Moments after the buzzer sounds and warmups end, Jack Edwards removes his black overcoat and hangs it on the wall in the chilly NESN broadcast booth high above ice level at TD Garden.

He looks into the mirror, brushes his hand through his salt-and-pepper hair, and sits down to the microphone, ready to deliver something truly biblical in nature.

“Outlined against a blue, gray October sky, the Four Horsemen rode again,” Edwards begins, articulating every word with perfect diction, just as he has literally hundreds upon hundreds of nights before.

“In dramatic lore, they were known as Famine, Pestilence, Destruction and Death,” he continues. “These are only aliases. Their real names are Stuhldreher, Miller, Crowley and Layden.”

It’s been a typical day of preparation for Edwards, who has been the Bruins’ play-by-play announcer for 14 seasons alongside broadcast partner and former Bruin Andy Brickley. On this night, moments before the show’s 7 p.m. open, NESN’s Rose Mirakian-Wheeler is working in the production truck outside the building, and as usual, she asks for a microphone check from the on-air talent.

Every time, Edwards delivers that same address, the iconic lede from Grantland Rice’s “The Four Horseman of Notre Dame.”

Brickley follows up with words that are no less distinct.

“Well, my daddy left home when I was three, and he didn’t leave much for Ma and me, just this old guitar and an empty bottle of booze,” Brickley says, offering the opening line from the Johnny Cash song “A Boy Named Sue.”

Tested and ready, the pair swing into action. As Edwards begins the live broadcast, the Tom Jones song “It’s Not Unusual” blares from the sound system at the Garden.

Many may think that there’s a lot unusual about the way Edwards does his job, but there’s no denying his enthusiasm, passion and authenticity.

“The word he hates most in the English language is ‘vanilla.’ He will always have an opinion,” Brickley said. “He has passion for what he does, and no matter what you do in life, if you work with people that have passion for what they do, you want to work with them.”

When the puck drops, Edwards switches to autopilot. He has done endless prep, feeling that it’s his safety net so that he doesn’t make a “stupid mistake.” Play begins and Edwards is ready, desperate each night to bring viewers along for the ride with him, to carry the intensity of the live hockey experience into their living rooms.

Jack Edwards, left, and Andy Brickley watch the action develop in the Bruins’ TV booth.

“Some of our best friends are going to spend two and a half hours yelling at their TVs with us, and that’s what you want to make a hockey broadcast be,” he said. “You want people momentarily, at least, to forget that they’re in their living rooms and that they’re experiencing the emotion of the game.”

It’s evident Edwards and Brickley are comfortable together. Both stand for the entire game. Brickley keeps his hands in his pockets for most of the night. Edwards’ body language is a bit more animated, but perhaps not as much as one might think if only listening to his play-by-play.

Even during a scoreless first period featuring little action, Edwards and Brickley find ways to make it interesting, the conversation ranging from tales about Brickley’s former teammates or coaches to something further afield — in this case, the long-deceased actress Judy Garland.

Edwards is a master at the correct pronunciation of players’ names. Before each game, he double-checks with the opposing play-by-play broadcaster and they exchange notes. During this broadcast, the subject of the Ducks’ Pontus Aberg came up during one particular play in the first period, which prompted Edwards to bring up Judy Garland’s name.

“It’s pronounced ‘A-berg.’ Although it was told to us when he was with Nashville that it was ‘Ah-berg.’ I guess these guys live in Southern California,” Edwards said with a chuckle. “It’s popular to change your name. Judy Garland’s real name wasn’t Judy Garland, was it?”

She was, in fact, born Frances Ethel Gumm.

As a kid growing up in Durham, N.H., Edwards — like generations of others across New England — would watch Bruins games on WSBK-Channel 38. Because reception for the station was horrible at his house, he would turn on the radio and listen to former Bruins voice Bob Wilson.

To see the puck better through the snowy, black and white television-signal haze, Edwards would wear polarized sunglasses.

“That’s how I consumed Bruins games as a kid,” he said.

Edwards grew up the son of a theater director. His father, John, was an extraordinary risk-taker, according to Jack. He was unafraid to fail, and he taught his son that in the creative process, sometimes the things you try don’t work. Edwards’ dad helmed more than 150 plays during his career — and not all of them went over well. One stands out — a play called “In Circles,” a tribute to American novelist, poet and playwright Gertrude Stein.

