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Yet, if I did, tonight's posts title would be the title of my autobiography: "Don't Talk To Me When I Have a Headset On"
It happens every...single...time.
Yesterday it was to make the PA system louder.
Today?
- The stream was off the air.
- Did I have the rosters that they could look at?
- What was the address of the stream?
It happened today because Nyack High School doesn't have a press box with windows that open. That, frankly, is problematic. I could have worked from the booth but I had no way to run 1) a crowd mic and 2) my sound to Dave the videographer.
So, I called a great audible. I broke out the Sport Pod! My spidey senses (patent pending) were tingling that I should bring it with me this morning and I was quite right. Given I have two, either would have sufficed. In the end, it was brilliant, especially when a brief rain spurt broke out before the last (and longest) game.
Yes, it was a long game. Eighty minutes of regulation weren't enough. Twenty minutes of the first overtime didn't suffice. Ten minutes of student death didn't get the job done. No score after all of that. So, it took penalty kicks.
When it was all over, Clarkstown North had the win. Bronxville, Yonkers Montessori Academy, and Arlington were the other winners.
I won and lost. I won in that I called all of that and continue to improve a bit as a soccer broadcaster. At least there were no complaints to my knowledge.
I lost in that I'm in pain. My right hip hurt throughout the day. My right leg felt like it was tingling at times. Roughly 12 hours of standing on concrete (with breaks) will do that to you. That started when I did the same thing day after day at Brien McMahon High School for a Babe Ruth regional a few years back.
I'll sleep all of that off. When it was all over, Dave and I were the last two to leave the stadium. He produced a fairly brilliant broadcast, doubling as a director of replays and graphics.
I talked. Maybe not as much as usual but still a lot.
So, let's cut to the chase: when I have the headset on and especially when I'm talking into it, that means I'm working
Bring on Election Night, The Clubhouse, and everything else.
Oh, and Happy Halloween. Basically, I preferred calling four soccer games to being alone tonight. I wouldn't mind, basically, hyper jumping to roughly March 1st now.
So yeah I'm content to pass Thanksgiving and the other holidays. Want me to care about a new year? Make me believe 2022 will be worth thinking things will be different (read: calmer, consistent, and overall better) by the time it's over.
Today's game between Greenwich New Canaan needed no hype.
See, that's the thing. As broadcasters, we overhype things all the time. You know this.
But what needed to be said? Greenwich and New Canaan were two top six teams in Connecticut according to the media poll coming into today.
(The one I don't vote in)
But nothing needed to be set up as GINORMOUS or GARGANTUAN. I mean, why? Two great teams. Longtime rivals. The winningest coach in Connecticut history (Lou Marinelli of New Canaan).
Two legacy programs.
I didn't need to sell it.
Now, it wasn't the game of the day. That would have been Darien at St. Joe's, however that game didn't quite have the old classic feel to it (Darien won 42-14). So we had the better game but not the bigger game.
Now, I know I was tired because, well, that's me. I'm tired. A lot. That's a whole different topic.
But, as we hit halftime, I played a bunch of PSA's (read: free commercials) so I could just stare into space for a moment.
Exhausted. I could feel the weight of the game.
I looked at Chris Erway.
He agreed.
We all know I carry every broadcast on my shoulders. Not that Chris doesn't. He's a wonderful partner to work with and we laugh and have a good time.
But I've talked about this many times. I feel a responsibility. I feel it's important to call the game with accuracy and excitement while remaining grounded.
Sure, Greenwich winning would be fine. The Cardinals winning means more happy fans and more broadcasts for me. Of course, that's true. Plus the game was in Greenwich so that meant the home crowd would have been energized.
And, when you get right down to it, it's a Greenwich broadcast because they pay for it. That doesn't mean I'm going to change my style.
Another team's fans are watching. I feel a responsibility to call it with truth and excitement for them also.
Then there are the curiosity seekers. These are the fans who just want to watch the game with no rooting interest.
Lastly, there are a few who are checking in to listen to us.
I take it all to heart.
