Перевод,очень срочно

"You had a lot of great times,didn't you,Dad?" his son David said last week as he narrated an abridged version of his father's long career. He put his hand on the older man's heart,reprising the question,"It was great,wasn't it?"Every announcer is nominally the "voice" of this or that team. Some voices become iconic,passed down through generations,cherished heirlooms of sound.Other voices arrive,and then are gone,sometimes quickly,the soundtrack of a season or two,the work of an able if itinerant craftsman. Dom Valentino skipped from here to there and then elsewhere.Valentino,who lives in Manhattan,as born in Brooklyn but raised in Hingham,Mass.,outside Boston. At 5 feet 4 inches,he was the pipsqueak quarterback of the high school football team,and when he turned to announcing after the military and college,he came back to nearby Brockton,setting up his microphone at a card table.Dom Valentino,a former sports announcer for a variety of teams,has been slowed by a stroke that hinders his speech. His voice was once melodious,his breath effortlessly powering a pinwheel of adjectives. Even now,he can still sound spirited and emphatic,but his phrases are short and occasional,and the words are slurred. This would frustrate anyone,but with Valentino it's even more so. He used to be a sports announcer.And not just any announcer,but one who had done it allin a dozen cities: high school and college,professional baseball,pro basketball,pro hockey. For a short time,he was even the voice of the Yankees,or at least one of them,up there in the booth with Phil Rizzuto,and Bill White,and Frank Messer."You had a lot of great times,didn't you,Dad?" his son David said last week as he narrated an abridged version of his father's long career. He put his hand on the older man's heart,reprising the question,"It was great,wasn't it?"Every announcer is nominally the "voice" of this or that team. Some voices become iconic,passed down through generations,cherished heirlooms of sound.Other voices arrive,and then are gone,sometimes quickly,the soundtrack of a season or two,the work of an able if itinerant craftsman. Dom Valentino skipped from here to there and then elsewhere.Valentino,who lives in Manhattan,as born in Brooklyn but raised in Hingham,Mass.,outside Boston.At 5 feet 4 inches,he was the pipsqueak quarterback of the high school football team,and when he turned to announcing after the military and college,he came back to nearby Brockton,setting up his microphone at a card table.
Valentino,a small man with a big voice,sometimes used his briefcase as a booster seat, He did boxing,he did Lorse racing. He did basketball and football for Boston College. He did play by play for the Cincinnati Royals of the NBA and stayed with the team when it became the Kansas City-Omaha Kings.Valentino also became a sports agent,concentrating on baseball prospects. The strategy was to sign them when they were young and ride the best ones forever. But this business hit a dead end."These kids,they sign with you,then someone else,"Valentino said. One out of broadcasting,it was hatd to get back in. "You're old,and they feel you might die,"Valentino saidTwo years ago,his son David lost his job with a building supply company.Around that time,Dom needed around-the-clock care. David moved into his father's apartment in the Olcott,a large prewar building on West 72nd Street,not far from Central Park."We've never been closer,Dad and I" the son said Back in the living room,the older man was watching television. Sometime,the ballgame came on,and old memories blew past like soft breezes. He said today's sports announcers lacked emotion."You've got to feel it," he insisted.