September 24, 2016
Dear Vin,
I don't usually personalize my articles, since the teams are much more important than what I think. This must be personal. I would like to call you, Mr. Scully, because I have the greatest respect for you. But I know you don't like it.
Although I have listened to you since I was 7 months old, I became a Dodger fan when I was 7 years old. You, along with Jerry Doggett and Ross Porter, taught me the game. When I went to my grandparents' home, they were listening to the Dodgers. Your retirement is another link I am losing to them. When my granddad passed away, I was barely 21, and there's not a single day I don't think of him. Now, some women ask me, "Why did you go in baseball? After all, it's not ladylike." Every time I am asked, I am shocked since my grandmommy was a Dodger fan -- and she was a real lady.
You have helped me to be a better student. Since I can't hold a book because of my lack of hand use, I rely on my listening skills to learn. Listening to you helped me develop my listening abilities. You rarely repeat yourself, so I need to listen closely to you to know the facts of the game. It's not surprising history was my favorite -- and best -- subject, since I can listen to the teachers.
:: Farewell, Vin Scully ::
During your broadcasts, I have learned about history, literature, mythology, American culture, and science. This year, during a game against the Tampa Bay Rays, you made learning about the different kinds of rays interesting. You have taught us about the history of beards and the importance of the invasion of Normandy.
Your voice has a calming quality. Your baritone singing, "Take Me Out to the Ball Game," at Wrigley Field always brightens my day whenever I hear it. I smile every time I hear you, regardless what is going on my life.
Your command of the English language still amazes me. As a baseball writer, I have time to figure out what to say -- and I still fumble with words trying to convey a specific idea. Within a split second, you portray an eloquent picture that says everything that needs to be said. You always seem to know what to say, no matter the situation is.
You and I have shared many happy times. At 10, before I could comprehend the significance of what I was witnessing, you explained Fernandomania. There will never be another Fernando Valenzuela. I have listened to you describe nine Rookies of the Year. Corey Seager will probably be No. 10, and he will be special. We have celebrated two World Series championships and many no-hitters. We enjoyed watching those two kittens (Alex Cora and Cesar Izturis) playing with a ball of yarn around the second-base bag. We marveled at Cora's 18-pitch at-bat that ended with a homer, and those four consecutive home runs about 10 years ago -- when the Dodgers were fighting for a playoff berth. The first week that the Wild Horse was in the Majors took our breaths away.

Like any relationship that lasts for almost 40 years, we have shared sorrows. One particular week in 1993 was awful, when the Dodger family lost both Roy Campanella and Don Drysdale. As usual, you broke the news about Drysdale with the same class and dignity. You have endured many ownership and managerial changes. I know you didn't always agree with them, but you rarely expressed your displeasure publicly. I know you suffered an indescribable personal loss just before the 1994 season, but you didn't let your grief affect your job performance. Your ultimate professionalism has set an incredibly high standard to try to emulate.
On Aug. 31, 2002, my family had the special opportunity to meet you. I will never forget your warmth and graciousness as you posed for a picture with me. You were on your way to the Catholic church across the street from the stadium. Every time we passed the church, my mother called it, "Vinnie's church." I admire your faith and humility.
You have been my favorite teacher. I always say I doubt I would be a baseball fan if I had not lived in Southern California and had the opportunity to listen to you daily during the baseball season. I want to express my gratitude for entertaining me for a ton of hours.
I can hear you telling me, "Stop being sentimental, Morris! Hopefully, later tonight you will need to write about a division title."
God bless your retirement,
Sarah D. Morris