Goodnight, Chet

It was a Friday -- July 31, 1970.

By all accounts, news was light that day. The Kansas City Chiefs won the 37th NFL Chicago All Star Game, beating the College All-Stars 24-3.

Richard Nixon was president and the Vietnam War was still raging.

With no internet and a whole different immediacy of reporting, the TV evening news still very much mattered.

On that fateful night, fifty years ago, one of the most iconic TV catchphrases was uttered for the last time:

"Good night, Chet." "Good night, David. And good night, for NBC News."

In truth, Chet Huntley -- a stoic newsman from Montana -- and David Brinkley -- more wry and witty than his partner, from North Carolina -- disliked their signoff on The Huntley-Brinkley Report. Newsmen (and newswomen, I'm sure) tend(ed) to be a far more cynical lot and preferred to not fall prey to such frivolity of cliches.

I can't say for sure Walter Cronkite, competing with the duo over on CBS, truly loved his "And that's the way it is" to end each CBS Evening News.

Huntley was seen as a future Edward R. Murrow and, in some ways, had the same appeal, though he didn't quite reach that height and is, sadly, somewhat easily forgotten in the annals of great journalism. Most people know Murrow, Cronkite -- even Brinkley -- as well as Peter Jennings, Tom Brokaw, Dan Rather and other more modern names, but sadly Chet Huntley's name goes largely unknown.

However, when they were in their prime, they were as popular -- and as famous -- as anyone. Frank Sinatra sang about them. Sammy Davis, Jr. would stop what he was doing to watch them.

They came together at the Democratic National Convention in 1956 and the duo showed such chemistry that NBC -- struggling in the ratings with John Cameron Swazye trailing Douglas Edwards over on CBS -- paired them up beginning that Oct 29.

Initially, it floundered a bit, and even President Dwight Eisenhower let the network know of his displeasure with the change.

Soon after, it worked. That chemistry, in truth, was funny, because they didn't see each other often. Brinley anchored in Washington while Huntley hosted from New York at 30 Rock. A technician operated a switcher between the two.

They had a lot to deal with over 14 years. Besides the elections of the era, the duo, and colleagues including Frank McGee presided over the Kennedy Assassination (McGee did an equally admirable, though often forgotten, job as compared to the more-famous work of Cronkite), the conflict in Vietnam, the civil unrest of the late 60s and the assassinations of Robert F Kennedy and Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.

Cronkite, in fact, would be part of their undoing. Tastes changed, and Uncle Walter became the flavor of the late 60s, especially with his gripping reporting about the Vietnam War and the Apollo 11 moon landing.

And so, Huntley announced he would retire on Fri, July 31, 1970. The video quality for the entire show is a black and white raw feed (they were in color by then, and I'll post that at the bottom of this post), but the words of both anchors -- especially Huntley -- struck me as sad.

First, here's part one from that night.



And, here's part two, from 50 years ago tonight. Huntley's farewell begins at 8:40.



"I might also remind you that American journalism, all of it, is the best anywhere in the world....you have bolstered my conviction that this land contains incredible quality and quantity of good, common sense, and it's in no danger of being led down a primrose path by a journalist. At the risk of sounding presumptuous, I would say to all of you: be patient and have courage, for there will be better and happier news one day, if we work at it."

Damn. Damn. Damn.

As you can probably guess, we have a lot of work to do, and that we have, sadly, been led down several primrose paths by journalists.

I still believe in journalism. I know it still exists. I see it in every ounce of blood, sweat, and yes, tears that my friends and I shed. But I also realize there's a lot of bad, and I suppose I'm best to just leave that soap box right there.

Huntley went back to Montana where he died a little over three years later, on March 20, 1974. Brinkley stayed at the peacock network in a variety of rolls until 1981, when he was quickly grabbed by ABC. Brinkley became an elder statesman of journalism, presiding over This Week with David Brinkley until 1996. One of the great people of the industry, he died in 2003.

Those newsrooms probably smelled like stale cigarettes and plenty of alcohol. I won't bother to highlight how we still have a ways to go in terms of different faces in those rooms.

But, by the pen of Murrow, reporting the news was something special back then, wasn't it?

The show ended with at a title slate, and a birth and death date for the Huntley-Brinkley Report.

Eventually, the strains of "Symphony No. 9 in D Minor, Op. 125, second movement," played by the NBC Symphony Orchestra as conducted by Arturo Toscanini, sounded out over the credits, and the era was over.

Goodnight, David, and goodnight for NBC News.

(I promised you the color version of Huntley's farewell and it's preceded by a kind nod from Cronkite)

Simply Happy

Courtesy The Week

I was getting ready to walk into a store today when, in a fit of being silly, I stepped on a yellow circular sticker.

"SOCIAL DISTANCING! Please stand six feet apart," it said.

Nobody else was around, so I started (almost) to treat it like hopscotch.

I paused, preened, and acted like I was going to jump to the next circle, when I took one giant step, reaching it in two.

Except, someone was around. I often think I'm invisible, but of course I'm not.

He was laughing as he enjoyed a break from working at the very store I was about to walk into.

"Thank you," he said. "You just made my day."

Undaunted (but probably blushing) I laughed with him.

"I couldn't resist," I said.

Isn't that the point? To make the best of what we're dealing with? That, laughter is the best medicine?

It was a moment of levity, even behind the green mask I was wearing and I privately felt great for bringing him that moment.

John Nash gave us some perspective over on his great blog this morning. It was a reminder that life is short. Way too short, and stupid bickering and squabbles aren't worth it. Whether I and an unnamed individual named to remind one of a a traditional Mexican dish consisting of a small hand-sized corn or wheat tortilla topped with a filling (thanks, Wikipedia) had anything to do with inspiring his post is immaterial.

It struck me. Life is too short. I considered various (and sundry) versions of this post tonight and might still use some of those ideas in future posts, but the point sits that today was just a happy day.

Now, look, this picture is hardly happy, but it also indicates how fleeting all of this is. Reports indicate four people were hurt in that car fire that I happened upon at one point today, and please don't take my overall joy as being tone-deaf. In fact, the exact opposite. It reminded me to be grateful.

I hope for good health -- no, great health -- for those involved. It was an intense scene.

Today was one of those days where the bullets of the world weren't going to bring me down. John's post and this picture reminded me to make the best of everything.

So, I did.

That's why the continued whining about baseball (and sports) playing is just making me nuts. If you're a sports fan, kick back and enjoy it.

Seriously. I beg you. Grab a beverage. Have some wings. Order a pizza. Keep a scorecard. Call a friend and debate something.

Last night was glorious, and it's only going to get better. I had Yankees/Orioles, Mets/Red Sox, and Rangers/Islanders all the touch a remote control apart. Now, the NBA is ready to join the party. It's a wonderful smorgasboard that we should be embracing instead of lamenting.

If I -- ME! -- can enjoy Mets/Red Sox, can't you stop complaining and remember that sports are supposed to be fun (and a business)?

My new hashtag is #TheyWillPlay because they're going to. You're incessant complaining isn't going to change it!

