Joe Castiglione’s voice was a gift.
It was the sound of summer pouring out of your radio. It was hot dogs and sunshine and the smell of fresh cut grass.
It was as comfortable as your favorite pair of sneakers and as easy as the chair you’d sink into every night to tune in.
It was interrupting that game of catch with Dad to turn up the volume because something great was happening. It was a reminder that even after the most miserable of days, a small bit of salvation came at 7:05pm.
It was that first sip of ice cold beer on an unforgivingly hot summer day.
I wish Joe nothing but the best in retirement. But, selfishly, I never want the ride to end.
