There was real fear on the Yankees’ team flight. The turbulence made it feel like the plane was bouncing around the sky like a knuckleball. Then, the oxygen masks dropped down from overhead.

“Everyone was freaking out, yelling, getting really nervous,” YES’ Michael Kay said.

John Sterling read a book.

On the flight to Minnesota about a decade ago, when the masks fell, Sterling belted out a laugh and pushed it away.

“I shoved it because it was bothering me,” Sterling said.

As he turns 80 years old on July 4, John Sterling continues to live in his own world, where he makes the rules and he doesn’t spend a lot of time focusing on turbulence or anything else that he finds a nuisance.

Love him or hate him, when you listen to him these days, he is a marvel. The strength of his voice and his enthusiasm for his job are still present night-in and night-out, even though he hasn’t missed a Yankees game in nearly three decades.

He sees no end in sight, and with his vision improved after offseason cataract surgery, there might not be.

“He is seeing the ball better this year,” said WFAN’s vice president of programming Mark Chernoff. “His vision is terrific. We are very pleased with how the broadcast sounds.”

Sterling’s style is loved by many and hated by some. No one can argue it is not unique. From his signature, “It is high, it is far, it is gone” to “Thuuuugh Yankees win” to his home run calls, he is, in the words of Yankees president Randy Levine, a “legend.”

“He lives and breathes the Yankees,” Levine said. “His home run calls are folklore, whether you like them or not. He is a quintessential New York character.”

When you reach Sterling’s voicemail on his flip phone, the recording greets you with, “Hi, congratulations, you have reached …” He then gives his number.

Sterling does not have an email account, nor any use for the internet. To call him old-fashioned would not be fully accurate because there is a flair to his personality. He wears a suit to every game, even though he is on radio. All his quirks are done in such a confident manner that it makes him seem younger.

“The phrase is ‘sui generis,’ ” his now longtime radio partner Suzyn Waldman said. “He is unto himself. He is more comfortable in his own skin than anyone I have ever met in my whole life.”

He does have some modern amenities, but with old twists. He has satellite radio, but he keeps it locked on the Sinatra channel. He has mastered the use of his DVR so he can watch all the old movies he adores.

“The things I like, I love,” Sterling said, stressing the word love as if it were a “thuuugh” in his trademark Yankees victory calls. “I care deeply about them and invest my time and my mind. I can’t tell you how much I know about popular [old] music, Broadway music or movies or whatever. I haven’t studied it, it just interests me. I fell in love with music and sports when I was a very little boy and, as odd it sounds, I knew when I was 9, 10, that I was going to be on the air.”

Sterling’s secret to longevity is a combination of genes, rest and exercise, he said. On his DNA, he said that is just good fortune and somehow he has been healthy enough to never miss a Yankees game because of his illness.

Though he has no choice but to go to bed late after night games, he will sleep until around 11 a.m. before having a healthy brunch that often includes grapefruit and coffee.

A little later, he will head to the pool, where he has hung up the Speedos he used to wear for regular trunks. He still religiously puts in his 30 minutes in the pool per day.

It is then off to the ballpark around 4 p.m., where he gabs with people before calling the game.

“I’ve never seen anyone enjoy what they do more than he does,” said Kevin Loughery, a former NBA coach and player. Loughery has been friends with Sterling for nearly five decades, dating back to when Sterling called Baltimore Bullets games in the early ’70s.

When Sterling returns to his Edgewater, N.J., condo, he often winds down with a little vodka or scotch before retreating to his bedroom, which features two big screens that always have a movie on one and sports on the other.

The way Sterling talks about his life, it is like things ended up just right even when they weren’t. He was born in 1938, a year before World War II began. He lived on the Upper East Side, longing to grow up.

“I wanted to be an adult before my time,” Sterling said.

He had a nice relationship with his mom, but his dad, a successful advertising executive, “wasn’t very child oriented,” according to Sterling.

Sterling doesn’t go into very much detail about his dad. He didn’t even mention him when first asked about what his family was like as a kid. It was a long time ago, he said.