Today, I was able to go do "Doubleheader" from the WGCH studios. I was able to talk portable broadcasting mixers and other minutiae with Bob Small.

I had a good lunch, and kept adjusting to whatever life threw at me.

I felt helpful and useful.

I also got to just drive in my (new to me but used) car, and even that felt good.

And, I received a text from Sean telling me that he got his driver's license today. That's my boy!

Yes, the "Mexican dish" and I argue about utter idiocy but, sometimes, it's a welcome respite from the big, bad world. Soon, it dissolves into pure tediousness, and that's when I should really walk away.

That's when it's silly bickering.

Yet, there are moments when it is cathartic.

So, I treasure days like today. It reminds me of Jim Valvano's famous words:

"If you laugh, you think, and you cry, that's a full day. That's a heck of a day. You do that seven days a week, you're going to have something special."

Today was one of those days.

My Tenth Athlete, But Number One In My Heart

Tells you everything

It's the tenth and final night of the challenge to show pictures of ten athletes that I like (or liked) to watch play.

My first inclination was Derek Jeter. Then it was Mariano Rivera. But, also Jorge Posada and Andy Pettitte and Tino Martinez and Bernie Williams and Thurman Munson and Ron Guidry and...

But, what about Patrick Ewing and Michael Jordan?

Brian Leetch? Ryan Callahan?

Rebecca Lobo? Tamika Catchings?

Pete Sampras? Phil Mickelson? Serena Williams?

Then I began to think about the players I've covered -- John Sullivan, Pat Wilson, Tim Smallwood, Gavin Muir, Kevin Shattenkirk, Tyler Matakevich, Aaron Sabato, Mustapha Heron...

It's overwhelming.

And, then? It became easy.

The correct answer is...

10) Sean Adams -- Who else, but my son? Let him represent literally everyone else. But, then again, I loved watching him play. Or, try to play.

Sean didn't see sports as something he was going to play for years, but as time with his dad and teammates. He attacked it the way he attacks everything -- with dedication to show up and play every day. He never missed a practice or game in five years.

He treasured that I was his coach and it was fairly obvious he wouldn't stay with it if I stopped. He loved the uniform process and picked a new number every year (basically, it was his only perk --getting first dibs on a uniform).

He loved marching in the Opening Day parade, and the little tradition I built where the team tipped their caps to the crowd. But, eventually, he grew frustrated. He struggled to hit and it embarrassed him.

After five years, he grew weary. He would have to face live pitching from other kids beginning the next and that was enough. He told me his feelings. Some were relieved. I was sad, of course. Those five years, while a huge time and energy investment, were wonderful.

But, to continue, it literally would have been for me, and there was no way I would do that.

There was no press conference or retirement ceremony. It just ended. In fact, we lived in Mahopac but lived in Carmel for his last year, so he lost touch with most of his teammates when it was all over.

He still has his "Paul O'Neill Award" for his passion (guess who he got that from?), along with the awards he received for his dedication to playing, including the famed "rain game" in T-ball where there were probably only four kids combined between the two teams. But, we still played, and had a blast.

(If the league didn't postpone, then I would be there. Simple as that)

His batting helmet, bat, and other equipment still sit in a rack near my old stuff. Lucy "Snakey" Shultz, a similar style "all heart" player, used Sean's glove in Wilton for a stretch. I would have loved to have seen Lucy and Annabelle both play, thus making my tenth choice a little tougher (or a combined one), but no harm.

Sean is the obvious answer.

He knew he was stopping for the right reason. He didn't practice at home. The game just didn't consume him the way it did me. To this day, he doesn't watch games but likes to go to games and is all over going to Cooperstown.

Pictures of Yankees hang in his room and he can actually name some of them (some of the others are much tougher). Baseball (and sports) is sort of a running gag between us.

He cares, but it's not him.

He's still my tenth athlete I enjoyed watching. I treasured pitching to him and teaching him to throw and watching him run and working on other fundamentals. I probably failed somewhere.

But, no regrets.

I loved every moment.

He'll always have a place on my team.

Ten Athletes I've Enjoyed Watching

I didn't see the guy on the left play but I saw plenty of the guy on the right

There are so many challenges that float around the social interwebs.

You might recall we did the "30 Day Song Challenge" a few months back. Then there are the ten movies, ten TV shows and so on.

Dave Torromeo challenged me to post 10 athletes on Facebook. The deal is you post a picture with no further explanation.

Well, there's no rule against a blog post about it.

Goodness knows keeping it to 10 is tough (truth: I've done just nine with number ten to hit tomorrow but I needed a topic so here we are).

I realize part of the challenge is to then forward it onto others. So, if anyone wants to dive in, have at it. You know who you are. Go for it.

Besides, I'm getting myself in trouble too much these days. Sheesh.

Anywho...these are the nine, as of tonight:

1) Bobby Murcer -- because, duh. Before I was old enough to do basically anything, there was Bobby Ray. I can still see him in the first game I was at in 1972, and he homered. Even after he was traded to San Francisco (bleep you, Gabe Paul), I still paid attention as best as I could to him and was thrilled when he returned in 1979. He went into broadcasting...do you see where this is going?

2) Terry Bradshaw -- I wasn't as quick to become a football nut. I wore Dolphins stuff when I was little because we went to Florida every year and, come on, whose uniform and colors were cooler? But then along came my understanding of Bradshaw and the Steelers. Plus they beat the Cowboys. I really liked that. He also went into broadcasting...hmm...

3) Dan Marino -- There wasn't much to do on weekends in the early 80s as a teenager. Saturdays in the fall meant college football. There wasn't the insane amount games there are now (or, were). But, in our world in Mahopac, on channel 7, there was college football with Keith Jackson and Frank Broyles.  And they called a lot of Pitt games. Pitt...Steelers...Panthers...Dan Marino. Damn, I loved watching the guy play. Then he went to the St...nope...Dolphins. I knew the Dolphins had a great on their hands. I wasn't even troubled when he torched Pittsburgh in the AFC Championship Game (the Steelers weren't going to win that Super Bowl).

4) Chris Mullin -- Again, the early to mid-80s. St. John's Redmen basketball stood toe-to-toe with the pro teams of the time. Madison Square Garden rocked with the battles of Patrick Ewing (still thinking about him on this list) and Chris Mullin. The floppy-haired city kid became my guy. The gym rat showed up and practiced his shooting, and he kept shooting all the way to the Final Four before a very good NBA career.

5) Wille Stargell -- The Yankees won the American League in 1976. They won the World Series in 1977 and 1978. It seemed like they'd be there every year but 1979 wasn't kind, and Thurman Munson's passing just destroyed New York. The Orioles rolled through the AL. But, by then, this funky group from Pittsburgh in gaudy uniforms, singing the Sister Sledge anthem "We Are Family" were galvanizing fans. Huh. And they were from Pittsburgh. Hmm. And they were led by Willie Stargell, the true leftover from the "Lumber Company" days of the early 70s with Roberto Clemente. Pops was the boss. Pops was cool. Pops won the World Series with a Game 7 home run. We miss him.

