on the rock (Kruk)

Poop. He’s talking about poop. And it’s used for someone who tried really, really, really hard to make something good happen. A pitcher who throws seven scoreless innings and is taken out of a 0-0 game gets what the little bird left on the rock. A batter who hits a 108-mph, 410-foot liner into Triples Alley that gets caught definitely gets what the little bird left on the rock.

Where it all starts (Kruk & Kuip)

It all starts with a two-out hit in the ninth inning of a blowout. Or a leadoff walk. Maybe a swinging strike three that gets past the catcher. It’s the beginning of one of the most beautiful baseball stories you can possibly imagine, but the novel is rarely finished.

If the story is finished, though, you’ll remember it for the rest of your life. And it all started with …

Work to do (Kuip)

What you say after the Giants allow a bunch of runs in a horrid half inning. There’s no sense crying over what happened. There’s work to do.

X to (Kuip)

It’s how many runs the Giants need to score if they want to tie it, and it’s x+1 to go home. (See the entry for “home” above.) If the Giants are on the road, it’s x to tie and x+1 to take the lead.

Yarrraaaarraaarrrarrrahhhaaahhhhhhhhhhhhh (Kruk)

What you sound like when you yawn on camera.

Yuckadoo hack (Kruk)

A both cheeks swing. The kind of swing you take when you’re trying to hit it to the cheap seats and not thinking about hitting a single the opposite way.

I know I missed some. I’m pretty sure I missed a lot. While writing these up, another one would pop into my head, and then another and another. That’s what happens when you listen to two people talk for 500 hours every year. They become a part of your inner monologue. They become an outsized part of your life.

Back to Bettina Bunge and her famous backhand. After receiving the interview request, the self-described “research freak” went down a rabbit hole and started researching this Krukism. She found the Twitter thread where I solicited Kruk and Kuipisms. She watched a YouTube video of a Kuiper interview. She casually mentioned to me that the Giants have the most wins in major-league history. Toward the end of our conversation, she said, “I’m going to become an official Giants fan. I’ll become a Giants fan and start watching. This is great. When does the season start?”

That’s right, Kruk & Kuip created a new Giants fan. It wasn’t the first time. It certainly won’t be the last. Bunge is just one of thousands and thousands of Giants fans who can trace their fandom directly to two of the greatest announcers who have ever been behind a microphone. It’s time for the Hall of Fame to recognize what we’ve known for years: These guys are the best.

Special thanks to everyone who contributed to my crowdsourcing request. Extra-special thanks to Philip Kalman, a Giants fan who has been keeping a record of various quips and turns of phrase from Kruk & Kuip for several years and was kind enough to share with me.

(Top photo of Duane Kuiper and Mike Krukow at the 2012 World Series parade: Thearon W. Henderson / Getty Images)

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Trudie Dory

Update: 2024-05-07

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