Back To Little League

It's an honor to be selected to call games for Fairfield American Little League baseball once again.

I'm grateful that the folks at FALL recognize the product that we put forward.

Shawn Sailer and I were on the broadcast tonight as they opened their district tourney against North End of Bridgeport. All games, in fact, will be played at North End's nice digs in the Park City.

As for the game, well, it...um...was all Fairfield American.

American won 15-0, led by Carson Dodder who hit two inside the park home runs and drove in eight.

I spoke with one of the North End kids after the game told him their team has some good defense. He seemed to appreciate that.

That's the beauty of it. Bummed as they might have been, the kid was smiling and just happy to be playing.

I love it.

I'd make a bigger deal of the fact that it was also a no-hitter, but it was spread between three pitchers (Dodder, Nate Swineford, and Jake Palladino) and it was a 15-0 in a "mercy rule" game that ended after four innings.

I think that's my fourth no-hitter broadcast, for whatever that's worth. That leaves me only 19 behind Mr. Scully.

The other thing that pleases me is, although it's late in the day, it means I was hustling through traffic to the game and made my way home. In total, probably close to three hours (!) in the car.

But the hustle, setting up and breaking down, the call of the game itself, and the effort back at home to edit the broadcast, post it and write this blog, gives me a certain level of joy.

That's a fairly normal thing to do. If only there was a lot more of it.

But, alas, we know the deal. So no point in dwelling on it tonight.

Instead, I'll focus on continuing to learn this group of Fairfield American players as we get to our next broadcast -- Wednesday at 5:30 (though it might be moved to 5:00 p.m.).

All of the action can be heard live on Robcasting Radio.

Red

He could have been "Uncle Walter" long before Cronkite.

But nobody knew him as Walter.

Oh no. Walter Lanier Barber was always "The Ol' Redhead."

Red Barber.

He's also still considered -- at worst -- a top 10 in baseball broadcasting all time.

It says here he's in the top 3, tied for second with his contemporary Mel Allen. Only Red's protégée -- a kid named Scully -- is better.

Much like Bill Dickey taught Yogi Berra, Vin Scully (who is finally joining social media) learned from Barber.

After a combustible edition of "Doubleheader" this week, it occurred to me that many don't know their history. And they should, especially to be in this business.

Thus here we are. School is in session.

A gentleman of the south, Red was born in Mississippi in 1908 but moved to Florida when he was 10. He enrolled at the University of Florida and, while working as a janitor at the local radio station, was asked to fill in as an announcer on WRUF. As was often the case in those days, fate intervened and Barber was a star.

In fact, his WRUF microphone is on display at the National Baseball Hall of Fame.

By 1934, Barber was calling the Cincinnati Reds, at the age of 26. The Cubs beat the Reds 6-0 and, while it wasn't just his first professional major league broadcast it was the first professional game he'd ever been to.

The next year, in a time in which the World Series was on both NBC and CBS, Mutual joined the party. Barber joined the broadcast team at the age of just 27, working with Bob Elson and Quin Ryan.

Barber slid over to NBC for 1936 and 1937 before "The Peacock" put different crews on two different NBC networks. Red stayed on NBC Red, naturally.

Mutual received the exclusive contract in 1939. By then, Reds president Larry MacPhail had moved to Brooklyn to run the Dodgers. MacPhail broke the blackout of home broadcasts in New York between the three teams and he brought Barber with him.

Red Barber -- now 32 -- would begin an iconic run in Brooklyn, sitting in his beloved "catbird seat." He served as the first baseball television play-by-play announcer that Aug 26, calling the Reds/Dodgers game (ironically) on experimental station W2XBS (later, WNBC).

Indeed, when the Brooklyn Cyclones came along, their broadcast booth became known as -- what else? -- "The Catbird Seat" and I had the opportunity to call a few games from there.

Barber -- along with Allen -- ruled much of the next three decades in sports broadcasting. While the early days' big names started with Graham McNamee, followed by Bill Stern and Ted Husing, it was the ying and yang of Allen and Barber who dominated.

Both called football and baseball, with Red hosting a college football recap among his many other duties. Red was the head of CBS Sports.

Barber was the consummate taskmaster. Broadcasters weren't supposed to give opinions (not many, anyway) as they were reporters.

Journalists.

Red's booth ran his way. So whether it was Al Helfer or Connie Desmond or anyone else, you played by Red's rules.

Barber missed part of 1948 due to a bleeding ulcer so Branch Rickey traded -- yes, traded -- catcher Cliff Dapper to the Atlanta Crackers (yes, really) of the Southern Association for Ernie Harwell, who would then go to the Giants and Orioles before moving to Detroit in 1960. He became an institution there, and is also a top-5 all-time baseball voice.

Barber would eventually leave the Dodgers after 1953 to go -- GASP -- to the Yankees, after a dispute with World Series sponsor Gillette and Dodgers owner Walter O'Malley over (what else?) money. Barber worked with Allen from 1954-1964 when Mel's contract wasn't renewed. Phil Rizzuto, Jim Woods, Jerry Coleman, and Joe Garagiola rounded out Red's Bronx colleagues.

His Yankees years highlighted his stylistic difference. Red reported but kept most of his emotions within. Mel was more likely to exclude "How About That!?" while Red's explosive moments, such as his famous "Oh Doctor!" in the 1947 World Series were more rare. While Russ Hodges screamed, "The Giants Win the Pennant!," Red simply exclaimed Bobby Thomson's home run was,"In there and the New York Giants win the National League Pennant and the Polo Grounds go wild!" Red, in fact, was critical of the Hodges call.

Red also believed that stories were to be told about the players but not about the broadcaster. Obviously, some things have changed since then, and I'm the first to acknowledge that.

By the time of Thomson's home run (Oct 3, 1951), the Dodgers booth had new blood in it. Harwell had moved to the Giants where he had the duty of calling the clout on NBC-TV. Red needed a new voice and picked a man (19 years younger) who had impressed him in a college football gig in Nov. 1949.

Kid from Fordham. Also with red hair. Willing to learn at the hands of a pioneer.

Kid named Vin Scully.

From left: Red Barber, Connie Desmond, Vin Scully

Red worked him hard. Told him not to get close to the players, and overall, Vin didn't, except for Ralph Branca, who threw the fateful pitch to Bobby Thomson. Red told him to always bring himself into the booth because it was the one thing he has that nobody else does.

I've told literally every student of mine -- the ones who also want to learn -- that same advice.

Red -- remember, Red was the boss and Vin worked for him -- pushed Vin to not go for such hyperbole like "the greatest of all time," especially early in his career.

You know. Not every game is the greatest, largest, or gargantuan.

In this Associated Press piece on Vin selling off his memorabilia, Scully (of course, number one all-time) told a story of Barber, whom he considered "a second father."

In his second year, Scully proclaimed Willie Mays as the best player he'd ever seen. Off the air, Barber told him, "Young man, you have not been around long enough to talk about the best player you've ever seen." Scully recalled, "He was going to make me a good announcer or be darned."

Opinions like that just weren't going to be allowed in Red's booth, and he was the boss. That's exactly why young broadcasters need molding and mentoring and someone to critique them. Barber -- beyond a doubt -- made Scully better.

Red left the Yankees after 1966 when he insisted that WPIX cameras show the paltry crowd of 413 fans in a September game.