6) Mark Messier -- Few athletes have ever made me think, "A title is coming," when they joined a team like "The Messiah" did with the Rangers. Messier came to a team that had talent -- no question. Brian Leetch. Mark Richter (we'll get back to him), Adam Graves, etc. But Mess was the Captain. We've seen few leaders like that. Ever. Despite all of the guarantees in sports, there are two that matter -- Joe Namath and Mark Messier. Mess said the Rangers would win Game 6 against New Jersey. They won that and, eventually, the Stanley Cup. Plus, he held the door for me at Brunswick one day.

7) Paul O'Neill -- I tried hard to not make this just ten Yankees (and day 10 will be tough) but O'Neill helped change the culture of a franchise that become a mess. I loved his passion and dedication. I loved how every at bat was a war. I appreciated that fire. You saw whining and being a crybaby. I saw a drive for perfection and, once things went right, there were few misfires. Paulie helped get the Yankees to titles in 1996, 1998, 1999, and 2000. Plus they were close in '01 and were playoff teams in '95 and '97. The Warrior, indeed.

8) Don Mattingly -- this is Yankees 101 for any fan of my age range. Donnie was Bobby Murcer of a different era. There were times when it felt like Donnie Baseball was all we had. But, he was also the Everyman, with his mustache and dirty uniform. He felt like he left his lunch pail in the locker and hit rockets before heading back to the quarry. For a brief moment, Don Mattingly was the best player in  baseball, and we will all lament that he never won a ring and he will likely miss the Hall of Fame.

9) Mike Richter -- As I wrote on Facebook tonight, "There are a ton of players I could put here and haven't. But only one has ever been an analyst on a broadcast of mine. That matters." It's true, as you know. Mike and I did indeed call The Gunnery and Brunswick and he has since called me, "The Voice of Reason." So, when you add that to a great career that included the Olympics (I watched him play against the Russians the day after Sean was born), stopping Pavel Bure on THE penalty shot in the Stanley Cup Finals in 1994, winning a Cup, and add in that his number is hanging in the rafters at MSG, wouldn't you include him?

10) Tomorrow -- So many to choose from. Many obvious. Some not. I might go the easy route or I might go with something different. I might choose someone from my broadcasting career (and I've obviously seen a lot) or someone unexpected.

I have a gut feeling (it won't be rocket science) but we'll see what tomorrow's mood brings.

Who are your ten?

The Dress Code

Chris and I looking fly in 2015

Shawn Sailer was laughing with me earlier.

Or, maybe he was laughing at me.

Either way, he was enjoying how certain headlines and items were just teeing me up.

The latest was on Awful Announcing this morning. It was like the ball was just waiting for me on a short par-3 and I've been handed a 9 iron with a direct line to the hole.

It seems the Marquee Network (the new Chicago Cubs vanity channel) insists that their broadcasters wear suits in obnoxious heat.

I always had my own take on a dress code for sports broadcasters: it's unnecessary.

Whenever I'm asked, I always stress common sense. In my case, I carry, crouch, crawl, and crane my way through every broadcast. I'm on the floor plugging things in. I'm sweating profusely carrying cases to and from the booth.

I try to stay neat but that's about all I can promise.

More often than not, the booth isn't air conditioned (or heated, for that matter).

Now you want me to wear a suit for all of that? Are you going to pick up the tab on dry cleaning and buying new suits?

Does that mean I didn't do as I was told? Of course I did, but I disagreed with it, and was powerless to stop it when it happened. So I gritted my teeth, sometimes dripping in sweat, and did my job. It sure as heck didn't make me a better broadcaster.

There was one time, while at HAN, I was sweating so badly that, during a break, I went to my car, opened the hatch, and changed for a bit. I was, frankly, overheating. But I was actually able to cool down a bit while sitting in the open hatch of my Nissan Versa as opposed to being in a suit in the booth at Brien McMahon High School.

At WGCH, I ask for common sense. I wear jeans or shorts or khakis (at the suggestion of Jake...from State Farm), a polo or nice shirt, appropriate footwear (no dirty sneakers) and, as far as I know, it's always neat and clean.

I think I've chided one person in 20 years as sports director.

It's 2020. Clothes don't necessarily "make the (wo)man." I do my job just as well, and normally better, when I'm comfortable.

Still, I'll follow the rule, which at the level where I'm lugging equipment around, isn't necessary.

*****
Did you know it's National Naysayers Day? Huzzah!

I'm well aware of the COVID-19 situation with the Miami Marlins, and the postponement (don't say "cancellation" or be cursed and damned!) of their game with the Orioles tonight, as well as the same with the Yankees/Phillies game. The immediate overreaction is to say...

"Baseball is done!"

"Football is done!"

"We're ALL done!"

I can't make this clear enough: IT IS A BUSINESS. THEY WILL DO EVERYTHING IN THEIR COLLECTIVE POWERS TO PLAY.

Let me further add that, while we all do it, stop speculating. How many times do I have to say it? You don't have the answers. Neither do it. I don't have a crystal ball.

Stop.

Speculating.

*****
Lastly, the GOAT is 80 today.

Not Vin -- that's a whole different GOAT. Plus, he's 92.

No, we're talking about a guy who was well ahead of his time.

A guy who was all about inclusion before it became the thing it should have always been.

A guy who made us laugh so much cried.

A guy who perfected the art of eating carrots.

A guy...who is a rabbit.

Happy birthday to the truest king. The greatest of them all.

Happy birthday, Bugs Bunny.

Now Entering the Hall of Fame

 (Robert Sabo/New York Daily News)

This should have been Hall of Fame Sunday in Cooperstown.

Derek Jeter, Larry Walker, Marvin Miller and Ted Simmons should have been honored today.

But, as we know, COVID-19 has taken most things away from us this year, so I'm hardly complaining.

Today did, however, lead me to read this piece by Bob Costas on The Players' Tribune.

The title alone said it all: "Sports Can’t Be Scripted."

No. It can not.

When you have a list of pithy one-liners, that takes away from the spontaneity of the moment.

In the case of Costas, he told the story of how he had a whole speech built up for Jeter's final at-bat. It was a noble goal, for sure, but Jeter scuttled the plans.



Costas made his call on the MLB Network and, as always, included the trademarks that have made him one of the best baseball voices ever. While he too often climbs into a pulpit to deliver his sermon, most of his play-by-play is filled with the reverence, humor, and boyish wonder for baseball that has served him well.

It is a brilliant call, and I'm even willing to forgive the great Jim Kaat for stepping on it slightly.

Over on the YES Network, Michael Kay described it as a moment "where fantasy becomes reality."

In the world of Yankees fans, it was just another iconic moment, even in a 21st Century that hasn't quite had its fill. The Mariano Rivera farewell just as special, hitting the heart in all the right ways.

But it can't be scripted. Oh, sure, we can have things in our minds but it's truly best to just be wide-eyed and ad-lib it.

I've scripted almost nothing, save for little things, such as the opening of the game I called at Fenway Park in 2008, because, well, I never thought I'd say those words. As such, I opened the game by saying, "Words I thought I'd never say in my life: Live from Fenway Park in Boston..."

