The voice resonating from the next booth was unmistakable. It was loud, and in this moment, agitated.
This was more than a decade ago, in one of my early seasons covering the Mets for The Post, and the voice belonged to Vin Scully, my boyhood hero. It was obvious on this day at Dodger Stadium that Scully’s irritation stemmed from receiving pressure to attend a meet-and-greet with a sponsor (or some such event) that didn’t fit his schedule.
“I’m like a ride at an amusement park,” Scully said, his voice rising and falling as if describing a deep fly ball to right field.
Scully, then in his 80s, was still a rock star, especially in Los Angeles. I found it amazing he was so accessible and approachable, even as a sign in the press box – likely instituted by the Dodgers on Scully’s behalf in the hallway leading to the TV and radio booths – read “broadcasters and engineers only beyond this point.”