"I don't know what the paid attendance is today" he said, "but whatever it is, it is the smallest crowd in the history of Yankee Stadium, and this crowd is the story, not the game."

His contract was not renewed.

His professional play-by-play career was over. That career included the Army-Navy Game, New York (football) Giants, the NFL Championship Game, the Orange Bowl, thirteen World Series and more.

He wrote numerous books. I own two of them: Rhubarb in the Catbird Seat and The Broadcasters, which I clutch tightly as one of the most important books I've ever read.

Learning about Barber -- and Scully, of course -- helped mold the type of play-by-play announcer I wanted to be (and others have influenced me as well).

Red began a weekly Friday visit with Bob Edwards in 1981 on Edwards' NPR radio show Morning Edition. I spent many a Friday morning with Red for a few minutes.

Barber also taped interviews with Ken Burns for the Baseball documentary than ran in 1994. Sadly, they ran posthumously, as Red died on Oct 22, 1992.

Crestfallen, I put Game 5 of the World Series between the Atlanta Braves and Toronto Blue Jays on my radio that night. Then, in the silence of my car, I was able to listen to the closest thing he had to a son -- Vin Scully -- briefly eulogize his mentor. His words were calm and eloquent. Red would have it no other way.

(Red has no survivors, as his wife Lylah died in 1997 and their daughter Sara died in 2005.)

Red, Vin said, had "a profound influence on my life and a major reason for any success that I might have had in this business," according a quote that ran in Barber's obituary in the New York Times.

A few final Barber thoughts: he was at first uncomfortable when he heard about Jackie Robinson joining the Dodgers in 1947. Red considered quitting before Lylah told him to not do anything rash. After meeting Robinson and watching him play, he decided to stay, and furthermore, became a fervent supporter of Black ballplayers. He was disgusted seeing the treatment that Robinson endured.

He was somewhat misrepresented in the movie 42, starring the just-passed Chadwick Boseman. While John C. McGinley's performance as Barber was outstanding, Red was seen as cheering for Robinson after Jackie hit a home run in Pittsburgh. There's not a chance on Marconi's life that Barber would have cheered. Ever.

He never cheered for anything. That was in his foundation as a an impartial reporter. Not -- ahem -- a homer.

David Halberstam has more in this great write up on Bleacher Report.

Lastly, when the Ford Frick Award for baseball broadcasting greatness was created, who do you think the first two honorees were?

You bet.

Red Barber and Mel Allen.

People in my world know who Red Barber is. Even Susan -- she of the "Yay Random Sports Team" t-shirt -- could tell you that Red Barber was Vin Scully's mentor.

Now you know.

Here endeth the lesson from the pea patch.

Blocked

Flying to the nearest deli

There have been a lot of consecutive nights (and days) of posts.

This is number 609 since 12/30/18.

Most days I find a topic pretty easily and crank out a bunch of words.

Other times, I slam into a wall.

That's where I'm sitting tonight.

As I say, there are always topics. Having said that, the topics can't always be written about.

So here we are.

There are nights that I think of just posting a picture and saying, "Here ya go. G'night!"

But I never have. Not to say I won't.

Things have been even more serious than usual lately. We've had Kenosha and sports protests and the conventions*.

*I watched not one second of either convention and I do not remotely care. In fact, I'm proud that I didn't.

But, isn't it sad? I consider myself a very amateur student of presidential history. It's not that I really know my stuff but I like studying it.

I've watched most acceptance speeches, even stopping a marathon Atari-playing night to watch Reagan in '84.

Then I went back to Yars' Revenge.

This year I focused on sports and whatever else occupied my wee brain.

It is what it is, I suppose, and certainly fitting in this clustermess of a year of 2020.

And, yet, I saw someone write that we are 125 days from 2021. I thought to myself, who the hell cares?

As I've said basically every year for...eh...ver...what's going to magically change?

Is COVID going to disappear with a flip of the calendar? Will we all get the mystical vaccine? Will stadiums automatically fling their doors open? Will we burn the f****** masks?

Will high schools be able to play sports again or will the CIAC STILL be deciding?

Blast.

Dammit, we're getting dark. This is exactly why I didn't want to write much tonight.

I'd be better off just writing about the genesis of the bacon, egg, and cheese sandwich. Oh, wait. John Nash already did.

Thus the picture up top.

Fred and Barney.

Grunt. Grunt.

And Yabba Dabba Doo.

Well, I Asked For It

A banned member decided to call out my promoting my own broadcast on my own page
Um. OK.

I told you a few months back that I became an admin for a play-by-play group.

Or, perhaps "admin" is the wrong term.

Sometimes it's "babysitting."

It's been an experience of dealing with egos, attitude, and other emotions.

From day one, I wanted to clean the page of mostly rampant self-promotion but I soon realized the rule was poorly worded and led to headaches.

Some of that is personal for me. Despite what I do on my personal page, I generally don't promote myself on the play-by-play page. My thinking is that almost nobody in the group cares about any of my work.

Those who do are my Facebook friends already.

Instead I discuss things that I hope will spur conversation or I add to those discussions.

However, things took a little twisted turn recently. A member violated the rule about self-promotion and decided to argue about it -- publicly and privately.

The debate in my private messages was bad enough. Once it went public I could no longer support that person.

Not happening.

So, hey, it's a work in progress, and I said that from the first day I came aboard.

When it settles down, I enjoy being an active part of something that means so much to me. We're still lacking conversations about technique, history, styles, and so on.

And, to be blunt, I think there should be some better discussions about criticism, especially of styles and attitudes. It's the only way to make some understand.

I haven't agreed with everything that the other admins want but, again, one day at a time. Like I said, I promote nothing. They don't mind it.

Heck, I didn't even put the Renegades announcement in the group. Mike (the soon-to-be father) Hirn did.

We disagreed about discussions about COVID. I still think it's worthwhile IF it relates to play-by-play, but that has mostly calmed down.

I want to get members in there who have an interest in the industry, even if they don't do play-by-play, or never will for that matter.

But I see it as being part of an organization that I can help. I'd like to believe I have a lot to offer fellow broadcasters of all levels, even if they don't respect my knowledge of Vin Scully working for Red Barber in 1951 or whatever.

When it gets like it did today, I still enjoy it, but I look at it with a much different eye.

Yet, to sum it up, when it gets personal? No.

That, friends, is a bad move.

But, I asked to do this. The good outweighs the bad.

(By the way, he also dropped me on Facebook. I haven't been blocked...or blocked him...yet)

Nah. Not Tonight.

The Mets depart the field

Once in a while, we hit a wall.

I'm there tonight.

We know what happened yesterday, first with the NBA, followed by several baseball games as well as several individual players.

Today, a few more baseball games were added, as well as the NHL postponing the playoffs for two nights. The NBA is also taking tonight off.

The Mets took the field at Citi Field as if the game was starting. However, no pitcher had warmed up. No lineups were exchanged. The teams (the Marlins were the opponent) stood in silence for 42 seconds before the teams tipped caps to one another, left a Black Lives Matter t-shirt on home plate, and left.

No game.

My respect to one and all, led by Dominic Smith of the Mets, who poured his heart out in a press conference on Wednesday night.

I don't have answers. I tried to address it all on Doubleheader today. I wish it had gone better but I'm not the smartest person in the room.

We remain incapable of conversations. Last night on my Facebook page proved it.

I'm going to take the rest of the night off and continue to think about everything that I'm watching.

I have nothing profound tonight, but do I ever?

