Longtime MLB broadcaster Vin Scully died at the age of 94 on Tuesday.
There are many beautiful tributes to the legendary Dodgers announcer, whose positive presence was a staple for multiple generations of fans. There are stories about his kindness and his generosity. He was clever and hilarious and one of the world’s most talented storytellers.
Scully was like baseball’s version of Mr. Rogers because he made everyone who listened to him feel like a friend. I’ll remind you that he was a delightful singer, too.
His calls in the broadcast booth weren’t just in the background during key moments of history; his touch was one of the most important ingredients in making these iconic moments.
After providing the soundtrack to countless memories for so many decades, Scully retired in September 2016. But when I reflect on my experience with the larger-than-life individual, one of the moments that sticks out happened in 2020.
During the early days of the pandemic, Scully told the Los Angeles Times that baseball would be like a “rainbow” after the storm. He also admitted that he was unsure what to do when COVID-19 shut down sports.
But we faced much bigger issues than a world without baseball.
I was born and raised in Los Angeles, California and now I live in Brooklyn, New York. Like so many other people impacted by the pandemic, because I was living so far away, I could not see anyone in my family for longer than I had ever gone. I can admit that I was, as the kids say, down horrendous.
I had to use Zoom to attend funerals for a beloved uncle, then a beloved aunt shortly after, who lost their lives to the coronavirus. I missed home so much. I also missed sports, but I will always remember there was one restless day in which I decided to try something different.
One of my friends who lived nearby was on a walk and stopped by to say hello for an outdoor visit. We were both L.A. natives who lived in Brooklyn and wound up discussing how, because of the Dodgers, Scully was like the natural thread that bound those two cities together.
While outside my apartment, we came up with the idea to listen to a radio broadcast of Scully calling a game from 1957.
My friend and I are both Jewish, so we were delighted to find a game that Sandy Koufax was pitching. It was Koufax’s third season in the MLB, and for him and Scully, it would be the last one in Brooklyn before moving to Southern California.
While using my iPhone like a transistor radio, less than five miles from the former home of the Dodgers at Ebbets Field but more than 2,700 miles from Dodger Stadium in L.A., my friend and I sat on the stoop and heard Scully in a much different way than any we had ever heard him before.
Scully transported me back to the late 1950s, far away from the stresses I was experiencing at the time. It was so surreal to listen to the game the way my grandpa, who used to see Jackie Robinson play for the cost of only a nickel, may have experienced it.
During his interview with the L.A. Times, Scully said that the pandemic was “burning up days like an express train” and at that time, I felt those words to feel especially true. But he also offered some solace:
“From depths of depression we fought our way through World War II, and if we can do that, we can certainly fight through this. I remember how happy and relieved and thrilled everybody was … when they signed the treaty with Japan, and the country just danced from one way or another. It’s the life of the world, the ups and downs, this is a down, we’re going to have to realistically accept it at what it is and we’ll get out of it, that’s all there is to it, we will definitely get out of it.”
The pandemic still has a lasting impact on us all, but I know I am no longer in the dark headspace I was in when it first started. I am forever grateful for whatever role listening to Scully played to make that time brighter for even a moment.
I’m very sad that Scully is no longer with us, but he left such positivity and joy during his time on the planet. I am forever grateful for that, and I know I am not alone in that feeling.
Because his words are beautiful, I’ll leave you with his final sign-off … “I’ll miss our time together, more than I can say.”
