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I love baseball. I've loved baseball my whole life, and in particular I love the Los Angeles Dodgers. I've been living in Giants territory for most of my life. I'm often asked, "why do you root for the Dodgers?" A good response would be this: because I hate the Giants!
But, really - why?
As a yute, I lived in a picturesque little fishing/logging town in northwest Oregon called Astoria. Fishing and logging have been mostly legislated away, and Astoria remains the same picturesque little town, never ranging too far from a population of 10,000. I'm pretty sure the town is now dependent on tourism to survive. It was where the cult kids classic The Goonies was filmed, and also the setting for Kindergarten Cop, which starred the Governator and was filmed in large part in my grade school, John Jacob Astor Elementary.
Okay, back on track. When I first fell in love with baseball, the closest team was down in San Francisco, which I'm sure to me was easily a zillion miles away. Older heads will remember that baseball was still pretty much a radio-only sport, with the only televised game being the Game of the Week, which aired on Saturday. In the mid-70s, I can only remember there being three teams: the Yankees, the Reds and the Dodgers. The Big Red Machine was in its heyday, the Yankees were the Yankees, and the Dodgers were usually battling it out with the Reds.
So I had three choices, and two of them were easily rejected. The Yankees were an automatic "no". They were way over in New York (a zillion miles away, plus infinity), and for some reason I couldn't put my youthful finger on, they just weren't to be liked. Why not the Reds, then? Like almost all boys back then, I spent a lot of time outside, and a LOT of that time was spent down at the park nestled next to Miles Grocery. That's where most of the neighborhood kids gathered to play basketball and baseball. Baseball games were usually played under the "slide on over" rule. Out in the little area that constituted right field was the Grange hall, and in right center was the slide and merry-go-round. Almost all of us were right-handed, so the playing field started at the slide, on over to the left field foul line.
Anyway, one of my friends back then was a kid named Eric Viuhkola, and he would. not. shut. up. about Pete Rose and the Reds. The kid was obsessed with Rose, and consequently I couldn't stand him or the mere mention of his name. That left the Dodgers.
Now the Dodgers, at least to me, were an easy team to like. It was the prime of the longest running infield in the game's history (Cey, Russell, Lopes and Garvey), they went to the World Series often enough (losing to the hated Yankees in '77 and '78), and had a rich history, albeit one that as a kid could only be articulated as "Jackie Robinson". And then Topps released the 1978 set, which I collected all summer long. It was the coolest set - it had a game on the back and super-cool red white and blue All-Star shields, several of which were on Dodgers cards.
So that's how I articulated being a Dodgers fan as a kid, and as a teenager, and as a young adult. I'm not so young anymore, and lately I've been reflecting on just why I really love the Dodgers. Why, indeed?
Because of Jackie and Rachel Robinson. Jackie, who endured more than any one of us can imagine. Jackie, who was courageous, and disciplined, and strong of character. And Rachel, who was and is an absolute treasure. Her character and dignity shone then, and shines to this day.
Because of Pee Wee Reese and the friendship he extended to Jackie. I will always love Pee Wee Reese for that.
Because they were the Bums, the lovable losers from Brooklyn, who finally beat the Yankees in 1955.
Because of Willie, Mickey and the Duke. I thought then (as well as now), how cool it was that there was a song written about three legendary center fielders and that one of "my guys" made the cut.
Because of Sandy Koufax, a legend of a pitcher and a man who maintained his tradition of not pitching on Yom Kippur, even when that holy day coincided with Game 1 of the 1965 World Series - which he would have started and probably pitched a perfect game!
Because of Fernandomania, of which I had an incurable case in 1981. At 14 years old, I knew or cared nothing of what language he spoke or where he was from. I just knew he was really, really good. He didn't look like a ballplayer, and that heavenward glance before throwing a pitch was the coolest! He seemingly never lost, but when he did I was devastated. I specifically remember being crushed when he lost late in that 1981 season to the Giants 1-0 (35 years ago yesterday).
Because the same year millions of us were infected with Acute Fernandomania, the Dodgers, for the first time in my lifetime, slayed the mythical Yankee beast.
Because of Kirk Gibson, who came limping out of the bowels of Dodger Stadium to hit one of the most memorable and dramatic home runs in the history of the game. I will never forget my roommate, Jason Rodriguez, and I screaming and jumping up and down in absolute boisterous delight. I think we were pretty hammered at the time - I don't think the downstairs neighbors were too happy with us.
Because the Dodgers, in that same 1988 World Series, were carried the rest of the way by a Bulldog, Orel Hershiser, who earlier that season broke the consecutive scoreless innings streak held by another Dodger legend, Don Drysdale.
Because of Nomomania. While he wasn't the first Japanese player, he is often credited with breaking that particular race barrier (the first Japanese player, by the way, was Masanori Murakami, who played for the Giants from 1964-1965). I was captivated by Nomo's unorthodox windup and delivery, and his success wasn't half bad, either.
