My Conversation with Vin Scully
Everyone in baseball has a Vin Scully story. Here’s mine.
In 1997 Interleague play started. Back then, divisions were matched up with one another. So, the American League West played against the National League West. The Los Angeles Dodgers were to play their first games in Arlington in September. I had every intention of being there. I had seen the Dodgers before, but I wanted to see them in Arlington. And I wanted to do it covering the game.
Back then I had a Rangers credential through the Corsicana Daily Sun. It was an afternoon paper, which worked out great for me because I was done with putting the paper together by noon, and as long as I didn’t have local games to cover I could hit a Rangers, Mavericks, Stars or Cowboys game with my press credential.
The Dodgers game was on a Wednesday night. It was just a two-game series and Wednesday was the only night I could go.
The game barely started before a torrential thunderstorm rolled through. Those games, of course, were at the Rangers’ old home, The Ballpark in Arlington. The rain delay lasted more than an hour.
Vin was the soundtrack of my childhood on Saturday afternoons on NBC’s Major League Baseball Game of the Week. For a while, my cell phone ring tone was his call from Game 6 of the 1986 World Series (“The ball rolls through Buckner’s legs and the Mets win the game!) I did it for no other reason than I loved the call.
I wanted to talk to Vin, and not just because it was Vin. Back then, Interleague play was quite divisive among baseball traditionalists. I figured if anyone would have an opinion about it, if any baseball traditionalist might have an issue with it, it would be him. But I got there too late to catch him before the game.
These days, if there’s a rain delay, you hop on the internet. Back in 1997, the internet was barely a thing. I’m not even sure there was internet access in that press box at that time. If there was a rain delay, you basically had to amuse yourself. I was still pretty new to being in that press box, so I walked around.
In the press dining room, I saw Scully. He was sitting at a table and talking to someone. I didn’t have my notebook so I walked back to my seat and grabbed it. He was still in conversation and I didn’t want to interrupt. So I just … lurked. I guess that’s the right word? Maybe I stalked Vin just a little?
Eventually, the person he was talking to stood up and walked away. I absolutely expected him to get up as well. He didn’t. And, oddly, no one else came up to talk to him. I figured that was my shot.
“Mr. Scully?” I said, and yes I was formal back in those days. He dissuaded me of that quickly.
“Yes? And you can call me Vin,” he said.
I introduced myself, explained the piece I was working on and asked for a few minutes.
“Sure, I’d love to talk to you. Have a seat,” he said.
Now, over the years, I’ve accumulated more stories about Scully from my colleagues. My experience wasn’t unusual. That’s how he was, as friendly and as welcoming as one could be.
I asked him about what he thought about Interleague play. To my surprise, he didn’t consider it a bad thing. I tried to find the article I wrote in my clips. I couldn’t find it. But I remember that he talked about his history in the game. At that point, he had called Dodgers games for more than 40 years. He ended up doing 67 years before he retired in 2016.
He referenced breaking in with the Dodgers in 1950 and all of the different things that had changed in baseball since he started calling games. To Scully, the game was about the fans' enjoyment, and if you listened to Scully call just one game you understand to what audience he geared his announcing style.
“It’s a fan’s game,” he said. “If the fans love (Interleague), and they seem to, why not do it?”
We talked for a few more minutes. I asked him about Jackie Robinson. I had too. I mean, how many people was I going to meet at that point in my life that knew Robinson, much less called his games?
He was … Vin. Honestly. That’s all I can say. The friendly-sounding announcer that I grew up with was the same guy in person. It’s rare that the people you grow up listening to or admiring don’t disappoint you when you meet them in person. And for those few minutes that I got to talk with Vin, just me and him, he did not disappoint.
Then, he thanked ME for MY time. He thanked ME. Imagine that.
Then he got up and headed for the broadcast booth. The rain had lifted, the lightning was gone and it was time for baseball.
Vin died on Tuesday. I found out just as the Rangers were wrapping up their 8-2 loss to Baltimore. I had to pause for a minute, just like anyone else that grew up listening to Vin, and just remember that one night that I got to meet him, talk to him and shake his hand.
Vin was it. There will be no one else like him. And I’m glad I got a few minutes with him. It means everything to me as a baseball fan.
You can find Matthew Postins on Twitter @PostinsPostcard
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