All too infrequently, at least in the world of popular culture, we lose a certifiably great one.[1]Julia Child of course comes to mind. But beyond the famous we can trust that in the ordinary world we routinely lose people who are certifiably great. These people, like too many war veterans or … Continue reading
Such was the case when sportscaster Vin Scully died Aug. 2 at 94.
Listening to him years ago, I would lean over to my then-young kids and say “take in every moment you have with this guy because, I promise, once he’s gone there won’t be another.” In more than one sense, they listened.[2]News of Vin’s passing reached me by way of them.
A sacred chance to wander
What made Scully so profoundly adored? I can’t speak for others, but I can share why this fervent Orioles fan, who grew up listening to the legendary Jon Miller, considers Scully the greatest of all time.
Scully was an antidote to the bombast of our hype-filled world. Despite receiving countless awards, he never had a need to be admired; but my goodness the man admired baseball with his every pore.
In a career that spanned 67 years, he often worked solo, moving fluidly between play-by-play and color. He was never anxious or alarmist, his singular drawl belying his precise responsiveness.
And then there was his color, or what he called “a running commentary with an imaginary friend.” If athletes represent poetry in motion, Scully’s work was a kind of living, breathing, actual poetry.
First, there’s the voice—a mix of humility, command and relaxed reverence[3]As a boy, listening to games on a four-legged radio, Scully would crawl under the radio to listen to games. “What intrigued me and thrilled me, ” he said, “was the roar of the … Continue reading—that could transform a SoCal evening trapped on the freeway into a sacred chance to wander.
The well-prepped Scully would guide us beyond the grass and dirt over which he presided and into a place wholly new. A place populated by ancient Greeks, wolves and snakes, and Satchel Paige.
Out of this grew a unique and simple trust that I’ve neither forgotten nor quite found anywhere else: While listening to Vin Scully life, despite its attendant chaos, was for a moment quite simply good.
Notes, etc.
| ↑1 | Julia Child of course comes to mind. But beyond the famous we can trust that in the ordinary world we routinely lose people who are certifiably great. These people, like too many war veterans or grandparents who stepped in when needed, become part of history’s unreported class of greats. |
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| ↑2 | News of Vin’s passing reached me by way of them. |
| ↑3 | As a boy, listening to games on a four-legged radio, Scully would crawl under the radio to listen to games. “What intrigued me and thrilled me, ” he said, “was the roar of the crowd.” That thrill never left him, as evidenced in his most famous call, where he combines over one minute of the roar of the crowd, only to emerge with one of baseball’s greatest calls. |