In truth, I worried I'd stumble as I said them.

Anyway, I got off the subject of the post.

I also got to thinking about Jeter.

Hate him all you want. It's almost as American as hating the president or Joe Buck.

The guy -- who sucked, right? -- had 3,465 hits. For the record, that's SIXTH all-time. Peter Rose, Ty Cobb, Hank Aaron, Stan Musial, and Tris Speaker are above him. None of them sucked, that's for sure.

I mean, I'm not going to go down the rabbit hole of his numbers. No, he didn't win an MVP, despite history saying perhaps he should have won at least one. But he did win a World Series MVP to go along with five championship rings.

We know the iconic moments, beyond the final hit at Yankee Stadium. There's Mr. November, the Flip Play, the Dive (the one against the Red Sox and the one against the A's in the 2001 ALDS). There's the home run to open Game 4 of the 2000 World Series.

And on and on and on.

Was he helped by New York? Sure. Was David Ortiz helped by Boston? Was Mike Piazza helped by Los Angeles and Queens? Sure. Players have to be in the right place at the right time.

Look, I'm not doing this to ignite another (stupid) Derek Jeter debate because I have neither the energy or the time for it. Nor are either one of us going to change the mind of the other.

I bring this up today because I would have loved to have heard Bob Sheppard say the magic words, granted changing his usual phrase for a new one:

"Now Entering the Hall of Fame. From the New York Yankees, number two, Derek Jeter, number two."

But, we'll wait until next year. It will be quite a day when the class of 2020 and 2021 enter Cooperstown.

Struggling to Find the Words

Greenwich and Darien before the Winter Classic in 2019

I've been wrestling with the post tonight.

Oh, I do that sometimes.

But, earlier today, I heard the news and, oh boy, it wasn't good. I began trying to see if any of it was legitimate.

Not long after, Dave Ruden posted the news: Greenwich High School boys ice hockey head coach Chris Rurak was dead.

He was 47.

Dave Fierro has more from the Greenwich Time.

At the moment, information is swirling and we'll learn more I'm sure. I've heard some -- that's all. No matter what, I'm speechless .

I truly gasped -- no exaggeration -- when I saw Dave Ruden's tweet.

I got to know Coach Rurak a little. Obviously, I don't cover Greenwich hockey with the intensity that I used to. But he was a joy to talk to, and very easy to get along with.

I had lunch with Chris and former GHS football head coach John Marinelli a few years ago to discuss some broadcasting ideas. At the time, Coach Rurak was all-in on a plan to have me call Greenwich hockey road games, even if only as a radio call on WGCH or Robcasting.

Sadly, it never came to be.

But, Chris would stop up and see me at the Winter Classic or if I was around the team, either covering them for a story or to call a game.

As a coach, Chris helped stabilize a team that lost head coach Bob Russell a few years ago. Under Coach Russell, the Cardinals went to the state championship but lost to Darien.

Under Coach Rurak, GHS also went to a state final but lost to a loaded Fairfield Prep team. Chris also guided the Cards to the FCIAC championship game in 2018 and 2019.

I'm babbling here. I'm truly sad for Greenwich, the hockey community, his wife Jen and their two sons and all of his loved ones.

Hockey will go on. His players are paying tribute.

But hearts are heavy.

Some things don't make sense.

Rest well, Coach.

A New Toy

"Don't ask me what I want it for

(Ah ah, Mr. ALLEN)

If you don't want to pay some more

(Ah ah, Mr. HEATH)

'Cause I'm the TOXman, yeah, I'm the TOXman..."

-"TOXman", written by George Harrison and slightly augmented by me (maybe that wasn't actually the title of it)

Long week. Goofy mood. Currently tired but we know how that will play out.

Oh, before I forget, thanks for the many kind suggestions that I received in response to my sleep issues from earlier in the week.

I've been in the market for a mixer for some time. Is it a need? No, but the ones that I use are all aging and I felt it could be a good investment for Robcasting.

I've been eyeing Allen and Heath mixers for years and have been particularly impressed with the ZEDI-10, featuring a USB interface and...

(OK, OK. I can hear you snoring)

Anyway, it's a worthwhile investment to get a mixer that can handle phone calls for podcasts and Doubleheader as well as something that is durable for game broadcasts. That's the short version of why I've been looking.

The reviews have always been good and I, of course, analyzed all of it, nearly talking myself out of it several times.

But, whenever I'd see one on eBay, I'd consider bidding. I jumped in a few times, only to lose each time, including earlier last week.

But later in the week, I struck gold, getting a good deal that I felt good with. Financially it made sense and I pulled the trigger, winning the auction on a (barely) used model.

It arrived today and I got to work on making it work. It's safe to say that there's a learning curve and, at one point, I had to walk away because I was frustrated.

But, I loved it. That's the thing, it makes us nuts but we love this stuff.

I texted Bob Small and showed him a picture. I could sense he was interested. We broadcasting types like these things (Mike Hirn, Nate Stidham, and I have talked Rodecasters many times, for instance). A new mixer can feel like Christmas Day, which reminds me of the day the new equipment showed up in the nascent days of HAN. Ah, memories.

I did use it on "Doubleheader" and hopefully it sounded seamless but, behind the scenes, I was still learning. There were even a few moments where I was concerned that I made a dumb purchase but I think I figured some stuff out. It will take time.

After all was said and done, I got to work on deciding where and how to pack it. You see, you have to think about these things. I have my fancy, hard-sided Pelican case that Hector gave me, but it's also heavy and can be a beast to move through different places. 

Then I have a soft-sided backpack that Stephanie gave me. It's actually meant for ski boots but I repurposed it. Both are great. The Pelican comes in especially handy if there's bad weather.

But, carrying the softer bag up the stairs at Cardinal Stadium (if there's a season beginning in September) was also a consideration.

I unpack and repack -- literally -- several times a year. I'll no doubt do it again IF there's a football season in September.

So, it's always a bit scientific for me. That is to say, like literally everything else, I overthink it.

But, I got a new toy and that's cool. I have to allow myself to believe I've earned it every once in a while.

Oh, back to the sleeping problem. That's literally the thing: I can't turn my brain off. Buy a car? Buy a broadcasting mixer? Read a book? I think about all of it and simply can't check out. So, there's that.

Veg out? No chance.

Oh, and "TOXman?" Well, I've been making up songs about Christopher "Kato/Tako/Tox" Kaelin for years. So, yeah.

Now I need a game to call to keep trying the mixer out.

Mike Hirn and I also have to get going on a new "Tales From the Booth" podcast.

I wound up with the weekend off!

But, that's a completely different story.

Traditionally Out the Window

The Babe leads the march for the opener

It's Opening Day.

Finally.

The two happiest words in baseball can be "Play Ball" or "Opening Day."

There are others but let's not get pedantic.

Look, this is weird and different and unique but it's still baseball.

Do I hate what Rob Manfred and his band of merry men have done to the game? Yes, yes, and yes. Have to pitch to three batters before leaving the game? Dumb. Starting extra innings with a runner on second? Nah. Expanded playoffs? Doesn't excite me. Universal DH? Not thrilled.

