SAN DIEGO — Vin Scully was baseball’s Sinatra, a man who sang the song of the game with great timing and phrasing, without blowing a lyric, or dangling a participle. But unlike Frank, when Vinny approached the final innings, his pipes, his chops, his instrument, never failed him. Frank got by in his dotage because he was a great actor and couldn’t be anything but larger than life itself. Vinny never lost his voice or cleared his throat, never used a script, ad-libbing all the billions of lines. You were there even if you weren’t, sucked in by Vin’s vocal hospitality. Here was a giant atop the …
