I have to say up front that I'm not a big fan of Phillies broadcaster Chris Wheeler, so when I got a review copy of his newly released book, "View From the Booth," I didn't exactly have the highest expectations.

And while I wouldn't call the tome, published in September by Camino Books Inc., a must-read, it turned out to be better than I anticipated. At 219 pages, the book can be finished in one sitting, and its conversational style is appealing.

As a lifetime Phillies follower, maybe I should've known this, but I didn't realize Wheels grew up in southeastern Pennsylvania as a cradle Philadelphia sports fan. He graduated from Penn State in 1967 with a degree in broadcasting, and was hired in July 1971 to work in public relations for the Phils.

Eventually, of course, he made it to broadcast booth, where he's been a fixture for decades. What I like most about the book are the anecdotes he shares, and here are a few:

• On the serious side, Wheels describes what it was like last April when Harry Kalas passed away. Harry the K collapsed in the broadcast booth before a game against the Nationals, and Wheels wasn't there. But when he went to the elevator to ride up, the doors opened and paramedics came bursting out with an unresponsive Kalas on a gurney.

And as he walked into the booth to prepare for the game no one wanted to broadcast, he saw syringes and other medical paraphernalia strewn on the floor. Wheels also spotted Kalas' unfinished scorecard, where he had been filling in the Nats' lineup.

The last word Kalas scribbled was "Adam." He never got the chance to write "Dunn."

• Wheels also tells a bunch of funny stories about the late Richie Ashburn, his longtime colleague. When Ashburn, nicknamed Whitey, was a player with the Phils, he once asked general manager John Quinn for a raise. Quinn demurred, saying Ashburn hit too many singles and didn't exhibit enough power.

Whitey replied, "If I hit my singles any farther, they'd be outs."

Once, when Tim McCarver was a broadcaster with the Phils, he was playing golf with Whitey and admiring his new set of clubs. So Whitey offered to sell them to McCarver for $300.

McCarver quickly accepted the deal, only to discover later that Whitey hadn't paid a cent for the clubs: They were a gift to him from the Phillies.

• The anecdotes about the late Paul Owens, legendary general manager of the Phillies, are just as good. Known as The Pope, Owens was an old-school guy who'd make trades during face-to-face meetings with other GMs. One time, he acquired reliever Ron Schueler from the Braves for a package that included pitcher Barry Lersch.

But the Atlanta general manager, Eddie Robinson, thought his team had gotten young pitching prospect Randy Lerch instead. Apparently, he and The Pope were both imbibing liberally during their confab, and Owens used Eddie Robinson's inebriation to the Phils' benefit.

Lancaster even merits a few mentions in the book. Once, when the Phillies caravan made an offseason visit here, Owens was trying to unwind in the hotel lobby after the banquet. It happened to be The Pope's birthday, and there was a pest who just wouldn't leave him alone.

So Owens asked him to pick up the small birthday cake on the table. The Pope then pushed the man's wrist back, and the cake smashed the guy right in the face.

Like Eddie Robinson, he probably had no idea what hit him.