See you tomorrow.

No Justice. No Hoops.

(Sky Sports)

The rumor began yesterday, with the Toronto Raptors and Boston Celtics talking about boycotting the next game of their playoff series.

They were slightly upstaged earlier today by the Milwaukee Bucks and, ultimately, the other teams scheduled to play in three games.

I dutifully posted the details on my social media accounts and the reaction was exactly as I predicted, with me sitting squarely in the middle. Have at it, all.

For the record, I respect the players.

I've promised to listen and I stand by that belief. As such, I'm not reacting as I might normally do, and maybe my not doing "Doubleheader" today was for the best. That way, I can reflect, as opposed to reacting as the news was breaking.

(For sure, I'd rather be live to react to breaking news, but it's OK)

Would I rather the NBA play? Sure, and I felt "the Association," led by commissioner Adam Silver, had done everything to acknowledge the concerns of the players. The court was adorned with "Black Lives Matter" and players uniforms were allowed to include various messages of social justice.

But, after the shooting of Jacob Blake in Kenosha, WI on Sunday, those players felt not enough has been done.

Let's be clear: the video was awful to watch.

As I don't walk in their shoes, as I'm just a white guy who loves watching sports and talks about sports, I simply don't see where I have any business in judging, at least tonight.

Instead, I watched NBA TV with great interest. There's no question that the broadcast was slanted towards the players, and it's safe to say that it's understandable. The coverage was compelling and kudos to all for some fascinating television.

But, what is accomplished if it's just tonight (and, perhaps, tomorrow)? If it's just one game for each team?

The same can be said for the Brewers and Reds in baseball, who have also decided to take tonight off in baseball.

Do they simply make a point by taking a stand for these games or will there be more?

Is it enough that we're talking about it?

There are certainly things more important than sports and that's what these teams are demonstrating tonight.

Members of the 1928 Yankees stump for presidential candidate Al Smith

I know there's a belief that politics and sports don't mix. Trust me, I'd love to bury my head in the sand and not have politics in the same stew with sports.

Naturally, I just want to watch the game.

It doesn't work that way and, in truth, never really has. History shows that there have been many examples of the two canoodling.

The most obvious examples are Muhammad Ali, and the Black Power salute of Tommie Smith and John Carlos at the 1968 Olympics. But Jim Brown, Bill Russell, and many others through Colin Kaepernick and LeBron James have let their political voices be heard.

And now, six basketball teams in a playoff scenario in a "bubble" at Walt Disney World.

And two baseball teams as well.

It will be fascinating to see how this develops.

More tomorrow on "Doubleheader" at 4 p.m. on WGCH, Robcasting Radio, and Facebook Live.

It's Not Fair

We know this scene won't play out this fall

Yeah, I get it.

Life is not fair.

But, buck up, slugger. Pull up your "big boy" pants and move along.

Deal with it.

Yet, nearly six months after we began the dance of Pandemic Paradise, we're still here.

Remember when it was only going to be two weeks? Cute, right?

We'll be playing spring sports and look back and say, "Those poor winter athletes who didn't play for a championship."

It seems so charming to think about.

"The Renegades' season will be fine," I said. "We've got plenty of time!"

So naive. So so so naive.

And now, here we are with fall sports.

We waited for an answer.

And waited.

And waited.

And then?

Hey -- we'll delay it, but we'll play!

And then?

No, we're not going to play. We're going to push it back until spring, because the football committee says we should. The CIAC Board of Control will rubber stamp it!

And then?

We're back on! The CIAC says let's go! A six-game season with regional games. For Greenwich, that means at least Stamford, Westhill, Darien, and New Canaan. A full schedule will follow!

And then?

The Department of Public Health comes crawling out to say that they weren't invited to the party.

And then?

The CIAC says, "Er. Um. OK. We'll press the pause button. Everyone STOP!"

We're off.

And...

And...

AND?

WE'RE BACK ON! Get those cohorts of 10 practicing. GAME ON! Schedules to foll...oh...oh...uh oh...

And...then?

Well, everyone else can go ahead and practice, but the CIAC and the DPH will really decide about football and girl's volleyball! The DPH would like to make football 7-on-7 (so, two-hand touch) and have volleyball play outside (tell me, do you know of an outdoor volleyball court in Connecticut?).

Bw...bw...hahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha

So, basically the CIAC and the DPH have been putting on a carnival produced by Gov. Ned Lamont with CIAC Exec Dir Glenn Lungarini in the spotlight as he loads attendees -- athletes, coaches, and families -- on the Lunga Coaster (patent pending)!

There are twists! Turns! Chills! Spills! The best part of the coaster are the Lunga Loops that make you believe you're about to play before they swoosh you all the way back to the beginning!

Oh, wait, you mean, we're supposed to care about those athletes and students, coaches, families, support staffs, and teachers?

You mean, the very ones who are flying around on a sick, driverless roller coaster from hell (or Hartford or Cheshire)?

Everyone has an opinion.

Everyone has been heard from.

(Yes, present company included, in written and electronic form)

But, for the love of Marinelli, let's get a decision.

And, most of all, don't give me this nonsense -- this utter swill -- about sports not getting played in the fall being canceled.

They deserve answers and they deserve to play (if safe, of course).

Do the right thing by the ATHLETES.

You know, Glenn and company, I actually believed you were all trying to do right by the very people you're supposed to do right by.

If the fall doesn't work, then give them the buffet table of sports beginning in January and ending in late June (I'm spitballing dates). But -- but -- how am I supposed to be convinced that things will be well enough to play then? What's going to change?

I listened to the first couple of shows I did as this all got started -- March 11 and 13 -- and I said it was a day at a time then.

It still is.

But, you owe it to your athletes to make a decision and get this bizarre roller coaster over with.

Once and for all, it's time.

It's just not fair.

You're Not a Fan

The Red Sox have made a lot of pitching changes
(Photo: Frank Franklin II/AP)

Let's just get this out of the way: This is not a post to bash the Boston Red Sox or their fans.

OK, now let's carry on.

I just saw a tweet that boggled my mind.

Essentially it talked about how hard it must be to root for the Boston Red Sox right now.

As in, fans must be abandoning their beloved team.

Yeah, the Sox stink. You see, in sports, that happens sometimes.

I saw the Yankees be middling in the early 70s, become a small dynasty in the late 70s, and go through the mess that was the 80s before utterly falling apart in the early 90s.

The Yankees were, in short, a joke.

But I didn't run.

Ever.

While George Steinbrenner's decision-making (and he belongs in the Hall of Fame and you can all fight me) was ludicrous, I remained loyal, even as I heard how unsafe the south Bronx was.

Yet, I never had a problem at the corner of E 161st St and River Ave. I felt safe literally every time I was there, but that was George's MO for getting a new stadium.

At one point, a threat was thrown to erect a new stadium in the Meadowlands. That, friends, was the only line that I wouldn't cross.

Go to Jersey? Stop being the Bronx Bombers? That was the only moment I said I'd walk away.

Thankfully it never came to be.

I've always liked Red Sox fans (especially pre-2004, before the bandwagon) because they loved their Sawx. Oh, sure, we could ahgue (I meant to spell it that way) Munson/Fisk all day but we'd pawp open a 'Gansett and listen to Ned Mahtin call the Sawx on TV 38!

The point is, the Boston Red Sox fan was always loyal, and I'd be really disappointed to find out that bandwagon isn't quite as full.

