Wednesday, October 29, 2014
Moments like this get over-analyzed.
You'll get the Facebook comments. The texts. The tweets.
"Dude. Are you OK?"
Moments like this have you disgusted watching TV. The Rangers are laying an egg.
Moments like this have you upstairs, staring at the fridge.
Moments like this make you eat a bowl of cereal.
Snap! Crackle! Pop!
Not because you're hungry. Just...well...because.
Because you're eating in anger. Or something.
Moments like this you look for a friend, but wonder: who can you exactly trust?
You know you don't want to be alone and, of course, you never really are, given that many are a call away.
But in moments like this, you want a face to look at.
You need to yell. Scream. Laugh. Cry. Something. Anything.
In moments like this, you need someone to review your back for the tire tracks.
Those things might be metaphysical, but they are oh-so-real.
Moments like this, you realize that the Rangers have made a great comeback.
Down 3-0, they come back and win 5-4. OK, that's something.
Moments like this, you feel confused. Burnt. Fried. Frustrated.
Moments like this, you don't know what to feel. Ambivalence? Nah.
Moments like this, you also feel very raw. The nerve has been exposed and it needs time to heal.
Moments like this, the loneliness can be palpable. Most of the time, you just don't care.
Except you care about pretty much everything.
Moments like this, you can self-medicate but you know that's not the answer.
Thank God you've at least got some self-awareness.
Back to those friends. Be careful what you wish for.
In moments like this, you don't need to be brought down. You need to be kept going.
Moments like this, you want the night to end.
But you don't want the next day to begin.
Moments like this are what tests the meddle of a person.
At least that's the bull shite we are taught.
Until you hear the next batch of garbage.
Then you're back at start.
Moments like this, readers wonder if it's real. I mean, really, really real.
Moments like this, maybe it is.
Sunday, October 26, 2014
HAN Radio is going to Staten Island to cover St. Joseph by-the-Sea (aka "Sea") and St. Peter's.
Why? I'm glad you asked.
Go here and read more.
Why? I'm glad you asked.
Go here and read more.
Wednesday, October 15, 2014
|Not this bus.|
The details are unimportant, and it wouldn't be proper of me to tell them anyway. The bottom line is, somebody told a blatant untruth. Nah, that's too kind. They lied. About me. I don't even know if there will be repercussions, but I'm freaking furious right now regardless.
You screw up? Say so. I'm awesome at it. An absolute professional. Hell, I've accepted blame for things that were never my fault to begin with, just to make it go away.
See, here's the thing. I don't mind a good debate. The truth is that I'm not a truly confrontational person. I don't like to fight (haven't thrown a punch in 30 years) and I really don't like to get into skirmishes - be it at work, with my family, or with my friends. Oh sure, I'll get into debates about Don Mattingly and Cal Ripken with my brother that will leave us hoarse from screaming at each other. I'll go bonkers arguing about Sandy Alderson with Chris Kaelin.
At the end of the day, my brother is still family and Kato is still Kato. So it goes.
But I have a memory.
A pretty good one.
Mike Goldberg is a broadcaster who works primarily on Ultimate Fighting Championship broadcasts, as well as various other programs. He has also handled some play-by-play of Arizona Cardinals preseason broadcasts.
Last Sunday, Mr. Goldberg got his shot to call a regular season NFL game, on FOX when the Minnesota Vikings and Detroit Lions met.
It did not go so well. Goldberg was mocked in multiple corners of the world for his mistakes.
If only it had ended there. The keyboard geniuses (the non-Joe Buck division) were out for blood.
Goldberg would have been well-served to step away from the keyboard and not engage the trolls (yes, advice we all need to take). I've seen broadcasters respond to them in appropriate manners, but often, it doesn't end well, and it didn't work out here.
Goldberg went back at critics with expletives. That's the kind of thing that will get the attention (and not good attention) of a lot of people. Mainly, his bosses. Of course, then he apologized.
The NFL is hyper-image conscious right now. Think they were thrilled to see a Fox broadcaster cursing out the public? Yeah...no. So FOX pulled him from his second assignment, a Vikings/Bills game in Buffalo.
