The following essay was penned by Curt Smith, a senior lecturer in the at the . His 18 books include Voices of The Game and Pull Up a Chair: The Vin Scully Story. USA Today called him “the voice of authority on baseball broadcasting.” Smith was also a speech writer for President George H.W. Bush, with whom he worked for 14 years.

“The man’s bigger than the game, he’s bigger than the team, he’s bigger than the league, he’s bigger than the sport.” —ABC sports broadcaster Howard Cosell on Bob Uecker

It was 1992, and Major League Baseball needed a new commissioner. “If I had my pick,” Cosell told Bob Uecker, “it would be you.” Overbooked, the man known as “Uke” jested, “Howie, I wish I had time.”

Instead, he became what Sports Illustrated called “the funniest man in broadcasting”—stand-up comedian, movie/TV icon, an analyst on ABC’s Monday Night Baseball for more than a decade, and a Milwaukee Brewers broadcaster for 54 seasons.

Uecker, the man The Tonight Show’s Johnny Carson dubbed “Mr. Baseball,” died on January 16, 2025. He was 100 days shy of his 91st birthday.

His deadpan wit and self-deprecating humor left a listener to wonder what was fiction and what was real. To know him meant grasping the blue-collar culture of his parents: August “Gus” Uecker, originally from Switzerland, and Mary, from Michigan. Years later ABC’s Al Michaels asked Uecker about his dad, a tool and diemaker. “He came from the old country and played soccer,” Uke replied. Did Gus play goalie? “Oh, he didn’t play anything. He just blew up the balls. That’s where I get a lot of my talent.”

Uecker was 19 when in March 1953 the Braves moved from Boston to his native Milwaukee. The catcher began to dream of joining the team but said his first tryout ended when a scout told him to throw a fastball. Uecker replied, “I was.”

In 1956, he became Milwaukee’s first native to be signed by the franchise, saying, “I signed in a swanky restaurant, Dad was so excited he rolled down the window and the hamburgers fell off its tray.”

The Braves signed Uecker for $3,000. “That bothered my dad,” he confessed, “because he didn’t have that kind of dough. But he eventually scraped it up.”

He finally made the major leagues in 1962, won a World Series with the St. Louis Cardinals in 1964, was traded twice, and retired in 1967 with a paltry .200 batting average. Thereafter, Uecker’s ineptitude as a player formed the basis for his celebrity as an announcer—a household name even to those couldn’t tell a sacrifice bunt from a sacrifice fly.

Uecker was gracious in person, his self-effacement the Real McCoy. Bob stood alone in his impact far beyond baseball’s broadcast booth. His many parts swayed many publics, Uke’s personae plural, his style unique.

The larger nation knew his humor. Once, Cosell barbed that since Uecker was a mere ex-jock, he couldn’t know what truculent meant. “Sure, I do, Howie,” Uke said. “If you had a truck and I borrowed it, that would be a truck you lent.”

Uecker’s versatility helped him become the TV star of ABC’s Mr. Belvedere in the 1980s. He hosted Battle of the Network Stars and played hard-drinking play-by-play man Harry Doyle in the Major League movie series, famously saying of a pitch into the stands, “Juuuust a bit outside!”

Ģ����ý this time, Miller Beer TV spots began starring Uecker and other former athletes. His caricature of “the poor knucklehead who keeps getting locked out of bars and dumped on by fans” gave him, wrote Sports Illustrated, “a cult following.” That image, in turn—the poor soul, the hapless naif—made him perhaps baseball’s most well-known announcer.

Enabling his appeal was a deep respect for the viewer or listener, affinity with baseball’s middle and working class, and an abiding love of the game. An uncommon man had an uncommon heart. At Brewers games, he read fans’ letters on the air—“even ones that say, ‘You stink.’” One letter began, “Planted a new crop.” Another: “Son got married.” Uecker was proud of being a local boy and was rarely tempted to depart.

In 2003, he received the Baseball Hall of Fame Ford C. Frick Award for broadcast excellence. “I am honored,” he said, “but I still think I should have gone in as a player.” As a broadcaster, Uecker never had a Brewers contract, shaking hands with ownership before each season. Nationally, he broadcast three All-Star Games and five World Series.

In a Miller Lite classic commercial, Uecker blustered, “One of the best things about being in the big leagues is getting freebies to the game. Call the front office—bingo!” He heads for a box. Barred, Bob hallucinates, “Oh, I must be in the front row!” Not exactly. “Good seats, eh, buddy?” he soon says from the upper deck.

