My heart is broken. It's been a terrible Wednesday morning. I went to bed early Tuesday night and woke up to this and was just numb. I feel like a parent passed away. I've wept off and on. In a way, I feel the irony that he passes away on my birthday. I always hated to think about when this day would come. Alas, it's here. But you can't argue with a life of 94 years and the impact he made.
The Baylor angle to this is that I was at a mixer with the Baylor coaches Tuesday night in Waco. Dave Aranda and I talked for a couple of minutes. As you all know he's a Dodgers fan and the majority of our conversation was about the Dodgers. Of course, we talked about Vin...with reverence.
I went on my walk this morning and found the YouTube audio/video of his greatest moments. That in itself is a blessing. I watered our plants listening to him call the 9th inning of Sandy Koufax's perfect game in 1965 against the Chicago Cubs. That's probably like the 100th time I've listened to it.
But there's nothing better when the greatest to ever do it calls your team winning the World Series - the Minnesota Twins in 1991. It means more to me now than ever.
Back in 2016, I wrote this in What was he Thinking? Right after he called his last game and retired. I'll miss him terribly. But he has his reward.
I hope you'll take a few moments as I bring this back.
*****
By Kevin Lonnquist
Publisher
At 5:16 p.m. on Sunday, Oct. 2, the young man figuratively and reluctantly answered the call for dinner and came inside. The ball thrown to the pitchback located in the backyard was retrieved, placed inside the glove and put away in the closet for the last time.
At least, that’s how this husband of 21 years and father of two teen-agers felt. The voice heard on the 5x8 black radio signed off for the last time.
After 67 seasons of calling it all, seeing it all and negotiating every phrase or word like it was second nature and saying it better than any of us could, Hall of Fame broadcaster Vin Scully said farewell after the Los Angeles Dodgers lost in San Francisco, 7-1.
For those of us who have revered him, followed him from afar or just knew who he was to some degree, Sunday afternoon marked the time in sports. Now, we are left with memories.
But we were blessed. We probably had Mr. Scully longer than we deserved. We were spoiled. You don’t do something - and do it well - for 67 seasons unless you have health, unless you are sound of mind and unless you have a passion for what you want to do.
Mr. Scully had all of those.
He retires at the age of 88 (he’ll be 89 in November). He did what he loved. He did it at a level unmatched. There will be only one.
As his career moved into the 2010s, many probably wondered when it was going to end. We didn’t even want to think about it. In recent years, he would announce in about August that he would come back for the following season. Unbridled excitement was only matched by relief. But when Mr. Scully said in the offseason that 2016 was it, a national gasp followed. Midnight was approaching.
In May, June, July and August, we didn’t think about it too much. In September, Father Time tapped us on the shoulder and reminded us.
You’ll forgive the selfishness that millions of his devoted listeners shared because of the impact he made. With every intention, I’m happy for Mr. Scully that he could leave this game and this profession on his own terms.
To listen to him now basically showed no difference to what he sounded like when I first started listening to him 37 years ago. Oh, I could pick up on the little slips. But it didn’t matter. I excused it and moved forward.
Through the gift of technology in recent years, I caught as many Dodger home games as I could. In the twilight years, Mr. Scully only worked home games and a few road games. I cared not at all how late they ran into the early Texas morning. I was going to soak it all in.
Last Sunday at Dodger Stadium was almost like the Dodgers thanking him. On a weekend when they paid tribute to him at Dodger Stadium, they clinched the National League West on a walk-off home run in the bottom of the 10th.
Sunday’s finale was a part of my day. Thanks to satellite radio, I caught the first two innings driving home from church. The game moved along. It became clear the Giants were going to win.
When the Dodgers came to bat in the ninth, I felt terrible. The end neared. I ran to my car and pulled it out of the driveway to listen. For those few minutes, I was again that young man who was also known to stay in the car just to listen until it was over.
When the Giants recorded the final out and ran from their dugout to celebrate clinching a wild card berth, time stopped.
No dramatic comeback. No extra innings. It was just the last four batters Mr. Scully called. He did what he always did. He called the game with respect and admiration for every player. He praised the Giants for their accomplishment. He reminded Dodgers fans the team was going to Washington on Wednesday to get ready for the National League Division Playoffs.
Then he offered, “I have said enough for a lifetime. For the last time, I wish you all a pleasant, good afternoon.’’ Moments later the broadcast concluded with a taped video message in which he wished, “May God give you for every storm a rainbow, for every tear a smile, for every care a promise and a blessing in each trial.’’
And Mr. Scully has. It doesn’t make the sorrow of Sunday afternoon any easier. The tears welled in my eyes for those last three outs and farewell. My youth officially ended at age 47.
Admittedly, when I was young, I didn’t like baseball. I thought it was boring. For whatever reason, I started listening to the Dodgers when I was 10.
Growing up in Las Vegas, the beauty was that the Dodger games were carried by a Las Vegas affiliate. That’s how I became a baseball fan. Mr. Scully told the story of the game.
