At the end of the 1957 baseball season, Brooklyn Dodgers management prepared for a long-threatening transcontinental move.
Inside the fictional moving trunk was a home jersey with “Dodgers” written on the front, Flatbush’s squeaky old heroes and most of the front office, as well as manager Walter Alston and his promising young players. rice field. (They weren’t sure if young lefty Sandy Koufax from Brooklyn would take advantage of his speed.)
Baseball was moving to the promised land. The historic New York Giants were also moving to San Francisco with Willie his Mays. ( noibu one of them. )
But there was no better covered wagon to transport and transplant baseballs to the Left Coast than a young man named Vin Scully, who had soon moved from the Fordham campus in the Bronx and a broadcast booth in Brooklyn.
Vin Scully put baseball into Ozone more than anyone else. First from the ill-shaped Coliseum, then he from 1962, from the pastel-colored oasis of a former Mexican camp in Chavez Valley.
Scully was a warm voice in the warm climate, teaching locals the fine points of Major League Baseball. Californians used to think they knew nothing about baseball, despite Joe DiMaggio and Ted Williams.
On a quiet night in Chavez Canyon, the common denominator is not crowd noise or loudspeaker announcements, but Scully and his sidekick’s live narration, discussing Hodges, Reese, Snyder and Mr. and Mrs. Snyder’s strategies and past heroes. rice field. Most of the Erskine and Furillo run on depleted batteries.
Scully’s luscious voice floated in stereophonic waves from a new gadget called a “transistor radio” that could easily be brought to the ballpark.
He wasn’t your typical baseball announcer who tends to say, “Let’s get some runs in this inning!” Vincent Edward Scully, who died Tuesday at the age of 94, never shouted, cheered, patronized or preached. His mellow, chair-pulling approach was like having a beloved elder explain the games that play out on the field.In 1958, when he was only 30, Vin his scully was a love affair in another world. It was a treasure trove of franchise history.
“It wasn’t the first baseman, it wasn’t the manager, it wasn’t the team. We certainly didn’t have a win-loss record because they had a tough year,” said Peter O’Malley, son of former owner Walter O’Malley. .he said on the wayJuly Essay by Bill Shaikin of the Los Angeles Times on Scully’s direct impact on Los Angeles.
“It was Vinnie who introduced the team,” he added. “Nobody could have done it better. Pausing to understand the impact he had not only then but today is extraordinary.”
One consolation for the grief-stricken Brooklyn fans of being left behind by the Dodgers was that Scully stayed within earshot. He called me to World Series games so many times that I could remember what we lost. Gil Hodges and Duke Snyder came to the Mets as icons in decline, but Scully embodied on the airwaves at the peak of his game.
Scully had a good teacher at Red Barber.When Scully was a fan (of the Giants) when he was younger, he used to broadcast Brooklyn games.The barber had his practiced Southern pattern. rice field. (“Tearing a patch of peas”, “Two teams eating rhubarb”, Dodgers “sitting in the cat’s seat” – so we know exactly what each means. But behind the jokingly charming regionalism, Barber was a complicated religious man who once considered becoming a teacher.
One day, Scully was a little vague on air as to why the player wasn’t in the lineup. The barber informed him that he needed to know why in his pre-match access to the manager.
Another time, Scully had a beer in the press lounge before the game, which was normal for Scully’s experience. Barber is no stranger to alcohol, so he tells Scully that he can’t be seen drinking beer if he gets the mic wrong.
The authors say that while Scully may have been daunted by strict discipline, in his public statements and letters to “The Old Redhead,” he always treated Barbour as a mentor.
If Barber was known for his Southern style, Scully became known for his silence. He realized that important plays deserved the roar of the crowd more than the roar of the broadcasters. He sat by the mic and let the growl waft outside.
In 1986, Scully returned to New York and watched the Red Sox nudge up the dugout steps as they waited for the finals of the team’s first World Series championship since 1918. Buckner, and the World Series was suddenly extended to Game 7.
“Little rollers first…in the back of the bag!” Scully began, but added: The Knights Come, The Mets Win! ”
Shea Stadium went crazy as Scully sat by the mic for the full three minutes. “If a picture is worth 1000 words, you’ve seen a million words, but you’ve also seen the utterly bizarre ending to Game 6 of the 1986 World Series. The Mets are not only alive and well, they’re going to face the Red Sox tomorrow in Game 7.”
Here, in his illustrious career, Scully missed something once. He reportedly said he didn’t expect to hear the normally neutral New York sportswriters cheering for the Mets’ victory. I later found out in print that we weren’t rooting for them, and suddenly had to rewrite the story in the middle of the night to note that the Mets had inexplicably survived to play a seventh game. (on Sunday).
Scully’s consummate confidence in the on-screen action served him well after two World Series when an injured Kirk Gibson limped and pinch-hit for the Dodgers behind the Oakland A’s. He briefly called out the game-changing home run, but was silent for 65 seconds when Dodger Stadium erupted, then made one brief comment, and was silent again for 29 seconds. We knew fans at home in front of the tube could provide their eyes and ears and their own emotions.
Major League Baseball has come a long way since Walter O’Malley fled with Our Bums. Baseball had grown from what was essentially the eastern half of the United States into a global sport. Fans in Canada, Latin America, Japan and around the world knew the score.
Vin Scully knew his audience. He had the aura of a confident but reserved star. He didn’t have to babble.
