Tonight, as the Atlanta Braves begin a homestand at Turner Field, Casey Motter will again live his dream as the ballpark announcer. A year ago, this underdog auditioned against a bunch of pros to become the voice of his hometown team.

But most days, Motter, 39, is dealing with every homeowner's nightmare. To support his family of six, he's kept his day job as a termite inspector.

Rich Addicks / AJC (ENLARGE)

Casey Motter became an announcer at Turner Field but remains a termite inspector.

Rich Addicks / AJC (ENLARGE)

Motter looks for termite signs inside a vacant house in Southwest Atlanta.

Rich Addicks / AJC (ENLARGE)

Braves announcer Casey Motter kept his day job as an inspector for Arrow Exterminators.

Johnny Crawford / AJC (ENLARGE)

A year ago, Motter, shown looking over notes for a Braves home opener, auditioned against pros to become the voice of his hometown team.

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The big Southern vocal boom helps as he enters a crawl space under a beautiful home in south Fulton. It's seven hours before a recent game against the Braves' biggest rival. "Let's give a warm Atlanta welcome to ... the New York Mets!" he calls out, shooing anything that's still alive in these dank bowels.

Instead of a mike, he carries a heavy-duty flashlight and a long screwdriver that he spins through cobwebs as if making cotton candy. "When you get used to the spider webs on your face, it doesn't freak you out," he says of the job he's done for 2 1/2 years, most recently for Arrow Exterminators.

Motter's loyalty to this work is proof that his sudden, unexpected fame hasn't changed the high school graduate from Smyrna who now lives in Newnan. He thrives on days in the dark spaces, searching for insects in tight spots, and nights in the open ballpark, watching Chipper Jones et al. hit clutch shots. He's just as proud of his interview on CNN as he is of his feature in Pest Control Management magazine.

His day job has turned into a platform for preaching his philosophy that dreams can come true – if a little light shines on them.

Along with an estimation for extermination, he tells homeowners his story of inspiration in that voice they recognize from somewhere.

"People don't follow their dreams. They come up with excuses, that they need more money, but it doesn't take that," he says during the termite inspection in Palmetto, in south Fulton.

"I didn't pay [Braves GM] Frank Wren to show up at a Peachtree City youth football game and hear me and get to my dream. That's not the way it works."

Wren was an assistant general manager when he heard Motter call Wren's son's football game. When the Braves' previous announcer developed health problems, Wren invited Motter to audition against a dozen voice pros before the 2007 season.

"The biggest question is why he's still doing this [termite work]," said his wife, Katrina Motter, a teacher's aide and aspiring country singer. "People assume he's making tons from a major league team." The Braves' seasonal gig, she says, accounts for about 25 percent of their income.

To buy Christmas gifts, Motter worked at a drugstore and tuned up his vocal chords with the greeting, "Welcome to Rite-Aid!" and watched the incredulous looks on shoppers' faces.

He's done some voice gigs but feels his next calling is motivational speaking. Until then, his main focus is the crack of a wood bat, preceded by the telltale holes in wood framing.

He climbs through the small crawl-space door like a giant into a creepy dollhouse. He wears navy blue coveralls, his cellphone secure. He doesn't want to be far from help while belly-crawling under an old house, where dangling wires and leaky pipes are only some of the risks.

He can squeeze his 5-foot-11, 220-pound body through an 18-inch clearance. "Smaller than that, I could get stuck, and I want to get out without ripping my skin off," he says, the voice echoing from a dark corner. "I could get trapped by something you don't want to mess with."

Like a miner in a deep shaft, his flashlight glows on the signs of infestation.

"Oh, this is a booger!" he says, crouching over wood piles and debris. "I feel like I'm on 'Dirty Jobs'!"

Nearby are old Mason jars — and more unsavory things. As he crawls and slithers, dead smells dust up.

"Here's the remains of a blue jay. Some critter's got to it," he says, poking it with his screwdriver. "I've seen skulls of rodents, dead squirrels. I've seen a live snake in the grass, about a foot and a half long."

To stay smooth for his more famous gig, he sucks on throat lozenges.

He dusts a few spots of clay off his trousers, wipes down his sweaty, red face, smooths his thick hair. It's five hours to game time, but only 90 minutes before his pregame meeting.

He'll steer his company car up I-85 and pull into the stadium lot, where attendants always bug him to bellow, "Welcome to Turner Field!" He'll quickly change into his Braves polo shirt and head to the booth above home plate.

Once, he saw a trouble-causing insect, an ant swarmer, on the concourse. "People think that big buildings like Turner Field don't have problems," he says, "but these things love Sheetrock."

On this night, the Braves will win by two runs to sweep the Mets, and Motter's got a good feeling the homeowner will pick his company to send her pests packing. Down the left field pole is a sign for Arrow Exterminators.

The company loves that Motter's double life fits the company motto: "Beyond the Call."

His worlds are an extreme contrast of light and dark, open and dank, sunny and hidden.

But at his foundation, Casey Motter simply enjoys his roles in the drama of getting something, or someone, out.