But what it also comes back to is that maybe -- no, let's not give them an out, no "maybe" -- you aren't a fan.

"Fan," as in "fanatic." You live and die for that which you support.

You interest may wane a bit but they're always in your mind.

Well, a "fan" stays true. It's like a relationship. For the years of Cliff Stoudt and Mark Malone and David Woodley and Scott Campbell and Steve Bono and Bubby Brister and Neil O'Donnell and Mike Tomczak and Kordell Stewart and Kent Graham and Tommy Maddox, I never wavered from the Pittsburgh Steelers as they tried to find a quarterback to win like Terry Bradshaw did.

Enter Ben Roethlisberger. Finally, in 2004.

Hard to root for the Boston Red Sox?

Hard to be a fan?

No -- that's when the team needs their fan base most.

The fan that is "struggling" is the one coming up with excuses.

WAH! The three-batter minimum.
WAH! The runner on base in extra innings.
WAH! The seven-inning doubleheader.

And, yes, even...

WAH! The Nike swoosh. (And I still hate it)
WAH1 The awful Sunday Night Baseball broadcast (easily resolved with the mute button, and I saw an MLB Network broadcast that was so bad that they should just go announcerless).

But I'm still a fan.

However, as I've said numerous times, you are probably not a fan and, at the very least, should take the rest of 2020 off.

But, then I know you have to focus on trying to ruin college football and the NFL for those who still want to enjoy it.

Hard to be a fan?

You're NOT a fan.

Tomorrow is a New Day

I often post a picture on social media with the intention of it being a single entity.

Yet, many times, I post it, walk away from it and then...I realize...that's got "blog post" written all over it.

Sean heading to college -- virtually -- is a post.

Yes, virtually. Most of his classes will be online, though he has to go to campus one day per week. Those transportation arrangements are apparently still being finalized.

I was nervous back when I started college. It's human nature. I'm fairly certain Sean is nervous tonight, but a congressional hearing wouldn't get that information out of him.

I tend to surround myself with people who won't talk, while I blather and blubber about things.

Sean seemed  -- that's the word I'll use -- to make the decision to go to Dutchess Community College on his own.

I will tell you now that I wasn't happy about it. And, yes, it was selfish.

He told me in the car one day when I said we could take a ride to West Conn or Manhattanville (where Dave Torromeo said he'd talk to Sean about being comfortable with his choice).

Not necessary, I was told. His mind was made up.

His father (that's me) wasn't needed in the college decision-making process.

I also felt like he was making the same mistakes I made.

Just like with me, I felt like he had no guidance.

I sold myself short. I assumed I was a nobody who didn't need (or want) to go away. Eventually I wondered if maybe I should but by then the die was cast and I stayed.

No regrets, but I guess I sometimes wonder about it, like when I'm writing a post on a dumb blog about my son's college decision. A lot of things would have been different.

Eventually, I realized that Sean's decision was completely correct.

Sean, as I often tell people, is Sean. Sean makes decisions on "Sean's time."

This is his call (I hope) and I believe it is the correct one.

As parents, we want what's best for our children and we don't want to fail them. We also want them to be better than us.

While flailing around in the hotel pool on Thursday, we discussed such things, when my son told me in no uncertain terms to calm down. I haven't failed him or any other nonsense. He won't hear any of that.

But I still worry. And I won't stop.

His decision to go to Dutchess is absolutely correct.

It's correct because he wants to go to college and wants to understand what it's all about.

It's even more correct because he doesn't want to invest the money into an expensive school, where Dutchess is an affordable education.

It's correct because he's not ready to live in a dorm. Not yet.

Just like Westchester Community College was for me.

This semester -- and the following three, if necessary -- is his chance to figure out where he wants to go from here.

His friend Chris is also staying local and going to Dutchess. Their friend Will is moved into SUNY College of Environmental Science and Forestry in Syracuse and Sean is already looking forward to visiting him. That could be huge for him.

Then again, everything could shut down and Will would be back home. We just don't know. Thus I'm even further convinced that Sean made the right decision.

He's going to major in communications (he hadn't told me that officially until we were driving to Albany on Friday, so that was also a shock) and I fear that's a mistake as well. A lot of good my comm degree has served me.

It was, in the end, a personal achievement that I pulled myself through to get the thing.

And, sure, I'm terrified that he wants to be a writer -- which, as of now, means being a news editor. He has a mentor in Susan if they ever actually, you know, talk. Which they won't.

You can probably guess that this whole thing is on me. I'm no helicopter parent at all. But, I'm a dad, and I promised for day one of the split years ago that I wouldn't be invisible.

I want Sean to enjoy his college years. For all of the friends I have, I don't have friends from college, nor do I have "college experiences."

I hear about them. All of them.

I never bothered to get a ring or even a sweatshirt.

I want him to have that. Is that so bad?

But, that was the very heart of my issue. This isn't about me, and I'm not so narcissistic to think that it is.

He needs to log in tomorrow and start finding out for himself. He needs to make his mistakes. I need to let him do that and give him the proper guidance that I've always tried to give.

He'll be fine.

I just want him to be the best Sean he can be.

Traditionally Untraditional

These three.

It often feels like it was a dream.

We left the house Thursday morning and drove to Albany. The rehearsal dinner was Thursday, Meaghan and Eric's wedding was last night, we had brunch this morning, and we're back home.

I've unpacked and done laundry. It's like the whole thing didn't happen.

Oh, but it did.

The wedding was a classy affair. While there were traditional elements, it wasn't traditional. Oh, I'm not just talking about a wedding in a pandemic. I'm talking about regardless of masks, social distancing, etc.

There was some dancing that got broken up everytime and there was nonsense with the masks, including the ceremony being halted. Seriously, Eric stood and waited for Meaghan because the mask police made sure she had the damn thing on.

I snapped on Sir Andrew of Bridge Naming. I assume some were not pleased.

Again: I'm all for the masks. We're doing our part. But, common sense.

And don't have a nervous groom stand in front of loved ones with a WTF face on as he waited for his bride-to-be.

OK, so back to the actual wedding itself.

Put the pandemic aside and it was still different. We sat at tables, as if we were enjoying a country day of conversation as we waited for the fried chicken to cook up.

That's where the ceremony was.

But it was more than that. None of the usual wedding trappings existed.

I truly enjoyed it.

More than anything, I hope they enjoyed it. Along with baby Carson, they have created a beautiful life that deserves warmth, luck, love and celebrating.

Their wedding also produced my first Uber ride. A prestigious moment, indeed!

My sister (don't blame her for the upcoming Tropical Storm Laura) encouraged me to do so as we had to drive into the middle of the country of Westerlo, NY. We needed to go early for family pictures and we could take the shuttle bus back at the end of the night.

Laura and my mother both wanted me to relax and not worry about driving. I, of course, resisted. They, of course, won.

And if you need an Uber in Albany, NY, Omar will take good care of you, with his Jamaican accent and good nature.

"Dats What's Up," he said upon learning I was a sports broadcaster.

He took to calling Sean "Rob Junior," encouraging the soon-to-be college student to get behind the wheel and drive us back home today (no chance. Literally none).

It was a trip in that we traveled and stayed in a hotel, but yet it just felt so easy. Fast.

Albany is also another one of those places that I'm extremely comfortable driving and navigating in.

"We wanted to go to (insert store name)," someone said.

