"Can you believe it?"
Those four words weren't just a lucky exclamation. They were the culmination of 86 years of New England heartbreak, delivered by a man who had spent decades chronicling every pop-up, every rain delay, and every crushing September collapse. Joe Castiglione didn't just call the 2004 World Series; he lived the generational trauma of Red Sox Nation and then, in one reedy, jubilant breath, exhaled it all away.
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Honestly, it’s weird to think about a Red Sox summer without him. For 42 seasons, Joe was the guy in your kitchen while you were doing dishes. He was the voice coming through the static of a car radio on a humid July night on the Cape. He wasn't a "shouter" like some of the modern guys. He was a storyteller. A friend. Someone who felt the wins and losses exactly the way you did, and you could hear it in his voice. If the Sox were down four in the eighth, his tone went flat, a little resigned. When they rallied? He perked up like he’d just had a double espresso.
The Longest Run in Fenway History
When Joe Castiglione arrived in Boston in 1983, nobody expected him to stay for four decades. He wasn't the "chosen one." He was a guy who had paid his dues in Youngstown and Cleveland, working for $15 a game and doing "one-man band" shifts where he reported the news at 6:00 and 11:00. He even worked in Milwaukee for a bit.
But Boston stuck.
He started out alongside the legendary Ken Coleman. Imagine that: Joe’s first season was Carl Yastrzemski’s last. He’s seen the entire modern history of the franchise from a front-row seat. People forget that Joe wasn't even in the booth for the infamous Bill Buckner error in '86. Why? Because he was already in the clubhouse, preparing to interview the champions. He had to trudge back up to the booth after the collapse. That’s the kind of scar tissue you develop over 42 years.
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By the time he retired at the end of the 2024 season, he had called over 6,500 games. That is a staggering number. Think about the sheer volume of "swing and a ground ball" or "low and outside" calls that entails. It's a marathon of the vocal cords.
The Partners and the Booth
Joe was the ultimate teammate. He worked with everyone. Dave O’Brien, Jerry Trupiano, Sean McDonough, Will Flemming—the list goes on. But Joe was the constant. In 2022, the Red Sox did something they rarely do for anyone who doesn't wear a jersey: they named the radio booth after him.
If you walk by the booth at Fenway, there’s a bronze plaque. It’s a permanent reminder of a guy who stayed through the lean years of the 90s and the "Idiots" of 2004. He saw Roger Clemens strike out 20 batters—twice. He saw four no-hitters. And, of course, he saw the four rings.
The Ford C. Frick Award: Finally, Cooperstown
For years, Sox fans wondered when Joe would get his due nationally. He was a finalist for the Ford C. Frick Award in 2023 but lost out to Pat Hughes. But 2024 was finally his year.
In July 2024, Joe stood on a stage in Cooperstown. He looked out at a crowd that included David Ortiz and Joe Torre. He talked about his first hero, Mel Allen, and how he just wanted to "get to the next season" when he started. It was the "pinnacle," as he put it. And it was well-deserved. Joe represents a style of broadcasting that is slowly disappearing. It’s "wearable." It’s not about catchphrases or viral clips. It’s about being a reliable companion for three hours a night, 162 times a year.
Joe famously said that baseball "is designed to break your heart." He was quoting Bart Giamatti, sure, but he said it with the conviction of a man who had his heart broken more than most. He knew the history of Jack Chesbro’s wild pitch in 1904. He knew how many times Wade Boggs popped up to the infield in 1985 (it was only twice, by the way—Joe kept the stats himself).
Why the "Can You Believe It?" Call Still Hits
If you listen back to the final out of the 2004 World Series, it’s not a polished, corporate call. It’s raw.
"Swing and a ground ball, stabbed by Foulke. He has it, he underhands to first and the Boston Red Sox are the world champions. For the first time in 86 years, the Red Sox have won baseball's world championship. Can you believe it?"
The "Can you believe it?" wasn't just a question. It was an invitation for every fan to join him in the disbelief. It’s arguably the most famous call in New England sports history because it didn't try to be bigger than the moment. Joe let the moment breathe. He let the crowd noise wash over the airwaves.
Life After the Mic
Retiring after 42 years isn't easy. Joe said he wanted to spend more time with his "bride" Jan—they’ve been married for over 50 years—and his grandkids. He wants to see their games for a change.
But he’s not going away entirely. The Red Sox are keeping him as an "honorary ambassador." You’ll still see him at the park. You might even hear him pop into the booth for an inning or two when the mood strikes. He’s part of the bricks and mortar of Fenway Park now.
What We Can Learn from Joe’s Career
Joe’s success wasn't built on a "booming" voice. He admitted himself he didn't have the "pipes." Instead, he built a career on:
- Preparation: He was famous for his notebooks. Long before Google, Joe knew every obscure stat and player history because he wrote it down.
- Authenticity: He didn't hide his rooting interest. He was a Sox fan. He wanted them to win, and the audience respected the honesty.
- Longevity through "Wearability": He wasn't exhausting to listen to. He didn't dominate the broadcast; he served the game.
- Mentorship: He taught at Northeastern and Emerson. He helped guys like Don Orsillo get their start. He paid it forward.
As we move into a new era of Red Sox radio with Will Flemming and others, it’s going to feel different. There’s a certain rhythm to a Joe Castiglione broadcast that is hard to replicate. It’s the rhythm of summer itself.
If you're a young broadcaster or just a fan of the game, take a page from Joe's book. Be prepared. Be yourself. And most importantly, remember that you're there to be the eyes and ears for the person who can't be at the park.
To honor Joe's legacy, next time you're stuck in traffic or sitting on your porch, turn on the radio. Don't look at the box score on your phone. Just listen. Try to see the "word picture" he spent 42 years painting. It’s a better way to experience the game.
Next Steps for Red Sox Fans:
To truly appreciate Joe's impact, hunt down the audio of his 2004 ALCS Game 7 call ("Move over, Babe!"). It captures the specific "Red Sox vs. Yankees" tension that defined his middle years in the booth. You can also find his 2012 book, Can You Believe It?, which offers the best "insider" look at the transition from the "Curse" years to the dynasty era through his specific lens. Finally, keep an ear out for his occasional guest appearances in the booth during the 2026 season—his "ambassador" role means he isn't totally finished with the microphone just yet.