September the Ninth

Scully interviews Koufax after Game 7 of the 1965 World Series:

It's September the ninth.

9/9.

On this date in history is...er...not a whole lot. Elvis appeared on The Ed Sullivan Show for the first time in 1956.

On this date in 1972, the United States lost to the Soviet Union in the hyper-controversial gold medal Olympic basketball game.

And on this date in nineteen-hundred-and-sixty-five Sandy Koufax pitched a perfect game.

He beat the Chicago Cubs 1-0, on an unearned run in front of 29.139 at Dodger Stadium.

Or, as Vin Scully said, "Twenty-nine thousand and a million butterflies."

Michelangelo painted the Sistine Chapel.

da Vinci had the Mona Lisa.

Van Gogh brought us a Starry Night.

Shakespeare wrote Hamlet.

Robert Frost wrote "The Road Less Traveled."

And Vincent Edward Scully, a product of The Bronx and Washington Heights, by way of Brooklyn and Los Angeles, spoke the words describing Sanford Koufax's perfect game against the Chicago Cubs on September the ninth, Nineteen-hundred-and-sixty-five.

There is, and will likely never be, no finer example of play-by-play -- in itself, a form of poetry -- than Scully's ninth inning call of the Koufax perfecto.

Where the heck does he come up with "a million butterflies?"

But, more than that, he resets and says, "The Dodgers defensively in this spine-tingling moment," before naming the nine on the diamond in that moment.

I beg -- plead -- young (and old) broadcasters to learn how to give details. Like this:

"And you can almost taste the pressure now. Koufax lifted his cap, ran his fingers through his black hair, then pulled the cap back down, fussing at the bill. Krug must feel it too as he backs out, heaves a sigh, took off his helmet, put it back on and steps back up to the plate."

Later: "One and one to Harvey Kuenn. Now he's ready: fastball, high, ball two. You can't blame a man for pushing just a little bit now. Sandy backs off, mops his forehead, runs his left index finger along his forehead, dries it off on his left pants leg. All the while Kuenn just waiting."

Even his cadence is just magnificent. Of course, you need to hear it, but when Vin says, "Torborg held the ball high in the air trying to convince Vargo but Eddie said nossir," you can feel it.

Read yesterday's post. Then read this: "A lot of people in the ballpark now are starting to see the pitches with their hearts." Bingo.

Ever the reporter -- the journalist, dammit! -- he reminds the listener that it's still just a 1-0 ballgame and that the tying run is omnipresent.

This line is just stunning: "I would think that the mound at Dodger Stadium right now is the loneliest place in the world."

Then, the denouement: "Two and 2 to Harvey Kuenn, one strike away. Sandy into his windup, here's the pitch: Swung on and missed, a perfect game!"

After nearly 40 seconds of silence, the master, calling the master, returns to finish with the flourish: "And Sandy Koufax, whose name will always remind you of strikeouts, did it with a flurry. He struck out the last six consecutive batters. So when he wrote his name in capital letters in the record books, that "K" stands out even more than the O-U-F-A-X."

There is no finer call. "Do You Believe in Miracles" is magical, no doubt. "The Giants win the pennant!" is bluster at its finest in its shock. There are so many other Vinny calls worthy of praise.

But this is the one that I implore every student to listen to.

You don't have to be Scully. Don't try. Be yourself. But learn to describe.

It exists purely because Scully asked an engineer to record it as a gift to Koufax. Otherwise, no video or audio of the game exists. He put the time stamps in, "It's 9:46 p.m.," so that Koufax could be reminded of the moment.

It exists in transcription form on Salon.

It's perfection -- on and off the field.