For Scully, there were no borders on baseball broadcasts

Red Barber, who made one of the more memorable calls — describing Al Gionfriddo robbing a frustrated  Joe DiMaggio, “back, back, back” — often said there was something special about listening to a baseball game on the radio.

The nature of the sport, with its dimensions — 90 feet between bases is the closest man has come to perfection, it was written — allowed us to perceive what we couldn’t literally see.

So the men who announced the games became an integral part of our sporting lives. Go back, back, back to the Pacific Coast League, to Don Klein and Bud Foster, and those who sat in front of microphones always seemed as much a part of the game as those who stepped to the plate.

A familiar voice in the evening hours, relishing a great catch, lamenting a regrettable strikeout, was just what we needed before the lights were turned off.

The virtually unprecedented response to the passing of Vin Scullly, who died Tuesday at 94, is hardly a surprise.

He was employed by the Dodgers, from the 1950s, when he left Fordham and joined Red Barber. Yet there are no borders on airwaves. Or on respect.

It was 1958 when baseball changed, the New York Giants moving to San Francisco, the Brooklyn Dodgers shifting to Los Angeles. There was nothing at all wrong with the Giants’ announcer, Russ Hodges.

There was something fortunately right with Scully, who teamed with Jerry Doggett.

It was my junior year in college at UCLA, and for a summer job I sold concessions at the L.A. Coliseum, hardly the old ballpark but a 90,000-seat football stadium converted to baseball, where the left field screen was 250 feet away and the right field fence was 400 feet away.

Blithely I scrambled through the Coliseum, the cries for my wares — “Ice cream here” — all but drowned out by the classic voice of Vin Scully.

Did the good folks in Los Angeles not have enough confidence in their ability to watch a major league ball game without being told what they just saw? This was the new age of transistor radios, and those little babies were everywhere.

Finally Dodgers management succumbed to reality, erecting small loudspeakers in right field. No, it wouldn’t have worked in Boston, but this wasn’t Boston.

Up in the Bay Area, we’ve had Lon Simmons, Hank Greenwald and Jon Miller, clever and astute. But lacking the elements that contributed to the attractiveness of Scully — a base population in the millions, a then clear-channel radio network and an audience trapped in southern California traffic.

In L.A., you grew up listening to Scully almost more than you did idolizing Sandy Koufax. Northern Cal didn’t have that sort of problem. There was only Willie Mays.

It’s hard to say which was a better baseball area, Los Angeles or San Francisco. For sure, the Bay Area never set up speakers to hear what you were watching.

The sudden and explosive acquisition of Juan Soto by the Padres brings to mind the Jim Murray line about the troubles of a baseball team in San Diego: “the Pacific to the west, Mexico to the south and Vin Scully to the north.”

The man was great, even if his calls overwhelmed my yells to sell ice cream. Baseball will miss you.