I used to think anyone could do play-by-play. I figured, I can do it. Why can't others? All you're doing is describing what you see. I realized, quickly, how wrong I was. It's a skill. It's not like being a nurse or performing brain surgery, but it's still a skill, and one that I'm proud of. I'm pleased that I am able to make something of a broadcast when I get a roster just minutes (sometimes seconds) before a game begins.
Goldberg appeared to sound horribly unprepared, and while he still would have dealt with critics, he probably would have gotten a second chance if he had just stayed away from Twitter for a few days.
I saw where Laxworm, a Connecticut-based website that is primarily devoted to lacrosse, has stuck its toe into the increasingly crowded high school sports field. Hey, I mean anybody can start up a webcasting station, right? The Worm had put together a small list of high school football games to broadcast, though I haven't heard how they sound.
You might know, I'm somewhat busy with my own games to call. I have no idea how things sound over on WGCH either.
Worm tweeted that they need a PBP (yes, play-by-play) voice for an upcoming Newtown/Ansonia game. I had marked that one as a potential broadcast for HAN (we're still deciding the rest of our schedule). Another tweeter suggested a friend of his. A quick scan of that potential "voices" Twitter feed indicated that he wouldn't be the kind of guy I'd want on my radio.
Image, social media behavior, and ability all combine. They mean a lot. Goodness knows I'm not immune to a social media screwup. It all counts.
Still it comes back to ability. At least I like to believe it does (and it doesn't entirely). On the local level, I can't just hand the keys over to somebody that hasn't demonstrated some skill. There is a lot to doing play-by-play. In short, you become engineer, producer, and talent. You need to open and close the broadcast (not as easy as it sounds). You're watching social media for storylines and scores. You're running commercials. You're doing prep work (if there's actually time) for the game. You're balancing egos both on and off the air, and potentially dealing with any and all distractions, including in the press box.
Oh yeah, and you also have to report and describe the action, while keeping your listeners entertained and engaged.
You have to also be smooth.
My guess? Mike Goldberg will get another shot. The reasons are various, but there are a lot of bad broadcasters and politics often works to get a guy another shot. Maybe FOX lets him back on because Dana White, the MMA impresario, wants Goldberg to get another chance. FOX and MMA are business partners, after all. Think about the amount of dreck that gets recycled out there.
It can be disheartening to see and hear.
I was just looking at the stats for this site, and found this not-so-pleasant fact.
Pageviews today: 2.
Of course the answer is simple: write more. Much more. But, seriously, this has never been about pageviews. Oh, sure, I want eyeballs to visit and so on, but it was never about that.
Yet, one doesn't truly want to write for no one to see.
So it goes, I guess.
The blog has never been heavily promoted, so the fault of all of this falls on the shoulders of the proprietor: me.
I'm rambling here.
This post isn't likely to help drive up the page views. Onto another day.
Monday, October 13, 2014
|Yup. Living large.|
I went to the Oktoberfest at Hunter Mountain yesterday with Sean and other myriad members of the family. We had a nice time, nobody fought, yada yada.
Sean made me take him up to the top of the mountain on the ski lift again. I've found that the only way for me to not lose my mind on the ride is to engage it, by talking and/or taking pictures.
|Yes, on the ski lift. Not the first time I've done this. It's therapeutic.|
It's not quite "the flux capacitor is fluxing," but you get the point.
Oh yeah, and brides, grooms, bridal parties, and wedding guests were getting off the ski lift. Just another day at Hunter Mountain.
|Yeah, so, um, let's get married or something.|
|Yes. You'll ride THAT ski lift to the top of THAT mountain.|
|Definitely a view I could get used to.|
|Screw the World Cup. I want CONDIMENTS!|
|Sean and Daddy doing whatever this is. (Oct, 2005)|
- It's too crowded.
- It's too empty.
- It's too expensive.
- It's too hot/cold (the weather stinks).
- There aren't enough vendors.
And so on. But still, I normally walk away with some form of a smile on my face.
Now let's return to our friend up top. I was enjoying my funnel cake (I'll spare you the picture), when I looked up to spot the gentleman wearing the Thug for Life t-shirt, with an image of Tupac Shakur giving a double-barrel middle finger to the camera.