Because of Tommy Lasorda, who was profane at the best and worst of times, and who loved the Dodgers so much that he actually bled Dodger blue. I always thought it would be the coolest if my blood could be blue like his! And oh, how he used to make Giants fans angry. He'd blow kisses at them, and the Candlestick faithful would foam at the mouth like rabid animals! God bless you, Tommy!
Because of Dodger Stadium, which is the third oldest ballpark in the country and remains just as beautiful now as it has always been. My first visit there was in 1992, and I remember being awestruck at seeing the field where the players I loved had done marvelous things. To me, it was akin to holy ground. And what can you eat at Dodger Stadium? Why, Dodger Dogs, of course. Actually, I was pretty disappointed when I learned that Dodger Dogs were really just an extra-long plain ol' hot dog. Still a pretty cool food name, though.
Because of Benny the Jet, who bested The Beast in one of the best kid/baseball movies ever, The Sandlot. Benny wore a Dodgers hat all through the movie, and went on to play for them when he was grown.
And because of Mike Piazza (the longshot draft pick), and Clayton Kershaw, and Brett Butler, and Corey Seager, and so many other players
And I think most of all because of Vincent Edward Scully, Vin to his friends, of whom anyone who has ever listened to him can be counted as. Vin, who has been the radio voice of the Brooklyn and Los Angeles Dodgers since 1950. Vin, who will call his last game next Sunday in San Francisco. Vin, one of the humblest, nicest men you could ever meet. He doesn't have a signature home run call, he doesn't shout, and he's never put himself in front of the game he loves. A weaver of oral tapestries, interspersing balls, strikes, hits and outs among travelogues of obscure villages in Venezuela or the Dominican, or relating how much influence the opposing 2nd baseman's 3rd grade teacher had on him. He's got the most soothing voice, one that sounds like he's in a rocking chair next to only me out on the veranda, calmly narrating that day's game. He's always known just what to say and when to say it... and when the occasion calls for it, he knows when to say nothing at all.
I'm going to miss Vin's voice and his stories. He's been a part of my life and the game I love for so long, and at the moment it's hard to contemplate that in nine days it'll be someone else. I think Rick Monday said it best, as told in Jayson Stark's article, The Man. The Voice. The Stories.
"I have to admit I've had a hard time thinking about that last inning. I'm not sure I can even be in the booth. I can't imagine when he turns off that mic for the last time ... (very long pause, as Monday appears to be fighting off tears) ... because the silence will literally be deafening."
But, really - why?
As a yute, I lived in a picturesque little fishing/logging town in northwest Oregon called Astoria. Fishing and logging have been mostly legislated away, and Astoria remains the same picturesque little town, never ranging too far from a population of 10,000. I'm pretty sure the town is now dependent on tourism to survive. It was where the cult kids classic The Goonies was filmed, and also the setting for Kindergarten Cop, which starred the Governator and was filmed in large part in my grade school, John Jacob Astor Elementary.
Okay, back on track. When I first fell in love with baseball, the closest team was down in San Francisco, which I'm sure to me was easily a zillion miles away. Older heads will remember that baseball was still pretty much a radio-only sport, with the only televised game being the Game of the Week, which aired on Saturday. In the mid-70s, I can only remember there being three teams: the Yankees, the Reds and the Dodgers. The Big Red Machine was in its heyday, the Yankees were the Yankees, and the Dodgers were usually battling it out with the Reds.
So I had three choices, and two of them were easily rejected. The Yankees were an automatic "no". They were way over in New York (a zillion miles away, plus infinity), and for some reason I couldn't put my youthful finger on, they just weren't to be liked. Why not the Reds, then? Like almost all boys back then, I spent a lot of time outside, and a LOT of that time was spent down at the park nestled next to Miles Grocery. That's where most of the neighborhood kids gathered to play basketball and baseball. Baseball games were usually played under the "slide on over" rule. Out in the little area that constituted right field was the Grange hall, and in right center was the slide and merry-go-round. Almost all of us were right-handed, so the playing field started at the slide, on over to the left field foul line.
Anyway, one of my friends back then was a kid named Eric Viuhkola, and he would. not. shut. up. about Pete Rose and the Reds. The kid was obsessed with Rose, and consequently I couldn't stand him or the mere mention of his name. That left the Dodgers.
Now the Dodgers, at least to me, were an easy team to like. It was the prime of the longest running infield in the game's history (Cey, Russell, Lopes and Garvey), they went to the World Series often enough (losing to the hated Yankees in '77 and '78), and had a rich history, albeit one that as a kid could only be articulated as "Jackie Robinson". And then Topps released the 1978 set, which I collected all summer long. It was the coolest set - it had a game on the back and super-cool red white and blue All-Star shields, several of which were on Dodgers cards.
