SAD NEWS: “He’s My Brother” — Duane Kuiper’s Tearful Tribute to Mike Krukow Reminds Fans That Some Bonds Are Forged Not by Blood, But by Baseball and Love
For more than three decades, they’ve been inseparable. The voices of summer nights in San Francisco. The laughter behind the microphones. The heart of Giants baseball.
But this week, as Mike Krukow’s health continues to decline, his longtime broadcast partner and best friend, Duane Kuiper, spoke words that broke through even the toughest fans’ composure.
“He’s my brother,” Kuiper said quietly during a pregame segment. His voice trembled, his eyes welled, and for a moment, Oracle Park fell silent.
It wasn’t just a farewell. It was a love letter — to friendship, to resilience, to the kind of connection that makes sports so much more than a game.
Krukow, who has been battling inclusion body myositis, a rare degenerative muscle disease, has gradually stepped back from his full-time broadcasting duties. His voice — still warm, sharp, and full of humor — now reaches fans from his home in San Luis Obispo, where he records remote segments when he can. But the empty chair beside Kuiper in the booth has become a painful symbol of time’s quiet cruelty.
“You can’t fake what we had,” Kuiper told reporters later. “We didn’t just work together. We lived life together — families, losses, laughter. He’s my guy.”
Fans who grew up with Kruk & Kuip know exactly what he means. Their chemistry was effortless, their banter timeless — a blend of comedy, storytelling, and pure love for baseball. Together, they transformed ordinary games into warm memories, the kind you didn’t just hear — you felt.
Even now, Kuiper refuses to let sadness outweigh gratitude. “It’s been an unbelievable ride,” he said. “I got to sit next to my best friend for over 30 years and talk about the game we love. Who gets to do that?”
It’s a question that resonates deeply across Giants Nation. For a fanbase that has weathered its share of heartbreak and glory, Kruk and Kuip were constants — two steady voices that carried San Francisco from the heartbreak of the ’80s through the euphoria of three World Series titles.
When Buster Posey’s walk-off sealed another improbable win, they laughed. When Madison Bumgarner walked off the mound a hero, they marveled. And when the city mourned losses, they grieved too — together, as family.
Now, as Krukow fights his battle off the field, Kuiper’s role has shifted from partner to caretaker of their shared legacy. Every broadcast, every pause, carries the weight of love and loss intertwined.
“He’s still here,” Kuiper said. “His voice, his heart — you can feel it. Every time I sit down to call a game, he’s right there with me.”
For those who grew up tuning in, the emotional connection runs deep. Social media has flooded with tributes, fan art, and old clips — moments of laughter that now feel like gifts. “Kruk & Kuip didn’t just describe the game,” one fan tweeted. “They were the game.”
As the Giants organization plans a special tribute to both men later this season, Kuiper’s words will likely echo through the ballpark: a reminder that some bonds go beyond baseball, beyond time, beyond even the booth that made them legends.
In a sport built on numbers and nostalgia, this story is about something rarer — devotion. And though one voice may fade, their laughter will forever play through the speakers of San Francisco’s soul.
Because true friendship — like baseball itself — never really ends.
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