But shocking? That would be the Heat without the familiar voice of Eric Reid.
Imagine, a season with no "Kaboom!" Oh, my.
"To have shared every game of Heat history with our fan base and our franchise is a real gift as a broadcaster," says Reid, a constant through the team's 26 seasons, first as color analyst but mostly doing the play-by-play on television.
The native of Massapequa, N.Y., hasn't quite called every Heat game. By his count, he has missed four of more than 1,800 regular-season games, three because of deaths in the family and once because he had laryngitis.
Reid has a ways to go to catch Vin Scully, voice of the Dodgers for 65 years. But he is an example of how broadcasters are often as identifiable with their teams as many of the players and coaches. Their voices and personalities become as familiar to fans as family members.
Jeff Conine may be Mr. Marlin, but color analyst Tommy Hutton is the voice of baseball in South Florida, in his 18th season on Marlins telecasts. Conine's work as a studio host helps maintain his title nine years since he last played for the team.
The Dolphins' radio crew of Jimmy Cefalo, Joe Rose and Bob Griese are another rarity; they were teammates who played virtually their entire careers with the team they now broadcast. Their careers span the generations of Dolphins football, which Cefalo says enables them to provide perspective on the current team in relation to those of the past.
Florida Panthers radio voice Randy Moller played briefly for the team at the end of his career as a defenseman and has the distinction as the only former NHL player doing play-by-play full time. He has become widely known as a YouTube sensation for punctuating goal calls with pop culture references as well as spicing commentary with homespun Mollerisms.
Unlike national network announcers, local broadcast crews make no secret about the allegiance to their teams.
"I'm a homer. I have no compunction about that," says Cefalo, former partner of the late Jim Mandich, always the most passionate voice in the booth.
"Sometimes as a Dolphin fan you get frustrated. If they do something stupid you react like, 'What in the world are they doing?' But there's the forgiving nature of it. You try to find a way to say, 'All right, now what can we do to correct that?' Jim taught me that."
It says a lot about the Dolphins' past decade that the highlight for Cefalo, beginning his 10th season on the broadcasts, was when little-known backup receiver Greg Camarillo's 64-yard touchdown catch in overtime against the Ravens averted a 0-16 embarrassment in the 2007 season.
As Camarillo sped to the end zone, Cefalo's call was drowned out by the joyful shrieks of Rose and Mandich, with the latter proclaiming his love for Rich Camarillo, who had been another team's punter.
Cefalo recalls: "On NBC that night, [commentator Keith] Olbermann says, 'Listen to this call, these guys are idiots.' He said it was like the Hindenburg going down. I said, 'Yeah, it was for us. We weren't going to have our franchise have that stain of going 0-16."
But boosting the home team and entertaining its fans doesn't mandate a disregard for objectivity. This past season, when Brooklyn's Mason Plumlee blocked James' dunk attempt on the final play to preserve a Nets win, Reid didn't side with Heat viewers who wanted a foul called.
"We looked at the replays. I didn't think it was a foul. I thought it was one of the best defensive plays I've seen in a long time, and I called it that way," Reid says. "Did I feel a little weird that night walking on the plane? I walked right past LeBron and [coach Erik Spoelstra], and I realized what I had done. My Twitter has never blown up from something negative like it did that night from Heat fans being angry that I called it that way. But I slept OK that night because that's the way I saw it."
Hutton is known for going off on rants, and sometimes they are aimed at the Marlins. Such as last season when he took star Giancarlo Stanton to task for a base-running blunder.
"We're fortunate because we can be honest. We don't have to sugarcoat stuff. I think some places it isn't like that," Hutton says. "Our fan base is different because here you've got people from all over. When we play the Phillies or the Mets, we've got people from Philly or New York that are watching the games."
Being in a nontraditional hockey market is part of the reason for the comedic elements Moller injects into his play-by-play.
At the urging of 790 The Ticket's "Dan LeBatard Show," in 2009 Moller began shouting lines from movies — "Ma! The Meatloaf!" and "Run, Forrest, Run!" were among the early ones — and song lyrics. That sparked an avalanche of emails from fans suggesting more lines — which hasn't stopped, though Moller no longer uses them for every goal.
"I still receive so many emails we can't even keep track of them. They come from all over the world," he says.
One that got the most reaction was when Moller, who doesn't listen to rap music, fired off a fan-suggested Ice Cube lyric, "Momma cooked a breakfast with no hog!"
"Everybody thought it was the funniest thing because it was so out of character," Moller says.
But perhaps more entertaining are the unexpected folksy phrases that roll naturally off his tongue, such as "Top shelf, where Mrs. Moller keeps the peanut butter!" They are the product of growing up in a witty family in Red Deer, Alberta.
"My uncles, the sayings they used to have; they were just a cast of characters. A family reunion was like a four-day comedy club act," he says.
Spend enough time in a broadcast and awkward moments are inevitable. Cefalo's was also frightening. He was hosting "The Today Show" at the Seoul Olympics in 1988 when six Koreans brandishing Uzis walked into the studio.
Cefalo threw the show to commercial and ducked under the desk. Turned out the men were guarding a Korean opposition leader who was going to be interviewed on the next segment.
Reid was being groomed to become the Red Sox play-by-play man in Boston when he took the Heat job. His heart was with basketball, and he already had 11 years calling college games, beginning at Cornell where his outlook on play-by-play was cemented the night a blind professor sat next to him at courtside.
"I felt like I was calling it for him that night," he says.
It stemmed not from hearing Funk but rather from a conversation in the mid-'90s with a Chicago cabbie who said he loved listening to Bulls games "because the announcer says 'kaboom.'"
It resonated with Reid, who says, "I used a couple of kabooms that night at Chicago. I've been kabooming ever since."