But it's baseball. I've personally been waiting months.

So let's stop the naysaying and everything else. Tonight at 7pm, let Max Scherzer fire pitch number one of the craziest sprint in history.

Could it turn out to be a disaster? You bet! We could have a Marlins/Orioles World Series and that would just not be good.

But, whatever it is, the champion will be the champion. The ring will still fit.

I know, I know. No fans, virtual fans, whatever. Pumped in video game sounds, people kneeling, ads, the Nike logo, bad announcing, politics, blah blah blah blah blah.

So what? Take it all in. The game is (mostly) still the game.

I still think playing the anthem in an empty ballpark is silly anyway, as foolish as playing "God Bless America" in an empty stadium but game operations are still trying to stick to the usual routine.

And, yeah, I hate, loathe, detest, the Nike logo.

Whatever.

It will be fascinating.

I've called games in (basically) empty stadiums as well as in office suites and studios. Embrace it!

No day makes me happier than Opening Day -- even this one -- and while people are trying to harsh my buzz, it won't happen.

I wish there were day games instead of made-for-TV nonsense with Matt Vasgersian and A-Rod calling Yankees/Nationals tonight but that's why I have the radio with John Sterling and Suzyn Waldman. Besides, baseball is still radio's best sport by far.

It's why (weather permitting) I'll be calling a game in Danbury and trying to following Yankees/Nats.

I'm ready.

Maybe you're not.

There are no guarantees. Traditions will fight to stay relevant.

But it's time to do this. Let's get this thing going.

PLAY BALL!

Walk This Way

Stop and Shop -- Mahopac, NY

**First up, Blogger has changed their interface from the version that they've had for years. What they call the "Legacy Interface" will only be available through next month. This is why you might read this post on my new WordPress site, which is currently at https://robcastingradio.wordpress.com/blog/. I've moved the entire archive over there and am now deciding about the future of this little enterprise. Today's the anniversary of AJ sending me the Robcasting logo (that you'll see over at the WordPress site). Now, on with our regularly-scheduled program.

I said they didn't work. Most people ignore them or don't see them. When I wrote about it on Facebook, some scolded me.

Of course, because even ARROWS cause people to take sides.

In the Stop and Shop in Somers (Baldwin Place), I noticed some of them have been scraped off the floor and many of the "one way" signs have disappeared.

The Stop and Shop in Mahopac (it was a Grand Union a lifetime ago) still has them, as seen in the picture above. I had to get out of the way of wayward shoppers going the wrong way. I'm always looking around for the arrows and admit that, when not in a grid, it's easy to make a mistake.

But I see too many not even trying and I'm not going to shame them, other than a headshake. I see and hear too much about shaming people over one thing or another and that's just not my thing.

So, when I posted about the arrows on Facebook a few weeks back, one of the comments posed the question. "What's the better idea?" (I'm paraphrasing)

The answer is just get rid of the damn arrows. They don't work and only add an extra layer of stress to an already-taxed world.

For the most part people are avoiding one another anyway (save for the idiots at the big ol' petri dish hootenannies!), so why continue to go with arrows that only cause more chaos? 

Besides, stores have enough to do with enforcing masks.

Let's find some other things to worry about.

*****

Oh, hey, did I mention that this little ol' thing called baseball is starting for real tomorrow night?

That's right. Complain all you want but it's happening!

Though admittedly the Blue Jays situation is a mess. Could they actually wind up as road warriors after Pennsylvania's Department of Health gave them the stop sign?

I mean, if there are complaints about other places, how is Baltimore then a possibility, given Maryland is on the travel restrictions list for New York?

Oh it will all be fun to watch and it begins tomorrow!

PLAY BALL!

Tired

It's a little after 10 p.m. as I begin typing.

I try to stay up until at least 11 and wouldn't call myself either a morning person or a night person.

And, inevitably, I wake up somewhere during the night.

I used to sleep like a rock but that's just not true anymore. I might be asleep by 11:15 tonight but someone will text or message me.

Maybe I'll sleep through that but you better believe I'll wake up for other reasons.

Then it will begin. Toss. Turn. Look at my phone. Play a game.

Read.

In rare moments, the TV gets turned on.

These days I literally never have a full nights sleep.

It's a couple of hours...wake up...maybe go back to sleep...and so on.

There might be a few stolen minutes here and there on the couch or in bed or in my car (in a parking lot, of course).

You'd think I would grab the computer and write but for whatever reason that's rare.

What keeps me up? What doesn't? Stress, money, life, health.

In recent days, if it wasn't worrying about my car situation, it was about the cat or lack of work or my taxes or something else.

But it's always something.

I used to let nothing bother me in those spots but those days are long gone.

In a past life, I'd go fall on a couch.

In this life, it's my bed or bust. So, I'd change where I sleep -- putting my head a the other end or switching sides.

I've tried adding melatonin to the routine. It moderately helps.

I'm tired.

Sleep well, world.

Hamilton

Alexander Hamilton

It's been a thing for a few years.

Hamilton. The musical. The film. The soundtrack. The phenomenon.

My friends all post about it!

Everyone loves it.  They do.

Right?

So, here's the thing. While not trying to be "that guy" who dumps on the whole vibe, I'm going to offer that I've literally never had any interest in seeing in it in any form.

There are just certain things in life I've never quite "gotten" or had no interest in "getting."

I realize this makes me un-American or something, but well, I don't know what else to say.

I can't actually quite figure it out. I like Lin-Manuel Miranda and I love history.

And, I have nothing against rap or poetry or the content of the show.

The best I can guess is that it's just one of those things that I become a contrarian about when "the world" tells me I should like something.

It's a lame answer but it's the best I have.

I did the same thing with U2 back in the 80s, as an example. I was on that bandwagon really early. Then The Joshua Tree came along and there was something about that moment that made me drop them like a bad habit for years. Tastes change. It happens.

I never liked anything about The Matrix, for instance (and, really, not much of a fan of Keanu Reeves). The same goes, basically, for anything Will Smith does. It's nothing really personal, per se, and it's not like I have some vehement thing against either of them. They're both sort of just...you know...there.

I don't like (and I'll likely get crap for this) anything about The Lord of the Rings. In any form.

Or Game of Thrones.

Now, does this mean I don't like or am disinterested in all things that are popular? No, not at all. I was all over The Sopranos and Seinfeld and Star Wars and a whole lot of other things.

But I never got into Breaking Bad (I liked what I saw) for instance.

This goes for music also, but it's probably unfair to talk about music because I haven't really been tapped into the current music scene for years.

But, have I also been known to latch onto things that might be off the beaten path? Oh yes. Yes I have.

Unbreakable Kimmy Schmidt? I watched it. All of it.

Lesser-known movies and music? I'm in.

Look, I'm a jerk sometimes when it comes to these things. My music opinions have become a running joke at times (at least regarding Maroon 5). But, I truly mean no offense here.

I suppose this is like Titanic or Avatar -- two movies I also wasn't interested in. I saw them eventually due to one person or another putting it on.

Hamilton is the kind of thing that I'd watch if someone makes me watch it.

