Uncle Charlie, Mom, and me

 So Uncle Charlie died recently. 

I didn't know him but my condolences nonetheless.

Uncle Charlie's death caused his nephew, a play-by-play announcer, to spend a moment talking about him during a recent broadcast. The voice in this case correctly predicted a "Nick Castellanos moment" in which the play-by-player got interrupted in a serious moment by a home run. It's a callback to Thom Brennaman's apology roughly a year ago and the awkwardness of it all when Thom called a Nick Castellanos home run in the middle of that.

The video of Uncle Charlie's passing has garnered over 900,000 views thanks to being shared by Barstool, Jomboy, and thousands of others.

I come not to comment on Uncle Charlie, the play-by-play, and the home run call because it's simply best that I say nothing.

But it called to mind Sep 4, 2020. That was the day my mother died.

As I recall it was roughly 11:30 when the first responders and others left.

I was alone, except for those staying in touch with me on the phone. Lots of texts and calls. In the back of my mind, I had a game to call and still had to tell Sean, which I insisted on doing in person.

I remembered I had a game to call at 5:00 that afternoon.

Each person I talked to  -- Chris Erway, Susan, Paul, my sister, Shawn Sailer -- said calling the game was a good idea. 

In hindsight, it was the right thing to do. It allowed me to honor a commitment and get out of the house, which I knew would be difficult to sleep in that night.

The game -- between Fairfield American and Trumbull -- continued on and I felt like I wanted to say something about Mom. I couldn't script it. It needed to be natural. I wanted to somehow report her passing and convey that my grief was helped greatly by being with a friend (Shawn) while doing what I loved to do.

Otherwise, I would have been about as alone as ever. Sean was devastated and chose to stay at his mother's for an extra night to process everything. It's fair to say he would have stayed with me had I just gone back to the house but I didn't think that was the best place to be.

Instead, I talked.

I began by trying to tie things into emotional athletic performances -- Brett Favre and Paul O'Neill both came to mind. That was actually to build me to say what I needed to say. 

"I will just say this as easily as I can," I began at the 2:31 mark in the audio file.

I fear -- because that's me -- that it was too much about me and not enough about Mom. I knew I could find another time to tell people about her as I processed everything. I also wanted to just talk and not break down crying.

Almost a year later, I still haven't.

Regardless, that's how I handled it. I'm not saying it was right or wrong. But given there was no Nick Castellanos to make it viral, talking about my mother's passing while I was calling a Little League baseball game didn't exactly have the viral appeal that Uncle Charlie did.

All I tried to do was honor my mother and call a game, as she'd want me to do.

Because she'd want me to make a buck and honor a commitment.

Afterward, I had a late dinner with some family nearby and met a cat named Binx. Then I slept at my sister's place. Except I didn't sleep. I just laid on the floor before going and calling another game. Then I finally went home.

Less than 10 days later Binx the cat came home to live with me and we changed his name to Rascal. Or Squeaky. Or Beast. 

Life is weird.

But that's my Uncle Charlie story. 

Rest in peace, Uncle Charlie.