"Oh, over on Wolf Road? Go out of here, make a left, jump on 87, go three exits," I said, unflinching.

I also made the sad trip over near the Albany airport where Heritage Park -- the former home of the Albany Colonie Yankees, played minor league baseball. It was also the site of the first minor league game I went to, all the way back in 1991. Save for a view on Google Maps, you can't tell there was ever a ballpark there.

Still, it was nice, because everyone seemed to agree that Albany is a good area, and that we all felt we would come back.

Including Sean.

I guess it gives me a slight hope that maybe we can make some other travel plans before 2020 brings down its sickly curtain.

But, for now, we're back home with tales to tell, laughs to be had, and lives to proceed with.

The memories are there.

But it feels like the whole thing never happened.

The road home

Fabulous Desserts!

I need to know how fabulous they are!

ALBANY, NY -- It took 30 seconds.

Maybe less.

The Vegas bookies haven't come to a consensus yet.

Sean wanted a picture with the Erastus Corning Tower behind him.

We stood up from our table at the rehearsal dinner for Eric and Meaghan's wedding.

Thirty seconds, tops.

"Sir?," came a voice. "Can you guys put your mask on? I'm sorry. I know it's such a pain."

My eye roll was likely felt in Schenectady, if not Colonie. Most definitely in Watervliet.

I get it (and they eventually gave up because virtually everyone in our party of 25 or so knew each other).

No need to say that I've been a good "masked man" since mid-March. Not necessary. I neglected to put my mask on quickly. Simple mistake.

Welcome to travel in a Pandemic in Cuomo Country, just mere steps from Andy's castle.

The hotel we're staying at (a Hampton Inn) has been fairly fastidious about cleaning. Every door is marked with a sticker on a right angle. It's like the tape on the hotel doors of the middle school trips.

There are constant reminders that things are clean.

Breakfast buffet? HAH! Here's a bag with a cold egg and cheese biscuit that you can heat up in your microwave, a small piece of cake, an apple and orange juice. It was better than nothing, and the coffee is always flowing.

To use the pool, you have to go to the front desk, register, and get a special pool key (please return after you're done!). Maximum guests: 10.

So Sean, me, Michael, Ashley, their kids (code names Elsa and Anna), and Conor splashed around for our appointed one hour and forty-five minutes. Maybe (barely) more. Maybe less.

Hard to complain about any of it, considering where we were just a few months ago.

We're here and we are ready to celebrate the nuptials tonight at a wedding perhaps unlike any other I've been to.

Social distancing required (again! Wear those masks when not seated!). There will be a DJ who will play music...for...background noise. No dancing, or so I'm told.

So when you're, basically, allowed to eat, talk, and there's an open bar, plus there's no Yankees or Mets games on...and did I mention an open bar...

I'm just saying.

Again, no complaints, even about the Mask Maidens back at the rehearsal dinner, though a little more grace time would have been nice.

And, no, I did not make Sean put his mask on for the picture.

Sorry, Andy.

*****
Oh, the post title and the picture. Sean and I ran to the nearby Crossgates Mall to take a walk. As we walked in, we spotted the signs on the Standard restaurant at the entrance.

LUNCH
DINNER
LATE NIGHT
COCKTAILS
GOURMET SALADS
CHOPS
SEAFOOD
BURGERS
FABULOUS DESSERTS

So, Sean is on a quest to understand WHY the desserts are FABULOUS!

Sub-topic: Are the salads really GOURMET?

I doubt we'll get an answer on this trip.

An Early Start

The sun is rising and the car lights are still on. Give me all of it

I was up early this morning.

Well, actually, I really didn't sleep, so I was sort of up all night.

But I had to be out early this morning.

So as I stood outside, with a cool August breeze hitting me, I looked at the lone star in the otherwise clear pre-dawn sky and pondered how I'd love to be hitting the road.

North Carolina. Yeah, that's an August tradition dating back a few years now.

But, of course, that's not meant to be in Pandemic Paradise of 2020.

I'd love it. Empty roads, alone in my thoughts with maybe the radio to keep me company.

Watching the sun come up as the traffic builds.

Thinking about if I'm making good time and taking notes -- mental, physical -- of how the drive is going. Where will we stop? Where's the first Wawa? I need some coffee.

I've talked all about this before, but it just sounds so sweet.

It reminds me of sports and other things that we can't have in 2020 and how I won't take it for granted. Sadly, not everyone sees it that in way because all they do is perpetually complain.

Really? You want to throw the season out because of seven inning no-hitters? Shove that up your asterisk.

But I am grateful, and will be the next time I'm able to really hit the road for the bigger road trip. I long for the site of the Delaware Memorial Bridge around 8 a.m. after scraping along through New Jersey for a couple of hours.

That means a trip is getting serious and I'm probably not spending tonight in my own bed.

Of course, in the case of New York, you're in quarantine heaven once you cross into Delaware these days. At times, most of the states to North Carolina are on the "naughty list."

I long for new adventures, maybe with companions old and/or new.

Any travel in 2020 has been mostly close to home. We went about three hours away to Reading and Allentown, PA back in June and were still back home that night. There might still be a chance for father and son to do something before the year is out, I guess.

But, back to this morning. It just had that feeling of a need to do more than drive to Carmel or Peekskill.

The open road was calling and I couldn't answer.

It will happen.

It will.

Hot Mic...Career Destroyed

It's probably rule number one of broadcasting (although someone who knows far more than I do will likely tell me I'm wrong. You know, I'm not all that smart after almost 30 years in broadcasting and all).

**ASSUME ALL MICROPHONES ARE LIVE**

Many have screwed that one up.

(Hi, my name is Rob, and I've been burned by a hot mic a few times. Some of what was said came from me and some came from others around me. Either way, there's no excuse and it will always bother me, to the point that I'm always looking at ways to safeguard my booth.)

Anyway, tonight, Thom Brennaman, a veteran of well over 25 years between the Cincinnati Reds and FOX Sports, had an open mic that burned him about as bad as one can get burned...

(Oh, wait, sorry. Got distracted while this "old man" shows that he still has a few hops left in him. It took a little while for the corner man to throw the towel)

OK, I'm back.

Anyway, Thom is in some deep trouble tonight. The facts are all over Twitter and will be a story on the news tomorrow.

I honestly don't want to type the words, so I'll give you a tweet from Jeff Passan that contains the audio (and, sadly, the words).

Longtime Cincinnati Reds announcer Thom Brennaman was caught on a hot mic saying “one of the fag capitals of the world.” He is currently announcing the second game of the Reds’ doubleheader against Kansas City. pic.twitter.com/Uwz07eRIKv

— Jeff Passan (@JeffPassan) August 20, 2020

I actually yelled when I heard it.

Twitter, needless to say, has been on fire ever since, with #FireThom trending.

I will offer no excuse. I'm curious about context, but I will literally offer no defense whatsoever.

Somehow, Thom was allowed to stay on the air before he was finally removed, but not before the most awkward thing I've seen in some time -- a home run call during an apology:

Thom Brennaman casually called a HR during his on-air apology for using a homophobic slur during the Reds vs Royals game.pic.twitter.com/83ef3ucaNI

— SI MLB (@si_mlb) August 20, 2020

I mean. Just wow.

He's right. His career -- like it or not -- might be seriously derailed, if not over. He's called high profile football and baseball games for FOX. He's the lead on Reds broadcasts, where his father once ruled.