I have no doubt it's phenomenal. I have no doubt the music is stellar and the acting is tremendous.

And I fully expect comments to tell me how I should capitulate and that I'm missing the boat. I respect it. I really do.

I just don't care about seeing it.

Adjusting

That chair couldn't be there because it would have been in Chico's way

It was late in the evening of March 17, 1989 and certain things needed to be done.

My father's car -- his gold Chevy Nova with the black roof (yes, Steelers colors) -- had to be moved out of the driveway.

I did this many times and, now, I realized I didn't have to do it anymore.

It was the dumbest, smallest thing to provide as a moment of comfort. It was a complete mechanism and I would trade it all to have him back.

And so, we feel the same things this weekend.

I started closing my closet a few years ago because Chico wasn't thrilled with my changing of his litter box at times. He took his displeasure out on a pair of shoes.

Or it would be on a duffle bag. One that might contain expensive radio equipment.

I came to the realization that the closet door can stay open again.

The upstairs door could stay closed now that there wasn't a cat who needed unimpeded access. The door to the garage could stay open since he couldn't sneak out.

My bedroom door could be whatever it wanted to be now.

I realized that the equipment bags could be anywhere without fear of Chico reprisal. I didn't have to concern myself with kitty litter and a litter box either.

I could put things wherever I wanted to on my desk as it no longer blocked access to "his window."

Or on my nightstand which also provided access to "his window." Not, not that window, his other window.

Every window was his.

These things are dumb and, just as in the example about my father's car, I'd give them all up to get Chico back.

They sound weird and even heartless.

But they're dumb things that give me the littlest taste of solace. The tiniest silver lining.

It's also all part of the grieving process for whatever the loss is.

But I miss him. A lot. (And don't tell me "he was just a cat")

*****

(New York Times)

The Yankees and Mets played an exhibition game last night at Citi Field. They play again tonight at Yankee Stadium. I caught just a bit after Sean's party wrapped up.

The YES Network broadcast piped in fake crowd noise and there were cut out faces on some of the seats.

The faces looked creepy, although I know that's been a thing at some sporting events around the world during the pandemic. Most importantly, the money raised by those faces on the seats is going to charity so it's hard to get upset by it.

The crowd noise was mostly unobtrusive, though I noticed it to be a little weird when something of consequence happened.

Like anything else, it's a work in progress. But, here's the most important thing: competitive baseball was back on my TV.

I'll keep repeating it: it's a business and they are going to try it.

Will any sport complete their season? I can't say for sure and things could change.

They could change tomorrow.

I realize those against all of this will keep beating their dead horse but perhaps they should also realize that they're looking for any excuse to not have sports.

But maybe they should also sit this season out.

Happy But Exhausted

Don't judge

After the complete sadness of yesterday, we rallied to celebrate Sean's graduation today.

But, in truth, I stayed active to not think about yesterday. I was awake by three a.m. and, with the exception of a short stretch just after five, I've been awake since.

And in party prep mode since roughly 8:30.

Move a table, clean the coolers, mow the lawn, wash my car, go the grocery store, nearly get into a fight with an entitled jackass in the parking lot, make two trips to said grocery store, and on and on until ready to collapse.

We were sorry to not have as many people as we wanted and we missed those who couldn't make it.

But, in the end, the backyard brimmed with laughter, love, and activity for the first time in years.

It's how it used to be, at least once per summer if not more.

However, to pull this off in the summer of COVID was quite impressive.

So, while I'd love to write more, I'm going to post a few pictures and call it a night.

The post was going to be about that clown in the parking lot but, in the end, why? The payoff was a day that made Sean happy.

That's enough.

Thank You

If there's truly a Rainbow Bridge, then it got Large today.

Chico, the The Large Gray Cat -- the cat of multiple names -- died at 12:55 this afternoon.

He was 15.

He had begun slowing down recently and we had hoped for the best. However, I sort of knew.

But let's not focus on the tears, which have flowed freely today, like the water that went into his bowl marked with "Kitty" on it.

My sister was getting ready to move in Oct 2016 and I went to her place in Fairfield, thinking I was only picking up a lawn mower. It was a warm day and I had jeans on, and I realized she still had a ways to go on packing.

So, we helped out. I drove things to various places and packed this and that, getting sufficiently drenched as the afternoon headed towards evening.

At one point, as things were progressing, I glanced at a table and took in the sight of a gray cat.

"Um...what's happening with this?"

As my sister didn't have a place lined up yet, there was just one answer: bring him home with me.

Temporarily.

Yeah, right.

So, the rest of the crew finished a long, arduous day and decided to get dinner. By then, Chico was packed into a cat kennel. I couldn't justify letting him sit there much longer, so I drove my mother to dinner with everyone else, said my goodbyes and went back to my sisters. The car was loaded up, save for one spot for the carrier.

He cried for the entire drive. I tried to let him roam around the car and he wasn't interested. Around Pound Ridge, I began to smell something. Indeed, although the warm October day had given way to a chilly night, I drove the rest of the way with the windows down.

Way down.

He came here and hid behind the couch and anywhere else at first as many cats do. He eventually got comfortable here and my sister also found a place of her own.

Chico stayed behind.

One day, I heard a strange noise in my room. While I had been feeding him and keeping an eye on him and trying help him groom and doing all the things of a pet owner, he had mostly stayed away.

That strange noise was Chico's paws as he came into visit and, for the most part, he never left.

Damn. I wasn't going to get close to him and that's exactly what happened. So we became partners in crime. The nicknames grew, along with the selfies, petting, laughing, long talks (me, not him), and his endless patience with all of the nonsense that Sean and I subjected him to.

The matted fur on his hind end was brushed, combed, "furminated," and even cut. We made that fur rich and luxurious!

But that's about the closest he'd ever get at lashing out, letting a hiss fly if I'd taken it too far.

Mr. Tough Guy. Ha.

The normal breakfast scene

He was loved, and I'm not going to say he never had it better in his life but he certainly had it good. Jump on the table and keep me company while I was eating breakfast? Sure, why not!

Treats? Pick a flavor! Cousin Stephanie would always come by with goodies.

He had the run of the place. Pick a bed. Any bed. It was his world. Not every cat gets that luxury.

He was Large and in charge. He was Cheekies and Chunkies and Cheeks and Sir Chunks-a-Lot and Nush (rhymes with "push") and Nushiel and Bubba and Bear and just "Sir."

And, this week, he became "Puffy," as I noticed his face had swollen.

He had also gone back to laying behind the couch.

That's when I called the vet.

Last night, after baseball, I fed him a little bit of a Delectables squeeze up just to get him to eat something.

I also cradled him in my arms like a baby. Normally he'd run after a minute or so of that.

Not this time. It was like we both knew that it was time.

A week or so back, while sad and hating life, I tried to give him a rallying speech. "You can't leave yet. We have more to do together. You need to keep me company while we get through this."

His face told me otherwise. I sometimes pondered telling him it was OK to go, but I didn't want to give up.

Today, after discussing things with the fabulous South Putnam Animal Hospital, I let go.

