Vin Scully’s most permanent home was in Booth at Dodger Stadium, but he was just as efficient when he turned into Booth at a golf tournament.
Jayne Kamin-Wancia/USA Today
“Would you like to see perhaps the wildest moment in the history of any professional sport? There goes the commissioner!”
-CBS Golf announcer Vin Scully, 1982 Players Championship
No one will voice the legends of the past more calmly than Vincent Edward Scully, whose death earlier this week at the age of 94 treads a generational boundary line between the good old days and the uncertainty of tomorrow. Best known for his 67 years as a play-by-play announcer for the Los Angeles Dodgers, Scully also spent seven years anchoring golf coverage on both CBS and NBC. His partnership in the booth with Lee Trevino remains one of the better pairings in the sport’s TV history, made memorable by Scully’s knack for opening Mary Mex’s gift of gab.
Trevino knew greatness when he was sitting next to her. Scully could summon any sport in any environment, although his style was best suited to the slow pace and acres of space provided by golf and baseball. He was a storyteller, and if it took time to tell the stories, Scully delivered them in a somewhat unusual manner of an Irishman from the Bronx.
There are people who transcend an era and others who define it. Scully was a less complicated definition of a time when imaginations ran wild, clocks ran slow and three-quarters of the world didn’t have cell phones.
Thank God Big Fella allowed us to cherish the memories.
In television today, those behind the microphone are strongly urged to avoid “dead air” or any period of time during which no one is talking. This either upsets the audience or makes them feel uncomfortable, according to the industry pamphlet, which doesn’t do much to explain the phrase “peace and quiet”.
Like the prolific trumpeter Miles Davis, Scully turned dead air into a work of art. He found many invaluable purposes for those breaks: reflection, praise, a chance to tell his kids to shut up. His most notable verbal void occurred after Kirk Gibson’s pinch-hit homer in the bottom of the ninth, which saw the Dodgers win Game 1 of the 1988 World Series, a heavy underdog for the Oakland Athletics.
scroll to continue
The bedlam created that evening by approving 55,983 witnesses was all that needed to be heard. Scully was smart enough to know that when a broadcaster is talking to nobody but himself, the situation is secure enough to say nothing and tough enough to defy conventional wisdom as that is decided by critical cognition. When Hank Aaron passed Babe Ruth as the career home-run king of Major League Baseball in 1974, he was brave enough to brush off the racial irony.
“A wonderful moment for the country and the world,” offered Scully, who handled the telecast for NBC. “A black man is getting a standing ovation in the deep South for breaking the record for an all-time baseball idol.”
The ease with which the man presided over the golf tournament was nothing short of a surprise. Scully spent at least six months each year focusing his attention solely on baseball. Participation in the PGA Tour program does not matter; Hardly got time to watch the Dodgers’ voices on TV. Relentless preparation made him every bit as reliable as he was listenable, but with Trevino, having fun became a top priority.
The laughs have never been bigger than at the end of 1982’s Players. When winner Jerry Pate pushed Tour commissioner Dean Beaman into the lake with the 18th green, then led TPC Sawgrass architect Pete Dye into the water before diving himself in, Scully was there to frame the moment in golden perspective , referring to it as a scene “right outside Helzapoppin’ or Animal House.”
His golf career began at CBS, the home of the Masters, where Scully’s gentlemanly demeanor and easy-to-do nuance quickly propelled him to Augusta National membership. As was the case with Pat Summerall, with whom Scully worked frequently, high-profile golf assignments were no sweat for a broadcaster who had nothing close to a deep background in the sport.
Brent Musberger has been consistently infamous for his performances at big events. A lot of it was unjust – CBS took it to its damning extreme, which is completely different from being incompetent. Jim Nantz’s limitless polish as a telecast host has allowed him to escape the wrath of media scribes over the years, and the same can be said of Mike Tirico, who doesn’t carry Nantz’s workload, but There aren’t many people who have earned this kind of universal acclaim in another game, then made an easy change to talk about the little white ball.
Scully was one of them. His grace with spoken word and contemplative disposition as an observer made him a man for all seasons, a well-known presence at any gathering where professional athletes were competing and someone was scoring. Golf was fortunate to have benefited from his contributions, and in turn, Scully benefited himself to new audiences with Keener praise for his excellence.
For some reason, a moment of silence seems appropriate.
Reader’s feedback is encouraged at [email protected] and we may publish your letter (include your name and hometown). Click here to get all the latest Morning Read news and commentary delivered to your inbox every morning.