Al McCoy called games for 51 years. I met him the night he called his final one.
Yesterday’s news of iconic Phoenix Suns announcer Al McCoy’s passing hit us all right in the feels. Losing Al felt like losing a close friend or family member. He was a constant presence in our lives, whether through the radio or television, showing up whenever we needed to be entertained by Suns basketball.
Al’s voice narrated countless moments we now look back on with gratitude, but he was also the soundtrack to the team’s most difficult times. Win or lose, Al was always there. Whether you tuned in on the radio or caught the game on UPN 45, Al McCoy was there.
Losing Al means losing an irreplaceable connection to our past. For me, it feels like losing another tie to my father, who passed away in July 2022. He’s the one who introduced me to the Phoenix Suns, and with that, the familiar, soothing voice of Al McCoy. Every time I heard Al’s voice, I knew it was the same voice my father had listened to for countless years. While Al’s passing affects everyone in different ways, for me, it feels like losing another piece of my father all over again.
At 91, Al McCoy lived a full and remarkable life. From the farms of Iowa to the NBA Finals, he truly lived it right. His journey was filled with countless meaningful moments, and many have already begun sharing their memories as we honor him. For me, it’s one small moment — likely insignificant to him — that I will always cherish.
I never had the chance to meet Al McCoy in person. By 2023, I was in my third season writing for Bright Side, but I didn’t yet have media credentials — the golden ticket that might have given me the opportunity to meet him face to face. Still, I couldn’t shake the thought that I should try, just once, to meet the legend. That chance came on May 11, 2023.
Some of you might remember that date as Game 6 of the Western Conference Semifinals against the Denver Nuggets. But for others, it holds a deeper significance. This was the final game Al McCoy ever called. It was my one shot, and I knew the moment would be special, even if I never got to shake his hand.
I arrived at the arena as soon as the doors opened — about two-and-a-half hours before tipoff — feeling a knot in my stomach, knowing this would be the end. The Nuggets were clearly the superior team, and after the Suns gutted their depth to acquire Kevin Durant, it was clear they weren’t built for a deep playoff run. I knew it. So, I decided to make the most of the night. I paid way too much for an 805 blonde ale and made my way to my seat.
With an elimination game ahead of me, I couldn’t shake the thought that this might be the last time Al McCoy ever called a game. The nostalgia rushed through me like a shot of adrenaline. I remembered the iconic calls — the Rex Champman shot, the “Shazams”, the “Nash Ramblers”, the “Ohhhhh brother’s” — and I was filled with emotion.
Less than a year had passed since I lost my pops, and Al McCoy had been an unspoken connection between us. Every time I heard Al’s voice, it was like a bridge to those moments I shared with my father, watching and listening to Suns games together.
So there I was, sitting in the upper bowl of the Footprint Center, sipping my beer…enough that I had to grab another one. I wanted to soak in every moment. The arena buzzed with excitement as the marching band played, hyping up the crowd as they trickled in. I watched the players go through their shootaround, feeling the energy in the air.
But as the weight of the moment pressed down on me, my eyes drifted toward media row. And there he was. Al McCoy, sitting alone, shuffling through his papers, quietly preparing for what would be his final game. The scene felt surreal, as if time slowed down just for a moment, allowing me to truly take it all in.
I debated whether to go down and say hi to him. I didn’t want to interrupt his flow, his rhythm, or his mindset, especially before such a monumental game. But then I thought of my father and how much he would have loved hearing the story of me meeting Al McCoy.
That was all the motivation I needed. So, down the escalator I went.
I made my way to media row, and there he was. Small in stature, yet with a voice that had impacted more people than he could ever know, Al sat in his brown jacket and stylishly patterned shirt. I approached him, extended my hand, and he did the same. You could feel his years in the gentle grip of his handshake.
I thanked him—for the memories, for everything he had meant to the Suns, to Phoenix, and to the fans. He smiled warmly and simply said, “It’s been my pleasure.” I asked for a quick photo, and he kindly obliged, as gracious as ever.
I returned to my seat, grateful that I had taken the chance to seize the moment and thank Mr. McCoy. As the night unfolded, with the Suns giving up 44 points in the first quarter to the eventual NBA champions, I found that I didn’t care. I was at peace with this team, at peace with their fate. Most of all, I was thankful that I had met Al. Yet, part of me felt a bit miffed that this would be his final send-off.
But deep down, I knew my dad would have loved hearing the story of me meeting Al McCoy.
There are countless moments that may seem insignificant to us. A chance encounter with one may be a monumental moment for another. The Golden Rule, my friends. Do unto others as you would have them do unto you.
Al didn’t have to say hi to me, nor did he have to shake my hand or take a picture with me. Yet, his kindness and warmth will always be remembered. That’s what I choose to hold onto, among all the moments he’s provided me throughout my 41 years.
We all have our Al McCoy stories. Those moments when we either met him or felt his impact on our lives. Whether it was falling asleep in bed to the sound of his voice or hearing him narrate an unforgettable play, Al was always there. And he’ll always be here as we carry on his legacy.
Thank you for reading my story about Al. Thank you, Al, for every word, Al. You will be deeply missed.