Wait Till Next Year

It's official.

There will be no Minor League Baseball Season.

Did anyone expect there to be one? No, but you always hoped.

That was the matra of the line "Wait till next year," annually uttered by the Brooklyn Dodgers fans until they finally won the World Series in 1955.

Well, today, we officially begin the wait.

The decision has come down. Any hope is removed. The Renegades released a statement, which you can read here.

And now, we look forward to 2021.

On Twitter, JJ Cooper, Executive Editor for Baseball America, tweeted the following:

Let's create a thread. Feel free to share what Minor League Baseball means to you.

— JJ Cooper (@jjcoop36) June 30, 2020

So, OK, then. Here's what MiLB means to me.

Opportunity.

It's the opportunity to see a ballgame.

Not only that, but it's the opportunity to see an affordable ballgame. A burger or dog or some crazy concoction, along with a drink and tickets and even a souvenir that won't set you back a mortgage.

It's the opportunity to take the kids and see baseball through purely innocent eyes.

It's the opportunity to laugh and enjoy everything that charming ballparks have to offer.

It's opportunity to watch players who are tangible -- literally, you can almost reach out and touch them -- because they're mostly raw and happy to be there. They'll sign autographs for you and smile for your pictures. In some cases, they can even live with you if you're a host family.

It's the opportunity to make that team part of your family. Sean has been part of the Renegades for his entire life. Literally.

It's the opportunity for those players to play the game that they love, be it on the way up or even on the way down.

It's the opportunity for a community to feel connected to the game of baseball. Let's face it, MLB is great. Sure, we love the big league teams. But MiLB is truly the hometown team, especially in towns that aren't near a big league park.

The likelihood for kids and adults to step on the field is solid, either through running the bases after the game or participating in an in-game contest of some kind.

It's opportunity to work in baseball. For some, we have the personal story of emailing a radio station, asking for a chance to sit in on a few broadcasts. That leads to more than a few.

That leads to a chance to be the lead broadcaster.

And that leads, hopefully, to other opportunities.

It's all accessible and there's the opportunity to be a part of all of it.

It's the opportunity to watch these players, managers, umpires, executives, media members, and more and see them somewhere else one day. That player just might walk into Yankee Stadium.

It's the opportunity to sit in the stadium, long after the last out, and just soak it all in.

If you get your foot in the door, not only can you work at the ballpark, you'll experience all kinds of zany things.

It's the opportunity to sign autographs as a nobody broadcaster, and you're both embarrassed and moved.

Opportunity.

That's what Minor League Baseball means to me.

I'm sitting here right now heartbroken. I have literally zero idea what the balance of 2020 looks like.

But I have the opportunity -- indeed, the promise -- to call Hudson Valley Renegades games in 2021. Will that be a full-season opportunity? Honestly, those decisions are months away, but I know I'm a member of the Gades' family as of now and hope to see a lot more of them before next...March? April? June?

We just don't know.

I'm heartbroken but not shocked. That's sports.

After this brushback pitch, we'll dust ourselves off and get ready for the next one.

Opportunity awaits. It's just going to take some time.

Wear a Mask

I hate it. Literally hate it. But I also know it's the right thing to do.

The title, literally says it all.

Look, I get it. You hate the mask.

I HATE THE MASK.

But, like it or not, everything I've read says the mask saves lives. At the very least, it saves other lives.

And those others are my friends. My family.

Most of all, my mom.

(Ridicule away. Call me "sheeple." This is how I feel. I just want this crap to stop.)

I'm not some militant person who is going to shame you. But, I'll likely roll my eyes. I'm hardly perfect in this. I forget it sometimes and have to go back and get it.

All I'm asking for is a common sense approach.

If you go in the store, wear the damn thing.

I've sat in doctors offices and a car dealership. Occasionally, I'd adjust it or even take it off if I felt it was safe for a moment.

This isn't some government conspiracy (unless it goes away magically in November).

I bring this up because I was going to try to visit my niece and family in North Carolina. We had found a way to get my mom there and keep her safe and happy.

But North (and South) Carolina are now in the list of "hot spot" states, defined by New York Governor Andrew Cuomo.

With Florida, Texas, and Arizona leading the way.

So, they certainly can't come to New York (or Connecticut or New Jersey) and we can't visit there without having to self-quarantine upon returning.

This recklessness is not only going to cost something as insignificant as my summer travel plans but it could end sports for the year and other far-reaching consequences.

The pessimists will win. The "second wave" will strike.

Here's the deal: the virus is boss here. It's in total control. There's no one else in charge.

It's no great hoax. It's no plot. I've watched what it does.

Yes, I'm really frustrated that Connecticut Governor Ned Lamont is now saying that opening bars and other Phase 4 things might get pushed back due to this NC/SC/FL/etc nonsense.

I have friends who would like to go back to work.

For bleeps sake, I'D like to go back to some sort of work.

I'm frustrated. I ask you to trust me on that. Virtually all of the joy that I was looking to this year is gone, save for my niece's wedding near Albany (assuming it's going to happen).

I wanted -- no, EXPECTED -- 2020 to finally be the year I started having a life. I was promised it would be better.

"Set goals," they say (whoever they are).

I allowed myself to dream. Instead, not a damn thing has changed, except I've just given up.

Literally everything that happened in 2019 (and 2018, 2017, 2016...) is happening again.

This was supposed to be a huge year. The Renegades were happening. That was going to get me to Maryland, Staten Island, Brooklyn, and other locales.

I was supposed to go to London and San Francisco and, hopefully, will get there in '21.

I planned to get to North Carolina. I have a niece, her husband, three kids, myriad cats and a dog who I'm pretty close to (and I even think they never got a snake out of respect for me, or something like that).

I was supposed to go celebrate with A.J. and Victoria near Boston as they got married.

Not to mention the impact it had on Sean and his senior year.

I felt such promise in '20. Remind me again why the concept of a "new year" is unmitigated crap?

Instead, I'm pretty badly unemployed and mostly serving as anything but a sports broadcaster, save for a talk show.

I feel a lot of despair and more ambivalence than I've ever felt. Me -- the person who generally cared about everything, is mostly just ... meh.

Don't get me wrong. I realize my blessings and, despite how this may seem, I'm not whining or complaining.

I ache for my friends and loved ones who have suffered in one form or another.

What I'm doing is setting out facts for you that say that the sooner we eradicate or control COVID-19, the sooner we can consider any of these things.

