The Valley's alive with the sound of Vinny

Longtime Dodger announcer Vin Scully signs a bat while I stand patiently, lovingly, behind the "Voice of the Dodgers," wondering if the cop behind him (and to my right) would arrest me if I cut a lock of Mr. Scully's golden mane and gave him a hickey on the waddles under his chin.

When I seven years old, my aunt and uncle bought me a digital clock radio for Christmas. It was a Panasonic with a plastic brown frame that resembled wood, had a dial radio and green, pencil-thin numbers. In 1979, I thought I was the shit. A radio with a clock! I figured the only dudes cooler were Luke Skywalker and Hans Solo.

And you could dim the clock's numbers. Hot damn! I'd go a few weeks with bright numbers, and then dim the suckers just for shits and giggles. All because I could. I adorned my little friend with smurf stickers - the scratch-and-sniff and puffy kinds because it was only the best for Panny (that's what I called it) - and dusted it religiously. I didn't know what the "sleep" button did, or the "snooze" for that matter, all I knew was that it played music and told me how much longer until G-Force came on the tube.

I heard Gary Newman's "Cars" for the first time on Panny, as well as Blondie's "Call Me" and Frank Zappa's "Valley Girl" (thank you Mighty 690 - now I got the damn song in my head).

But what hits me most when thinking about that old clock radio is that that's where I remember first hearing Vin Scully call a Dodger game.

Cartoons on the tube transfixed Lil' Sis and I. "Sesame Street" and "The Electric Company" were heroin to our 7- and 4-year-old minds, but if the parents turned on a show that had the appeal of brussel sprouts to us so help them we'd let our displeasure show through hyperactivity. Their shows didn't keep our butts in the seats. Hell, every Sunday night they sat down to watch "60 Minutes" before "Chips" and I swear to Al Pacino that show easily lasted "360 Minutes" back then. That Mike Wallace was a lying bastard.

The one adult voice (who wasn't talking to a muppet or a grown-up in a giant yellow bird costume) that kept my ass in the seat was Vinny's. I don't know what it was back then. Maybe it was lyrical voice. Maybe it was easy play calling that made it seem like he was in the room with me. Maybe it was his even delivery that never got too up or too down. Whatever it was, I was hooked to my little clock radio every night so I could hear Vin teach me more about baseball and the Dodgers. It's a cliche, but Vin could have recited the phone book and I would have listened.

But that's Vinny. He teaches without being the angry English teacher who tortures kids with sentence structure and tireless discussions of Robert Frost poems. He's a math, English and history teacher all rolled into one with a three-hour class nearly every day or night from the beginning of April to the end of September. He tells it to you straight in a tone that's nurturing, like a kind-hearted grandpa.

So, when I heard he was coming to the Valley of the Sun for the ceremonial groundbreaking at the Dodgers new spring training facility (oh yeah, the Chicago White Sox new facility, too) I told myself this was a once in a lifetime opportunity and had to attend. The "Voice of the Dodgers" would emcee the ceremony, and I didn't think I'd have another opportunity in his lifetime, let alone mine, to see him in person.

The place was a sea of Dodger Blue. Every Dodger fan east of Coachella were there, and the minute they spotted Vin there was a tidal wave of blue crashing around his feet. I went with the flow of people armed with a borrowed pen I begged off the reporter from the prison work camp who was doing something more constructive than myself - actually covering the event, i.e., working - I joined the throng of humanity around everyone's favorite Dodger hoping he'd sign the event program. Hoping is not the right word. Yearning, pining, longing that he'd grace the program with his name. I had a frame picked out in my head to display the signature, and I was all set to surprise Wife with our newest piece of artwork. The thought of her tears of joy when she saw Vin's signature on a piece of paper that had an image of a baseball behind the words to "Take me out to the Ballgame" filled my heart with happiness. It would be our wedding day and the birth of our child all rolled into one giant baseball of joyous emotion.

And I was fairly confident he'd turn my way sooner or later and sign my program. How could he not when I stood less than five feet away from his glowing body? I was so close I could have hugged him without taking a step. I was so close I could have given him a wet willy with my tongue without hardly leaning. I was so close I could have dry humped his leg in a single bound. As he stood there signing baseballs, bats, jerseys, books and taking pictures with anyone who asked, I stood by patiently, willing the venerable Dodger to turn my way next. I kept rehearsing in my mind what I'd say when he took my program, "Mr. Scully, you taught me everything I know about baseball." It might not be all together true - I must give a nod to Pop who had a hand in the fundamentals - but the compliment was sure to endear me him, I thought.

Alas, an autograph wasn't too be. As the tide of blue ebbed away from Vin I stood there with three or four other guys who were in the same boat until a Dodger honcho told Vin it was time to start things, and before I could utter my rehearsed compliment, or even a nervous "bluhhhhh" (a favorite pickup line when I was in college, by the by), Vin was gone.

All was not lost. I did land one Hall of Famer's autograph - Jamie Jarrin, who made sure to remind me that he's in the Hall by signing it with "HOF '98." He's been the Dodger's Spanish-language broadcaster for 40-some-odd years, and I would imagine is the Vin Scully to Hispanic baseball fans. I also saw Charley Steiner standing by his lonesome, so I had him jot his John Hancock on the free baseball they handed out at this shindig. While he did so, I told him how much I enjoyed his ESPN spots way back when, and when he uttered his famous line, "Follow me, follow me to freedom," I told him I was ready to follow.

Those two signatures are miles away from Vin Scully's. He's my white whale, and with the Dodgers playing spring ball out here in two years, I'll land this fish. I'm not an autograph guy, but Vin's would be one to have on display in the Compound. Maybe I'll find him in a quiet recess of the new Dodger facility (oh, and the White Sox facility, too). And maybe I'll hand him that old clock radio and Sharpie and tell him how this was where I first heard his harmonic voice. Maybe he'll smile, tell me what wonderful thing to hear, and comment how the munchkin holding my hand next to me might be the next Sandy Koufax. And maybe he'll let me get a picture of us together and shake my hand.

Then I'll dry hump his leg.