When I came back to Texas to go to school, friends would ask me what I miss. I said in order: my family, the mountains and Vin Scully. Before the world became closer through technology, I couldn’t get the Dodgers. The radio signals from the West Coast wouldn’t carry that far. I tried to find a way. It just didn’t work. Of course, I watched him doing the NBC game of the week on Saturdays.
But returning home in the summer in mid-May was a treat because I could listen again. Every day was opening day.
When I became a sports writer and started covering the Texas Rangers in the mid-1990s, interleague play was introduced in 1997. The Rangers started playing the National League West. That meant the Dodgers were coming to Arlington that summer.
I introduced myself to Mr. Scully in the press box and chatted with him for maybe 5-10 minutes. I had met the one who was the inspiration for me to become the teller of stories to you and to others.
Of course, the regret was not taking a picture with him. When you’re in the profession, it’s deemed pretty unprofessional to do something like that. That was something that never crossed my mind. But the memory will remain. So I am grateful to have had those minutes.
Like all of us who ever met him or heard him, Mr. Scully’s impact will remain profound.
It’s not a revolutionary practice on message boards to time stamp news or updates. But just know that I didn’t borrow that idea from other sites. I credit that to Mr. Scully who made that a part of his broadcasts. I’m quick to think about 9:46 p.m., Sept. 9, 1965 when Sandy Koufax delivered his perfect game against the Chicago Cubs.
What made him a national icon is that he became your friend even if you didn’t know him.
The greatest fact of Mr. Scully’s career: He broadcasted longer AFTER he was inducted into the Baseball Hall of Fame (1982) than before he was inducted into it.
My sorrow gives way to the future he greets with enthusiasm. The grandchildren he will see more often. The bonds with his children will strengthen. And now, there's more time with his second wife Sandy (he lost his first wife in 1972). I pray he is given enough time by the almighty to enjoy life for a little while longer. I think of a line that late Dodger executive Branch Rickey roughly once said about moving a player to another organization: “Better to do it one year early, than one year too late.’’
That’s probably what Mr. Scully did.
On this last day, there was also a little bit of irony from a football perspective. He was in San Francisco. The Cowboys played the 49ers in San Francisco Sunday afternoon. And if you didn’t know, Mr. Scully called “The Catch” in 1982 when Dwight Clark caught Joe Montana’s desperate pass in Candlestick Park to win the NFC Championship. It turned out to be the last football game he called. Of course, the Cowboys changed the story and rallied to win this meeting.
Even as the aftermath has set in, there’s also a peace that comes with it. Whenever I have to listen to his voice describe one of those famous calls or tell a story, there are many choices on where to find them. Mind you, it won’t be the same but everything is preserved.
I know where my glove is and I know I can envision that black radio with the pitch back not far away.
Thanks, Vin!
The Baylor angle to this is that I was at a mixer with the Baylor coaches Tuesday night in Waco. Dave Aranda and I talked for a couple of minutes. As you all know he's a Dodgers fan and the majority of our conversation was about the Dodgers. Of course, we talked about Vin...with reverence.
I went on my walk this morning and found the YouTube audio/video of his greatest moments. That in itself is a blessing. I watered our plants listening to him call the 9th inning of Sandy Koufax's perfect game in 1965 against the Chicago Cubs. That's probably like the 100th time I've listened to it.
But there's nothing better when the greatest to ever do it calls your team winning the World Series - the Minnesota Twins in 1991. It means more to me now than ever.
Back in 2016, I wrote this in What was he Thinking? Right after he called his last game and retired. I'll miss him terribly. But he has his reward.
I hope you'll take a few moments as I bring this back.
*****
By Kevin Lonnquist
Publisher
At 5:16 p.m. on Sunday, Oct. 2, the young man figuratively and reluctantly answered the call for dinner and came inside. The ball thrown to the pitchback located in the backyard was retrieved, placed inside the glove and put away in the closet for the last time.
At least, that’s how this husband of 21 years and father of two teen-agers felt. The voice heard on the 5x8 black radio signed off for the last time.
After 67 seasons of calling it all, seeing it all and negotiating every phrase or word like it was second nature and saying it better than any of us could, Hall of Fame broadcaster Vin Scully said farewell after the Los Angeles Dodgers lost in San Francisco, 7-1.
For those of us who have revered him, followed him from afar or just knew who he was to some degree, Sunday afternoon marked the time in sports. Now, we are left with memories.
But we were blessed. We probably had Mr. Scully longer than we deserved. We were spoiled. You don’t do something - and do it well - for 67 seasons unless you have health, unless you are sound of mind and unless you have a passion for what you want to do.
Mr. Scully had all of those.
He retires at the age of 88 (he’ll be 89 in November). He did what he loved. He did it at a level unmatched. There will be only one.
As his career moved into the 2010s, many probably wondered when it was going to end. We didn’t even want to think about it. In recent years, he would announce in about August that he would come back for the following season. Unbridled excitement was only matched by relief. But when Mr. Scully said in the offseason that 2016 was it, a national gasp followed. Midnight was approaching.
In May, June, July and August, we didn’t think about it too much. In September, Father Time tapped us on the shoulder and reminded us.