Curt Schilling has crawled out of his bunker to defend Thom but most are furious.

I'm almost at a loss to figure any of this out. Like, who says this to begin with? Next, who talks like that at work?!

A man of faith? Spare me.

I don't even have a final line to this, so this is it.

I Snapped

(Source: Murrells Inlet Garden City Fire Rescue/WMBF News)

It came out of nowhere today.

I lost my cool.

I've just had it.

You with the "But. Her. Emails" crap about Hillary Clinton -- FOUR YEARS LATER -- it's over.

You with the Trump obsession? He won. Now defeat him in November.

You with the pro-Trump stuff? Go win, if that's what you want.

You're each the reason I'm considering either staying away from social media or departing it altogether in late October/early November. I'm just trying to figure out how to keep this stupid blog going.

You -- ALL OF YOU -- are why we're so divided.

But I snapped today for more than just that.

I've just had it.

I've had it with people who say they care about the athletes, and clearly care only about themselves

I've had it with the perpetual whining. It's clear you want things only your way.

I've had it with the constant immunity that I see. Everyone gets a trophy! Don't pick on them!

So we're here.

I'm sick of where we are and where I am.

And I've said enough.

Fourteen Years

I was happy to call Ernie Banks (Mr. Cub) a Facebook friend.

Today, it's the podcast.

It seems like everyone (or, most everyone) is trying to do one. Heck, I host two and have guested on several others.

Back then, everyone else was trying their hand at something else. I was intrigued but, in my usual cautious way, I decided I wouldn't try it until I was truly ready.

The last thing I wanted to do was start it and quickly stop (you know, like my "Tales From the Booth" podcast, and I'm ashamed of that).

So, on this very day, I finally jumped in and wrote my first post on Exit 55.

It was Thursday, Aug 17, 2006 when I convinced myself to press "Publish" on a post I wrote on Aug 16 while watching the groundbreaking ceremony for the "new" Yankee Stadium.

I knew Babe Ruth was turning in his grave. I was turning in mine, if only because I knew part of me died that day.

I poured that sadness, rage, and bitterness into post number one, put online nervously at 7:00 a.m.

Two-thousand nine-hundred forty-three more posts have emerged since that first day.

I don't know if I'm a better writer than I was then.

I feel less confident as a writer than I did in 2006, I'll tell you that with complete certainty.

I believe there have been some good posts but nothing that great. Just a guy at his computer, writing down thoughts that are -- YUP --various and sundry.

Giving just enough that you "know me" but not giving everything.

I will tell that when I feel something emotional -- normally choking back tears -- I've hit a good note.

I've bled for you. Yes, true. I've exposed embarrassing things and sad things and poignant things and triumphant things and funny things.

I know I've written things that were dumb and, quite often, I said more than I should. I took risks I probably shouldn't have taken. I've written things in a style that has opened questions.

"Was that post about me?"
"What was that post about?"
"What's going on? Are you OK?"

I don't know -- when you get right down to it -- if the blog has been a good thing or a bad thing. Perhaps both, I suppose.

And I was truly close to ending it. I thought about it many times.

By 2018, I was down to just a total of 35 posts. I felt uninspired and generally worn out. I felt I had nothing to say. I also felt that nobody cared what I wrote and, in truth, the blog had become passé.

I read the work of Jeff Pearlman and Susan (she doesn't need a last name) and others and just felt embarrassed. I can barely talk, let alone write.

The words of my professor from my freshman year of college about being a good writer felt like a distant memory. Even now, I'm still stunned at those words. I'm not sure I believe them.

As we sit here in the midst of a pandemic, I don't know where I fit in, but here I am nonetheless.

I took a final stab at a couple of last posts in 2018. Once again, I planned to hit the ground running in 2019.

I had long considered doing a post-per-day and then stopped every time.

John Nash challenged me, even if it was halfheartedly. It was the kick in the backside I desperately needed to give the blog one last hurrah.

That went from being an encore to my second act, one that has gone on for 596 consecutive days.

I've evolved personally and professionally. My life was entirely different 14 years ago. Many of my beliefs were soon shattered.

I became a survivor and reinvented myself, with radio and my love of my inner circle sustaining me. But I also became far more cautious with people, and all of that is reflected in my radio.

And so, we will roll on into tomorrow, bad grammar, awkward punctuation, and other writing flaws be damned.

I thank you, loyal reader, for hanging in there with me. I know some of you.

I'm grateful for all of you.

Nothing is guaranteed. But, if there's a tomorrow, then I suspect they'll be a post.

See you then.

Elton John

Elton and Bernie

Reggie Dwight has had quite the career.

Renamed Elton John, of course, he became an immortal musician in the annals of pop/rock music. Perfect melodies combined with the lyrics of musical partner Bernie Taupin create a catalog of indelible masterpieces.

John's eponymous second album truly launched the performer towards being, ahem, Rocket Man.

For a stretch, from 1970-1976, Elton John did literally nothing wrong. Have a look at his singles from 1971-1976. There are very few clunkers in there.

Why is Sir Elton on my mind tonight? Because my A-Team partner, Chris Erway, messaged me this morning and told me he had watched the movie Rocketman. Given our nature of discussing such things on the air, especially during blowouts, he wondered if I could pull a top five list together.

Yes. Yes I could.

In no order, I'll give you five (and a few more).

- "Funeral For a Friend/Love Lies Bleeding" The first song (or songs, as they're two songs that were merged into a suite) I thought of. Pure dark brilliance for over eleven minutes using music for a funeral to morph into a breakup. It opens Goodbye Yellow Brick Road in the most menacing way.

- "Harmony" The close to Goodbye Yellow Brick Road finds Taupin's words optimistic but John's music foreboding. "Gee, I really love you and I want to love you forever." Something's up there.

- "Honky Cat" Saturday night. Crompond Diner. A grilled cheese sandwich. The jukebox. The sounds pouring out of it. "When I look back, boy, I must have been green..." The "WOOO" at the end can still produce goosebumps.

- "Mona Lisas and Mad Hatters" New York City is awesome. It's also raw, gritty, and not altogether as glamorous as it might appear, especially in 1972. Taupin's lyrics are very direct. I think of it almost every time I'm in the subway. "Subway's no way for a good man to go down..."

- "Your Song" Sweet. Saccharine. And that's exactly the point. It's Susan's favorite song, and the line we've both talked about many times is his stumbling over her eyes, ending with "Anyway, the thing is, what I really mean...Yours are the sweetest eyes I've ever seen." Some love songs just get to the point. This does.

Ah, but there's more beyond those five.

- "Grey Seal" Forget the Goodbye Yellow Brick Road version. Go check out the original version, which I got on the To Be Continued... box set is purely magical. The arrangement and beat are magnificent.

- "Madman Across the Water" This is the dark Elton John. The deep one of "Don't Let The Sun Go Down on Me." Oh sure there's brilliance in all of it but there's something crazed about this.

- "Sixty Years On" Religious references aside, I want to hear this on my sixtieth birthday. Just saying.

- "Tiny Dancer" I think I'm contractually obligated to mention it. I didn't need Almost Famous to teach me this, and don't forget "Levon" which I've always seen as a companion piece.

- "Philadelphia Freedom" There's so much I love about this song, from Elton and Taupin's writing of the song for Billie Jean King for a tennis team of the same name, to the song itself that so on point for the oncoming bicentennial when it was released in 1975.

