Major League Baseball

Los Angeles' love affair with Vin Scully

Published Nov. 15, 2016 2:47 p.m. ET

Ryan Rosenblatt

The Dodgers are a Los Angeles institution. That much is clear, but delve any deeper and there isn’t much that ties the team to the city and its people. It's a city that was long ago taken over by the Lakers, and to many, the Dodgers are more of an excuse to spend a summer evening outside than really invest in the ballclub.

There is a younger generation of Dodger fans that now includes people as old as 27 that have never seen the team make a World Series, let alone win one. The older generation still thinks of the Dodgers as the class of the National League -- because that's what they were from the moment the team touched down in Los Angeles in 1958, until Kirk Gibson stunned the A's in the 1988 World Series. The team hasn't had a franchise player in 30 years, with fans now hoping Clayton Kershaw sticks around and stays healthy to be that man, but still skeptical because the pain of Mike Piazza's departure hasn't worn off. Speaking of pain, the Frank McCourt era is still a fresh wound.

So what are the Dodgers? What unites the fan base or makes people believe in the franchise and gets nearly 4 million people to show up to Dodger Stadium each year?

Vin Scully.

Vinny is the only thing that makes the Dodgers well, the Dodgers.

When the Dodgers first moved to Los Angeles, he was the one who taught the city the sport. It's why the Coliseum was filled with thousands of people who had their transistor radios -- so they could listen to Vinny while watching the game because the game didn't happen if Vinny didn't tell it to you, even if you saw it with your own two eyes. So the tales of "Moon shots" -- the home runs Wally Moon would hit over the short porch in left field at the Coliseum -- became part of team lore, just like the first major-league championship in the city's history has forever been marked by his exclaiming "we go to Chicago!" as they booked a spot in the 1959 World Series.

Even Sandy Koufax, as brilliant as he was, does not stand alone in Los Angeles. Because his most iconic moment, his perfect game, is not shown without Vinny's perfect call of the ninth inning. Don Drysdale's scoreless innings streak is accompanied by Vinny, as is Rick Monday grabbing a burning flag in the outfield, Fernandomania and Kirk Gibson's home run.

That’s important for a club that hasn't had much to celebrate since 1988. Not an iconic player who didn't leave a bad taste in your mouth, not a single championship and not even more than a few memorable moments or likable teams. There have been division titles, but even those and the forays into the playoffs that would follow felt hopeless. Despite that feeling of impending doom, each night Vinny would tell you stories about the great teams of old. Or your parents would tell you about it and never without the line Vinny used to describe the moment, even if it was decades later. Not a word he said was ever forgotten.

The Dodgers did little to comfort fans throughout the 90s and 2000s, but Vinny did. You could watch Pedro Martinez get dealt for Delino Deshields, Piazza get booed on his way out of the city, Kevin Brown become the $100 million man or Jeff Kent and JD Drew get thrown out at home plate on the same play in the playoffs and want to quit the Dodgers forever. But that would mean quitting Vinny. It would mean missing that little crack of a smile when he laughed in amazement at the team's ineptitude, only to follow it up with a story of the improbability of what you just saw and the appreciation for the remarkable sport you were watching. Even if it broke your heart.

Vinny taught us that talent was special and these superhuman athletes were in fact just as human as you and I. That words matter and that you can love something as silly as a game because the players and fans were truly spectacular. His admiration and amazement for the sport and human kind became yours.

My dad and great grandfather believe in the Dodgers. They believe that the team can win a World Series, no matter how many times the bullpen, or free agent bust, or injury lets them down. To say that I do not would be an understatement. The Dodgers are good enough to get my hopes up just so they crush them and every time they do, I wonder why I bothered getting my hopes up or even watching. And I realize that I do it for Vinny. That you don't want to miss a game (or more recently, a home game because those are the only ones Vinny called) because that would mean missing out on stories from Grandpa Vin. Missing out on the way he imagined a lake in centerfield on hot days, described a double play that made it feel balletic, his lip reading during an ejection that always required a translation to "horse manure," or even the joy of a kid diving into some ice cream. He made the Dodgers much more than just a team. He made them an experience that was unique to the city and something we could all share -- my dad, my great grandfather, my brother, my friends and the rest of the city.

As cable and the internet opened us up to the rest of the country, we began to realize that Vinny's influence and impact wasn't limited to just Los Angeles. His work with NBC on baseball, football and golf resonated with America the same way his calls with the Dodgers resonated with Los Angeles. His reach was truly national and it only made him that more amazing. But he was still ours.

Vin Scully wasn't just the voice of the Dodgers or even the voice of summer. He was the voice of Los Angeles from the moment he landed here in 1958 and for every Angeleno of the last 58 years, he'll be the voice of the city until the day we die.