My ridiculous standards

 

Braintree/Trumbull (and members of the 2017 Trumbull team)
last night

*BREAKING NEWS*

I'm my own worse enemy.

I know. You're shocked.

It was day (since the night stuff is over) four of the 2021 Babe Ruth 15U New England Regional Tourney in Trumbull today and I was stuck in traffic.

OK. I didn't panic, nor did I mutter (much) as I sat on Interstate 84. I knew it put me a little behind the 8-ball but the equipment was already set in the booth and all I needed was the lineups.

Once I got out of the jam, I arrived in Trumbull with roughly 40 minutes to spare. While I prefer to be on-site 90 minutes or more before a game, I've tried to relax on some of that in certain circumstances. 

We didn't even have one of the lineups in the booth yet so I had plenty of time to pull everything together. I took a deep breath and went on the air just before the first pitch.

Then? Well...

I just couldn't seem to wake up or be coherent.  There were too many things going on.

Then? Well...

The computer froze.

Then it rebooted.

And my stomach turned.

Look, tech stuff happens. But I have these standards that I've set for how a broadcast should sound and look. It's one of the biggest reasons I get myself into trouble

At every stop in my career (starting with the softball videos at Philip Morris/Kraft in the 90s) I've taken stands on how things "should be" (dangerous words, I know). I had to let go in certain circumstances, sometimes I needed to evolve a little, and sometimes I simply couldn't win the battle (or decided the battle wasn't worth fighting).

But I knew -- and still do -- what I think things should sound like and look like. I have that vision. It's not some kind of obnoxiousness. It's 30 years of being a professional and even longer of studying the business.

So when I set the standard in my brain on how I should be on the air, it's a tough thing when it doesn't happen and it's equally bad when things that are out of my control (my MacBook) fail on me.

And so the cranky mood that I risked bringing on the air (which had already appeared in small doses) was heading towards a full meltdown. Nothing was going right.

I finished the first game and didn't flinch much when Jeff Alterman walked in at 12:45 to join me for the second game.

I didn't actually think he'd show up at that point but no matter. We jumped right back to it.

Before that, in between games, we got a visit in the booth from the head coach of the Braintree, MA team. Braintree had beaten Rhode Island in the first game. He pointed to me.

"People are loving the broadcasts," he said in his Massachusetts accent. "I'm getting texts from people I don't even know about it."

"Well this game was a tough one," I replied. "My computer crashed..."

"Don't worry about any of that. People love it. Thank you for doing it."

The small thing of those words also helped give me a boost. Indeed, the Braintree broadcasts have had the largest audiences by far. The town has actually promoted it. They -- and everyone -- deserve my best.

My booth mates were the heroes. They grabbed me a sandwich and a Coca-Cola. I don't drink much of it these days (I'm more of a flavored seltzer soul) but I felt it was the closest thing to a second cup of coffee and might help me sharpen my knife back into form.

Bingo. 

I felt a better surge of energy. The computer was running better. The second broadcast went just fine.

I cruised through the end of the game, drove home, and did my "Renegades Weekly" podcast. Zach Neubauer and I both lagged to bring this one through.

"I thought we'd be shot out of a cannon," he said.

Instead, he told me that I looked like he felt.

Indeed, I looked rundown. Haggard. Exhausted.

But relieved to have survived another day in the great challenge known as tournament baseball.

Oh, and the Renegades (remember them?) are back tomorrow. So there will be 23 more innings of baseball to call in addition to the 87 I've called since Friday!

Then another 16 innings on Wednesday.

I love the challenge. My voice feels good.

And I like that my beliefs are set to a certain standard. I like that I know how it should be in my mind. I like that I hold myself to those standards even if that means I'm too hard on myself.

It keeps me grounded and not a narcissistic clown.

The game remains the star. The players. The families. The coaches.

I talk.

I'll talk again tomorrow.