I was with him. We spent some time alone and I told him to find Bandit and Fred and Roxy and Harry and Rosie and Junior and Scrappy and the countless other furry friends who would take good care of him.

I told him my dad would treat him well, even if had to fight to get on his lap.

Then, I just said, "Thank you." Not just for me, but for an entire family full of people whose lives he enriched and for a radio/Facebook audience who he entertained by strolling by the camera occasionally.

And for the audience of people who loved his pictures on social media.

And I kept repeating it, making sure it was the last thing he heard.

Our good-natured Large friend is gone.

We're heartbroken.

But, as always, grateful.

Sean, through rare tears for him, told me that he thought I hit the nail on the head once, saying that Chico was "America's Cat," just as Roxy was "America's Dog." Nobody had a bad thing to say about him.

Chico was Laura's and Ryan's and Meaghan's and Sean's and mine and, well, everyone's.

I had Bandit for 17 years and Fred for 11.

I had Chico here for not quite four years and his impact is just as strong and the pain is just as real.

Maybe his years here were great, but he brought us just as much and even more.

He was my confidante and soulmate through many a trying time and laugh and triumph.

Thank you, Cheeks. I have no words to say how much I'll miss you, my friend.

Thank you, South Putnam Animal Hospital

Post Game

It was after 8:00 when I looked around and realized I was the only one left at the baseball field.

Greenwich had just finished off a 7-2 baseball win over Westport

I soaked it in for a moment since I was temporarily too tired to drive and just wanted to regain some adrenaline.

This might have gotten me in trouble at one time, especially if anyone else was with me, but in this spot, I was alone in my thoughts.

I allowed myself the moment.

I'd given it my all.

I had just finished one of those broadcasts where I felt like I had found the groove. These don't happen too often and I'm often nitpicking at everything. I still did in this case, but I felt good about the call.

There are times when I see the field of play better than normal and the words flow with ease. My body can even feel it.

This was one of those nights. It's a time in which I allow myself to think I'm where I should be, as opposed to those nights when I drive away wondering what the heck I'm doing.

But the rhythm was good and the compliments were nice so I guess I did something right.

When it all comes together like that there's no place I'd rather be.

I'll figure out a few games to call next week.

I drove home tired but feeling accomplished.
 

Tonight, Let It Be Löwenbräu

I've got, well, not nothing tonight, but nothing I feel like talking about.

I thought I'd dive into things gnawing at me, but I feel like my friend Tim Fletcher said it best on Facebook a short time ago:

It’s time for the moderates on both sides to stand up and be heard. We’re living in a world where 10% of the population is telling the other 90% they’re not allowed to have an opinion. Most of us are good and rational and can have a conversation. We can disagree and still be friends. Stop letting the extremists on both sides of the pendulum control the rhetoric. Enough already. We’re ALL allowed to have an opinion.

My god, I love everything about this.

"Clowns to the left of me, jokers to the right."

But one can only watch so many reruns of Jeopardy or whatever before going insane. So as I chewed on my insanely good Philly Cheese Steak from Mahopac Inn (seriously. Insanely good and run by good people -- everyone, delivery drivers included are really great) I found myself just pondering.

So, whatever it is -- personal, professional, etc -- there's not much I can do about it here.

Let it go, Rob. This stuff isn't worth it.

So I did.

Instead, as I sat down to type (with literally no clue what to write about), I said the word "tonight" before thinking about something that Dave Torromeo, Mark Jeffers and I have sung many times.

Here’s to good friends
Tonight is kind of special
The beer will pour
Must say something more, somehow
So tonight, tonight
Let it be Löwenbräu

Why? Because the three of us (and Bob Small) somehow started having these sing-alongs during The Clubhouse. It started with TV theme songs and evolved into...well...beer commercials and whatever else.

So, while I don't have a beer in my hand, I have a song in my heart and love for most.

And I'm old enough to remember the commercials. So tonight...



Besides, this also allows me to remember John "Tonight Let it Be" Lowenstein, so named by Chris Berman back in his halcyon days of nicknames on SportsCenter on ESPN. He homered to win Game 1 of the 1979 ALCS, as called by Dick Enberg on NBC.

The Caricature

There's the blog dude, circa Christmas, 1992.

The "wind tunnel-tested hairdo" has been replaced by a side part. There's a turtleneck and a sweater. Oh, yeah, it's straight out of the early 90s.

Around that same time, I attended the Chr...er...ooops...holiday party for my department of Kraft General Foods. Nice event, it was. It was at the Stouffer's Westchester Hotel (site of the 1980 fire that killed 26). It's now the Renaissance Westchester Hotel.

I attended a prom there in 1988. Good times.

Anyway, it had all of the proper opulence of the parties of the era. The food was good, the speeches were humorous, the beverages were wet and it was all free.

And -- bonus -- there was an artist who would do a caricature for you! At first, you had to win the right for it but, for some reason, eventually, everyone got to do it.

I sidled up to the seat.

"Can you draw me as a sports broadcaster?"

In hindsight, given I was working in accounting and finance, this was probably not the best move among colleagues but it was also no secret that I was working on a degree in communications and had already worked in radio part-time.

So, the caricature artist obliged. The result?

At the time, I loved it! I even went back and had him sign it for me (the only who did, I might add).

But, it's taken me over 27 years to figure it out.

Hold on, now.

LOOK AT THE SIZE OF MY HEAD! Is that supposed to be a commentary on my ego?

But, but, but, but...that microphone? Did he go back to 1940 to get that? Sports broadcasters wear headsets and, if I was using a microphone, it wouldn't look like that!

And, further, where are my headphones?

Wait. A white suit with light blue stripes? Who does he think I am, Walt "Clyde" Frazier? I can't pull that look off and I know that's not what I was wearing on that day.

Why did he assume I'm calling a Jets game? Oh, well, maybe he assumed it was Jets-Steelers. Nah, he thinks I'm the Jets broadcaster. Why the hell would I be the Jets broadcaster? I'm not a Jets fan and, let's face it, the Jets were awful then. Furthermore, the legendary Marty Glickman was the Jets radio voice in '92. Is he trying to say that I'm looking to push Marty out?

And the assumption that the Jets have fumbled! Oh, wait, like I said they were awful that year. They were 4-12 so that's not crazy, but STILL!

Look at that chair! I can tell you that thing isn't ergonomically correct! That's a work hazard waiting to happen!

WFAN!? He put me on WFAN?!?! They (were) the Mets station back then. Besides, that would mean I'd be working at the same station as Don Imus, and after all these years, shouldn't I feel that's an outrage?

What's the deal with that football player in the picture? Simply how he's drawn isn't appropriate and where's his other leg?

It's taken me nearly 30 years to see the errors feel disgusted with a cartoon of myself. It's as if my red tie in the caricature says "Big-headed White Broadcaster" on it.

I'll be taking it down, stomping on it, and burning it as soon as I'm done with this post.

Or, I'll laugh at it.

Because it's a caricature.

Again: where does it stop?

AAAAAAAAAAAAYYYYYYY-OH!

The organizers didn't know it, but they made the the right call.