In truth, working at Cardinal Stadium can be exhausting because our booth door simply revolves on and off for roughly four hours.
There are people who want to chat, say hello, ask questions, talk shop, set up, break down, wash, rinse, and repeat. There are those who want us to play different music or make an announcement...and don't realize that's not our department.
Then there are the texts and messages I receive throughout the game. Incidentally, I repeat: WGCH is not broadcasting Greenwich sports at all right now. While my heart is broken about this fact, all I can say to you is that I tried. Someone else can take it up with the station.
Anyway, peace comes postgame.
So we set up our equipment. Today, I ran a small speaker into the PA booth so that they could hear the broadcast. PA announcers and broadcasters -- most good ones -- try to work in tandem. The wonderful Nick Fesko picks up on things that I say and vice-versa. So I set up a system in which he can hear the broadcast.
There are cables to run to Local Live to get them sound since they had to bring a videographer onsite.
There is the testing of all of this, followed by taping down of cables, etc.
Somewhere along the line, we like to get to the field. Today, we could barely get to the gate to talk to Greenwich coach Anthony Morello. Personally, I like to walk the field, listen to practice, get a feel for conditions, and see what I can take with me back to the booth.
And, if we're being honest, Chris and I really like the tailgate before the game. Why? Some of the best tidbits (and food) come from it. In that regard, 2021 has not been kind because we have not been to one yet.
I feel the sting of that failure.
So, take all of this and add in the magnitude of the game and perhaps you can understand why I grabbed food at Wegman's (again!) and came home before falling asleep for a short time.
Four soccer games await tomorrow and I'm so pleased with the number of rosters and notes I've received from the eight teams.
I tell prospective broadcasters to "be adaptable."
I warn them they'll deal with everything. It's simply the nature of the beast.
I mentioned that there was a schedule hiccup on Wednesday and I elected to go home. That's not usually my approach but I didn't think, given the circumstances, my audio-only broadcast would be advantageous.
A similar situation happened tonight. However, this time there would be a video broadcast. It just couldn't take my audio.
So, believing in the commitment and the duty, and given I'd driven to the site, I plowed ahead and called the game on Robcasting. I tweeted to the world to watch the video and try to sync it up with the video feed.
The numbers indicated that, basically, nobody did that. Sure, that's demoralizing, but it's also necessary to just keep going.
I will admit I had a moment where I texted someone and questioned my sanity. The response was almost immediate.
"Because it's your passion and you're amazing at it," they said.
I'll take the praise but am not so sure I agree with the "amazing" part.
Still, I used the opportunity to challenge myself because I don't think I've ever called soccer as a true audio broadcast. So I had to really dig deeper through describing. It's second nature to me for almost any other sport. I'm sure field hockey or water polo or wrestling or some other sports might challenge me.
And soccer was a challenge.
So I leaned on details.
Nobody listened? OK, not quite nobody and, to be honest, important people still listened. Either way, I saw the good in what I was presented with and was happy that I persevered.
I realized where I could improve. I also strengthened relationships. All good.
Tomorrow also presents a challenge, though quickly resolved. That 3pm start for football with New Canaan and Greenwich? It's now kicking off at 1pm (due to weather, I assume) but, if not for Chris Erway messaging me that he saw the change, I'm not sure I'd know about it. Regardless, I'm glad I do know but it just changes my day. In the end, again, all good.
And Sunday? Based on what's in my email, I have all of the rosters in question. But, still, among the classes I'd like to teach is Roster Preparation 101 as Professor Adams explains the importance of typing rosters in a spreadsheet format (Excel or similar) so that they can be sorted -- ESPECIALLY BY NUMBER.
I'm not looking to embarrass anyone (and I have far too many examples) but my oh my I spent more time formatting (and typing) things as opposed to actually learning them.
The last change to note isn't official so I won't tell you what it is but a game has changed days and a team has requested my presence. So, we're not closing or opening doors. We're just switching doors.
Again, strengthening relationships.
