clock menu more-arrow no yes mobile

Filed under:

Giants lose

The Giants loss to the Dodgers feels inconsequential after the loss of Vin Scully.

Vin Scully speaking before a game Photo by Jayne Kamin-Oncea/Getty Images

Throughout the course of your life, you’ve consumed — by watching, reading about, checking the box score in the newspaper or on your iPhone, listening to on the radio, what have you — thousands of San Francisco Giants victories. And you’ve consumed thousands of Giants losses.

And, Mays willing, you’ll consume thousands more of each.

Some of them feel incredibly meaningful. Joyous, or tragic. Others don’t.

And a few times every year, like clockwork, something happens that makes us simply not care about the outcome of a Giants game.

Sometimes it’s a national or international tragedy. Sometimes it’s something personal in your life.

And sometimes it’s baseball itself.

Such was the case on Tuesday when, right as the Giants were mounting a predictably futile comeback bid against the Los Angeles Dodgers, it was announced that Vin Scully had died at the age of 94.

Scully, who spent an unfathomable 67 years announcing Dodgers games. Scully, who, despite being part and parcel of the loathed Dodgers, has a booth named after him at Oracle Park. Scully, who could tell a story better than anyone, all while perfectly narrating a baseball game.

Scully, who is, without a second’s hesitation, the greatest of all time at his craft.

That Scully.

I won’t call it a tragedy that an elderly person who lived a life so full that we should all hope to emulate it died. It’s not a tragedy. It’s a loss. And sometimes those touch us even more.

Because Scully was full of life. Not in the effervescent, endlessly energetic sense of the word, though he knew how to possess that. He was simply full of life in the sense that he blossomed every emotion and philosophy that living has to offer.

He told stories of endless optimism and whimsical joy. Heartbreak and loss. Silliness, funniness, and the perseverance of the human spirit.

He made you feel, in a way poets, songwriters, and artists spend their lives trying to accomplish.

The Giants lost. Alex Wood pitched oddly well for an ERA-inflating outing, but, per the usual, the defense let him down in a way that was almost satirical it was so predictable. It was nearly comedy. The Giants shocked Tyler Anderson with a five-run inning to pull within one run, capped off by a booming home run courtesy of Joey Bart. They later loaded the bases with no outs, needing just a fly ball to tie the game, but came away with nothing. They would give up three more runs and lose 9-5, marking their sixth loss to the Dodgers since the All-Star break.

All of those things, good and bad, made you feel. And feeling is always worth celebrating.