Joe's finally reached home

When you were a kid riding around in a car going with your parents to the grocery or to the dentist or to your grandparents' house, you heard a voice you just assumed would be coming over the airwaves for eternity. When there was yard work to be done or house repairs and a game was on, there was the voice coming from a portable radio telling you how the Reds were doing, or, as often was the case, not telling you as the airwaves went silent. He didn't always get the names right, didn't always get the plays right, but by god, when he said, "Get out of here, baseball!" it sure was sweet.

I thought when Marty and Joe were no longer Marty and Joe but Marty and Steve, that the whole baseball world was out of whack. The few games a year over the last two seasons when it was Marty and Joe again made the world seem sane and brought back a piece of childhood. The curse of morality makes us hurt; we have indeed lost a member of our family.

Good night, Joe. See ya on the other side.
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