Take stock of what we've lost. It's huge. The Big E fair in Massachusetts was called off today. The Boston and New York City Marathons are both gone. Broadway is staying dark. Those are just a few entertainment options that have closed up for the year.

We've come a long way here in New York and nearby in Connecticut. But other parts of the country are screwing it all up.

This year feels, mostly, like a lost cause and we're barely at the midway point.

Wear the mask.

Please.

Curse me if you like.

Just be smart.

Please.

A New Day

They awaited.

After the stress of car buying and hustling to and from Connecticut to make a commitment, I sort of passed out last night.

Sort of. I never truly pass out. The days of a good night's sleep are long gone.

Still, I woke up and was ready to face the world.

Oh, but I couldn't have cereal. I didn't have milk.

As late as yesterday morning that would have perplexed me. See, it was 15 cents for every mile over the lease. I still occasionally ran to the grocery store or pizza place but, for the most part, my car has sat quietly since I parked it on March 12.

In fact, I drove it toi Dutchess Stadium earlier this week and had to clean the windows because it was caked in Mother Nature.

To be honest, I hadn't driven it much at all since probably late January. I think I had only -- yes, only -- put a little more than 4,000 miles on it since mid-December.

So, I suppose I can thank 2020 for that.

But, there I was, thinking about Snap! Crackle! and Pop! when it hit me.

I have a car with no mileage limit! Oh joy!


So I threw some clothes on, popped on a baseball cap (a Yankees Sunday it was!) and ran up to the local deli. You city types might call it a "bodega" but your mileage may vary.

I grabbed milk and a dozen hard rolls, paid for my wares and climbed back in the still-unnamed vehicle.

Hmmm ... "Tako" has a nice ring to it.

I'll keep working on it.

Not completely satisfied, I steered my new(ish) wheels past my road and onto the gas station.

Not the one closest to my house, where I think you are required to take a small loan for gas.

But, it gave me a few extra minutes to enjoy the Beatles Channel (the car still seems to have a SiriusXM subscription -- I'm not complaining) and I made my way back home.

It was more though. It was allowing the simple pleasures of a moment, and not being overwhelmed in the muck of the daily nonsense. I was grateful for this small, insignificant moment.

Later on, I sat in the car and tried to figure out a few of the bells and whistles on it. Otherwise, to be honest, it's not a whole lot different than the very same vehicle I turned in yesterday. Except this one will heat my butt in winter, for what it's worth.

Not a selling point to me but, again, your mileage may vary.

One last thing tonight: thank you so very much for the texts, comments, likes, and anything else related to Sean's graduation on Friday. For someone is not event a tenth of the emotional clown I am, he showed pride and excitement and I know he is grateful for each nod given to him. You've all overwhelmed me with the simple gesture of clicking an emoji, and I thank you.

Play The Game

This is the first thing that came up when I Googled "car."
To be QUITE sure: that's NOT the car I bought!

I'm just going to get this off my chest: buying/leasing a car sucks.

S-u-c-k-s.

S
U
C
K
S

Hopefully I've made my point clear.

Literally, it's an anxiety-fueled, soul-sucking roller coaster in the theme park of life.

Next stop? Destructoland where we'll go through your life and tell you why are awful, but hey, would you like a bottle of water?

It's no secret what things have been like around these parts, and dealing with a car has been front and center in my sleepless nights. Thanks to leasing, I had very little room for just ... driving.

Want to go somewhere for ... GASP! ... fun? Oh, I don't think I can afford the miles.

And, inevitably, I go over those miles.

Of course, don't you dare get a dent, ding, or whatever on a lease!

So you sit and get told all of the reasons that you can't have literally anything.

And you nearly walk out. I've come close a few times, including today.

When the Business Manager hits you with that price that makes you almost laugh out loud.

There wasn't much haggling. They needed my business and I'm still not sure the deal was great.

But, like it or not, it's done. Did I get what I wanted? Probably not.

But, I got peace of mind. I can sleep tonight.

Except, then they leave a cryptic "Call us" message when you're not home.

And now you're wondering what's wrong. Could be just a customer service "Hey, aren't you happy?!" follow-up call or it could be they discovered ... something.

Cars become a friend. You name them, woo them, talk them through the tough moments ("Come on, baby, you can make it!"), spend lots of time together and actually feel pangs of hurt when you say goodbye to them.

My 2017 Nissan Sentra served me well and I would have been honored to keep it but it was probably best to call it a day.

It used to be where picking up a car meant maybe a day trip. You'd try it out by taking it somewhere, maybe grabbing a meal, and putting a 100 or so miles on it before going home.

Today, after a five-hour purchasing process, my mother and I went to see my great niece Isabella on the occasion of her graduating from kindergarten.

We took Mom's car.

*****
Before we part tonight, it's been a tough week for friends.

Mike Hirn lost his mother earlier in the week. I'm heartbroken for my friend. I'll put it this way: this week has been a nightmare for Mike and family.

But, earlier today, my #ProjectOpenEndedDate co-conspirator John Nash announced that his mom had passed.

I glanced at my own mom -- 83 and hanging in there -- and smiled. There are simple blessings that we must embrace.

However, I'm truly saddened for both of my friends and pass along condolences and the notion that the phone is open if a friend is needed.

We all need friends right about now.

Oh, The Places You'll Go

"Think you've seen it all? Think again. Outside those doors, we might see anything. We could find new worlds, terrifying monsters, impossible things. And if you come with me... nothing will ever be the same again!” - 10th Doctor (David Tennant)

The time was 3:24 p.m. on Friday, June 26, 2020.

The place was John Jay High School in Hopewell Jct, NY.

There, in a parking lot, Sean Robert Adams, decked out in a navy cap and gown, completed something he's waited patiently for.

School's out, completely.

(Or, at least until when he starts college in the fall)

This wasn't the way any of us wrote it up. No group pictures after it was over. Just drive in, please stay in your cars, wear your mask, and tune your radio.

After the speeches, you can drive up for the big moment.

Then? Drive away.

It's over.

Thirteen years of memories flood. Of the little boy who walked in and the man who walked out. Of the good nights and bad. Of the school plays and shows and gatherings. Of laughter and tears.

It's his day and I hope it was as good as it can be.

But these years marched by in a flash like a timelord manning a TARDIS.