As for the rest of the night, I stopped at Wegman's near White Plains (one of the weirdest places to try to get to) and did a little grocery shopping. In the always-glamorous life of a broadcaster, I then enjoyed my dinner of spicy shrimp sushi po boy rolls from the front seat of my car.
Which certainly sounds pathetic and lonely and, in some ways, it is, but it did the job.
I drove home so I could watch the World Series and continue to hear/read people moan about the Tomahawk Chop.
I get it but, again, the more you complain the more it will happen.
It's so sad that's what we're focusing on but when one's life is...well, that and the other repetitive nonsense...then I realize that sitting in Wegman's parking lot eating spicy shrimp sushi po boy roll isn't all that bad.
Actually, it would have been seven had yesterday's game come to be. Well, check that. The GAME happened. The BROADCAST didn't. I was there but, well, things happen. The game site changed and then I noticed the broadcast wasn't listed online.
I went home.
But tomorrow brings new opportunities! Then Saturday. Then Sunday!
So here's what we have as of now...
Tomorrow, 5pm: Hopkins at Brunswick (boys soccer). Oh, and I could have done water polo also. I've done it and I'd love to do it again.
Saturday, 3pm: New Canaan at Greenwich (football). Arguably the second biggest game in Connecticut this weekend (with Darien at St. Joe's as the big dog).
Then comes Sunday with four Section 1 (New York) girls soccer championships at Nyack High School:
10am: Bronxville/Briarcliff (Class B)
12:30pm: Haldane/Yonkers Montessori (Class C)
3pm: Arlington/John Jay East Fishkill (Class AA and, yes, John Jay is where Sean went to school)
5:30pm: Clarkstown North/Rye (Class A)
There are obviously challenges with all of this. My brethren in the biz would be having a heart attack because they can't spend the 20 hours per game or whatever that it is they do.
Hell, I had enough difficulty finding who won the semifinal games tonight in Section 1 girls soccer. Then I hunted down a contact for each of the EIGHT teams and sent a group email to request rosters and any other information. From there, I know Kevin Devaney, Jr can help me with a few tidbits (for instance, I already learned that Albertus Magnus losing in the semifinals to Clarkstown North was huge!).
Sometimes, the Twitter world can step up also. So it will come together. When I did this same day in 2019, I walked in with no rosters. That is correct. Zero. I had to scramble, working with the PA announcer that day. I made it work.
Incidentally, it took eight rounds of penalty kicks for Clarkstown North to win that game against Albertus Magnus.
Keep in mind I'm covering some of these schools for the first time and working games at a site I've never worked at (Nyack High School). From there, I don't know what my space will be or what kind of internet/cell service I'll have or who my cameraperson will be.
As for Brunswick/Hopkins, I'm trying to get a roster from the Hilltoppers as we speak for tomorrow night.
My point is there's an overwhelming amount of things to consider, from the broadcast itself and the info I can assemble to making sure I have enough food and drink to survive.
Of course, there's also the matter of my voice. Honey lemon drops for the win!
Next week will be no easier. Election Night awaits (again) along with my 53rd FCIAC Championship call, this one in boys soccer (my fourth). Then we'll head to Danbury High School on Friday for the Cardinals and Hatters in football. Next Saturday will (likely) take me to Avon Old Farms for Brunswick football.
A week later will bring on more Section 1 sports, with two football championship calls at Arlington High School.
So, yeah, it's a lot of juggling assignments.
I won't need anyone to fill in for me.
I've got this.
Oh and I'll be working most of these games alone unless something changes.
Now I have to print the scorecards and those rosters and anything else. And I have to keep it all organized.
It's absolutely stunning to me that I was ever questioned in my career about this. Stunning.
And I still have a podcast to edit.
And the GYFL (youth football) is reaching out.
It's a wonderful time of the year.
(PS, Hopkins has already sent me a roster. Thanks, Coach!)
As I feel like I've hit a bit of a writing dead end, I have to allow myself to occasionally just go with a picture. Maybe I can be inspired by that image and break it down some. Maybe it needs to just be the image itself.
I have to allow myself to not be "OK," you know?