- "Empty Garden (Hey Hey Johnny)" I was probably too cold to it when it came out in 1982. There was a run of John Lennon tributes, including "All Those Years Ago" from George Harrison and the tough emotion of "Here Today" from Paul McCartney. I get it now. I get all of them now.

We're all still knocking and no one is answering.

I realize I haven't even touched on "Saturday Night's Alright For Fighting" "Rocket Man" or "Crocodile Rock" or "Daniel" or "Bennie and the Jets" or "I Guess That's Why They Call It the Blues." I love every one of those and plenty of others.

Plus "Don't Go Breaking My Heart," which should somehow be a law that every couple should perform as a duet at least once. WOO HOO!

John's supernova dimmed a bit as the the late 70s went along and he'd have peaks and valleys in the 80s. I was probably done right after "I Guess That's Why They Call it the Blues" but there were often glimpses from ol' Reg.

Still, as the past 30 years have come and gone, Elton John is still there, with a catalog of mind-blowing music.

I'm grateful to first Chris and then Susan for inspiring me to do this deep dive.

The Pessimism Panel

According to Eugene Thacker on Lithub, these are the patron saints of pessimism:
Philipp Mainländer, Emil Cioran, Michel de Montaigne, and Friedrich Nietzsche

I wanted to give this post a subtitle: "Don't let the bastards get you down."

I'm truly trying to laugh more at those who head up the Pandemic Pessimism Panel (PPP), including a few writers, columnists and, well, just others.

Sometimes my patience can get tested. You try to engage in dialogue and then find your thoughts have been deleted.

OK, game on...or off, in that I'm just done with you at that point.

We're eight days shy of a full month of baseball season.

Some -- many -- said it would be done a week in.

Then the Marlins happened. "We're doomed," was the cry.

Nope. Still playing.

Then the Cardinals happened. "It's over," was heard.

Nope. Still playing.

Today, a member of the Reds organization tested positive. Nobody else did but their series with the Pirates has been halted.

And yet? They'll all be back.

It's ridiculous, but the Cardinals traveled in 41 rental cars to begin the process of trying to play 53 games in 44 days. You wanted to go to a casino? You wanted to ignore the protocols? Now you pay.

And you play.

Game back on.

Further, spare me the "asterisk" crap. This season -- same for the NHL, NBA, and anyone else -- counts all the same.

If you win, you're the champion. The PPP will continue to try to tear it down, but these are strange times. The ring was still be big and gaudy.

Not playing was never an option for the pros.

It's

A

Business.

Yes, there could be strange anomalies, like a player hitting .400, and we'll have to figure out how to handle that. But there really was never an asterisk on Roger Maris hitting those 61 big flies in 1961.

Did MLB have a plan? It's completely fair to say no. Did you have a plan for everything this year? It's completely accurate to say no, once COVID came along.

That's not to defend MLB or Rob Manfred, who has done a woeful job. He has watered baseball down in myriad ways, but it's clear now to see why the seven-inning doubleheaders HAVE to happen, like it or not.

Let me put it this way: I've watched probably as much sports, if not more, than usual since they've all returned. I've inhaled it.

I don't care about the canned crowd noise. It's a background sound.

I don't care about the cardboard cutout fans. I either ignore them or laugh at them, especially when you see something different in there.

I also don't care that the Yankees have not done the cutouts and have tarps on their seats.

One of the few things that has bugged me (besides the Nike logo -- and I'll never get past that) is the fake crowd thing that FOX is doing. It's horribly done.

I'm not bothered by the broadcasters that aren't on site, unless it's noticeable. I'm bothered by ESPN's presentation and in-game interviews, but whatever.

I've loved watching sports in 2020, because Babe Ruth forbid, I'm GRATEFUL to have sports in 2020.

I'll take it over nothing.

Someone asked a columnist (President Pro Tem of the Pandemic Pessimist Panel) if they even liked sports. I've asked that of another senior member of the PPP and their answers (or lack thereof) are garbage at best. Spare me how you've covered sports since Roosevelt was in office or whatever. That tells me nothing, except it's a job. I once covered the board of finance. It was part of my job. Doesn't mean I loved it.

The answers and the constant "Debbie Downer" nonsense speaks of people who don't want to work.

Most noticeably, it speaks of those who want it to fail so that they can say, "I told you so."

And yet.

Yet.

Yet?

We're still here.

The CIAC might not play this fall (and, my guess, winter will also be in deep trouble, because what's going to change?) They've tried, but I think there are PR and lawsuit concerns. New York is also hedging their bets on playing high school sports.

But keep an eye open. There are grass roots leagues springing up. Locally, baseball is nudging towards a fall schedule and will pounce in Connecticut if (when?) the CIAC shuts the fall down.

Don't be surprised if other sports do the same. If they can get the facilities and insurance, they will try it.

They'll have an opportunity for a broadcasting partner also.

I love sports. I'm thrilled they're back. I stay true to my belief: The PPP should take the balance of the year off and come back when things are "normal." But, then, what would they have to complain and be miserable about?

Delete my thoughts if you want.

The human spirit gets beaten a lot. Lately, it's been getting walloped almost daily.

But, thankfully, many don't quit that easily.

It's not easy, and we're learning as we go along, but...

#TheyWillPlay

*****
The co-conspirator, John Nash, wrote a simply heartbreaking and stunning post on "The October Weekend." He opened a wound on himself with a story of loss on multiple levels. I have nothing else to say, other than I encourage you to read it.

On The Air at Any Cost

I wrote yesterday about how I was taking a stab at seeing if I could get some sponsors for game broadcasts on WGCH.

If you don't know, WGCH doesn't run on good will. They -- we -- operate as a business, needing to pay for the usual operations.

A tweet just a few minutes after I published what I wrote last night seemed to refer to what I wrote and took an opposite view without mentioning the post.

It raised a few eyebrows.

So, let's climb into this.

WGCH, as I said, is a business. To an extent, as much as I don't want it to be, so is Robcasting.

However, do you know exactly how many things I've done "for love of the game?"

A lot. I just don't really boast about it. In some circles, people get mad at "free labor" but I have my reasons. So, let me give you a few a few examples...

Remember that Bottom of the 9th tournament I did at Dutchess Stadium last week? It earned me a hot dog, a bottle of water, and a bag of chips.

The work with Mahopac baseball? I got a (great) sweatshirt (and have made friends who want me to be their lead broadcaster for the school district).

The Babe Ruth tourneys? A program and a t-shirt. Maybe a sandwich and a drink. Then, families brought me a t-shirt from Maine and a hat from Norwalk and Rhode Island. I got Del's lemonade from Rhode Island also. Plus a sign that says "KEENE" from New Hampshire.

The Babe Ruth tourney in Stamford? I almost got heat stroke from it. That's about it.

The two girls state hockey championships Mick and I called? We barely got a "thank you" but it was about giving the girls the play-by-play coverage they deserved, and I stand firm on that.

Or TEN (the Trumbull Eagles Network)? I helped Jeff Alterman build it and he bought me dinner and had me join him at the THS football banquet.

Mahopac vs. Carmel hockey brought me a sweatshirt and a hat. Plus, again, friends and relationships, which evolved into helping out with working for them as a public address announcer.

I did boys basketball at Fairfield Ludlowe, where my friend John Dailey would have me call every game. He gave me a gift card.

Greens Farms Academy basketball? King School football and basketball?