"People assume that time is a strict progression of cause to effect, but actually from a non-linear, non-subjective viewpoint, it's more like a big ball of wibbly-wobbly, timey-wimey stuff." - 10th Doctor (David Tennant)

 
 

  

 

 

“If it’s time to go, remember what you’re leaving. Remember the best. My friends have always been the best of me.” - 11th Doctor (Matt Smith)

"Now my Doctor, I've seen whole armies turn and run away. And he'd just swagger off back to his TARDIS and open the doors with a snap of his fingers. The Doctor in the TARDIS. Next stop, everywhere." -- River Song

Comings and Goings

Is "Patriots" OK? Asking for a friend.

June 25th is in the books.

Tomorrow, my son will reach the finale of his high school years.

Tonight, his school honored seniors with a light show parade.

Well, they tried in these difficult times.

They flashed pictures of the students on the building and a DJ played tunes appropriate to the Class of 2020 as we drove through the John Jay parking lot.

It finished with rows of the seniors in their class pictures. Of course, I couldn't find Sean's picture.

They meant well, and Sean and I laughed through it as we drove. My son has become quite the funny one.

Hopefully, a chip off the old block, I guess.

There's always tomorrow when it all comes to an end.

And I guess we'll deal with that then.

June 25th also means it's Susan's birthday.

No, in truth, that's the first thing I think of. It's hardly an afterthought.

I'd write more but she wouldn't want that.

I'll say this: there's no better friend, journalist, editor, or person.

You'd be honored to have her in your life.

As I am.

I Guess It's Really Summer

Tonight was the last edition of "The Clubhouse" for the foreseeable future, as we take the summer off.

Goodbyes never come easy to me. Sure, it's probably time to recharge the battery, but I've also learned that there's no guarantees that we'll be back.

Not to say we won't. The plan -- COVID-willing -- is to be back in business in September, preferably from Grand Prix New York.

But, who knows?

We're all in such crazy times.

We went out on a great note tonight, with Andy Adler of WPIX and Jay Horwitz of the Mets.

Yes, I said the Mets.

Here's the thing about the Metropolitans: if they played in almost ANY other place, their history would stand out a lot more (Mets fan Dave Torromeo agrees with this point). But, they share a market with the most famous brand in the sports world.

One whose history dates to 1903.

But, Jay had great stories to share.

Each guest could have been an hour show.

Tonight was also HOPEning Night for the Renegades. The team (led by Morgan Rumpf) put together a roughly 75-minute virtual presentation, including a "game" called by a certain play-by-play announcer. Go to the teams' Facebook page to see the final product.

This week was also supposed to be the World Selects hockey tournament in Voorhees, NJ. Given their website and Twitter feeds have gone quiet, it's safe to say that everything is off.

We get closer.

Then we don't.

But, there's always hope.

So, for now, Wednesday nights are free again.

But, I look forward to us getting back together for some pizza, some wings, and a lot of laughs featuring TV theme songs, M*A*S*H references (Ah! Bach!) and Tossed Salad (the horse).

It Wasn't a Hate Crime

While some of the power of this image has changed, let it not
take away from what was a good moment for NASCAR.

I wrote about Bubba Wallace yesterday.

I spent probably 15 minutes of my show about him and the noose found at Talladega today.

And, it turned out, it was a pull rope in the garage. It had been there since last year.

Not a noose.

No hate crime has been committed against Wallace.

Look, I don't blame him. He was told it was there. He reacted.

He's not Jussie Smollett.

But, it allows the conspiracy theorists to think otherwise.

It makes the media -- and it makes me -- look bad. Like we're not doing our job.

I'm personally embarrassed -- not because I supported Wallace but because I made such impassioned speeches about the situation.

And it turned out to be a pull rope.

Of course, I don't regret thinking and saying we can all do better, because we can.

But, let's not misunderstand yesterday's race either. The support for Wallace was still deserved and served as a nice step in a sport steeped in good ol' (white) boy mentality.

While the "noose" story turned out to be nothing, the images were still powerful.

I still have a strong, healthy respect for Bubba Wallace. If that's the net result of a pull rope then so be it.

But, I'm sad that I thought the story was solid and wonder if I rushed to judgement.

And, clearly, I did.

I'm glad it's nothing.

But, I'm bummed as well.

And that probably makes no sense at all.

*****
Oh, and baseball is back. Training camps open in early July. Games in late July.

You don't like the number of games? Don't watch.

You think it's foolish and dangerous? Don't watch.

I wish there were more games. I wish we'd stop with a lot of what the game is doing.

But, I work in and around baseball, and sports.

I love baseball.

I'm going to watch.

Haters and pessimists can hate.

The Nonsense Rings Out

A happy broadcaster was (almost) where he belongs

Oh, it just continues.

One hot take after another.

God forbid, but I dared to mention that the Ken Griffey, Jr narrative about him being dissed at Yankee Stadium when he father played for the Bombers is old news to me.

Here's the deal: Junior is an all-world, all-time great. I'm glad he hated the Yankees and, for their part, the Yankees never seemed to really want him.

Junior got the best of New York in the '95 ALDS.

The Yankees won the World Series in '96, '98, 99, and '00.

I think it all turned out just fine.

As for the noose found in Bubba Wallace's stall at Talladega, I'm sure I made a mistake in posting anything about it last night, but I stand by my belief that it is, "Absolutely sickening and unacceptable."

I get that there have been recent stories saying that a "noose" turned out to be not that, but why should I even question the members of Wallace's team or NASCAR? I'm taking the story at face value but, to be sure, some on my Facebook page have gone for the "Jussie Smollett" card.

If it turns out to be nothing, then it will be addressed but, to me, I'm not dismissing it. I said I want to listen and you bet I'm going to walk that walk.

But, then again, I'm a member of the ... what was it? ... oh, yeah "insufferable Connecticut media." Of course, I'm also in New York. Hmmm ... which is it? Can I be both?

Is there a certificate?

In fact, I just watched the end of Wallace's race after weather shut it down yesterday. His post-race interview was nothing but class and grace.

Ryan Blaney won the race because fairy tales aren't always reality, but Bubba Wallace won also.

He won fans and stared down hatred.

He left his mask off so whoever did what they did could see his face.

Great stuff.

I got to be at Dutchess Stadium today for something they wanted me to record and, at the same time, do Doubleheader.

What a blast.

Really, that's all I wanted to say. It was just a blast.

And I'll be back.

Steve Gliner was my guest and it was great to talk about the business of MiLB.

He talked about the views. I'll finish with two pictures I took after the show.

Happy Father's Day

I'm sitting on the back porch with my feet up.