Today is National Black Cat Day and I, of course, have a black cat. Depending on the mood, his name is Rascal. Or Squeaky. Or "The Beast" (you have to see him to understand). Or "Walter" (from the Chevy commercial).
Here's the thing about "Walter." Sean and I often tell Rascal, "You're a cat!"
As if he doesn't know it.
But it's a running gag, as we often beg Rascal to change. "Be a dog today!" I've said to him.
So when the "Walter" commercial came out, it made Sean and I laugh that much harder. Add in that the Renegades played it every night before home games. You better believe -- every night -- Sean and I stopped what we were doing and listened as the man in the commercial announced that there wasn't anything special about Walter the Cat. We've seen Walter the Cat wrangle cows and help with hunting and other things.
The man looks at another gentleman in the commercial, who has been admiring Walter and not his, ahem, Chevy Silverado pickup truck.
"What's so great about him? He doesn't have a workspace," our man says.
The other man, fishing pole in hand, looks befuddled as Walter's human responds.
"He's a cat."
He then tells Walter to go get some firewood.
I've told Rascal to do the same. Or to go to the grocery store. Or do the laundry or dishes or mow the lawn.
Alas, he won't.
He's a cat.
Blurry pic that was too funny to not share. Because he's a cat.
I've seen them all in one form or another since 1975.
I'd prefer to think of my happy World Series memories, some of which I've written about here on this World Championship Blog*.
*Of course it's not but I can dream (or just parody myself).
I think back on that first one I watched and Carlton Fisk's dramatic home run in Game 6. You know I didn't see that live since it was very late at night, but still.
I think back on 1977 and Reggie (for which I was allowed to stay up late) and how I had to muzzle my excitement when it was all over so that I didn't wake my father up.
The next year produced Graig Nettles and Russell F. Dent. No, "F" isn't his real middle initial and nobody calls him "Russell." He's "Bucky."
It felt like it would be an annual event with the Yankees but, instead, the Orioles were the dominant team as the older Yankees stumbled before Thurman Munson died. Mad at Baltimore and, given I was a Steelers fan, I latched onto the Pirates and, to this day, the 1979 "We Are Family" team is still my favorite non-Yankees bunch, led by "Pops" Stargell (RIP).
The 80s were...tough. I loved seeing Tug and Schmidt and the Phils takedown the Royals in 1980. As for 1981? I don't hate the Dodgers as much as I used to. That's all I'll say.
Then came the wilderness. The Cardinals...Orioles...Tigers...and on and on into a wasteland.
Surely the Yankees could have grabbed a wild card along the way but it didn't exist. It was win the division or bust.
I watched the Twins beat the Braves in '91 (still the best World Series I've seen). I watched the Blue Jays win two straight.
I kept dreaming. It was waiting. It would happen in 1994.
The Yankees led the American League East in August. Jimmy Key was dominating. Paul O'Neill led the league in hitting. Don Mattingly was going to the playoffs! Yankees/Expos World Series!
And then? Greed. The strike. No baseball. No World Series for the first time since 1904.
And when they came back in 1995, Mattingly got to the playoffs but no World Series.
Then came the simply glorious ride of 1996. The clinching of the American League East against the Brewers in game one of a doubleheader that I raced across Croton Falls Road to get home to my apartment to see the end of (narrator: "He didn't make it.").
Then beating the Rangers.
Then the Orioles.
Nobody will feel any pity on a Yankees fan but they were back in the Classic for the first time in 14 years. Now it was time to vanquish the 18 years between titles...against the Braves, who at that point was considered the Team of the 90s.
That would change. But not so fast.
Game 1. Oh I was so excited. So ready.
And it was 8-0 Braves after three. Final: 12-1.
But it's one game! Shake it off! Go get 'em in Game 2!
Atlanta 4, New York 0.
But things changed in Atlanta. The Yankees found some life and won Game 3 behind a gusty performance by David Cone.
