JUPITER, Fla. -- The broadcast booth is typically a place of comfort for Andy Freed, the Rays’ longtime radio voice. Saturday, it was a therapy session.

Sitting in the small room at Roger Dean Chevrolet Stadium with Neil Solondz, another longtime member of Tampa Bay’s radio team, Freed prepared to do his first broadcast since the sudden, shocking passing of Dave Wills, his dear friend and broadcast partner for the past 18 years.

“I'm not going to get through this show,” Freed said less than an hour prior to first pitch.

It wasn’t easy, but they did. Wills wouldn’t have expected anything less.

Sunday marks one week since Wills’ death at age 58 stunned the Rays organization and the entire baseball community, and after canceling the broadcast that day, the radio booth had remained vacant until Saturday.

Freed wrestled with the idea of returning to the ballpark during the week, unsure that he was ready to walk back into the booth he and Wills had shared since 2005. He had a meeting at the Trop on Thursday, so he wandered up to the booth, which had been repainted, giving it a different look, smell and feel.

Still, Freed was relieved that he wouldn’t have to call his first game there this weekend.

Solondz felt the same. He went to Clearwater on Tuesday for the Rays’ road game against the Phillies rather than going to the Trop for his first game.

“I wanted to be in a visiting clubhouse before I stepped foot in Tropicana Field,” Solondz said. “I had to ease myself into it to kind of get ready for today.”

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Wills used to tell Freed, “Don't you hate it when real life interrupts baseball?" And that, of course, has happened this week. Saturday, it resumed in the Rays’ booth.

Freed and Solondz helped gather remembrances of Wills during the past few days, putting together a pair of half-hour pregame shows to pay tribute to their friend to air Saturday and Sunday.

“I've heard his voice in my head all week,” Freed said. “I've been with him when he's cried at someone’s passing. I've been next to him when he told me about his dad dying and his mom dying, so I've seen how he mourned over the years. His thing was, ‘The game is the star and we get through it. We're about having fun.’”

Both Freed and Solondz laughed at some of the stories being told, a brief respite from the sadness and emotion that had enveloped them for nearly a week.

“I think it's therapeutic that we're actually doing a game,” Solondz said. “The fact that we’re celebrating him is the real tough part.”

During the week, Freed dug up a CD of the 2005 Opening Day Rays broadcast, the first official day on the job for both him and Wills. That, he decided, needed to be part of the open for Saturday’s game.

As he welcomed the audience, Freed told listeners that Saturday’s broadcast was “going to be all about our buddy, a guy that I’m having a hard time talking about in the past tense.”

The 2005 clip was aired, then Freed continued with his opening, his voice beginning to crack as he spoke about his friend. Marc Haze, the radio engineer sitting in the back of the booth, handed him some much-needed tissues.

The game itself was an exhibition, a 5-3 Marlins victory at Roger Dean Chevrolet Stadium that will have virtually no consequence to the season ahead. Yet it meant everything to Freed and Solondz, who were back in the booth because that’s where Wills would have wanted them to be.

They also knew that Wills’ wife, Liz, and their daughter, Michelle, were listening to the broadcast with some family and friends at their side.

“I felt naked in the first couple innings today,” Freed said after the game. “This is normally a comfort spot. The game was moving along and I'm trying to stay calm, trying to stay in control because I knew Liz was listening. I wanted to do it to honor her as much as Dave. The emotion got me. It got the best of me.”

“I hope whatever we're doing makes them as proud as anyone else,” Solondz said. “I know we're broadcasting for our audience, but I kind of feel we're broadcasting for them.”

Freed paid tribute to his friend by using some of his favorite sayings; when the Marlins left runners on base, he said Miami “left some chicken on the bone” that inning. When Austin Shenton hit a ball off the wall, Freed remarked, “One more biscuit for breakfast and that ball might have gone out of the ballpark.”

Both Freed and Solondz admitted to being spent by the end of the game, but they were ready to do it all again the next day, giving them another chance to remember their friend.

“I can hear him going, ‘Nice job. Move it along,’” Freed said. “Next week, we’ll try to be as much as business as usual as we can, knowing that Opening Day is in a couple of weeks, but he will be with us. Always.”