Onto '18

We could use a time machine. The TARDIS will do nicely (plus Peter Capaldi works his way into this post).

I feel like I have more to write tonight.

I probably should.

I will remember 2017. We can look back at all of the bad, but no. Take those as lessons.

Challenges.

Memories.

Inspiration.

But to "keep moving forward," we need to move on.

So let's look at the positive.

We're still here. That's one thing.

I have the best son. I'm crazy proud of him.

We only traveled twice in '17 -- both times to North Carolina, and both within the span of under a month. But it's still twice more than not traveling at all.

I only called 69 games in 2017, but you know what? I had a blast on each game. Sometimes it's not about quantity. I surrounded myself with the best collection of colleagues who are also friends. Chris, Kato, Jake, Dan, Shawn, AJ, Paul, Josh, Ian, Mick. Thank you, all.

I stuck my toe back into college basketball again, and can say I've called Div. I, III, and now II. Plus I survived the snowstorm that day and night, and made it home alive.

I was invited back to call Renegades games. I never thought that would happen.

I've created new relationships, including Fairfield Prep, and furthered my relationship with Brunswick. Plus Babe Ruth Baseball.

The Clubhouse. Mark and Dave.

And Greenwich High football gave us thrills galore. They were really just two points shy (even if the final tally was nine).

My family is my family. We're all still here also.

I have an amazing collection of friends. I can't list them all. They know who they are.

There are people who have my back. I know that.

I also see the truth, and remain truthful to myself. Integrity means something, and that's meant to to be obnoxious. It's one of many virtues that I treasure.

What I'm saying is that there are myriad positives. Let's focus on that.

We'll muddle through the rest of it.

So let's get going with 2018 already.

Incidentally, the Yankees have known great success in years ending in "8." As in 1928, 1938, 1958, 1978, and 1998.

Tonight, I watched Peter Capaldi depart Doctor Who. I waited almost a week, so I could watch it with Sean. Sadly, I knew a few of the surprises. No matter. The experience was wonderful.

Now, Jodie Whittaker, go make the 13th Doctor great. We'll be watching.


The Winter Classic is tomorrow in Queens. That means the Rangers, and Doc Emrick. Perfect.

I'm hopeful for the future, though it's not like life will immediately get easier as soon as we hit midnight.

I'm nervous -- very much so -- that I'm feeling hopeful. But I'll adjust. I love those who survive.

Then thrive.

I'd like to think maybe I'm one after all.

It's all going to take time, and I have to remind myself of that very thing. I can't let a hiccup throw the whole thing off course.

"Hope smiles from the threshold of the year to come, whispering, 'It will be happier.'" --Alfred Lord Tennyson

I wish you all peace and health tonight, tomorrow, and the day after.

And so on.

You don't need a flip of the calendar to do so. Do it now.

Imagine that, indeed.

We know tonight is overrated.

What 2018 will be is unknown.

Let's start finding out.