The Voice

Yesterday was the worst day in Dodgers history.

For now.

It had nothing to do with what happened on the field.

It was what was missing right above it.

In the press box.

For just the second time in 63 years, Vin Scully missed a Dodgers home opener.

In 1977, the masterful announcer missed that game to broadcast The Masters golf tournament.

This year his absence was due to something far more significant.

A cold.

Ok, “just” a cold.

But enough of a cold to keep him home.

And that was news.

National news.

In fact, the report I heard this morning went something like this:

Andre Ethier’s 8th inning homer lifted the Dodgers to a 2-1 win over the Pirates.  Dodgers announcer Vin Scully missed the game with a bad cold.

Not too many announcers make headlines when their fever gets a little high.

But Vin Scully is not like any announcer.

He is the announcer.

The greatest announcer in sports history.

I’m sure the good people in Detroit might debate that.

Maybe St. Louis too.

But as a kid who grew up in Los Angeles.

There was nothing better than snuggling up to your radio to listen to the sweet sounds of Vincent Edward Scully.

You see kids, back in the day, we had this device called a transistor radio.

It kinda resembled an iPod.

I suppose.

Minus all of the bells.

And all of the whistles.

But what the transistor radio did do was let you listen to Dodger baseball as you went to bed.

April through September.

October if you were lucky.

From the opening theme song:

It's a Beautiful Day for a Ballgame,

for a ballgame, today.

The fans are out to get a ticket or two

From Walla Walla, Washington to Kalamazoo

To the Farmer John commercial at the end.

Where this Jewish kid learned all about “butt and shank portions.”

There was nothing like listening to a Dodgers baseball game.

But as much as I loved Garvey, Lopes, Russell and Cey.

And as much as I cursed the hated Giants.

Even before I knew how to curse.

Dodger baseball was all about one thing.

Vin Scully.

You think Smokey Robinson has a smooth voice.

Try Vin.

Whether it was Kirk Gibson’s “improbable” and “impossible” homer in ’88.

Or a story about nothing.

Vin made every baseball inning special.

And he still does to this day.

Now 84, Vin doesn’t do as many road games as he used to.

In fact, I’m not even sure if he leaves the state of California anymore.

But when it comes to baseball at Dodger Stadium you can count on two things.

Expensive parking.

And Vin Scully.

Except for yesterday.

And that scares me.

I’ve had the good fortune to meet Mr. Scully.

Several times.

And every time it’s an honor.

For me.

After all, Vin was the man who put me on the map.

Even if he doesn’t know it.

You see, back in 1993, I was a young pup TV guy.

Working at the Dodgers affiliate in LA.

On the night of July 3rd.

A Friday night.

Vin’s broadcast partner and Dodgers hall of fame pitcher Don Drysdale died of a sudden heart attack.

It was my job to quickly put together the obit segment to honor this fallen star.

So I scrambled to find the appropriate video.

And I scrambled even more to write the appropriate words.

As soon as that was done, I faxed the script.

From our studio in LA.

To Mr. Scully.

On the other side of the continent.

Then I waited.

And waited.

Until it was time for Vin to read the words I had written.

Finally, when our video feed came up, I heard his voice.

And for the next two minutes.

Which felt like two hours.

He read every word I wrote.

Word for word.

Without changing one.

Now considering the tragedy we were covering, there wasn’t anything to celebrate.

But as a budding writer, hearing Vin Scully take the words from my head and have them come out of his mouth.

That was more than I ever could’ve imagined.

The piece turned out really well.

So well, I actually won an Emmy Award for it.

My first.

There’s an old saying that a great voice can read the phone book.

I would have to agree.

Get well soon Vin.