I come to celebrate Munson, not to bury him.

I'm getting a little ticked at the tone of the Larry Munson talk out there, though much of that might be thanks to a few guys on local sports talk.

When someone retires, you throw a big freaking party and get them a pimp-ass watch. You don't act like they died.

We'll all miss him on the airwaves, and you know he'll miss the games. But everybody should be smiling for him. A career well done and loved, a legend in the state and out, Larry Munson.

His middle name is Harry, by the way. Which is both hilarious and fateful. And his birthday is Sunday.

I'll get the girl. You get the red and black cake. And the Munson rock the stadium cheer still must happen.

Tony Barnhart shows you how it's done:

As a green reporter should do, I arrived at Hemingway Stadium (John Vaught’s name would not be added until 1982) ridiculously early. But when I got to the press box, sitting outside in the stands waiting for somebody to open it, there was Larry Munson.

He didn’t say hello. He just looked at me and said:

“Hey, kid. You realize that we’re in big trouble over here today.”