It was a different time, too, back in the ’40s and ’50s. Sterling did his best to get out of his family’s apartment as much as possible. He and his fellow 9- or 10-year-old friends would go to Yankee Stadium, the Polo Grounds or Madison Square Garden on their own.

“Isn’t that amazing?” Sterling said.

Though Sterling did not have many words about his father, the impact of his dad’s withdrawn demeanor on him was clear — and is to this day.

Now, Sterling, as a father to two daughters and two sons (a 20-year-old daughter and 17-year-old triplets) with his ex-wife, is quick to make sure they know how much his kids know they are loved.

“We were kind of in an era when men didn’t show emotion to other men,” Sterling said. “I do. I do it a 180 degrees different. I give them as much support, hug them, kiss them”

Growing up, Sterling knew he would be a broadcaster. He collected the information on entertainers like other kids did baseball cards.

“When I was that age, I knew every actor, every singer, every impressionist, every comedian,” Sterling said. “I knew what singers worked for what record companies. They were like ball clubs to me. I knew what actors worked for what studio. They were like ball clubs to me.”

He studied the biggest names of his youth — like Frank Sinatra, Bing Crosby and Bob Hope — out of love, not work. The information accumulated eventually formed his style, while his voice just came naturally.

“When I was 12 or 13, I was in a friend’s home, who had a very beautiful mom,” Sterling recalled, a little gleam in his eyes almost seven decades later. “We were listening to a Knick game and they had an interview with one of the Knicks and he has a voice like this [mimics a high voice,] and I said, ‘God, what a terrible voice.’ And she said, ‘He doesn’t have a great big voice, like yours.’ I was really snowed.”

Still using his family name, Sloss, he went to college. He started at Moravian College and then Boston University, but he never got going. His mother passed away at 47 from heart issues, leaving him basically on his own.

“I have an ability to take care of myself,” Sterling said. “I think it is survival. I think we all have it. Instincts for survival.”

He would move on to Columbia General Studies, but left school at 19 to take his first radio job in Wellsville in upstate New York.

He changed his name to Sterling, feeling it added a little shine — and has never looked back. He replaced family with friends and said their kids call him “Uncle John.”

Over the past five decades, he has called games for the Islanders, Baltimore Bullets, Nets, Atlanta Hawks and Braves. He also did many talk shows, and still is on WFAN on some weekends, taking calls.

But when he one day vacates the broadcast booth, he will be most remembered for his Yankees calls.

In his first year in 1989, he missed two games after his beloved sister, Jane, died. Since then, he has been Gehrig-like, never missing a Yankees broadcast.

For the past three decades, Sterling has been in the booth, entertaining many, annoying some, but he is part of the great bond between radio baseball broadcasters as they are companions in cars and background at barbecues.

For fans, a baseball broadcast can be an escape from the struggles of every day. Sterling can relate in some ways, because he lives creating his own reality.

The many trips on buses and planes — while luxurious — may eat at someone else, but Sterling survives them with his version of escapism.

“We get on the bus here and go to the airport, I’m reading,” said Sterling, who shared that Vin Scully did the same. “When we get on the plane to the next city, I’m reading. When we get to the bus to the hotel, reading. So the trips are easy for me, because I take out a book and read.”

He recently finished another Sinatra biography and loves thrillers from authors like Ed McBain, Ken Follett and Lawrence Sanders. Sterling’s own story almost seems like it should have been written by F. Scott Fitzgerald.

The way Sterling leaves reality with his books is a continuation of what he did as a child on the Upper East Side. As a kid, he was mesmerized by the performers of his day and imagined their world. He would leave his home, as often as possible, dreaming about being older.

He still has the ability to create his own reality, made up of only things he likes.

“I’m very good at that,” Sterling said.

So a decade ago, when the extreme turbulence hit on the flight to Minneapolis, Sterling remembers a unique detail.

“In the back, the players were yelling, ‘We are high! We are far! We are gone!’ which I thought was pretty good,” Sterling said of the dark ode to his home run call.

The turbulence nor the air masks fazed him. John Sterling just went back to reading and his own little world. Population: one.