I have a cup of hot coffee sitting alongside of me (I'm weird) and it's 87 degrees here in Mahopac

(Still home of the Indians for now)

My son is sitting in his room, doing whatever he does on his mega computer.

My father is, hopefully, smiling somewhere.

Smiling. That, and his laugh, are probably the first things I think of when I think of him.

There are a lot of fathers who screw it up. It's not a difficult gig, to be honest. Be fair and compassionate. Listen to your kids, make them laugh a little, and help them grow to be better than you are.

Teach your children well.

Provide discipline when necessary.

I love being a father. Like, love love love love it.

I've tried to be whatever I could be for my nieces, nephews, great nieces and great nephews and those I've adopted in one form or another.

But there's only one Sean.

I tried to be what Robert Sr was to me for him.

I've provided, as best as possible, even if it meant I starved.

I've tried to give him experiences.

I've been there emotionally, even if he wasn't interested (and that's pretty much what Sean is like).

But, no, he's never been to Florida or whatever. I don't play the "Keeping Up with the..." game, even if they gave me the home version (not available in stores, some assembly is required).

In return, he's given me the honor of being a dad.

Which is what I tried to give in return to my dad.

Sean owes me nothing today. Sure, I'd love to play golf or watch a ballgame (imagine that?) but he's happy.

I'm happy.

Somewhere, I hope my dad is happy.

Sean's grandfather, that is.

Elsewhere, I hope more dads are happy and recognize the gifts they have. I hope their children recognize the same.

And if your dad or child isn't with you, know that someone is thinking of you.

Take none of it for granted.

Be good to each other today (and everyday).

A Waffle Helps the Soul

I said I'd do it if I could, even in the middle of a pandemic.

Yes, I would take a road trip to Waffle House, and Father's Day weekend, combined with Sean's graduation week, made for the perfect reason to go.

Most people think I'm nuts but, to me, it's a small thing that is mostly harmless and good for me.

Oh, and yes. I'm nuts.

It gets us out of the house. It gets us a favorite meal. It gives us a road trip.

My trusty road trip partners (Mom and Sean) were up for a an early Saturday drive.

I'm often asked where the nearest Waffle House is. The answer is there are four:

- Bethlehem, PA (134 miles/2 hours, 7 minutes)
- Allentown, PA (141 miles/2 hours, 15 minutes)
- Clarks Summit, PA (130 miles/2 hours,4 minutes)
- Scranton, PA (128 miles, 2 hours, 1 minute)

(distances and times via Google Maps)

But, Clarks Summit and Scranton are both closed at the moment.

So, I opted for Allentown. It has the largest dining room (if open) and there are decent parking lots nearby if we chose to eat in the car. Lastly, I could still go to Bethlehem from there if Allentown didn't work out.

It worked just fine. I heard the dining rooms will open next week, but no matter. We ordered and enjoyed the food in the car. Socially distancing worked great with our waiter and we stayed in the parking lot.

We used our masks, following all of the guidelines (though the Wawa in Easton later on was pretty crowded). Still, we did as told, observing the rules.

I even shopped, stopping into the VF Outlet near Reading. Again, social distancing was the rule with a greeter sending a dollop of anti-bacterial lotion into my hands as I walked in. Sean was given the same treatment and we were told that fitting rooms were open and cleaned upon completion and that restrooms were closed (a bone of contention, given theirs might have been nicer than the nearby Wawa).

It had the feeling of a reentry into the world, even if it wasn't entirely. I've still driven a lot during the pandemic, but not this much. In some ways, I felt my mind and my driving skills readjusting to what it was like to be on the road again.

I drove across a fairly empty outbound George Washington Bridge just before 8 a.m. and scurried out I-80 towards Pennsylvania.

We in the road world always laugh at "Delaware Water Gap" as a control city (that is, cities and locations that you see on the big green signs). Stroudsburg or something else might make more sense but I like it as is.

Funny thing about I-80. It allows you to be reminded that there is to be beauty to be found in Jersey. The westbound view is quite pleasant heading towards Pennsylvania and, sure, there's something to be said for the farmland of South Jersey. Of course, I've always had kind words for the High Point area as well as Cape May.

(This is for all the people who think that I hate Jersey)

All of that being said, there's simply a relief when I've reached the end of my time in the Garden State because, in all likelihood, happier times lie down the road.

In this case, that road was I-80 to PA 209 to PA 33 to I-78 to Airport Road to a large yellow sign saying W-A-F-F-L-E...

To you, the day sounds silly. Frivolous. Maybe even dangerous or irresponsible.

But, it was us. The kind of thing that we've always liked.

And, it ended on a sweet note, allowing my mom to show Sean the first house she lived in. I made a surprise detour into Butler, NJ to let her see the place that my grandparents had before moving to Peekskill in the early 1940s.

"You mean, this is where they invented the wheel," Sean added.

All part of the rhetoric of a couple hundreds of miles and three happy appetites.

Just Sort of Thinking

Sean's 2020 yearbook

Sean is here tonight.

It's the last time he'll be with me as a high school student before he officially graduates next Friday.

Classes are over and this bizarre senior year is in the books.

I'm proud, nostalgic, pensive, and I suppose a little sad.

And I'll probably write some of these same things next week, though I'll try not to.

My little boy isn't quite as smiley and happy-go-lucky anymore and that's OK. He's a man and a good one at that.

He brought his yearbook here tonight and I perused it, reading all the things that go into it, and hearing how the Yearbook Committee gave themselves eight -- I think -- pages to pat themselves on the back.

Ah, the spoils.

I find myself reflecting on his high school years. Of course, I also worry about all the ways I failed him, though he says otherwise.

I'll always worry about how being a product of divorce impacted him and I really hated seeing him change schools, though Sean just rolls with the punches.

Still, I'm always going to worry.

It also got me thinking back on my own senior year and graduation.

To be clear, this is about him though. It's his time. It's his friends' time also, and while there were other names who wandered through, there were really his main two -- Chris and Will.

And, of course, I worry as they each head in their different directions in the fall. At least, if COVID allows them to do so.

But, he'll figure it out and I'll be here if he needs me. That's how it's always been.

Anyway, I'm just sort of thinking out loud ahead of what I'm sure will be a week filled with deep thoughts.

June 18

Ripken Stadium, 2009

This date has been on my radar for probably eight months.

Maybe longer.

June 18: Hudson Valley Renegades at Aberdeen Ironbirds

But the best laid plans often get laughed at.

