Editor’s note: To say the least, Vin Scully comes by his gift for language honestly. In September 1965, while on a Dodger road trip, Scully wrote a guest column for the Times, excerpted below. He was a master of word and thought then, just as he is now. So pull up a chair …
By Vin Scully
PITTSBURGH — It came up rain, a gray somber rain that put a frown on the careworn face of Pittsburgh. My window was streaked with erratic wet lines that made me think of a small child crying. Rain meant disappointment to thousands of fans — and a doubleheader to broadcast — and it meant that on that wet afternoon, I was face to face with the biggest enemy on the road … TIME …
The radio hummed softly in the background and I began to pick out a few lyrics … “Lost out here in the stars … little stars … big stars …” I began to hold memories up to the light like color slides: New York — I could smell the cigaret smoke in the old Polo Grounds. I was 10 and in the bleachers and I first realized that I could see the bat hit the ball before I could hear it.