In 2001, the Brewers moved into Miller Park, where more than 100 obstructed upper-grandstand level seats, each sold for $1, were named “Uecker Seats.” Later a statue of him was unveiled in the last row. Another statue stands outside the park. In a Miller Lite ad, he said, “Ah, those fans, I love ’em.” For more than half a century, the feeling was reciprocal, baseball and Uecker each other’s best friend.

“The war in Ukraine, like any other, cannot end while the two sides have wildly different expectations about the likely outcome if both stay in the fight,” write Goemans, an expert on war termination, and his coauthor, a professor of political science at the

The duo argues that warring is a process of learning and reassessing information—about both the opponent’s and one’s own military capabilities, organizational strength, political will to fight, and the reliability of one’s allies. “People pay too much attention to what politicians say and too little to the most important sources of credible new information: observed behaviour and the battlefield itself,” they write.

Addressing Western allies directly, they contend that signaling commitment on one hand, while trying to manage expectations on the other, can be difficult. “Yet that is what Western leaders should be doing,” they write. “Instead of fairy tales about Ukraine winning in mere months, they should explain to their people why aid should be sustained, or increased, even though the war will not end soon.”

Goemans is the author of  (Princeton University Press, 2000) and coauthor of  (Cambridge University Press, 2011).

• Read the full opinion piece in (subscription required).
• Listen to Goemans on a recent episode of WXXI’s Connections with Evan Dawson in which he discusses .

Large language models like the one behind the popular ChatGPT could transform the future of chemistry, according to a researcher at the Ģ����ý. , an associate professor of , outlines why he believes large language models (LLMs) represent the future of the field in a by Nature Reviews Chemistry.

White’s research group uses experiments, molecular simulations, and machine-learning to design new materials. He has been using early versions of GPT-4 since September 2022 as a group of researchers hired to help mitigate the risks of artificial intelligence models by testing the platform’s capacity for harmful, illegal, or even unintended output. With the right guardrails in place, he expects GPT-4 and similar large language models to change not only how researchers connect their data, computer programs, and scientific literature, but also how they plan experiments.

“Like any emerging idea in chemistry, it will take time to see where LLMs will fit,” writes White. He adds:

They are already used in most modern reaction synthesis planner tools and have started seeing applications in explaining molecular properties—but where might LLMs go next? I believe LLMs are about to be stapled to every tool in chemistry. Akin to the creation of the internet, it is a foundational technology that will accelerate how fast a chemist can learn and use computational tools.

White notes the need to overcome key challenges with LLMs, such as the hallucination problem (i.e., when AI platforms fabricate facts, quotes, citations, or other outputs), in order to realize their potential. But he argues this is an exciting time to reimagine tools and experiments in the field of chemistry, and that harnessing large language models will open new frontiers for researchers.

“Clear communication in natural language is about to be the most valuable technical skill as we enter this new phase of chemistry,” he writes.

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is a senior lecturer in the Department of English at the Ģ����ý. His 18 books include Voices of the Game, named one of “the 100 best baseball books ever written” by Esquire magazine. His latest is an official National Baseball Hall of Fame book, Memories from the Microphone: A Century of Baseball Broadcasting. Smith was also a speechwriter for President George H.W. Bush during and after his presidency.

“I think there is a natural bridge from being a catcher to talking about the view of the game,” Tim McCarver once said. The former All-Star baseball player and even more celebrated broadcaster died February 16, at 81, having expressed that view better than any sports analyst of his time.

Born 52 days before Pearl Harbor, McCarver was a fine major-league catcher from 1959 to 1980—among only seven modern-day four-decade players. He was a broadcaster for even longer, becoming a Hall of Fame television analyst from 1980 to 2013, working for the Philadelphia Phillies, New York Mets and Yankees, San Francisco Giants, and St. Louis Cardinals, and almost as many networks: ABC, CBS, NBC, and Fox.

The Tennessee native aired a record 23 World Series, 20 All-Star Games, 27 American or National League Championship Series (LCS), and four decades of “Game of the Week.” His vitae lists three Outstanding Sports Personality-Sports Event Analyst Emmies, seven Telly Awards, tenure on each major TV network, and six books on the sport, fusing strategy, comedy—and honesty, above all.

McCarver’s appeal flowed from knowing that baseball is not an island; rather, it is part of culture as a whole. In one breath, the Broadway junkie could compare the batting stance of Ted Williams and Stan Musial—then reference Stephen Sondheim’s “The Little Things You Do Together,” saying, “Tonight, it was the little things the Mets did together.”