Around this time (it's 2 p.m.) I should have been on the road to Maryland.

My focus should have been on my route. God, I hate paying the obscene New Jersey Turnpike tolls. So maybe I would have dealt with either the Garden State Parkway or the Turnpike until I could jump on 295 (it's free).

Same for the toll in Delaware near the Maryland border.

Maybe I would have just paid the tolls.

Baseball awaited.

I would have had a hotel -- motel? -- booked. I figured it was one night. I needed comfort and convenience. So, the Red Roof Inn seemed to have a reasonable price.

I also would have been thinking about the game. Was I comfortable with the players names? Have I learned enough about them? Would I do a pregame interview? I felt like I wanted the manager as an interview for at least the first game.

When would I write the blog post? Plus I'd have to write a game recap. Oh, I could do that back in the room. Then, tomorrow, I'd wake up and go to Waffle House before driving back to Connecticut to celebrate (what I hoped would be) a successful first night!

I would have had a trunk loaded with mixer(s), headsets, laptop(s), and more. Maybe some food and drinks in the vehicle.

I would have been ready. I know it. But, as I drove, I wouldn't have been confident that I was ready.

There's a point in Rudy where our hero is ready to run out onto the field at Notre Dame Stadium in uniform for the first time, and he utters a line that I've always remembered.

"I've been ready for this my whole life."

That was me. That is me.

It's not to be, of course.

The truth is I wasn't even supposed to call the game tonight. I wanted to do it. I felt it was important for the audience to hear the opening night game. I felt it was a chance for the audience and I to officially get acquainted before the home opener. Personally I wanted the road trip. It would be a treat for me. It would show the Gades how important it was.

It would also further prove that I'm nuts.

I was prepared to do the same at Staten Island this weekend, if only for Susan and her SI family and friends. I suppose it made me feel a little like a big shot (you had to prove it to the crowd).

I'm sad. Sure. I'm not mad. I mean, that serves no purpose.

But, I'm also grateful. I've been given a wonderful opportunity and I've already been told that I'll be their "voice" in 2021, regardless of what happens.

Oh, but I was excited. I was going to get to Aberdeen, MD as soon as possible. I would check into my room, review notes and make sure I was prepared. Maybe take one last look at what I wanted to take into the ballpark. Then, I'd drive back over I-95 on Maryland Route 22 to make the right on Long Drive to Leidos Field at Ripken Stadium.

Maybe I'd stroll the grounds of the Ripken facility before entering the ballpark.

Somewhere along the line, Jon would join me from R-Va. My goodness, we just have the worst luck when it comes to getting together. We've been trying for years and for the second time in 2020, our plans have been scuttled.

I would have set the equipment up. Had some dinner. I would have tested the equipment, talked with Jon, gotten comfortable, done anything to calm my nerves.

They're healthy nerves and anyone telling you otherwise is nuts. It keeps you humble.

There would be one last moment where I probably would have stepped away -- into a corridor or a restroom -- and had that conversation with myself.

"You've earned this. You're the right person for this. You're due. PAST due."

And...then?

"I've been ready for this my whole life."

Around 6:50 p.m. the music would swell. I'd take a deep breath. I'd glance at Jon and he would smile.

And I'd start talking.

Choked up, no doubt.

Finally -- FINALLY -- that first pitch would happen.

And the first pitch of the 2020 season is...

Not happening tonight.

But, it's OK. I'm still grateful.

We'll get there. We will.

All good things to those who wait.

The best is yet to come and, babe (Ruth), won't it be fine.

Obsession

"Be still I will not accept defeat"

I just got off the air.

I finished up another fine edition of "The Clubhouse." We had former NY Rangers/LA Kings hockey player Tom Laidlaw on for the hour, along with Codey Medina of the Alzheimer's Association of the Hudson Valley and Frank Drucker of Yonkers Raceway.

Mark Jeffers was terrific.

So was Dave Torromeo.

Bob Small was Bob Small and I was fine. I laughed and enjoyed myself.

But, now, as I'm sitting here editing the show for playback on WON, 920 The Apple and WEAF, 940 The Liberty, I feel empty.

Something was up with the level of my microphone on the radio side (which is what I send back to WGCH).

At that point, I become immediately distracted.

My brain commences this call center of troubleshooting.

"Hi, my name is Rob. Can you describe the problem?"

My body and my voice continue. The show must go on!

But my brain is going wacky.

The frammasbracket is plugged into the watchamacallit! That HAS to be wrong.

I'm projecting my microphone too loudly. Maybe that's it.

No matter what, I can't fix it. It has to wait.

So, now, as I look at the finished product, I can see on my end that my microphone was too "hot" (that is, loud) but Bob says I sounded different at WGCH. Muffled. Soft. Then loud.

Internet issues? Bad computer?

Damned if I know.

This becomes my wicked witch and it will vex me for the next week until we do the show again.

And the week after that.

Then we're taking the balance of the summer off but there's still "Doubleheader" to deal with and I have no idea when 1) I'll be back in the WGCH studios or 2) when we'll all be together at Grand Prix NY to do "The Clubhouse" in person.

I carry this stuff with me. Each issue rolls around. Try again tomorrow.

But I'm already troubleshooting it now.

Or, I was before I started typing.

OK. Back to it.

By the way, "Obsession" by Animotion is 35 years old. You're welcome.

I could have gone with the perfume instead.

Bananas!

It was an eye-opening job title for sure.

Broadcast Entertainer.

No, not just a broadcaster. Not just a play-by-play announcer.

But an entertainer.

I kept waiting for the punchline. But, no, unless you consider the whole thing to be a joke.

The Savannah Bananas, a member of the summer collegiate Coastal Plain League, didn't just want a play-by-play announcer, but they wanted an entertainer.

From the job description:

In this role you will consider the normal guidelines for baseball play-by-play then do ... the exact ... opposite.

For example ...

* Instead of describing the game, you'll talk about the game as fans do. "Why in the heck is the number 9 hitter swinging on 3-and-oh with the bases loaded?!"

* Instead of cookie-cutter home run calls, they want CHEESE. The cheesier the better!

* Instead of interviewing only players and coaches, you might interview fans, kids, local business people and Bananas office staff.

* Instead of working with an ex-player as your analyst, you might work with rotating fan analysts or even players from the active roster!