“People either got it, or they didn’t,” Edwards recalled. “They either loved it or hated it. There was no middle ground at all. And, I recall people leaving at intermission and thinking, ‘They’re nuts, because I’m having a great time.’ I thought it was an artistic triumph and certainly was one of the most memorable chance-taking productions that he ever undertook. He actually appreciated that people were storming out of there, because his point was that Gertrude Stein was not someone who tried to please everybody.”

Jack took this lesson to heart. Between his DNA and personality, Jack is all about creativity, accepting of the occasional failure, just as his father was.

“They weren’t failures in the effort,” Edwards said of his father’s mistakes. “They weren’t failures in the concept. The failures were usually in the execution of concept. But, he showed me by example that it never thwarted his joy of being creative.”

That urge to be creative is valuable — but sometimes, the younger Edwards realizes he takes it a little too far. Edwards experiences what he calls “brain explosions” at least a half dozen times a season.

“I can actually feel when it’s happening and the words are out of my mouth before I can stop them,” he said. “I wish I could blame it on genetics, but it’s probably personality.”

Edwards’ biggest “brain explosion” occurred when the Bruins eliminated the Montreal Canadiens in the first round of the 2011 Stanley Cup playoffs. The score was tied at 3-3 at TD Garden when then-Bruin Nathan Horton scored the game-winning goal in overtime.

“SCORE! The Bruins knock out Montreal …”

And then, silence. A 30-second, on-air pause. Nothing but dead air — and almost, a dead commentator.

“I get so excited that I can feel myself going off the deep end and I don’t really know what I’m going to say,” explained Edwards. “That was as excited as I have ever been on the air, because there’s that pause between the ‘Bruins knock out Montreal’ and there’s that pregnant pause in there and I was actually seeing a ring of stars around my periphery. My blood pressure was so high and I was so stoked. I actually had the thought that, ‘What if I pass out cold on the floor of the booth and Brick’s standing there alone?’ What a way to go.”

Despite those “brain explosions,” one reason he’s lasted so long at NESN is because upper management is forgiving of Edwards’ style. He appreciates that. Many fans love listening to Edwards. Others deride him as a “homer.” He doesn’t run from that label, having spent pretty much his entire life in this area — before landing his gig with NESN in 2005, Edwards worked in markets such as Manchester, N.H., Providence, R.I., Boston and as a SportsCenter anchor at ESPN. He is New England through and through.

“I’ve always enjoyed calling play-by-play, but my joy has expanded exponentially since I began to work for the Bruins and NESN,” he said. “Part of that might’ve been that I told them coming in, ‘I am who I am and this is the team I grew up cheering and crying about.’ I can’t disengage that emotion.”

He concedes that he’s a lot happier after the Bruins win than after they lose. In fact, he lives by the words of Bob Wilson: “Objective? No. But we try to be fair.”

There are three reasons for Edward to have an immediate explosion of brain matter during a game, no matter which team is involved:

1. Cheap shots.

During his time playing Division I soccer at the University of New Hampshire, Edwards had his leg broken on a cheap shot that ended his career. So he has zero tolerance for it. He’s even criticized Bruins players for it.

2. Acting.

He believes players should be fined and suspended for embellishment. He calls the practice insincere and disrespectful to the game. Edwards describes it as “unmanly” and “dishonest” to score on a power play and win a game when there shouldn’t have been a penalty.

3. Incompetent officiating.

Edwards believes on-ice officials need to have their finger on the pulse of the game. “If you wanna call a ticky-tack foul in the first 37 seconds of a game, fine. But call that with 37 seconds left, if it’s tied. It never happens … call it in the spirit of the game,” he said. “Let it flow.”

There are few things Edwards won’t say during a broadcast. However, you will never hear him describe Bruins prospect Jakob Forsbacka Karlsson as “JFK.” Edwards has such an admiration for President John Fitzgerald Kennedy that referring to a hockey player in the same way just doesn’t seem right. He also doesn’t ever want to be in the position of inadvertently describing a play as “JFK dodged a bullet.”

Edwards is a creature of habit, and his routine is extremely important to him.

“Like, obsessively,” he says.

Every second of every game day – home or road – is calculated. During morning skates, he’ll sit in the same lower-bowl seat at the rink and watch. The most important time of his day is the two hours before puck drop, because that’s when he’s putting all his preparation together.

He learned the importance of having a routine early in his career. Jim Jeannotte, a longtime radio broadcaster in New Hampshire, once showed Edwards how to draw up game charts when he was working college radio at WUNH. It’s something Edwards has never forgotten, and he’s translated the practice into the digital medium.