Legendary Dodgers broadcaster Vin Scully said, “My best friend on a road trip is a book.” McCarver’s could be, too. In an inning, he might talk of art, note how Harry Truman had thrown “pitches left- and right-handed,” and add that “Yogi Berra would call him amphibious.” He was said to talk a lot, which was true. He also had a lot to say. McCarver’s mind was restless, his curiosity endless, his exuberance contagious. You almost never left him without learning something new.

McCarver joined the Cardinals in 1959 at 17 out of high school in Memphis, becoming the regular catcher in 1963. By 1980, his playing career had weaved through Montreal, Boston, again St. Louis, and Philadelphia. After retiring, he cohosted HBO’s series Race for the Pennant, joined NBC’s backup Game of the Week and Phillies radio/TV, and in 1983 left for the Mets’ WWOR TV. Soon, the New York Post’s Phil Mushnick wrote: “[He] has rekindled hope that sophisticated baseball has a place in New York.”

In 1984, McCarver graced the syndicated Greats of the Game and the All-Star Game and League Championship Series. A year later, ABC’s Howard Cosell released a book scalding his own network. McCarver replaced him on the World Series, clicking with play-by-play man Al Michaels. “It was like [doing] a jigsaw puzzle,” said Michaels, “and finding all the pieces.”

In 1989, Michaels, McCarver, and Jim Palmer were calling the World Series for ABC when an earthquake rocked the San Francisco area, the trio toppling to the floor. The next year, McCarver began a four-year sentence on CBS’s every-other-week Game of the Week, lack of continuity crippling ratings. In 1996, McCarver keyed Fox’s first year of coverage, the Yankees taking their first World Series since 1978 on the night after manager Joe Torre’s brother received a heart transplant. “Frank Torre is on the second day of his second heart,” McCarver said. “Joe Torre is in the fifty-sixth year of his first one. Both are overflowing.”

In 2001, the Yankees led the Diamondbacks, 2-1, in the World Series’ seventh and deciding game. Arizona loaded the bases in the ninth, Yankees closer Mariano Rivera needing two outs for another title. McCarver noted on Fox that “Rivera throws inside to left-handers, and left-handers get a lot of broken-bat hits to left, into the shallow parts of the outfield.” Pitched inside, Luis Gonzalez swung and hit the ball into short left field: D-backs win, 3-2. To legendary baseball writer Roger Angell, McCarver’s became “The Call of Calls.”

By then, the Mets had axed McCarver’s $500,000 salary, with less-pricey Tom Seaver replacing him: “a decision so small,” wrote the New York Daily News, “it could fit inside a batting glove.” McCarver joined the 1999–2001 Yanks, broadcast the 2002 Giants, then left exclusively for Fox. He received the Hall of Fame’s 2012 Ford C. Frick Award for “broadcast excellence,” did a nonpareil 14 straight World Series with Joe Buck from 2000 to 2013, and aired the 2014–2019 Cardinals on Fox Sports Midwest, coming home.

Occasionally, McCarver was asked what baseball meant to him. He said it had hurt him physically and helped cerebrally. Catching pitches behind the plate for two decades left his “left thumb twisted and torn. Fastballs and sliders are the jackhammers of the catcher’s life.” Baseball became so much a part of his life that yearly he vacationed at season’s end. “Otherwise,” he said, “I spend too much time thinking about the game.”

In 2020, he opted not to work at 78, his doctor citing COVID-19 travel safety. Baseball then bid Tim McCarver an affectionate farewell, never more than in the last few days—all of us having learned from, laughed with, and marveled at a person whose voice was the voice of a friend.

In an article published in The Atlantic, , the Helen F. and Fred H. Gowen Professor of Physics and Astronomy at the , discusses what he calls this new era of astronomy. As he explains, a field called High Energy Density Laboratory Astrophysics (HEDLA) has emerged around lasers, which provide scientists an entirely new realm to better understand planetary conditions and other phenomena in the universe.

Large lasers, such as the at Rochester’s , have allowed researchers “to explode mini supernovas in their labs, reproduce environments around newborn stars, and even probe the hearts of massive and potentially habitable exoplanets,” Frank writes.

He attributes the emergence of large-scale, lab-based astrophysics to the decades-long quest for nuclear fusion. Last month, for instance, the Department of Energy announced that scientists had reached a fusion milestone when they achieved ignition—that is, more energy was released from the fusion reaction than was expended in generating it. To accomplish this feat, researchers used lasers to recreate conditions that exist at the core of the sun, where fusion reactions already occur.