* Other ideas include doing an inning of imitations of some of the famous broadcast calls of all time including, “Do You believe in Miracles?” Or you could be doing an inning of all movie quotes and famous song lyrics. You could possibly get suggestions from fans for a word of the night that you need to mix into your broadcast. You could also record unique interviews on the Banana Bus and showcase the players in unique environments.


They should have included that the Broadcast Entertainer should "know the game, we'll forget your name. And you won't be here in another year if you don't stay on the charts." Oh, sorry. I'm just paraphrasing Billy Joel.

So, the 'Nanas go for the wild and wacky. At no point did I (seriously) give this any thought for a variety of reasons -- like moving to Georgia and already having a play-by-play job in baseball. In short, it didn't really sound like me. But it felt like we knew who would get the job.

And, yet, no, after even talking with them on Twitter a year ago (and begging). Go figure. I see a lot of begging. Somehow, that doesn't seem like the best plan of action, but that's just me.

Besides, I'll just stick with my "cookie cutter" home run call. I like my cheese on my nachos, thanks so much.

But, is this the future of play-by-play? I don't think so. Everything evolves and this is what will work for them.

I appreciate their effort to reinvent the wheel and, sure, there are ways to liven a broadcast up. I look forward to seeing how Gades broadcasts will sound (one day) and I have my ideas to put a stamp on them.

I don't know a lot about the Savannah hire. I read his bio and I know he has some Hudson Valley ties so I'm interested to hear/see a broadcast. 

Whatever the case, these Bananas broadcasts sound like they'll be...

Wait for it...

Nuts.

*****

It's long stayed in my mind that my podcast, Tales From the Booth, sort of failed. In essence I gave up. I felt like it didn't find an audience and some of the criticism (speaking honestly) made me question why I was bothering to produce something that I worked my tail off creating.

I'd write a script, find audio, edit audio, record the read, and then edit the final product. It didn't seem worth it, so I tabled it and continued to think about it.

I have those moments -- with Doubleheader and this here bloggity-doo-da as well. I have a lot of "why do I bother" moments. So, as much as I wanted to continue, I just stopped.

But it's been in the back of my head and I think I've come up with a way to revive it.

I've asked Mike Hirn to help, and we'll be asking others also. I think that will get me back to being driven to do it. Setting a time to record and so on will get me on a schedule.

We'll try. That's the game plan.

Stay tuned.

*****

My post from yesterday was a favorite to write. I enjoyed the satire of it all, as social media often devolves into this sophomoric ridiculousness.

I'm not saying I haven't been guilty in moments either but I found some inspiration and went with it.

I love to write and create parodies. It was at the very heart of why I loved things like Imus in the Morning and I put that creativity into things like our softball videos of the 90s/00s.

When two separate people tell you it's brilliant, well, I don't have the words for it. That's when it doesn't matter how many clicks it gets. It was a joy to create.

I'm not brilliant. I'm not sure what I am. But I appreciated the kind words.

I got a good laugh out of it. I hope you did also.

If you didn't read it, give it a look.

Facebook Junior High

I've just posted to Facebook.
What could my status be?
Please log in and acknowledge it
Because it is all about me!
- a portion of the alma mater, words by Bernie Taupin

It's another beautiful day at Facebook Junior High School.

I've picked out my best Capezio shoes (actually, they're from Kinney ... or is it Thom McAn?). Parachute pants would have been great but I opted for stonewash. Gotta look rad so the girls think I'm ... er ... "OK."

"He's not that bad," they say.

After homeroom, I went to metal shop where I'm working on a holder to house all of those hot takes! Gotta make sure it's reinforced because it might melt.

Friends are heading off to Intro to Narcissism, bringing with them the skills we learned at Instagram Elementary School.

Some went to Tik Tok Elementary while still others attended Snapchat. All fine institutions and the class -- "Narcy" for short! -- is an extension program. Working on those skills to pay it forward!

In social studies today (and, really, shouldn't that be every class here?) our teacher began a lesson about Black Live Matters when a student spoke up.

"But shouldn't all lives matter?," Grant asked.

"GO TO THE PRINCIPAL'S OFFICE," came the reply.

A voice snickered.

"Like Dr. Zuckerberg will do anything," said Donald, the school bully. "Well, I better head off to Russian class!"

"Didn't you take that already?," I asked.

"It's advanced. That other class was intro."

I ran into Robbie and Tony at gym today. They're still arguing.

"We can play hacky sack two days a week in exchange for one stick of gum," Robbie said.

"Four days a week and a pack of gum!," said Tony.

"One day and a half a piece."

"What?"

"You're lucky I didn't say it will be ABC."

Ew ... "Already Been Chewed."

Onto lunch where I got overwhelmed with the gluten-free/keto/no peanuts offerings. I would have had my peanut -- oops, no I wouldn't -- and I'm not having just "jelly."

I had a bag of potato chips before Karen, the monitor, yelled at me for eating unhealthy.

Then I was sitting in chemistry near Jose, Alex, and Carlos. We had a test and, for some reason, I kept hearing the banging of a garbage can in the hallway.

I noticed Aaron -- we call him "Your Honor" -- just shook his head.

Speaking of eyes, Alex (the other one, who wears red socks a lot) kept looking at my test.

It was all so strange.

Speaking of strange, I was walking to the bus when someone told me they were dropping me because I didn't pay any attention to them.

I mean, it wasn't true. It's just that I have other things to be studying up on. But I guess that means no more hanging out at the football stadium with them.

"Nobody's gonna go to the football games anyway," said the constantly pessimistic kid. "Maybe the season will get canceled."

"Nah," said the hyper kid from the student radio station. "We'll have a season! The GREATEST SEASON! SHOCK AND AWE WILL RAIN! In fact, it doesn't matter which sport it is. It will be AWESOME and I'll win every award there is!"

Sheesh. What about the actual games and the team? I just rolled my eyes.

With that, I got on the bus and began to head for home, passing Twitter High School on the way.

You don't want to know about that place.

The Admin

Preparing game notes and my scorebook last August at Dutchess Stadium

I've belonged to -- and grumbled about -- the Play-by-Play group on Facebook before.

Now I get a say in it.

Mike Hirn and I were both named admins today.

It has, frankly, gotten stale. Good conversations have mostly given way to promotions of talk shows and podcasts. In a lot of ways, the pandemic damaged the page as none of us had games to broadcast so topics dried up.

While self-promotion is against the group rules, I get it, and there are ways around it. But every post has become either that or "Hey! So (insert name here) says I'm the best broadcaster ever!" Obviously a lot of things fall under the heading of self-promotion.