Remember the Greenwich Winter Classic games on WGCH? Or a lot of other (non-football) WGCH broadcasts? Or the Greenwich Town Party? Or the Greenwich St. Pat's Parade? Or Doubleheader?

It's an honor to just be there, I guess.

But people remember. I'll get the occasional message, asking me to cover something.

I've built a friendship with former Waterford, CT coach Dave Laffey because of it.

Same with Mike Buswell in Trumbull, who gave me a hat.

I'm no hero. No statues or Halls of Fame are necessary. I love calling game. It's my happy place.

So don't be fooled. Not everything I do is that way. There are bills to pay. Child support. A car. And more.

I had an arrangement with the Greenwich Cannons and then just started doing games for fun, because the team and their fans deserved it.

And I love what I had with Fairfield American Little League Baseball. In fact, they (and the league) wanted more this year and they took great care of me.

There are reasons for all of this. While I certainly want my value, I also realize I'm building those friendships and business relationships. Personally, I get to keep myself fresh. I get to use new equipment and try different things.

I often get to spend time with friends (Jake Zimmer, Dan Gardella, Shawn Sailer, AJ, Kato, etc). They've been a huge part of these broadcasts. Not everyone wants to do it for free, and I completely get that, but many do because of the experiences and the fun of what we do.

And, perhaps most of all, I'm able to get out of the house. Sometimes, it's the closest I have to a social life.

That, however, doesn't mean I shouldn't be compensated. I'm not a kid. That would have been all fine and dandy in my teens when I would have happily interned and kept practicing to get better. Those opportunities weren't as rich as they are now. I love seeing what New Canaan and Darien have done. I want Greenwich, Brunswick, Greenwich Country Day, and more to do it and would love to be the leader of one.

I want people to say, "Wow. That's good. Really good. You shouldn't do this for free," and, in some cases, that's worked.

But things have paid off in helping to build Robcasting and getting WGCH whatever prominence I can get them. And I try to do the same for every group I'm involved in -- from TEN to Local Live to the Renegades. I have a reputation as a play-by-play announcer and sports journalist that I'm proud of.

Sadly, even in the middle of a pandemic, things must go on for WGCH. Personally, nobody will take much pity on me.

Thus, the post last night.

But, I appreciate the wonderful feedback I did get (and all that I got personally was positive). There could be things happening (Fairfield/Trumbull/Greenwich/elsewhere) but we know the virus is boss. So, we could once again be looking at some grass roots ideas.

I guess we all just have to stay tuned.

Love of the game, the craft, or otherwise.

Sports This Fall (and Beyond)

I'm not a salesman.

Really, I'm not.

There have been myriad attempts to make me one, so much so that my heart literally sinks and my stomach turns when it comes up in a job interview or work situation.

"Have you ever done sales?"

Then there was the one job (actually, there were two) where I made it crystal clear before accepting the job that I was not a salesperson, only to get into the job and have them try to force sales on me (one of them in Greenwich, and it wasn't WGCH).

Would a salesperson like me to ride along to explain what I/we do to a client? Sure! I've done it and it's gone well. But make the call? No. No. No. No and, if I haven't made it clear yet: No.


And so it is (burying the lede which might get me excoriating in some circles) that I come to you tonight.

As of now -- at this moment -- sports are on the calendar for the fall in Connecticut. We'll still awaiting a final word from New York.

I feel -- with every ounce of certainty in my soul -- that these games should be on the air.

Professionally.

In the case of Greenwich High School, Local Live will have so much of it covered and their product is great and I'm thrilled to be a part of them. But, the games should have a professional voice.

HI! (Raises hand!) Let's get WGCH (and me) involved as your "voice."

My story is simple: I have over 20 years as a play-by-play announcer. Nearly 30 as a broadcaster.

Let me lead the way.

You want a student involved or another person? Sure -- maybe that can be worked out.

But sponsors are needed to get these games aired.

If the games are at hours when WGCH can't air it, then leave it to me to put the audio on Robcasting.

Look, fans (most likely) won't be allowed but I (most likely) will be. Let me be your conduit to get the action to your radio/smartphone/computer/TV screen (again, with Local Live included, where installed).

I've believed that local media -- print/digital/broadcast -- matter now as much as ever to relay the sounds (and sights) of local sports.

I want to show you and your audience that WGCH (and Robcasting) not only is still very much alive but that we still matter.

Make me a busy man. Make me even sleep at the radio station if necessary!

While Greenwich High is normally our first priority, prove me wrong! Come on, Stamford, you guys once had WSTC. Bring on ROB on GCH (and, again, Local Live where possible).

Port Chester? Rye? Harrison? And so many others?

(And, hi Mahopac. Robcasting and I are home and awaiting your call)

Now, to be clear, I'm not speaking for Local Live. I'm saying I work a lot with and for them. If you have a Local Live installation, chances are I can run my equipment through that and make it all sound great.

Let's load up the sponsors. Get in touch with me and I'll put you in touch with the right people at WGCH to make it all happen.

Let's partner with everyone!

The message I got this morning told me everything for sports on the radio (which is HUGE almost everywhere else in the country): "Need sponsors for that."

OK, challenge accepted.

You've just received my sales pitch.

Let's go.

(Yes, I'm aware that the CIAC situation is rapidly evolving but with time being short  -- and hockey, basketball, and more still to be played eventually -- my message still stands)

They Will (Supposedly) Play

I'm shocked.

No, really, I'm shocked.

Dave Ruden tweeted earlier this week that the CIAC football committee recommended that football be moved to spring 2021.

I thought that the idea would be rubber stamped, with all fall sports to eventually follow.

Today, the CIAC Board of Control took the rubber stamp and threw it in the garbage. The ink was dry.

They are planning to play football -- and all fall sports -- in 2020.

There's just no way I expected that.

Look, I was very pragmatic about this whole thing. If the decision was that it was best to not play then I was willing to accept that. Many coaches weren't happy about the season being moved and let their feelings be known but it felt like it would be to no avail.

Athletes were also upset.

Media had their say as well.

Shockingly, I was a fairly calm voice in the room.

But, strike all of that and reverse it.

Fall sports can play on.

I went from assuming that I would have a crazy quiet fall to back to awaiting a schedule and figuring out how we are going to broadcast it.

I remain pragmatic. Is it truly safe? Is it not? The answers differ and I think it should be up to the players and their families to decide if they want to play.

It's also up to Chris Erway and me to decide if we're comfortable broadcasting (which we've discussed and we both feel we can do it and be safe about it).

Are the schools comfortable with us being there? What will the limitations be? There are so many things to figure out now.

Beyond football, I'd be happy to see more sports get called around my world, and I'm throwing the door open to making sure those sports get the coverage they deserve.

So I'll leave the complaining to others. I know this: I feel more comfortable with athletes together on a field than not on a field. But it will take a concerted effort to follow the protocols and be safe.

And -- I feel at any minute -- it could all fall apart.

Would I be surprised if they don't play? If this whole thing changes? No, not at all. This is not a business, as opposed to the pros, and even Div. 1 college football (let's be honest: it's a business).

But, I did think that the CIAC, much like the PAC 12 and Big 10 conferences, would postpone the season, in part because of -- wait for it -- "the optics."

To be honest, I wouldn't blame them.

This is a bold move by the CIAC.

One that I'm intrigued by.

Where, in the pros, #TheyWillPlay (and they will), this is different.

I'm in. But I'm fascinated.

And, maybe, confused.