I suppose the image should just be left for you to interpret, but really, why? Let's look: here's a white guy at an Oktoberfest who maybe thinks he is "all that" with his "gangsta" mentality. Is the shirt a joke? Was it a gift? I guess I give him credit for wearing it in public, because I probably wouldn't.
Let's put it this way: I know my limits. Bravo to him.
Saturday, October 11, 2014
|Yes, that's a circa 1997 TV. Can't afford to do better.|
I stopped upstairs to make some dinner and check on him. The following took place:
SA: Daddy, can I come downstairs and watch Doctor Who*?
* The only way to watch Doctor Who is on Netflix, which I have on my ancient TV (seen above)
RA: Well if you do that, then I'm going to come up here** and watch baseball.
** The upstairs TV is of this century - 2012, I think.
SA: Oh. I was going to come down and watch it with you.
RA: You were going to come down and watch BASEBALL with me? (Yes, I knew the answer)
SA: Um...no. I meant I'd come down and watch Doctor Who with you.
Somewhere, people are laughing at my sports-dismissive child. That's OK.
Facebook friend Michelle Adams Flynn posted a link to a really funny, well-done video posted by RiverCityVA804 on YouTube.
The post itself is from Maggie Owens on movoto.
A little research indicates that the video is actually five years old, but I'm all for any chance to spread some love regarding the 8-0-4 and RVa.
Every time I drive through the 8-0...well, you know, I get deep in thought about what a great place it is and the friends I have there.
For the heck of it, I initially placed it on my fingers as I sat in traffic on the Merritt Parkway (hardly a new phenomenon).
Later, I put it around my wrist as I made my way to Fairfield Warde High School for the football game between Fairfield Prep and Shelton.
I was pretty surprised at the lack of media coverage for this game (an SCC matchup between 4-0 Prep and 3-1 Shelton), but was thrilled to discover that I was the only person doing the game. It feels like CPTV, MSG, WELI, and other outlets have been covering the same games as us, but in this case, I was the lone wolf.
Several times this year, I've had to work solo, and it's fine, yet it's not. The truth is, with such a wide collection of colleagues and friends, you would think I could have found someone to jump in and keep me company, but no dice.
However, I enjoy the solitude. I had a blast doing so during the baseball playoffs and, again, last night. Many broadcasters are on their own, including the legendary Vin Scully. Vin, of course, is in the majors so there are assistants and producers to help him out, but the call is his own.
For those in the lower levels, there generally is no assistance. That's the downside of this plan. You need a drink? A restroom break? Have a coughing fit? Have you simply run out of things to say?
Tough. Prepare. Bring water and throat drops. Use the restroom before the game. Find things to say. Simply put: deal with it. All of it.
Still a partner is nice to work with. Chris Erway and I, for instance, seem to have a good chemistry. The same goes for so many people that I've worked with.
That's the thing: chemistry is huge in a booth. Have I worked with people I've never spoken with or met? Sure - my first Hudson Valley Renegades game with Sean Ford was on the day I laid eyes on him for the first time. However we had spoken before that day. But it's still a risk. You just don't know for sure.
So I called the game by myself and generally enjoyed every second of it. Thanks to Bill Bloxsom for being my halftime guest, and to Paul Silverfarb for joining me via phone from the Greenwich/Norwalk game. Chris Erway and John Kovach will be back with me next Friday at Fairfield Warde as Prep hosts Daniel Hand.
As for the rubber band, it became a good luck charm. Or I left it on to make me laugh.
Or I just forgot about it.
Sunday, October 05, 2014
|The statue of Robert L. Cosby and I at the field that bears his name at Brunswick School in Greenwich. Yep. This is a selfie.|
No doubt that there are different meanings of what a selfie is, but I'm quite sure I've seen Jeff in several selfies over time on his website. Still I get his take. They can be easily interpreted as narcissistic.
And they are.
But still, like everything in moderation, aren't they also fun? I mean, that's sort of the idea, so much so that there is a new show on ABC called, er, Selfie*.
*I watched the first episode. A modern take on "My Fair Lady"/Pygmalion. Cute. Not bad. Couple of chuckles, and Karen Gillan is sweet. Sean and I know her as Amy Pond from "Dr. Who."
