Somewhere in New York City, a kid sat by a big old radio, pencil in hand, listening to John Sterling, writing down every score, picturing every pitch, every swing, every roar of the crowd. And when his voice rose, “It is high! It is far! It is gone!”, that kid jumped like they were right there in the Bronx. He gave that kid a seat their parents could never afford. That was the story of thousands of kids across New York City. That voice, that feeling, that connection to the game, it will never be replaced. Rest in peace, John.