I've even seen posts intended to get members to buy one thing or another, and frankly, some of them were useful (I mean, we'd all be happy with some well-priced equipment).

For the record, I have two talk shows, a (seldom done) podcast, a blog, and my own little radio channel. I have plenty of things to promote and never have. To each their own.

When I was named "voice" of the Renegades (I'm still getting used to that title), Mike posted it in the group. He'll back me up on this -- I had nothing to do with it. He did that.

In fact, I was a lurker in the group (as I am in most groups). I like to read and maybe chime in when necessary. Despite my love of roads and road photography, there are too many rules and I just don't feel like getting yelled at for crappy road snaps.

But Mike and I need to liven up the PBP group. Keep in mind the full name is "Play by Play Announcers, Sideline Reporters, Color Analysts, Studio Hosts." There's a lot of room for members and good conversations.

In my opinion, you need be nothing more than interested or dabbling in any of those to be admitted. I'll use Harold as an example. He's done color on -- maybe -- 25 games total in the 25 years I've known him. That's 26 more than enough for me.

We -- including Channing Ewing, who started the group -- just want people to talk.

To that end, we ask that you follow the rules, which aren't rocket science.

From there, I'd like to see it spiced up and prefer that I don't have to delete posts and get involved in sorting out nonsense.

Mike and I (and a few others) were having fun one day on a particular topic one day. There was no harsh criticism. In fact, it was pretty benign. I'll politely say a "holier than thou" type spanked the hands of those doing such.

No more. Criticism is fair game. I've seen countless "I hate Joe Buck" posts but having an open conversation about a broadcaster whose style has come under scrutiny isn't OK?

I'm going to allow it. If it turns personal then it will be dealt with.

It's supposed to be a community. It's supposed to be a place for understanding of styles and giving advice. Jeff Alterman is still new to the play-by-play world, for instance. He can use some support and advice.

Some history and philosophy of this craft would be welcome.

Hopefully, I won't have to play babysitter.

Welcome to the new members.

Incidentally, it's a sacred day around these parts, as the New York Rangers won the Stanley Cup on this day in 1994.

I watched it at Scott's house. It could have been a magical year, as the Knicks could have won the NBA Final a week later and the Yankees were denied by the MLB strike.

But, we have the Rangers. It has lasted a lifetime, hasn't it?


(Oh, by the way, looks like that Yankees stuff from yesterday was nothing. To paraphrase Elmer Fudd, "It's vewy vewy quiet for the Yankees hunters. Hahahahahaha")

Cheater! Cheater!

"So, Aaron, what system do you guys use?"

There's a report out today that the Yankees had their own sign stealing scandal.

OK. And?

The reaction from Astros/Red Sox/Mets fans and, literally, everyone else has been predictable.

I actually considered the old trusty popcorn eating GIF as I watched.


via PandaGIF

(I always laugh when I consider noted Mets fan Jerry Seinfield used the 90s Yankees as a catalyst in his legendary show. No, I'm not forgetting the Keith Hernandez/Roger McDowell elements.)

Whatever comes of it, expect scorched Earth from me when the item hits the air-blowing device.

If the Yankees are guilty of something more heinous, then OK. They must be punished and punished severely.

And if is just a regurgitation of the earlier item they had their hand slapped for, then I'd consider going into hiding.

The usual cast of characters couldn't wait to accost on this.

Bring it, I say. Whatever is in this letter should be unsealed.

The Astros still cheated and won a World Series. I further believe they got away with with some shady stuff in '19 as well.

And the Red Sox in '18? I stand firm on that one also.

The Yankees' cheating -- assuming there has been any beyond the Apple Watch thing that is already well-known -- produced what?

Zero World Series appearances. Zero titles.

As for the Mets fans, well, hmmm...well I'm sure you guys have always been clean. Sure. Given I just read a note about the Mets flashing signs that they picked up from a TV camera in the '86 World Series, I'm thinking you might want to step down.

I've been consistent through all of this.I haven't said to strip anyone of titles, despite people arguing with me on a daily basis (at the time). I continue to believe that.

I also said -- AT THE TIME -- that everyone is guilty to a certain degree. The Yankees had their wrists slapped. Now the question is if Rob Manfred covered up more. Let's find out, shall we?

I find it funny that habitual cheaters like Alex Bregman and Carlos Correa crawled out of their holes to mock today's news. Maybe sit this one, boys. Bregman has, in fact, already deleted his tweet.

There's plenty to go around. From there, it's a question of severity.

Oh, and for what it's worth, it's a nifty little news dump in the middle of a whiny, acrimonious dispute between players and owners.

Nice try, gang.

If they're guilty, I will explode.

If not, ditto.

Bring it on.

Doing Away With Dixie?

Can they "CGI" the car (no longer referred to by its name)?

"Modern" country act Lady Antebellum changed their name yesterday.

Understanding that the term "antebellum" (defined as: occurring or existing before a particular war, especially the American Civil War) has implications of slavery, they shortened it to Lady A. That, honestly, had always been a shorthand for the band.

It allowed them to generate some press and an appearance of doing "good." But, as some pointed out, the "A" will still, in theory, stand for antebellum.

But, wait just a tick, there's a blues singer in Seattle named...you guessed it!...Lady A (Rolling Stone).

We'll leave it to those folks to figure all of that out, but it does beg the question of where does this all stop?

It didn't take long before the sharks were circling another favorite: the Dixie Chicks. Are they next?

It reminded me that I had read a story about the Dixie Highway -- an early National Auto Trail originally planned in 1914 that ran from Chicago to Miami. The story from the Sun-Sentinel, indicates that there's a debate in place to remove the Dixie Highway name.

Indeed, efforts to the north have been successful, as the likes of Jefferson Davis Highway have been scrubbed in some places. Many of my fellow road enthusiasts, particularly those in the left-handed batters box, applauded the decision.

I find myself mostly apathetic; willing to just simply watch it all go away. Monument Ave in Richmond will look quite different in the future as well. Comments about "history" are always thrown into the racist bucket and we know conversation isn't welcome.

So, apathy it is.

But, it still begs the question of what's next?

It looks like "The Dukes of Hazzard," currently streaming on Amazon, might get the boot. I can't say I'm shocked at that one.

It got me thinking about "The Night They Drove Old Dixie Down" by The Band. Written by Robbie Robertson, it tells the story of a white man in the south during the Civil War. It mentions George Stoneman and, most notably, Robert E. Lee.

