The first time I met Vin, in 2002, I was taken by the crispness of his white shirt, navy blazer and perfectly knotted tie—despite the heat of a midsummer afternoon. He was as fastidious about his appearance as he was in describing the game. About the Pittsburgh Pirates' brilliant outfielder: "[Roberto] Clemente could field the ball in New York and throw out a guy in Pennsylvania."
At age 8 Scully wrote a school composition about how he wanted to be a sports announcer. In 1950, at 22, he stepped into the booth at Ebbets Field in Brooklyn alongside the renowned broadcaster Red Barber. When the Dodgers moved to Los Angeles in 1958, he followed and served as the voice of summer until his retirement following the 2016 season. He always peppered play-by-play with encyclopedic perspective and turns of phrase. About error-prone Bobby Bonilla, who toiled with seven different teams: "Sometimes it seems like he's playing underwater."
Although he did both television and radio for the Dodgers, usually without the support of a color commentator, Scully's style was best suited to radio. His verbal dexterity allowed him to weave a story or anecdote throughout an entire inning without missing a pitch. Fans caught in Los Angeles traffic jams relied on his detailed descriptions until they arrived at the game.
In the years the Dodgers played at the Coliseum, between 1958 and 1961, it seemed like everyone carried a transistor radio. As the story has it, Scully would occasionally have to ask fans in the ballpark to turn down the volume because the sound of so many radios was causing feedback on the Dodgers' broadcast.
Vin Scully rose to fame at a time when the baseball stars he covered seemed larger than life. He said Jackie Robinson was the most exciting player he'd ever seen. He called Hank Aaron's historic 715th home run. He provided a vivid description of Sandy Koufax's perfect game in 1965. To the dismay of Dodger fans, he pronounced Willie Mays—whom he covered as both a New York and San Francisco Giant—the best player he'd ever seen. So it was fitting that for Scully's final game on Oct. 2, 2016, Mr. Mays joined him in the booth.
Signing off, he told his audience, "You and I have been friends for a long time. But I know in my heart that I've always needed you more than you've ever needed me." So ended a career that most of us wished would go on forever. He said his mentor, Red Barber, had advised him simply to be himself, explaining, "You bring something into the booth that no one else in the world can bring."
Baseball was better because Vin Scully brought us along with him.
(c) Peter Funt. This column originally appeared in The Wall Street Journal.
|
