He was both titanic and infallible, at least to me. The voice of my childhood. The voice of high school sports in Connecticut.

Friend, mentor, hero.

And it was with unspeakable sorrow over the weekend that I learned of Jim Bransfield's death.

Jim died of complications related to lung cancer.

A primer on his life: He paid the bills as a three-decade teacher at Middletown High School. But he was known best as the forever public address announcer at Palmer Field, the narrator for countless high school and American Legion baseball games. Jim also wrote sports columns for the Middletown Press, fearless and unapologetic.

The kids always came first.

I grew up in Middletown. Actually, I grew up in the seat next to Jim in the press box at Palmer Field. I was the go-fer, sometimes the scoreboard operator, sometimes the pinch-hit public address guy. Mostly, though, I listened. What an education.

Jim Bransfield was sarcastic, smart and insightful, the kind of guy who said something that you normally felt ought to be memorized. And then came postgame. The parking lot. A few, you know, lemonades. Stories that were told deep into the night. Imagine me, this impressionable kid, thinking about a career in sportswriting. Jim told me one night that sportswriters needed to complain a lot. If not, everyone would think that all we did was have fun.

But it was later in life that Jim became a hero to me. I was one of the first people to whom he told his deepest secret.

"I'm gay," Jim said.

I never knew.

And we talked for hours that night, laughing and crying.

It was the happiest I'd ever seen him.

This man who always imparted such wisdom saved his best for that night. This is what he said to me, a message he'd tell high school kids all the time: Live your authentic life. Be who you are, not someone else's creation.

For too long, Jim suppressed who he really was. Not anymore. He became a beacon to so many kids who looked up to him for his fearlessness. His authentic life.

Jim was a lifelong Yankee fan. We took numerous trips to Yankee Stadium. He'd bring the food. I'd bring the, you know, lemonades. And we'd park in an outdoor lot near the ballpark, always in the spots nearest the Harlem River. Jim called it the "Bronx Riviera." We'd talk about the Yanks, watch unspeakable things float by in the river and talk about life in general.

He always had a thing for Randy Velarde. Never forget one day when Velarde hit a big homer at Fenway. I thought of Jim immediately. And darn, if five seconds later, the phone didn't ring and it was Jim hyperventilating about how great Velarde's butt looked running around the bases.

Jim was part of a Yankee fan cult in Connecticut called the "Pinstripe Brethren," the brainchild of UConn play-by-play voice Joe D'Ambrosio. Joe hooked up a dozen of us by e-mail a few years ago. Now we watch every inning of every game, e-mail each other constantly about strategy and laugh the nights away.

The Brethren meet one night every year with our patron saint — Yankees radio voice John Sterling — and the Capital Grille in Stamford. Nobody ever made Sterling laugh harder than Brans.

A few years ago, I asked John if he had a home run call yet for Didi Gregorius, a fairly obscure player to us at the time. (We thought he stunk.) Jim said, "Hey, John, I'd go with 'Holy (expletive) he hit a home run!'"

Sterling not only all but spit out his scotch but immediately called Suzyn Waldman to share.

Our most recent soiree came in December. After everyone else left, Jim told Joe D and I that he had lung cancer, but was optimistic. Little did we know.

Connecticut sports fans know Bransfield's voice more than the man himself. He was the quintessential public address announcer, cut from the mold of Bob Sheppard. Speak slowly and enunciate. Jim went down to the field before the game and went over pronunciations with coaches. He got every name right. Because it's important. He never rooted. No shtick. He brought professionalism to amateur baseball.

Let me just say this to the CIAC: Pick Jim's successor with care for this year's state championships. Some of us will have a very hard time this spring hearing someone else's voice at Palmer Field. If you pick some carnival barker, I will make a scene. I will not be alone.

Rest in peace to my friend and my mentor.

Regardless of whether you knew him, do him the honor of living your authentic life.

It's too short not to.

This is the opinion of Day sports columnist Mike DiMauro