On dark, clear summer nights in Southwest Virginia you could get 750am out of Atlanta. That's how I listened to the Braves when the Gautsch's didn't have cable. That's how I listen to the entire 1993 pennant race. Sitting in my bedroom, with an old radio placed in just the right position to get the call from Skip Caray. He'll be missed.
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His voice will always hold a special place in my heart as well. I'm reminded of lazy summer evenings and weekends as a kid, on the couch and leaning on my dad's shoulder with the Braves game on. Skip's voice was constant as I'd doze off and wake up to check game progress. His "Heeerrre's the pitch" with the quick rise, bookended by comfortable silences is better than any white noise machine they could ever build.