For many of us of Italian descent living overseas, it was a lightbulb moment. When the satellite dish was strapped to the side or top of your house and the cables brought Rai channels into the family home it was transformational. It introduced the Azzurri into the living room with – at long last – Italian commentary. And the voice being beamed to passionate fans of La Nazionale across the planet was the unmistakable one of Bruno Pizzul.

His style was certainly understated compared with his modern-day counterparts. Listen to his description of Roberto Baggio’s goal against Czechoslovakia at Italia ’90 and you get a glimpse of its economy. He must say the Divin Codino’s name about 10 times before the ball hits the back of the net with other words being used with the frugality typical of his native Friuli. There’s a beautiful rhythm and emotion, though, that shines through despite the lack of linguistic flourishes.

In a way, he was a chronicler of a sort of golden age of nearly misses for the Italian national team, most notably that 1990 World Cup. He brought us USA ’94 as well and Euro 2000 – two finals lost in desperate fashion. His tone of voice always seemed pitch perfect – particularly in its succinct description of an opposition goal. Without saying much, he encapsulated our pain.

But there was more than that, especially to those of my generation. He was a part of my growing up and so many afternoons and evenings spent with my family hoping and praying that the Azzurri could lift a trophy. We gathered with wine, salami, espresso and expectation to hope our country would do us proud and let us walk with a bit more swagger the following day. It was always Pizzul who delivered the fateful words.

It has been more than two decades since he last commentated an Italy game on Rai and yet I still felt a pang of sadness when I heard he had passed away, aged 86. His was the voice that brought us all together – Juventini, Interisti, Fiorentini or whatever – to seek an international victory. Classy and restrained in such a passion-filled atmosphere, hearing his commentaries now still fills me with nostalgia. Memories of great nights – and disappointing ones – come flooding back and make me smile. The players, the matches and the company are all inextricably linked to the sound of his sonorous voice. Those were good times to be an Italy fan and those commentaries still evoke special feelings. It is always sad to hear of someone’s passing but there should be warmth in remembering them too. Listening to Pizzul, I return to my late teens with a full head of hair, a first glass of wine or two and the latest Italy strip on my back watching with my family and friends in whoever’s house was chosen as the “stadium” that year. Those recollections are still special to me and he was their soundtrack. Addio Bruno, and thanks for all the games, goals and glory you gave us.