“I copied everything — and I mean everything — off his charts,” remembers Edwards. “I learned what I retained and I learned what I didn’t retain well, and I started making a system for being able to retrieve data.”

Because Edwards believes that 99 percent of broadcast booths in hockey “are still operating with 1950s communication technology” there had to be a better way to retrieve and deliver the data.

“There are still scraps of paper with handwritten notes, which may or may not be legible, and you have to glance down during the brief breaks in play, assimilate it and spit it out clearly. There’s way too much lag time and way too much margin for error,” he said.

Edwards’ system has evolved over the years.

During the summer, Edwards and his 13-year-old son, Elijah, built a personal computer (total cost $3,700) so Edwards would have up-to-the-second data during his broadcast. He stockpiles info on every player in the NHL and maintains it religiously.

The system Edwards and his son designed is a four-panel touchscreen and, once mastered, it’s simple to navigate. The info is updated constantly during the game with the help of NESN statistician Scott Shore. Edwards described it as a lot of trial and error — emphasis on error.

Edwards in front of the customized computer database he uses during games.

Yet the program enables Edwards to link categories of information and then access specifics within those categories, all the way down to recalling an individual fact. He can retrieve anything in the database in three touches or fewer.

“I needed a metal detector for the needle in the haystack,” Edwards said.

Another reason Edwards needs and wants instant in-game data is so he can keep up with Brickley’s keen hockey mind.

“I work with a man,” Edwards said, “who has a brilliant mind and can explain things in extraordinary fashion, it often sparks a little thought like, ‘Wow. I can put a bow on this thought with that if I only had it.’ So, I needed to design a system.”

Clearly tech-savvy, Edwards is open to the concepts behind advanced hockey analytics, but in his mind the most important stats are goals, assists, points, plus-minus and penalty minutes. Like many others, Edwards believes the game of hockey is too fast to measure successfully with current technology and methods, and so he finds most advanced analytics lacking.

“Here’s what the algorithms,” Edwards said, “have to include: ALL. NINE. OTHER. SKATERS. WHO. ARE. ON. THE. ICE. AT. THAT. TIME.”

Until analytics incorporate those factors, and how every other player on the ice functions into that equation, Edwards says those numbers are useless.

“So much of hockey is subjective that I don’t think you can turn it into ‘There are runners on second and third with two outs and a 1-2 count’ — it’s not a static sport,” Edwards said. “The people who are attempting to do hockey analytics have a template that was born out of baseball.

“Baseball has as much to do with hockey as (President Donald) Trump does with reality. There’s no connection there at all.”

Player tracking is on the horizon and will likely be introduced this season by the NHL. That could be a difference-maker in how certain analytics are used and consumed, and Edwards, never afraid of something new, may get on board when that day comes.

The relationship between Edwards and Brickley has grown organically. The two have known each since Brickley was a freshman at UNH and Edwards had just finished at the school.

Brickley sums up working with Edwards with one word: “Unpredictable.”

“You have a framework of how you’re going to call the game, and we’ve worked together long enough that I know his cadence. I know when to get in and when to get out. We very rarely talk over each other,” Brickley said.

If Edwards makes a mistake, Brickley quickly corrects it. During the course of play, if Brickley wants to jump in, he’ll simply elbow Edwards for some airtime.

“Makes my job easier,” said Shore, the statistician. “They’re fantastic. They are flawless together.”

There’s nothing scripted between the longtime broadcast partners.

“You just don’t know what’s coming from Jack right from the beginning, and I love the spontaneity of it,” Brickley said. “Having the challenge of being able to respond, with that unpredictability, is energizing. It gets me excited to do the game.”

Over his career at NESN, Edwards believes there’s been a common thread running through the entire broadcast team, one that has led to an outstanding on-air product across the board.

“No one succeeds alone,” he said. “Any bright light that gets shown upon Brick or me should also be deflected to the dozens of people who are supporting us – always.”

There have been times Edwards thought it was over. Because he’s always been a self-described square peg in a round hole, he’s been fired three times during his career. It had gotten to the point when every time he receives a text, phone call or email from the NESN corporate powers, the thought of losing his job goes through his head.

Then, this summer, he received a long-term contract extension. Brain meltdowns or no, he was wanted, and he was secure.

“Every step you take in broadcasting is on a trap door. You’re just hoping the pin is still attached,” he said.

A lot of different broadcasters call a game in a lot of different ways. The trick is to find their voice and not sound like a cookie-cutter broadcaster.

Edwards has found his voice.

“Damn right,” he said.

(Top photo: Jim Davis / The Boston Globe via Getty Images)