“THE BROADCAST BOOTH THAT BREAKS” — Kuip & Krukow’s Silent Struggle Behind the Mics Shows That Brotherhood Outlasts Baseball
For more than three decades, Duane Kuiper and Mike Krukow have been the soundtrack of San Francisco Giants baseball — the easy banter, the laughter, the rhythm of friendship that makes every inning feel like a conversation between old friends.
But when the lights go off and the microphones are silent, the reality behind those familiar voices is far heavier than most fans know.
Mike Krukow, 72, has been battling a rare degenerative muscle disease — inclusion body myositis — that slowly weakens his body and makes simple movement a daily challenge. Walking has become difficult. Climbing steps is grueling. And yet, every home game, Krukow still makes the climb to the broadcast booth — step by careful step, with Kuiper beside him.
“They see us laughing on air,” Krukow said recently, his voice cracking. “What they don’t see are the moments before — Kuip making sure I’m steady, making sure I can make it to the chair.”
There’s a story behind every broadcast.
Before the first pitch, as fans file into Oracle Park, Kuiper quietly meets Krukow at the players’ entrance. He helps his longtime partner into a small electric cart that takes them through the tunnel and up the narrow hallway toward the booth. When they reach the final steps, Kuiper stands just behind him — not as a colleague, but as a friend holding both history and heartbreak in his hands.
“I’ll never forget the first time he said he couldn’t do it alone,” Kuiper told MLB.com. “That was the moment I realized — this isn’t about baseball anymore. It’s about making sure he can keep doing what he loves.”
Once the red light goes on, everything changes. The jokes return. The chemistry, that effortless back-and-forth that’s become part of San Francisco’s baseball identity, fills the air. Fans hear laughter. They hear joy. What they don’t hear is the pain — or the courage that makes it possible.
“Every broadcast is its own little victory,” Krukow said. “Some days, just getting into that booth feels like winning a game.”
The Giants recently announced that Krukow has signed an extension through the 2026 season, a deal that ensures the iconic duo will remain together for at least two more years. For the organization, it’s not just a business move — it’s a statement about loyalty, legacy, and love.
“Mike’s earned every word, every moment,” Kuiper said. “He’s a fighter. And I’m just lucky I get to sit beside him.”
Their story has become something deeper than baseball. It’s about resilience. About two men who refuse to let circumstance define them. About how the game they’ve dedicated their lives to continues to give them purpose — even when their bodies make it harder to keep up.
When Krukow can’t travel with the team, Kuiper calls the road games alone — but the seat beside him stays open. Fans often notice the camera panning toward it during broadcasts. It’s not empty, though. It’s filled with memory, loyalty, and the sound of a partnership that has defined an era.
For Giants fans, Kuip and Krukow aren’t just commentators. They’re family. They’re the familiar voices that make heartbreak bearable and victory even sweeter.
“It’s strange,” Kuiper said, pausing for a long moment. “We’ve been doing this so long, I can’t imagine calling a game without him. He’s my brother. Always will be.”
And so, night after night, they keep showing up — two friends, two microphones, and one unbreakable bond that’s bigger than the game they call.
Because in the end, it’s not about baseball. It’s about love. And for Kuip and Krukow, that love still finds a way to speak — even when words fail.
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