I was going to note other interactions in the press box with Vin Scully — a recent meme seems to be about reporters and bumping into Vin in the washroom and making small talk, and I’ve done that.

Instead, I’m going to offer him an anecdote pertaining to an event to which he is deeply tied.

Game 1 of the 1988 World Series. The Kirk Gibson Game.

I wish I had thought of this sooner. Vinny has only a week to work it into a broadcast.

It is about a father, two sons, only two tickets and one of the great moments in baseball history.

The protagonist here is one of my cousins, a lifelong baseball fan and Dodgers fan. In the 1960s, he and I and others of our cousins and our moms had seen more than a few Dodgers games, invariably sitting in the top level of the stadium.

In 1988, he was allowed to buy two tickets to Game 1 of that year’s World Series. Provided the Dodgers got there, etc.

And they did, after their surprise knockout of the champion New York Mets in the National League Championship series.

But now my cousin had a problem. Two tickets … for his elder son, who was about 10 at the time, and his middle son, who was perhaps 7 … and for himself.

This is how he solved it.

He drove to the game with his two elder sons, escorted them to the gate … and sent them into the stadium.

But they did not leave his sight without a plan.

While the boys were in the right-field pavilion, he would wait for them at the gate at which they had entered the stadium.

The elder son was instructed to return to that gate after every two innings, with his younger brother in tow, so dad could make sure things were going along all right.

And the first son, being an eldest child, did exactly as he was instructed, and every two innings he and his brother would go down to the game and talk to dad through the fence.

Meanwhile, dad was listening via radio to the game. He could hear the capacity crowd, of course, and feel some of the excitement but actually viewing the game was just out of sight.

Eventually, Dodgers employees at the gate to the pavilion — and this was a more easy-going time, remember — noticed this routine. The two kids going to the fence and checking in with their dad, on the other side of the fence.

Along about the eighth inning, with the Dodgers trailing the Athletics, 4-3, some Dodgers fans do what Dodgers fans always do: They left the game to beat the infamous Dodger Stadium traffic.

Yes, hundreds of fans left early even though it was Game 1 of the World Series.

The stadium attendants knew well the patterns of this out-migration. They probably had bid “good night” to X number of people who went out through their gate and knew the right-field pavilion was certainly less than full.

And around about that time, they allowed the ticketless dad to enter the stadium, with his kids.

You know the rest of it.

Bottom of the ninth, Mike Davis walks with two outs.

Vin Scully had been saying all night that the Dodgers were without star outfielder Kirk Gibson, who had a bad knee and bad hamstring and had not even hobbled out to the third-base line during the traditional pre-game introduction of World Series teams. For most of the game, Gibson wasn’t even in uniform.

After one of Vin’s pronouncements that Gibson would not be playing, the outfielder seemed to take it as a personal challenge and told manager Tommy Lasorda that he would be available to pinch hit for the pitcher in the bottom of the ninth, if one of the three batters ahead of him got on base.

“And look who’s coming up!”

That was how Vin began his call of Gibson’s epic battle with Hall of Fame reliever Dennis Eckersley.

It was a long at-bat, working to a full count, Vin only slightly bogged down by broadcast color man Joe Garagiola. (Vin has worked alone most of his life.)

On the final pitch of the game, Gibson managed to get his bat on a slider that caught too much of the plate and Scully responded by saying: “High fly ball to right field. … She is gone!” And then went silent for 64 seconds while the crowd roared.

The ball landed a few rows from my cousin and his two sons.

Dad had been in the stadium for no more than an inning-and-a-half, but he and two of his sons had seen with their own eyes what many believe to be the most dramatic moment in Dodgers history — and maybe even baseball history.

The three of them, exulting there in the right-field pavilion … holding two tickets.

I love that story, because I know the people involved and my cousin would so make that sacrifice for his kids, which is then rewarded by a kindly stadium attendant.

I wish I had sent along this story to Vin at some point over the past 28 years. It might have worked well during a Father’s Day broadcast.