“They focused the lasers on tiny pellets of hydrogen, mimicking the sun’s extraordinarily high temperatures and densities to squeeze the hydrogen nuclei into helium and kick off fusion reactions,” Frank writes. “The lasers used are factory-sized affairs that require enormous power to do their work. It was in the process of building these multistory light machines that scientists realized they were also incidentally building an unprecedented tool for studying the heavens.”

As for the future of HEDLA research, Frank says a “sweet spot” may be using laser-based experiments to assist in the search for distant worlds that could potentially harbor life.

“The universe is more in our hands than ever before,” he writes.

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Parents and guardians of college-bound students are more involved than ever in choosing the right school—and that’s what their children want.

By Robert Alexander, the dean of undergraduate admissions, financial aid, and enrollment management for Arts, Sciences & Engineering, URochester.

A of 2,300 parents by consulting firm EAB found that three out of four parents want direct communications from colleges. Also, 48 percent of students named parents or guardians among their five most trusted sources of information on choosing a college—up 11 percent from 2020. These trends have been steadily increasing over the past two decades, so this clearly isn’t a fad.

Of course, parents and guardians want to be involved. The college admissions process centers on parents’ two most important assets: their children and their money.

But how can parents engage in a helpful way while still allowing their child to know they control the biggest decision in their young lives?

At the Ģ����ý, we’ve recognized this trend of increasing parent engagement and have attempted to communicate directly with the parents and families of prospective students. While the student should take the lead in researching college options, preparing their application materials, and certainly writing their own college application essay, parents can support and encourage their kids throughout the college admissions process.

If you feel like you’re constantly bothering your child about college stuff, set a weekly time to talk about college so they won’t feel nagged about it during the rest of your time together.

Ask your child about their interests—academically as well as outside of classes—and plan college visits close to home. Even if those schools aren’t top choices, touring nearby colleges of varying sizes and types will offer a better sense of what questions to ask and what to look for when touring schools at the top of their list. Parents can bring needed perspective by raising issues their kids might not be thinking about, such as:

• Campus safety. Ask how the college or university keeps the campus safe, both in terms of security and health protocols. Don’t just talk to staff, ask students. Every college in the country is required by law to publish .
• Affording college. Perhaps the most anxiety-inducing and confusing element is determining how much a particular college might cost, since there can be a gap between the sticker price and the net cost after financial aid. Colleges are required to have net price calculators on their websites. The more accurate information you type in (about family income, assets, number of children in college, and your student’s academic performance), the more accurate estimate you’ll receive. Once your student is a high school senior, help them file the FAFSA to apply for federal and institutional financial aid, and follow other institution-specific instructions to apply for all possible aid. FAFSA forms should be submitted by the time students submit their college application.
• Outcomes. Beyond a world-class faculty, an array of academic programs, and modern facilities, ask how a college hones its students’ skills to prepare them for lives and careers after graduation. Inquire about career center resources. You can even request data on outcomes like graduate and professional school admission rates and income ten years post-graduation. Find social networks of alumni and parents of current students online, such as Rochester’s Meliora Collective, which can be a great resource for questions and answers.

When it’s time to start filling out applications as part of the college admissions process, ask your child to consider what makes them an interesting person. Remember, colleges aren’t looking for a single perfect archetype student, but rather a diverse array of students who are interesting in different ways. Helping your student see themselves from your perspective might provide a clearer sense of the story they want to tell in their essay or short answer responses, in how they determine which teachers they ask to write recommendation letters, and in topics they raise during an admissions interview.

It’s also important to keep how you communicate in perspective. What might feel like a reasonable suggestion from you could be interpreted as an attempt to take over the process. Here are a few do’s and don’ts to keep in mind.

• Do keep an open mind and collect solid information from credible sources. Trusted sources will never charge you for advice. They typically include websites that end in .edu or .gov, high school counselors, and nonprofit entities with websites ending in .org such as the College Board and the National Association for College Admission Counseling (NACAC).
• Do focus on your student’s growth and development, not on opportunities to fill up pages on a resume with activities you think colleges want to see.
• Don’t worry about a magic number of schools to look at or apply to. Everyone’s different.
• Don’t add pressure or anxiety about getting in to the “right schools.” This is an exciting time for discovery and self-actualization in your child’s life.
• Do remember that the “best fit” school for any particular student will offer the right combination of academic programs, student life, and experiential opportunities, such as community engagement, research, and studying abroad.

