Keith Olbermann writing for GQ:

This is not to say Vin Scully is not a terrific and endlessly patient human being, nor that anyone who has treated him with reverence, nor that the succession of ballplayers and managers who have bestowed the ultimate role-reversal praise by making the pilgrimage in full uniform to him in the press box are being insincere or overdoing it. It’s just that the real Scully—the one who once made us think not of Christ but of Manson—is far more human and far more capable of the unexpected. And thus far more praiseworthy.

I grew up watching Cubs games on WGN and going to Tucson Toros and then Sidewinders minor league ball games. Getting a full, instant statistical analysis with every pitch over the internet has been a thing for almost my entire adult life. But the most formative part of my introduction to baseball as a kid and my love for the game now was sitting by the pool with my dad on Sunday afternoons, listening to AM radio broadcasts of Los Angeles Dodgers games called by Vin Scully (and sponsored by Farmer John). Every time I read about him I come across a story that’s entirely new to me, and this tribute by Olbermann has several good ones.