You’ll forgive the selfishness that millions of his devoted listeners shared because of the impact he made. With every intention, I’m happy for Mr. Scully that he could leave this game and this profession on his own terms.
To listen to him now basically showed no difference to what he sounded like when I first started listening to him 37 years ago. Oh, I could pick up on the little slips. But it didn’t matter. I excused it and moved forward.
Through the gift of technology in recent years, I caught as many Dodger home games as I could. In the twilight years, Mr. Scully only worked home games and a few road games. I cared not at all how late they ran into the early Texas morning. I was going to soak it all in.
Last Sunday at Dodger Stadium was almost like the Dodgers thanking him. On a weekend when they paid tribute to him at Dodger Stadium, they clinched the National League West on a walk-off home run in the bottom of the 10th.
Sunday’s finale was a part of my day. Thanks to satellite radio, I caught the first two innings driving home from church. The game moved along. It became clear the Giants were going to win.
When the Dodgers came to bat in the ninth, I felt terrible. The end neared. I ran to my car and pulled it out of the driveway to listen. For those few minutes, I was again that young man who was also known to stay in the car just to listen until it was over.
When the Giants recorded the final out and ran from their dugout to celebrate clinching a wild card berth, time stopped.
No dramatic comeback. No extra innings. It was just the last four batters Mr. Scully called. He did what he always did. He called the game with respect and admiration for every player. He praised the Giants for their accomplishment. He reminded Dodgers fans the team was going to Washington on Wednesday to get ready for the National League Division Playoffs.
Then he offered, “I have said enough for a lifetime. For the last time, I wish you all a pleasant, good afternoon.’’ Moments later the broadcast concluded with a taped video message in which he wished, “May God give you for every storm a rainbow, for every tear a smile, for every care a promise and a blessing in each trial.’’
And Mr. Scully has. It doesn’t make the sorrow of Sunday afternoon any easier. The tears welled in my eyes for those last three outs and farewell. My youth officially ended at age 47.
Admittedly, when I was young, I didn’t like baseball. I thought it was boring. For whatever reason, I started listening to the Dodgers when I was 10.
Growing up in Las Vegas, the beauty was that the Dodger games were carried by a Las Vegas affiliate. That’s how I became a baseball fan. Mr. Scully told the story of the game.
When I came back to Texas to go to school, friends would ask me what I miss. I said in order: my family, the mountains and Vin Scully. Before the world became closer through technology, I couldn’t get the Dodgers. The radio signals from the West Coast wouldn’t carry that far. I tried to find a way. It just didn’t work. Of course, I watched him doing the NBC game of the week on Saturdays.
But returning home in the summer in mid-May was a treat because I could listen again. Every day was opening day.
When I became a sports writer and started covering the Texas Rangers in the mid-1990s, interleague play was introduced in 1997. The Rangers started playing the National League West. That meant the Dodgers were coming to Arlington that summer.
I introduced myself to Mr. Scully in the press box and chatted with him for maybe 5-10 minutes. I had met the one who was the inspiration for me to become the teller of stories to you and to others.
Of course, the regret was not taking a picture with him. When you’re in the profession, it’s deemed pretty unprofessional to do something like that. That was something that never crossed my mind. But the memory will remain. So I am grateful to have had those minutes.
Like all of us who ever met him or heard him, Mr. Scully’s impact will remain profound.
It’s not a revolutionary practice on message boards to time stamp news or updates. But just know that I didn’t borrow that idea from other sites. I credit that to Mr. Scully who made that a part of his broadcasts. I’m quick to think about 9:46 p.m., Sept. 9, 1965 when Sandy Koufax delivered his perfect game against the Chicago Cubs.
What made him a national icon is that he became your friend even if you didn’t know him.
The greatest fact of Mr. Scully’s career: He broadcasted longer AFTER he was inducted into the Baseball Hall of Fame (1982) than before he was inducted into it.
My sorrow gives way to the future he greets with enthusiasm. The grandchildren he will see more often. The bonds with his children will strengthen. And now, there's more time with his second wife Sandy (he lost his first wife in 1972). I pray he is given enough time by the almighty to enjoy life for a little while longer. I think of a line that late Dodger executive Branch Rickey roughly once said about moving a player to another organization: “Better to do it one year early, than one year too late.’’
That’s probably what Mr. Scully did.
On this last day, there was also a little bit of irony from a football perspective. He was in San Francisco. The Cowboys played the 49ers in San Francisco Sunday afternoon. And if you didn’t know, Mr. Scully called “The Catch” in 1982 when Dwight Clark caught Joe Montana’s desperate pass in Candlestick Park to win the NFC Championship. It turned out to be the last football game he called. Of course, the Cowboys changed the story and rallied to win this meeting.
Even as the aftermath has set in, there’s also a peace that comes with it. Whenever I have to listen to his voice describe one of those famous calls or tell a story, there are many choices on where to find them. Mind you, it won’t be the same but everything is preserved.
I know where my glove is and I know I can envision that black radio with the pitch back not far away.
Thanks, Vin!