It was a little after 2:00 p.m. and a video was shown to the assembled crowds and millions more at home. David Bowie and Mick Jagger did a somewhat painful and mostly forgettable version of the classic "Dancing in the Streets" that would be shoved down our throats on MTV for the rest of the summer.

Simple Minds followed from Philadelphia, performing a three-song set of "Ghost Dancing," "Don't You (Forget About Me)," and "Promised You a Miracle."

Finally, Bowie took the stage in the flesh in London. The time was approximately 2:20 p.m. in New York.

It was July 13, 1985 and the question was: who followed Queen at Live Aid.

I like Simple Minds and have a healthy regard for Bowie but, to be honest, their sets have been forgotten.

Freddie Mercury, Brian May, John Deacon and Roger Taylor weren't entirely on the same page at that time. Live Aid could have been their farewell after the success of their tour supporting their album The Works.

The band also found some controversy, having played South Africa during the era of apartheid. Honestly, it would have been easy to ignore them on that sticky Saturday with 72,000 in attendance at London's Wembley Stadium and 89,484 at John F. Kennedy Stadium in Philadelphia.

Oh yeah, and another billion people watching worldwide.

But Queen ruled the day to the point of legend, serving as the denouement in Bohemian Rhapsody.

I was at Yankee Stadium for Old Timer's Day*, invited the night before and I accepted, since Huey Lewis and the News had backed out of the event in Philly. My brother was the first to tell me what I had missed and would have to watch on tape. I did see the latter acts, including the disastrous Led Zeppelin set.

*Oh yeah, and Vin Scully was in the booth at the Stadium. So there was that.

Freddie was the star and there was literally nothing anyone could do. From the opening notes of "Bohemian Rhapsody" on the piano as it segued into "Radio Gaga," Freddie grabbed the audience and never let go.

The hand clapping that eventually led to that note.

Oh, you know it.


Then the power of "Hammer to Fall" followed by "Crazy Little Thing Called Love," a portion of "We Will Rock You" and finishing with "We Are The Champions."

Yes. Yes they are the champions.

There were many great performances and moments on that day. So many memories.

But there was only one Freddie.

Only one Queen.

Everyone has been playing catch-up since.

All right!

The Pain of the Pipe

It could have been MUCH worse

It was another hot day in the northeast but the lawn needed to be mowed.

So, out I went. I should tell you that (first world problems alert!) I've been using a push mower for over a year now, after having a tractor. Sadly, it died for good in 2019 and it hasn't been replaced. I look at it as good exercise but it also can wear on my back.

So I did the front yard; "the heavy stuff," as I call it.

Appropriately drenched in sweat, I climbed the stairs and took a comfy shower while a load of laundry went around in the washing machine.

I came back downstairs.

Uh oh.

I saw water where water didn't belong.

"OK, don't panic," I thought. (Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy fans rejoice!)

We've had water issues in the past but nothing in nearly a decade. Certainly, anything was possible after that rain we had last night.

I threw some clothes on, grabbed some boots and started attacking the water before it spread too far.

I cleared the workroom floor out and began vacuuming. Where we've had other water problems that called for multiple loads being pumped out via the wet/dry vac, this one was basically done within one.

I let the floor dry a little, and set up a dehumidifier to get some of the moisture out.

So, what had happened? Was it the rain? The load of laundry, combined with my shower?

I hoped it was just a rare confluence of things and was content to have it all cleaned up, while being able to put some stuff in the garbage. I tried to see the truly bright side of all of this.

And then?

I saw a drop of water from above? Wait. What?

I looked up. A pipe had some water dripping.

I reached up. The pipe was severed.

The pipe...came from...yup...the drain of the shower.

Dammmmmmmmmmmnnnnnnnnn.

Like many of you, we have friends in the right places. With my dad and my brother being in the plumbing industry at one time, they knew plenty of plumbers, electricians (of course, I know one who would be here at a moments notice as well -- right, Mick?), and general handy people.

While I have my "MacGyver" tendencies, in which I can make certain things work, I have zero plumbing/electrical knowledge.

So, a call was placed to Mark, who is simply one of those people who will always give back. He's one of those people who has standards and if you need him, he's there.

Still, there was no answer on his phone.

I went back to going about cleaning up the mess when I looked out of the garage and saw a motorcycle slowing up near the driveway.

"Who the...Oh...it's Mark."

He walked in and I explained in my layman's terms.

He muttered an "uh oh" but quickly thought about how to at least fix things temporarily.

Then he noticed a piece of pipe nearby.

"Robbie," he said,"the washer from this is exactly what I need. You saved me. I always know when I come to this house that I'll find something to work with because your dad was great like that."

Within minutes -- literally -- the temporary fix was in place. We talked longer than it took him to fix it.

I smiled at the admiration he had for my dad -- a man who, to my knowledge, he never met.

He'll be back later in the week for a more permanent fix.

But those are the kinds of friends you cherish. "Salt of the Earth," we call them.

Mark had a smoke in the yard as we wrapped up and promptly finished it by putting it out and taking it with him.

Respect.

He got back on his bike and rode away.

See you Friday, Mark.

And thanks.

Entitlement

It's all about...him. (GETTY IMAGES/ISTOCKPHOTO)

We know what kind of times we're in.

COVID-19, "Wear Your Mask," George Floyd, Trump, Biden, the Redskins, the Indians, and on and and on and...

There's rampant unemployment and emotions are probably at the highest they've been in years.

So, maybe the best plan of action is to lay off how great your life is these days on social media?

It's astounding and the very definition of "White privilege."

It's the optics that we talk about, isn't it?

I saw a picture of a group recently. They were clearly all placed there by parents who could afford it. Well, good for them, I guess, but what's the lesson? Do I even need to explain it?

Also, they were -- almost -- all white. Mostly male also.

What's more is, I can tell you that the faces were from the tri-state area of NY, NJ, and Connecticut. Several from Fairfield County, but bet your bottom dollar (see what I did there?) that none of them were, say, from Bridgeport.

So, the next time you tell me about "(insert career field here) is too white and/or male," remember this.

In my field (that of play-by-play announcer) there's been an outcry for more faces of color. Stories have been written about it, and a grant and scholarship fund has been created.

Do I blame anyone? No, I don't think so. I can't blame the parents for wanting what's best for their kids, but I can only hear my parents had I gone to them asking for the money to do this.

"You want how much for what?"

"Get yourself a job and we'll talk about helping you."

And, so on.

I have to say that I'd probably do something similar had it been Sean or we would have come up with an arrangement of some kind.

There's still a need for responsibility. I'm constantly looking in the mirror to see where I've failed with Sean to understand because, even though he's 18, the lessons never end.

But, more than this, know the room these days.

The constant pictures of your pool and car and kid and big house and opulence doesn't make you a #blogger or whatever.

It makes your #spoiled.

Yes, there's something to be said about the finer things in life but the days of "Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous" have certainly evolved.

Living your best life? Cool. Not everyone else is. Stop being so tone deaf.

There are ways to do so with grace and class.

And, like I said, the lessons never end.

Maybe growth is possible.

Sadly, I doubt it.