The Ģ����ý’s created an online guide for parents and students called , designed to be a roadmap to success. It provides a clear guide for pursuing an education at a selective college or university.

Remember, college admission isn’t a prize to be won, but a match to made. Ultimately, where students go will be less important than what they do to get the most out of their college experience.

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A cognitive bias is a mental process that can lead to illogical and irrational decisions. Biased thinking occurs not only in life, but also in fantasy sports, explains professor .

Although she has participated in fantasy football since 2006, Miller realized in fall 2012 that she could combine her expertise in neuroscience with her love of fantasy sports.

Since then, she has published a short eBook called and written numerous articles on the topic. As the NFL gears up for another season, Miller recently contributed the first in a weekly series she is writing for Yahoo Sports on the ways cognitive bias affects a person’s weekly fantasy football matchups. In the piece, she discusses how cognitive biases are prominently at play during week one of the fantasy season.

Examples of cognitive biases in fantasy football

In fantasy sports, Miller writes, “your brain can twist and interpret fantasy results in ways that are suboptimal, lazy, and illogical.” This biased mental processing can take many forms, she explains. In fantasy sports and beyond, common cognitive bias examples include the following:

• Endowment effect: overvaluing things we have invested in
• Primacy effect: more readily remembering the first event or item in a series versus subsequent events or items
• Recency bias: overvaluing things that have happened most recently
• Confirmation bias: believing information that confirms previously held beliefs while ignoring conflicting data

In week one of the fantasy season, especially, overreactions from fantasy sports participants tend to dominate, particularly on social media. The primacy effect means the results of this first week might carry more weight in a person’s memory than results in subsequent weeks.

“There are certain players we expect to be very involved and score tons of fantasy points, and if they don’t do that in week one, it can really skew our opinion of them going forward,” Miller says. “On the other hand, some players that no one expected to be great will score multiple touchdowns, and fantasy players can end up (unrealistically) expecting or hoping for similar performances in weeks two, three, and beyond.”

But, according to Miller, there are ways to defend against cognitive bias. For example, anticipating you are going to be wrong some of the time, being open to learning, thinking more logically, and remaining aware that biases can twist results in ways that affect decision-making

“Heading into the season with a skeptical brow raised at your brain’s initial emotional reactions should give you a leg up on perfecting a logical process as the season goes on,” she writes.

• Read the full Yahoo Sports .

Now, Curt Smith—a senior lecturer in the at the Ģ����ý and an authority on baseball broadcasting—has written an essay about another notable call for the .

On April 8, 1974, Atlanta Braves star Hank Aaron hit his 715th career home run off Los Angeles Dodgers pitcher Al Downing to break the revered record held by Babe Ruth. The game was shown nationally on NBC, but Braves broadcaster Milo Hamilton had a :

Here’s the pitch by Downing … swinging … there’s a drive into left-center field! That ball is gonna be … outta here! It’s gone! It’s 715! There’s a new home run champion of all time, and it’s Henry Aaron!

The annually names 25 recordings “deemed so vital to the history of America—aesthetically, culturally or historically—that they demand permanent archiving in the nation’s library.” Each includes an in-depth essay by an expert on the subject. Hamilton’s call was among this year, and Smith was asked to pen an essay.

Other broadcasters, including Scully and Curt Gowdy, also called Aaron’s record-breaking home run that day. “Yet to many the most contemporary call was made by the voice identified with Aaron,” writes Smith. He adds, “On April 8, Milo, like Curt and Vin, showed how baseball didn’t need the censor of the brain to reach the heart.”

• Read the in the registry.

Curt Smith is a senior lecturer in the at the . His 18 books include Voices of The Game and Pull Up a Chair: The Vin Scully Story. USA Today called him “the voice of authority on baseball broadcasting.” Smith was also a speech writer for President George H.W. Bush, with whom he worked for 14 years.

In 1945, journalist Edward R. Murrow said of World War II that Winston Churchill “had mobilized the English language and sent it into battle.” From 1950 to 2016, Vin Scully mobilized that language to reach a new peak of radio and television brilliance, daily asking us to “Pull up a chair.”

Vin died on August 2 at 94, having announced the Brooklyn, then Los Angeles, Dodgers for 67 years—the longest such broadcasting streak. For a time, fans knew Vin from a network World Series here, an All-Star Game there. Later, we listened to Scully on 1970s CBS Radio, the 1983–89 NBC TV Game of the Week, then XM satellite radio. To paraphrase film’s The Natural, Scully was “the best there ever was.”

