The self-criticism

 

March 7, 2020, was a Saturday, and Brunswick was hosting a hockey playoff game.

They lost, and it's really a social interaction that I remember more than the game itself.

I saw Jude Brower, a fellow Mahopac resident whose son (also named Jude) was a star on the Bruins team. Habitually, I went to shake his hand and he put an elbow up.

We were in a new world. The CIAC would shut sports down three days later.

That was the end of Brunswick's hockey season. Five days later, I called Wick's season-opening lacrosse win. I swore I'd see everyone for the Bruins home opener on April 1.

We know how that turned out.

And so, some 11 months later, I stepped back onto the Edwards Campus and inside the Sampson Athletic Center for the first time since that March day.

I was greeted by a security guard when I turned onto the campus, who laughed at my obvious need for a parking spot.

"Good luck," he intoned.

To my surprise, I lucked into a spot minutes later. This was quite fortunate because the Dann Gymnasium, home of the Bruins' basketball team, was being used for vaccinations. Instead of layups and three-point shots, there were little bays in a makeshift clinic.

I walked in the front door of the athletic center and made the left towards the Hartong Rink. It felt good to be back with almost a small sense of what things used to be like. I've been in this lobby numerous times and it was nice to be there. Through a window, I saw a practice session was going on in the rink below.

I reached for the door. It was locked.

Blast.

Always nervous that I might step where I shouldn't, I ventured down to ice level and found an open door to the rink, climbed the stairs to the balcony level that I call home for the broadcast, retrieved my equipment, and got to work.

Final score: Brunswick 5, Elite Hockey Academy 2.

The attendance included two teams, coaches for each squad, a few support staff, a trainer, a rink manager, and one meathead broadcaster.

As the game went along, I had my own critic in my brain. This is nothing new. I don't need to listen back to every minute of a broadcast, though I'll often check a few highlights. I have a decent sense of what I like about my work and what I don't.

I mumbled an assessment after the second period.

"I've heard worse," I said to no one, "but this isn't up to my standard."

The point -- shockingly -- was that I was willing to cut myself a break. It wasn't how I'd want it to be, but others might think it was fine. To that end, I got a few "Atta boy!" texts and messages and I appreciate them.

I had put so much pressure on myself and battled (healthy) nerves that eventually I got tired which, to an extent, made me refocus.

So, I'm not sending this one to the broadcasting hall of fame. I'm not even sending it to the Robcasting hall of fame (soon to open in beautiful Ashtabula, Ohio) but I'm also not berating myself for being a joke and wondering how dare I try to do this stuff.

Instead, I recognized the rust and found a few positive moments also.

I understood that today was the first time I looked at either of these rosters. 

I believed that I did my due diligence before the broadcast.

And, armed with this information, I can try to sleep and get ready for the next broadcast on Friday.

There could be more as I've said (add in next Tuesday as well) or it could be over quickly. It's hard to say. I posted a picture of me -- headset on, and mask in place -- online. I was told that it was obvious how happy and content I looked.

I was back where I belonged.

There are times when I've ripped myself for being bad (only to be told I sounded great). I've driven home in a funk over what I thought was a subpar broadcast.

But perhaps it was gratitude and a fresh start. Whatever it was, I drove home tired and content.

I ordered dinner.

It was a perfectly suitable broadcast and the next one can be better.

We'll find out on Friday