The Whiteboard Jungle: Giving praise to Dodger broadcaster Scully

“Hello everybody, and a pleasant good evening to you wherever you may be.”

Come early October, the voice of Vin Scully on Dodger broadcasts will go silent, the 88-year-old broadcaster retiring after 67 years.

By being the best at what he does for so long, he has spoiled us. We are so accustomed to his comforting voice that, like a family member, we assume it will always be there. After all, one-third of all U.S. presidents were elected during his lifetime.

Well, in about 25 more games, that voice will vanish from the public airwaves.

And to think that Mr. Scully was present for all six World Series championships in Dodger history dating back to the 1955 team in Brooklyn.

One of the last play-by-play announcers to work alone, Mr. Scully becomes Vinnie as he describes the action on the field directly to the audience, cementing a personal connection.

When he says in his introductory remarks “stay tuned for all the stats and stories and a whole lot more comin’ right up” it is as how a friend would speak.

Compare this approach to the typical three announcers who call games on TV who have private conversations among themselves, ignoring the audience, thereby pushing viewers to the outside of the action.

I can’t imagine years from now fans getting sentimental over a current sports announcer’s future retirement.

Mr. Scully’s professional approach to his job due to his sense of responsibility to his audience is unflagging. In short, he cares about what he does and about who is listening.

Always meticulously prepared, he never forgets to continuously give the score and the result of each pitched ball, assuming listeners tune in at different times.

His superb storytelling skills keeps the audience spellbound in what often is a tedious sport. Even when the Dodgers are losing badly, one doesn’t dare turn off the game in fear of missing an anecdote.

Once Vinnie leaves the booth, you will no longer hear the stories about the players that humanize them.

No longer will the TV director get close-ups of babies and toddlers because there won’t be anyone to enthuse over them.

The history behind D-Day will no longer be reported in between balls and strikes on a game that falls on June 6.

No one will retell the story of racing Jackie Robinson on ice skates.

And Scully-isms will never be heard again:

• “He’s out from me to you” — when a player ill-advisedly tries to score and is thrown out at the plate.

• “It’s a dandy!,” “Oh, what a play!” and “Wow!” — his favorite superlatives.

• “The marching and chowder society” — referring to fans of a ballplayer who hits a home run that is worth a second look.

• “Hold everything — I want to talk to my pitcher” – when describing a catcher walking to the mound.

• “Deuces are wild” — when there are two players on base with two out often in a 2-2 tie, and a 2-and-2 count to the batter.

• “There’s a high fly ball to deep center field, a waaay back — She is gone!” — the most dramatic way to call a home run.

From the way he dresses up for work to the way he addresses the audience, Mr. Scully epitomizes the goodness we all should strive for, a rare treasure in a time of self-absorbed personality-deprived broadcasters.

Yet he has always downplayed these marvelous qualities which only adds to his decency.

Thank you, Mr. Scully, for your dedication to your craft as well as your approach to life. It has been a blessing hearing you for so long.

To paraphrase Vinnie, in a career that has been so improbable, it will be impossible not to shed a tear when we hear for the final time, “Goodnight, everybody.”

BRIAN CROSBY is a teacher in the Glendale Unified School District and the author of “Smart Kids, Bad Schools” and “The $100,000 Teacher.” He can be reached at briancrosby.org.