The Death of Radio and the Loss of Imagination

When the Game Lived in Our Heads, Not Just on Our Screens

I used to close my eyes and see the game.

I didn’t need a screen. I just needed a voice one like Bob Uecker’s, cracking jokes between innings, or Vin Scully’s, weaving stories into pitches like it was second nature. These weren’t just announcers. They were companions. Teachers. Poets. They turned ordinary plays into personal memories.

That’s the game I gr…