I suppose, for a nearly 46-year-old goof, the point is that I sometimes want pictures with or of something. So what's the harm if I turn the iPhone on myself? How is it bad if Paul Silverfarb takes one with Big Red, the Greenwich Cardinal mascot, to send to his sons?
|Paul's the one on the left. I promise.|
Sometimes they work, sometimes they don't For instance, I was going to send this one to Lisa, to show that, on occasion, I clean up OK. I didn't like it, and never sent it. The point is, I had no photographer, so this would have to do. I'll risk the embarrassment now.
|Yeah. I don't know.|
|That's a big head.|
|Derek Jeter Day|
|Connecticut School of Broadcasting|
I guess what I'm getting at is: what's the problem? Why do we over-analyze and judge so much? I get it - if it's harmful, then that's a problem. But tell me - seriously - where I've set society back in any of the above photos? They're mostly just goofy pictures of a guy having some fun. Most of the time it's boredom and silliness taking over; other times it's lack of a photographer.
Sometimes I think, as a society, we fret over things that really aren't worth fretting over. Let's also be clear: I'm not after Jeff Pearlman here. Jeff's opinion is hardly new. Yet there seems to be those who just want to hate because, well, they like to be a contrarian. They think it's simply the way to go. They're so uncool that they're cool because, oooh, they hate selfies!
See: Challenge, Ice Bucket.
By the way, I have one of Lisa and I taken outside of Crystal Cave in Pennsylvania. She objected to the photo (she looks great). Thus that won't be posted.
OK, nothing more to see here.
Tuesday, September 16, 2014
The late 70s, early 80s were seminal times musically for the artist eventually to be known as Rob.
It was around this time that I was listening to a lot of Imus, learning really how to time a radio program, and figuring out what my own musical tastes were, as opposed to what was influenced.
Disco? Sure, I dabbled. It was unavoidable.
Our car radio was an AM. It would be a short time before I'd grab my first stereo system (turntable, 8-track...and AM/FM tuner).
None of this is relevant, except that unless I was in my sisters car (probably the yellow Camaro, although the red Camaro was sweet), I wasn't getting that sonic boost of FM with the cassette player!
All of this made me think of "Abacab," the whoosh of electronic with a pop heart from Genesis. While they still had a few years left in their evolution from prog rock masters to full pop artists (oy, Phil Collins, what happened?), their more deep pastures had been left behind for what would eventually be "Invisible Touch" and "I Can't Dance."
The lyrics were catchy and energetic to a kid in 1981...
Look up on the wallNot exactly "The screen door slams. Mary's dress waves" of Springsteen, but it worked.
There on the floor
Under the pillow
Behind the door
Still does. Great song. Great album.
I was furious last night.
The details aren't relevant, only because I'm not a bridge burner, though I will say I confirmed something about the Greenwich situation that I suspected all along.
I. Just. Knew.
Top that off with things that truly disappointed me, and you've got one hot, steaming pile of Rob.
I'm burying the lede (or lead, you call) here. Back to my point: I was pissed at something and instead of keeping it to myself, or ranting to Paul Silverfarb or Lisa, I did something else.
I posted on social media.
I also ranted to Paul and Lisa, but you get my point.
I wrote, simply: I'm done. Just done.
I wasn't bothered by it either, but then my mother, who comments on everything (and I mean ev...ery...thing), did her thing.
That was one. Then my friend Harold asked if I was OK. Then I got a text from John Kovach. Lisa was getting texts.
I deleted the post.
Regardless of the situation, I should have been better than that. I shouldn't have let that happen. In a time in which watching the collapse of people by watching the insanity they write on Facebook makes for great entertainment, I need to be better.
I'm always advocating to not be that narcissistic tool (except for harmless self-taken pictures). I'm always saying to be wise, and not flash your social media muscles. Don't be a keyboard genius. I try - hard - to take the high road.
In this case, I goofed, and I own up to it.
I'm super, hyper-stressed these days (enough that it's kept me off the blogsie wogsie). To explain would have people saying that I complain too much behind my back, so really, why? I'll just say the stress has been unhealthy, and we'll carry on, won't we?
Am I OK? No. Not really. But there's really nothing to see. I should have kept it offline.
Move along. Move along.