Editors note: This is the author’s 22nd year with the A’s and his 12th as the team’s lead radio announcer. His book, “Holy Toledo! Lessons from Bill King: Renaissance Man of the Mic,” helped establish King’s case for Cooperstown.

Because I spent 10 years as his radio partner, people often ask me what the late Bill King would think about being honored by the National Baseball Hall of Fame.

That in itself tells you a lot about Bill: Every time I mentioned the Ford C. Frick Award, the highest possible honor a baseball broadcaster can receive, he would modestly change the subject.

Bill was a rigid guy who lived life solely on his own terms, and as the Saturday ceremony in Cooperstown approaches, I can certainly understand the sentiment from those who thought Bill would have said something like, “Screw it. Take your Hall of Fame and shove it.” He was that iconoclastic, of course. And, let’s face it, he didn’t exactly bow down at the foot of most institutions.

In the least, we know that Bill never campaigned for the award. As Johnny Stephens, Bill’s stepson emphatically told me, “Bill broadcast because he loved it and not because he wanted the adulation. He didn’t need the Hall of Fame. He was fulfilled because he strove to meet his own standards and not anyone else’s.”

But to those who listened to him — or broadcast next to him — the Hall of Fame honor represents a worthy and overdue coronation. King, who died in 2005, spent 25 years captivating A’s fans with his brilliance, wit and enthusiasm.

It was Bill’s adherence to the tenets of his profession that drove him, alongside his insatiable thirst for talking. His commitment to his craft was one major reason why I felt so strongly about Bill and the Frick.

I can share with you what the honor means to his family. Bill’s daughter, Kathleen Lowenthal, spent a nervous early morning at her home in Marin County on Dec. 7, 2016.

She had grown jaded from her experience of waiting by a phone that didn’t ring over all the years Bill had been a finalist for the Frick Award. Still, she fought a battle with her feelings. On one hand, she knew what the disappointment felt like and braced herself for it once again. On the other, it was hard to stave off the anticipation that maybe — just maybe — this might be Bill’s year. She knew the call, if it was to come, would happen between 7 a.m. and 7:45 a.m. Pacific Time.

Kathleen kept looking at her watch. Time seemed to pass in slow motion. Around 7:40, her hopes were running out.

But at 7:43 the phone rang. It was Jeff Idelson, the president of the Hall of Fame. It was Bill’s time. She had no idea how she would react, but immediately the tears started to flow.

My phone didn’t stop ringing for the next three days. The experience was incredibly heartwarming and took me back to the day Bill died in 2005. The Bay Area was in a state of shock and the grieving reached emotional levels one would expect for a family member. There are thousands of Bill King fans who look back on that day with such a profound sadness. The memory is still painful.

I got a bunch of messages and media requests back then, too, of course.

But now instead of sadness, there was full-on jubilation. It was as if a collective “Holy Toledo” was shouted out in honor of his signature punctuation.

As for all those questions about how Bill would react: Anyone who has read my book or listened to me speak knows I believe he would be deeply moved by the Hall of Fame honor.

Bill had an encyclopedic knowledge of the history of the game, and it’s hard to think he would shun an award that means so much to baseball itself.

This became crystallized in 2004 when Bill made the trip to Cooperstown for one of the great weekends of his life. That was the year Dennis Eckersley and Lon Simmons were honored.

Eck, of course, entered the Hall as one of the great pitchers of all-time and Lon received the Frick. Bill had great fondness for both men. And when he returned from the trip, he was still glowing from the experience.

That time in Cooperstown was so meaningful to him, not only because he shared it with Eck and Lon, but because of the feeling of being in a place of such sublimity. Bill wasn’t devout in any way, but for a man whose love of baseball was so deep that he felt it deep down to his bones, the augustness of Cooperstown almost felt like a pilgrimage to him.

As former Giants broadcaster Hank Greenwald told me: “It was obvious to me from the outset how deeply baseball was in his blood. For that reason alone, I know Bill would be thrilled at being recognized by the Hall of Fame, not for the award itself, but for being embraced by the sport he loved so much.”

Beyond the award, one of best things about Bill’s honor is that more people will get know about his career. Learning about him would be instructive for aspiring broadcasters.

Before the final vote, Jon Shestakofsky, the Hall of Fame vice president of communications and the point person for the Frick Award, arranged a conference call so that any member of the voting committee could talk about the finalists. Giants broadcaster Jon Miller was on that call and relished the chance to share his thoughts about his boyhood idol.

Jon told the story of listening to an A’s game and being struck by the accuracy and detail in Bill’s description of a great play by Miguel Tejada. Jon felt like he was at the ballpark watching the play as he listened to Bill and he couldn’t wait to see a replay of the call that night on ESPN. When he saw it, he thought to himself, “That’s exactly the way I pictured the play unfolding while listening to Bill describe it.”

The word that I used most in any conversation about Bill and the Frick Award was “impact.” There are plenty of good announcers, but how many of them impacted their fan base the way Bill did?

When it came to a game’s denouement, you wanted Bill in your ear. Bill was a brilliant man, and as I said at his memorial, his wide range of interests added texture to his broadcasts. But the main reason Bill resonated was the passion and commitment he brought to every broadcast.

Bill immersed himself in life and his work. And his broadcasts took listeners through the chapters of a season with a storytelling style that would rival even the most acclaimed authors. You can’t hide over the course of 162 games. Anyone going through the motions will inevitably get exposed. There was no chance of that happening with someone as authentic as Bill.

The outpouring of love and respect for Bill after the Frick announcement validated the committee’s vote.

As Dale Tafoya wrote in a message:

“I’ve been an A’s fan since 1981, and the late Bill King finally winning the Frick Award will go down as one of my favorite moments in team history.

“For me, it’s like witnessing one of my favorite A’s players enter Cooperstown. It’s truly special. I was so joyous and happy when it was announced. I met Bill a few times, but listening to him call A’s games was a huge part of my life. I was addicted to A’s baseball.”

In January, Andy Dolich, who always referred to Bill as The Triple Threat because of his virtuosity in baseball, basketball and football, organized a party in honor of Bill at Perry’s restaurant in San Francisco.

The party turned into a Who’s Who of Bay Area sporting royalty, as luminaries like Roy Eisenhardt, Wally Haas, Tom Meschery, George Lee, Hank Greenwald, Ted Robinson, Joan Ryan, Barry Tompkins, Gary Hughes and Miller came to honor Bill.

A very proud daughter was at the party as well. Kathleen wrote a thank you note to Dolich after she received her invitation. It read, in part:

“He never in a million years expected that he would someday be in the Baseball Hall of Fame. I wish that he could walk out of that Iowa corn field in Field of Dreams and see for himself the tremendous respect and fondness his fans and colleagues still hold for him”

Holy Toledo, indeed!