So that's how I articulated being a Dodgers fan as a kid, and as a teenager, and as a young adult. I'm not so young anymore, and lately I've been reflecting on just why I really love the Dodgers. Why, indeed?
Because of Jackie and Rachel Robinson. Jackie, who endured more than any one of us can imagine. Jackie, who was courageous, and disciplined, and strong of character. And Rachel, who was and is an absolute treasure. Her character and dignity shone then, and shines to this day.
Because of Pee Wee Reese and the friendship he extended to Jackie. I will always love Pee Wee Reese for that.
Because they were the Bums, the lovable losers from Brooklyn, who finally beat the Yankees in 1955.
Because of Willie, Mickey and the Duke. I thought then (as well as now), how cool it was that there was a song written about three legendary center fielders and that one of "my guys" made the cut.
Because of Sandy Koufax, a legend of a pitcher and a man who maintained his tradition of not pitching on Yom Kippur, even when that holy day coincided with Game 1 of the 1965 World Series - which he would have started and probably pitched a perfect game!
Because of Fernandomania, of which I had an incurable case in 1981. At 14 years old, I knew or cared nothing of what language he spoke or where he was from. I just knew he was really, really good. He didn't look like a ballplayer, and that heavenward glance before throwing a pitch was the coolest! He seemingly never lost, but when he did I was devastated. I specifically remember being crushed when he lost late in that 1981 season to the Giants 1-0 (35 years ago yesterday).
Because the same year millions of us were infected with Acute Fernandomania, the Dodgers, for the first time in my lifetime, slayed the mythical Yankee beast.
Because of Kirk Gibson, who came limping out of the bowels of Dodger Stadium to hit one of the most memorable and dramatic home runs in the history of the game. I will never forget my roommate, Jason Rodriguez, and I screaming and jumping up and down in absolute boisterous delight. I think we were pretty hammered at the time - I don't think the downstairs neighbors were too happy with us.
Because the Dodgers, in that same 1988 World Series, were carried the rest of the way by a Bulldog, Orel Hershiser, who earlier that season broke the consecutive scoreless innings streak held by another Dodger legend, Don Drysdale.
Because of Nomomania. While he wasn't the first Japanese player, he is often credited with breaking that particular race barrier (the first Japanese player, by the way, was Masanori Murakami, who played for the Giants from 1964-1965). I was captivated by Nomo's unorthodox windup and delivery, and his success wasn't half bad, either.
Because of Tommy Lasorda, who was profane at the best and worst of times, and who loved the Dodgers so much that he actually bled Dodger blue. I always thought it would be the coolest if my blood could be blue like his! And oh, how he used to make Giants fans angry. He'd blow kisses at them, and the Candlestick faithful would foam at the mouth like rabid animals! God bless you, Tommy!
Because of Dodger Stadium, which is the third oldest ballpark in the country and remains just as beautiful now as it has always been. My first visit there was in 1992, and I remember being awestruck at seeing the field where the players I loved had done marvelous things. To me, it was akin to holy ground. And what can you eat at Dodger Stadium? Why, Dodger Dogs, of course. Actually, I was pretty disappointed when I learned that Dodger Dogs were really just an extra-long plain ol' hot dog. Still a pretty cool food name, though.
Because of Benny the Jet, who bested The Beast in one of the best kid/baseball movies ever, The Sandlot. Benny wore a Dodgers hat all through the movie, and went on to play for them when he was grown.
And because of Mike Piazza (the longshot draft pick), and Clayton Kershaw, and Brett Butler, and Corey Seager, and so many other players
And I think most of all because of Vincent Edward Scully, Vin to his friends, of whom anyone who has ever listened to him can be counted as. Vin, who has been the radio voice of the Brooklyn and Los Angeles Dodgers since 1950. Vin, who will call his last game next Sunday in San Francisco. Vin, one of the humblest, nicest men you could ever meet. He doesn't have a signature home run call, he doesn't shout, and he's never put himself in front of the game he loves. A weaver of oral tapestries, interspersing balls, strikes, hits and outs among travelogues of obscure villages in Venezuela or the Dominican, or relating how much influence the opposing 2nd baseman's 3rd grade teacher had on him. He's got the most soothing voice, one that sounds like he's in a rocking chair next to only me out on the veranda, calmly narrating that day's game. He's always known just what to say and when to say it... and when the occasion calls for it, he knows when to say nothing at all.
I'm going to miss Vin's voice and his stories. He's been a part of my life and the game I love for so long, and at the moment it's hard to contemplate that in nine days it'll be someone else. I think Rick Monday said it best, as told in Jayson Stark's article, The Man. The Voice. The Stories.
"I have to admit I've had a hard time thinking about that last inning. I'm not sure I can even be in the booth. I can't imagine when he turns off that mic for the last time ... (very long pause, as Monday appears to be fighting off tears) ... because the silence will literally be deafening."
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