Born in 1927 in Manhattan, Vin at age eight discovered a magic place beneath an Emerson radio “that sat so high off the ground that I was able to crawl under it,” he told me in a 1986 conversation. Each Saturday, Vin put a pillow on its crosspiece and listened to college football broadcasts. “I shouldn’t have cared about a game like Florida-Tennessee,” said Scully, “but I did, getting goose bumps from the roar of the crowd.” He was hooked.

After high school, Scully joined the Navy, then entered Fordham University, where a classmate recalled him as “everywhere, recording himself.” At 21, he met famed Brooklyn baseball and CBS radio voice Red Barber, who hired him to call football and soon the Dodgers. In 1953, Barber left the team, and Scully replaced him—at age 23!—on World Series TV. Trying to “play it cool,” Scully ate breakfast with his parents the day of the Series opener. “Then I went upstairs and threw up.”

‘Ladies and gentlemen, the Brooklyn Dodgers are the champions of the world.’

In 1955, Scully called Brooklyn’s first World Series title after the team had lost six times to the Yankees: “Ladies and gentlemen, the Brooklyn Dodgers are the champions of the world.” All winter, people asked how he stayed so calm. “If I had to say another word, I think I would have cried,” Scully said.

In Brooklyn, the Dodgers televised each game. In late 1957, moving them to Los Angeles, owner Walter O’Malley banned TV broadcasts. Interest turned to radio, of which Scully was a wiz, the Fordham English major routinely coining phrases like “it was so hot today the moon got sunburned” and “he catches the ball gingerly, like a baby chick falling from the tree.”

While Dodger Stadium was being built, the club occupied huge Memorial Coliseum, with a capacity of more than 90,000. Thousands brought radios to a game, hearing Scully report what they couldn’t see. One day in 1960, Scully noted that it was umpire Frank Secory’s birthday. “I’ll count to three, and everybody yell ‘Happy birthday, Frank!’” Scully told his listeners. He counted, and the crowd yelled, “Happy birthday, Frank!” Secory almost fainted.

In the 1959 World Series, Scully and NBC reached a composite record 120 million of America’s then-150 million people. In 1965, Vin described Sandy Koufax’s perfect game—all 27 batters retired without reaching base—so flawlessly that a writer wrote, “It read like a short story” composed not with a pen but on the air.

Scully often likened play-by-play to starting each game with an empty canvas. “With radio, you come into the booth, bring your brushes and pallets, and you mix the paint and put things together,” he said. “And at the end of three hours, you say, ‘Well, that’s the best I can do today.’ On TV, the picture’s already there. So, what you’re doing is shading.”

In the ’70s Vin broadcast tennis, golf, and pro football for CBS. Increasingly, he also used silence as a dramatic tool. In 1974, calling Henry Aaron’s record-breaking 715th home run in Atlanta, Scully hushed for nearly half-a-minute, then said, “A black man is getting a standing ovation in the Deep South for breaking a record of an all-time baseball idol”—majesty to match the moment.  It became a trademark of his, especially in his time at NBC.

Scully broadcast a nonpareil 25 Series; made every major radio/TV Hall of Fame; received an Emmy Lifetime Achievement Award, Commissioner’s Achievement Award, and Star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame; and was named “most memorable [Los Angeles Dodgers] franchise personality” and in 2000, “Sportscaster of the Century” by the American Sportscasters Association, which voted him “Top Sportscaster of All Time” in 2009.

Scully brought eloquence, modesty, and literacy to each broadcast

Scully eventually cut his Dodgers slate, still daily saying, “Hi, again, everyone, and a very pleasant good afternoon to you wherever you may be. It’s time for Dodger baseball!” In 2016, he ended his last game by telling the audience, “I’ll miss our time together more than I can say,” the public feeling the same. Scully’s death a year after his wife Sandra’s in 2021 left 32 children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren—more than the combined starting lineup of three big-league clubs.

In the end, what made Scully, Scully? Other sports carry the announcer. The announcer carries baseball. A three-hour game may see the ball in play 10 minutes. The Voice must navigate a sea of dead air, persona his paddle. Scully tied eloquence, modesty, literacy, a voice less rock ‘n’ roll than easy listening, and extempore ability to haul a story from the shelf, likening statistics to a drunk “using a lamppost for support, not illumination.” Hearing Vin was even better than being at the game.

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