It's certainly not pro-south in any way, but more of a slice-of-life in the waning days of the Civil War of a man from Tennessee in

It's a slice of Americana, which is exactly what Robertson -- a Canadian -- had in mind when he wrote it. But he also had to go to the library in Woodstock, NY with the great Levon Helm to get a history lesson on the Civil War.

Still, no less a protestor than Joan Baez recorded a cover in 1971 that was a smash. Would she have taken on such a song thinking it was pro-south?

It's The Band's version that just does so much for my heart, led by Helm's Arkansas-soaked vocal and the harmonies of Rick Danko, Garth Hudson, and Richard Manuel. Plus it's the "B" side of the "Up On Cripple Creek" single, for what it's worth, and that's a pretty great duo.

So does this need to be eradicated? I realize this carries into "book burning" territory but, still, it feels like everything is fair game right now.

As we speak there is a debate over -- brace yourself -- Penny Lane in Liverpool because it's been suggested the street was named after slave merchant James Penny. However, there is no proof of that. Still, street signs have been defaced, including one signed by Paul McCartney.

So, now, should Penny Lane be in my ears and in my eyes?

I'm not looking for a debate. Purely wondering. In my own innocence/stupidity I played the "The Night They Drove Old Dixie Down" today and was mesmerized by it.

Maybe I shouldn't be.

Dear Baseball

(I don't have proper credit for this photo but it's fantastic)

It's me. Again.

I realize I'm not very significant to you. Middle-aged, white, just trying to survive.

In some ways, our affair has been mostly one-sided.

You taught me to hurt when I learned my favorite player could be traded.

You cheated on me in '81 and left me in '94.

There were other times you lost focus.

Yet, after each betrayal, I took you back.

And now here you are again. Another dalliance.

I'll still come back. I always do. I'm part of the problem.

I've bought your tickets. I've sung your praises. I've cried the tears of the ups and downs.

I've played you. I've coached you. I've broadcast you.

I've stood and watched you on a Saturday night at a little league game when the only person I knew was an umpire.

I've sat in bleachers and watched a Cape Cod League game, not knowing the first thing about either team.

I've strolled into a college summer league booth and called games for free when I could have been at home.

I've driven to visit your artifacts and buildings like pilgrimages to some kind of holy grail.

I went and saw the remnants of a makeshift stadium that you had at Fort Bragg in North Carolina in 2016. I'm serious -- remnants -- and I was like a little kid.

In some ways, you are me and, yet, you're not.

Telling people I got a job broadcasting minor league baseball -- at the age of 50 -- was not far off from announcing that I was going to be a father. The joy was that profound.

And I've supported your MLB teams. That's where people have it wrong.

The Yankees could disappear. I loved their history and (mostly) everything associated with them.

But you -- the game -- is what has kept my heart.

I've treated Yankee Stadium like my own church. I've done the same with the plaque gallery at the Hall of Fame.

Sacred ground, I always tell first-timers.

You're blowing it, grand old game. Well, the Major Leaguers are.

The worst part is you don't seem to care.

As I've tried to educate and make non-believers appreciate baseball, you -- hell, WE -- had a huge chance to own the sports landscape. Make whatever financial considerations you have to make and get to wherever you were going to play the games.

Take your time -- sure! Let's be safe with this COVID-19. But if we could back to games by July 4, great!

And now that's not happening. Not due to coronavirus but due to the same nonsense of 1981, 1994, and so on and so on and so on...

I thought you'd learned. I really did.

The problem was that I didn't learn.

It doesn't matter who is right or wrong. Manfred? Clark? Irrelevant. In their completely tone-deaf way, they've forgotten that nobody cares in the midst of a pandemic and social unrest. They just want you.

They want baseball.

We can't have college ball. We can't have little league. We can't have American Legion. We can have smaller versions of all.

MLB should be back. Shut the pessimists up.

I don't care if you only play 70 games. I'd prefer more but pick a fair number and let's go.

Make a deal.

You should own things right now.

And you don't.

You lost a lot in '94. You stand to lose a lot here.

Fix it. Now.

Looking Ahead

It's a spring rite of passage.

The schedules are out!

For me, every year since 2000, that means dissecting where I will spend approximately 10 days for Greenwich football broadcasts.

My head always begins to spin. Who do I need to talk to? Will we encounter any issues with road games? Will we have space in the booths on the road? Will we have space in the home booth? Are there any other broadcasts we have to contend with?

Believe me, it's a process.

This year presents a whole different concern called COVID-19. Will any of these games get played? Will the schedule get changed?

I actually think we'll have a season. But there might be some unique challenges. From there, I wonder if Chris Erway and I will be welcomed in any press boxes this year. We've been deemed as (basically) essential, which doesn't thrill everyone, but we're the ones who will pass the word of what's going on, hopefully along with a video broadcast.

Of course, I'll still have my eye open for Brunswick, Mahopac, and any other schools that Local Live wants me at.

I hope.

I've probably never been more worried about job security, simply because of budgets and -- well -- the unknown.

But, if it all goes well, then I'll be at J Walter Kennedy Stadium in Stamford around 11:00 a.m. on September 12.

(Assuming there isn't a Renegades game also -- this is all so confusing)

Ridgefield helps open the '20 season at Cardinal Stadium. Ah, yes. We're all counting the days until the improvements begin.

But the schedule presents challenges as well. We've never worked a game at Shelton High School so what will that be like? I've heard dicey things about cell signals and internet. That worries me, of course.

Fairfield Prep comes calling to Greenwich, and given I have a relationship with them, that pleases me.

Then back to back trips to Trumbull, once on a Saturday to St. Joe's, where I haven't called a game in several years (and even longer since I called one on their upper field) and the following Friday night at Trumbull High, where Jeff Alterman will take good care of the WGCH crew. We're hoping, in fact, to co-produce with Jeff's TEN (Trumbull Eagles Network) for that one.

I'm also hoping to help Jeff out with other games as I desperately need to get back on the mic. Trumbull's opener is at Staples and it would be fun to see Marce Petroccio go back to coach against his old team in Westport.

New Canaan comes to GHS next (the Marinelli bowl era is officially over!), followed by another long trip for the Cardinals -- to Danbury. That, of course, is probably the closest FCIAC school to me (only Ridgefield comes close).

The season ends with home games against Stamford and Staples.

We have three months to figure all of this out.

And hopefully some baseball between now and then.