Anyone who knows me well can attest to Vin Scully’s importance in my life. His gentle voice, now warmed over by time to a grandfatherly lilt, is a perpetual fixture in our house every April to September (and by the grace of God, most Octobers). That voice. That unmistakable, inimitable voice has been with me for so many years now that I can only think of it in terms of companionship; something deeply personal; like a friend. So prevalent is his voice at home (or in the car) that my oldest son (consciously or not) tends to sound like him when he speaks. And so on October 2, 2016, after 67 years as an announcer for the Dodgers, he will be calling his last game and put an end to a marvelous career. That day will be terribly difficult for me in ways I care not to think about for the time being.
What is remarkable about Vin is that most Dodger fans I know feel the same way.
What is even more remarkable is the admiration and respect Vin receives from people of all ages, all ethnicities, and all rooting interests. In an age as divisive and fragmented as this one is, that is a true rarity.
In the weeks to come, you will see Vin Scully Tributes all over your Facebook feeds and newswires. He is that beloved. It will sound like hero-worship; every one of them will unavoidably resort to superlatives when reflecting on his character and his career. And most of them will be well-deserved for a life well-lived. He dreamed of being an announcer at the age of 7. He has been an announcer for 67 years, and nobody has done it better. Among the countless reasons why Vin is so widely loved, here are my five favorites.
1. He Lets the Crowd Tell the Story
Many announcers talk through the emotional highs of the game. Think about the most famous calls you know in sports. “The Giants Win the Pennant! The Giants Win the Pennant!” “And, the Band is Out on the Field….” “Do you believe in miracles?! Do you believe in miracles?!” All of them are memorable for the actual words of the call. This is rarely the case for Vin. Vin is seldom quotable; what lasts in Vin’s calls are the moments, not the words.
One of Vin’s most famous calls also happens to be one of the most famous moments in baseball history. Sorry in advance, Boston fans.
Scully: “Little roller up along first, BEHIND THE BAG…. It gets through Buckner! Here comes Knight and the Mets win it.”
And then… the roar of the crowd [which goes on far past the end of the video]; it is an impossibly long silence by announcer’s standards. For a job that requires commentary on the action, Vin is the greatest for his economy of speech, knowing when to let the crowd provide the telling. Few announcers (even today) bow out in silence the way Vin does; the few that do (by their own admission) follow Vin’s lead.
Of course, Vin is great for his speech-in-action as well. What sets Vin apart from just about everybody else is the sheer effortlessness Vin pulls off while describing the game with creativity and verve.
As an aside, Joe Davis (if he is indeed Vin’s replacement) is a terrific, young commentator. He has the right mix of creativity and energy (precisely what you want in a modern-day announcer). This one call of his is a favorite of mine:
Davis’ call is perfect. “Story can fly. Puig can Throw. My Goodness, Yasiel Puig.” Unrehearsed, he matches the drama of the moment precisely. Davis has true talent. His only problem, of course, is that he’s following the best who has ever done it.
2. He Exhibits Authentic Humility and True Goodness
We live in an age that values authenticity. We want authentic heroes. We want authentic friendships. We want authentic churches. What we often mean by this is that we want an authenticity that embraces mistakes, flaws, and foibles. While this is not a bad thing (even something to be celebrated in most contexts), from this ethos, a truly good person (through-and-through) is to be untrusted as “too good to be true.” Having high moral standards and unimpeachable integrity strikes our culture as somehow false and inauthentic. And yet, Vin manages to elude this. Vin, by all accounts, is genuinely good, authentically kind, and truly humble (the stories supporting this are too many to retell). His is an authenticity that is dying away in our world : an authenticity forged in the belief that people can indeed become thoroughly good, consistently kind, and can develop a character of proven and unimpeachable integrity. There are few Vin Scullys in the world and that is a bad thing.
3. He Loves Children
4. His Faith Has Remained True, Even in Painful Adversity and Loss
His first wife died at the age of 35. His son Michael, died at the age of 33 in the aftermath of the Northridge Earthquake in 1994. To know Vin is to know heartbreak and tragedy. Vin bears through this with confounding faith and steadfast prayer. He explains,
The worst thing you can do in times of trial is to stop praying. The tough moments are when you need God the most.*
Faith amidst adversity is hard for many of us to understand. Vin has loved much and has hurt much. This is the part about Vin that I love most.
5. He Loves Poetry
If you’ve ever heard Vin describe a sunset (as he does on many occasions), you will agree that Vin is a poet. I have heard him quote Longfellow and Keats on occasion. Dylan Thomas is a favorite of his: “Do not go gentle into that good night,” Vin can often be heard saying as the Dodgers attempt a late-game rally.
Taped to the inside cover of his Notebook that he uses for every game is a segment of poetry by A. Bartlett Giamatti entitled, “The Green Fields of the Mind.” I find it endearing and heartbreaking that this is what Vin glances at every game as he talks about the game of baseball. I imagine that it brings to his mind the ups and downs of the game, the shared experience of joy and loss, and more importantly, the gift of time as well as the cruel passage of time. So much of this poem captures my own heartbreak at the thought of Vin’s passing from the game and so it’s best to leave my tribute with these words:
It breaks your heart. It is designed to break your heart. The game begins in the spring, when everything else begins again, and it blossoms in the summer, filling the afternoons and evenings, and then as soon as the chill rains come, it stops and leaves you to face the fall alone. You count on it, rely on it to buffer the passage of time, to keep the memory of sunshine and high skies alive, and then just when the days are all twilight, when you need it most, it stops. Today, October 2, a Sunday of rain and broken branches and leaf-clogged drains and slick streets, it stopped, and summer was gone.
I face the fall alone. Without my friend. So long, Vin.
Postscript: October 2, the date referenced in the poem, will be the date of his last game in San Francisco.
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