On a slow night in the early '80s, a message on the Astrodome's scoreboard invoked baseball patrons to make some noise for the home team, inciting a visiting sportswriter instead.

Leaning out over the railing of the open-air press box, he bellowed, "Clap, you sheep!"

A nearby reporter gasped, "Who is that?"

Only one of the most respected sportswriters of his generation, that's who Gerry Fraley was. Brilliant, dedicated and gruff. A bona fide Breslin-esque newspaper character admired by peers, players, managers, coaches, umpires, officials, scouts, clubhouse attendants, at least one commissioner, waitresses in general and a former president in particular.

Fraley, who died early Saturday morning at 64 after a two-year bout with cancer, was a loyal friend, bitter enemy, loving father and a "ballwriter's ballwriter," according to the consensus of nearly two dozen national colleagues.

He also covered football, basketball, NASCAR and various assignments over a career spanning four decades. Fraley's versatility, said his Dallas Morning News boss, Garry Leavell, "is what separated him from his peers."

Only a month before his death, he wrote the lead on a Stars-Predators NHL playoff game despite his weakened condition and a tight deadline. Hit the button with a minute to spare, as was his custom.

"Even as he fought against this dreadful illness," Leavell added, "it was hugely important to Gerry that he didn't let down his colleagues and his readers. He had a work ethic second to none."

Started at the Dallas Morning News on this day 30 years ago. Will still match our sports section against any in the country. — Gerry Fraley (@gfraley) May 8, 2019

Prepared for any subject, Fraley preferred one above all others, as a former Texas Rangers owner indicated through a spokesperson.

"Gerry was an accomplished writer and a keen observer of many sports," President George W. Bush said. "It always seemed to me that baseball was his real passion, thereby establishing a kinship and a lasting friendship."

A media career was foreshadowed early. According to family legend, he read the morning paper over a cup of coffee, then set out for his first day of grade school. He was so smart, said his brother, Brad, that, his senior year, his Florida high school teachers told him he was on his own.

"Or maybe it was because he was a pain in the ass," Brad said.

He majored in football and engineering at Carnegie Mellon University before converting to journalism. He would cover the Braves for the Atlanta Journal-Constitution and the Rangers for The News, joining SportsDay in 1989.

Fox's Ken Rosenthal called Fraley "a role model for me ... just by the no-BS way he carried himself."

Claire Smith, a colleague of Fraley's at the Philadelphia Bulletin and the first woman elected to the writer's wing of the National Baseball Hall of Fame, said Fraley's passion and desire "were like guideposts."

Watching Fraley work, ESPN's Mark Kreidler said, "I learned what being a great beat writer entailed and what a professional line of questioning sounded like."

Fraley's dedication -- he charted Rangers statistics after each game, even when he wasn't on the beat -- informed his coverage.

"You didn't have to draw any pictures for him," former commissioner Bud Selig said. "He knew. He understood. You could trust him. He was fair, honest, a great reporter."

Major League Baseball commissioner Bud Selig spoke highly of Gerry Fraley. Here they are in 2014. (Tom Fox / Staff Photographer)

Work ethic and an extensive network helped Fraley forge relationships built on reporting, not flattery. He never shied from the truth or hid from the fallout.

"For us guys they call old school," said former reliever Charlie Kerfeld, now a scout, "he was the ultimate reporter. He wrote what mattered, not gossip and junk. He showed up every day in case you had an issue with what he wrote."

Fraley's crisp, incisive prose crackled with insight. He didn't just report that a player had been sent down. He explained why; what the player had to do next; and how opposing scouts regarded his odds.

His coverage rarely accentuated hi-jinks, eliminating a good deal of Rangers material. When Jose Canseco headed a baseball over a fence, Fraley sought out the pitcher victimized by the gaffe. Kenny Rogers didn't think it was funny, Fraley wrote.

Gerry Fraley was a meticulous statkeeper. (Louis DeLuca / Staff Photographer)

Despite his often sober approach, he was clever and quick. Like the time he watched a pitcher roll a baseball down the first base line with his nose and exclaimed, loud enough for fans to hear, "If you want to see something really funny, watch him try to get a big league hitter out."

On the Orioles' Jeff Stone, running into outs at every base in a single game: "Stoney, running for the cycle!"

On being the father of twins: "It's like you're always killing the power play."

In 1996, when The News sent him to Pittsburgh in advance of the Cowboys-Steelers Super Bowl, he displayed his lightning wit and grasp of the local scene in a news conference exchange with Bill Cowher.

Fraley: "People say you are the perfect Steelers coach, a Pittsburgh guy with that blue-collar ethic . . . "

Cowher: "Who says that?"

Fraley: "A couple guys down at Froggy's."

Fraley also had his weaknesses. Wrestling, for instance. He knew the history of every rassler from Killer Kowalski to Ric Flair. He favored heels.

Occasionally he played the part himself. He could be petty and even a bully.

Highest praise ever received. — Gerry Fraley (@gfraley) May 8, 2019

"He had a highly-developed sense of right and wrong that didn't allow much gray area," said Paul Hagen, a close friend and longtime baseball writer. "If he concluded that you were lacking in some way -- that you were lazy or unprofessional or not performing up to your potential -- he wouldn't hesitate to let you know."

Upon meeting Fraley at the 1985 World Series, Phyllis Merhige, then director of public relations for the American League, said she was "terrified" of him.

"But it didn't take long to realize that he was a sweetheart underneath," she said. "I felt lucky that he liked me because he was the kind of guy who, once he liked you, he was yours for life."

As ESPN's Pedro Gomez put it, "You're either accepted or not with Gerry. And when you're accepted, there is no better place to be."

Fraley never left a News colleague alone in a press box or failed to check on visiting writers on his way out the door. Toronto sportswriter Bob Elliott said Fraley once picked him up at his Arlington hotel every day of a four-game series and drove him back every night.

"Only on the final day," Elliott said, "did I realize he had been off for four days."

Known for an arsenal of Hawaiian shirts, here's Fraley from a 1999 staff headshot. (File / DMN column mug book)

For reasons unknown, MLB.com's Richard Justice said, Fraley was protective of our nation's servers. Treat a waitress rudely, Justice said, and you'd feel "a glare that would melt steel."

He stood up for his own, too. Once, when Fraley judged that Jon Daniels had done a disservice to a News reporter, he let the Rangers' general manager know it.

"And he was a hundred percent right," Daniels said. "We developed a mutual respect after that."

Even as cancer and chemo turned his gray mane white and reduced his gait to a shuffle, Fraley's approach remained undiminished.

"I knew Gerry for more than 30 years," said John Blake, executive vice president of communications for the Rangers, "and he covered baseball with the same passion and intensity until he wrote his final game story on May 5."

Besides a brother and sister, Tracey Bruch, as well as their families, Fraley is survived by his wife, Stephanie Brownlee; twin sons Tyson and Sam; a couple of cats and the best dog he ever had. Funeral services are pending.

Correction, 10:35 a.m. Saturday: A previous version of this article incorrectly stated Fraley's start year at The News as 1988. He started in 1989.

Twitter: @KSherringtonDMN