Then Game 4, which started with me (barely paying attention) in my college photography class. I absolutely did have an earbud in listening to the game and I'm not sure I remotely cared. But when the Yankees were down 6-0 it didn't feel worth it. They were going to go down three games to one.
Still...as I drove home, they chipped away. They got it to 6-3. I stood in amazement in my apartment as Jim Leyritz tied it in the 8th inning. It was heart-stopping but they won 8-6 and the series was tied.
Game five. Win this and they could wrap it up in New York. A nail-biting 1-0 win sealed it.
It leads us to 25 years ago tonight: Oct 26, 1996. Nervous. Anxious. I wound up spending the night at a friend's house in Yonkers as opposed to at home. I felt bad about that for some time.
Let's just say I don't anymore.
I needed to step away from my friends and others after the final out to let everything just flow. It meant that much.
Add in 1998 and 1999 and it's safe to say the Braves were not the Team of the 90s after all.
Then, on Oct 26, 2000, Luis Sojo hit a 400-hopper up the middle to drive in two runs in the ninth inning of Game 5. Not long after, Mike Piazza hit a ball that looked like would result in a tie game.
Not even close. The Yankees were champions again. I don't remember what team they played.
I can tell you why that 2000 World Series was the most miserable.
I know you know the song "Lovely Day." It's in lots of commercials lately. Performed by the great Bill Withers, it's the back end of the chorus is the iconic part of the song.
A lovely day (lovely day, lovely day, lovely day, lovely day)
(Lovely day, lovely day, lovely day, lovely day)
A lovely day (lovely day, lovely day, lovely day, lovely day)
(Lovely day, lovely day, lovely day, lovely day)
Well, today is a boring day (boring day, boring day, boring day, boring day).
When you rely on freelance jobs, you're bound to hit lulls.
So I worked all night Thursday into Friday, then called Greenwich/Trumbull on Friday and Brunswick/Andover on Saturday.
Sunday was a catch-up around the house and a chance to sleep.
Today? No jobs.
So Sean and I went to the grocery store and I did "Doubleheader." Otherwise, it was a quiet day.
Or boring.
It will pick up with an insane end to the week, as I've got a lot of games on the horizon. There might be upwards of six (!) soccer games before the end of Sunday as it looks like I've been tagged to call the New York Section 1 girls soccer championships.
Down the road, I think I'm also going to get to call some Section 1 football titles as well. If I can't call the FCIAC Championship (damn you, Connecticut), well...
OK, let's stay on that. I realize my name is dirt in other parts of Connecticut for numerous reasons and one of them is because I continue to believe in the FCIAC Championship. Look, I called 11 of them between 2000-2015 and they were a blast. So, can you blame me? They meant so much to the people around Fairfield County. It was always a crowded, boisterous atmosphere.
Other conferences had championship games but, somehow, the FCIAC just seemed to be another level.
So it's Braves/Astros for all the waffles in the 117th edition of the World Series.
It means seven games of "I don't want the cheaters to win."
Seven editions of trash can references.
Seven times the whining about the Tomahawk Chop.
Seven instances of references to low IQs and other Southern stereotypes.
Huh. Funny how stereotypes are OK until they're not.
It's OK. I'm here for all of it.
I'm here for the "virtue signaling" over the chop. See, here's the thing about that. Whether right or wrong, the chop will persist because people are funny about being told what to do. The more people (and the media) whine about it, the more Braves fans will keep doing it.
"Oh, wait," Braves fan Colt from Barnesville says. "Y'all don't like when we do the chop? Well, then we'll do it some more! Let's get some more Terrapin beer, y'all!"
Now, you might say that TBS (or Fox, who will broadcast the Series) shouldn't show the chop. Well, sure, OK, no crowd shots. But you'll know they're still doing it. You can hear the droning chant.
Oh and the deliciousness of watching Rob Manfred marching into Atlanta (awkward phrasing, I know) after having taken the All-Star Game from The A in the first place. Imagine if he has to hand the trophy to the Braves at Truist Park? NHL Commissioner Gary Bettman will be amazed, given he has been the gold standard for being booed.
Now, let's go to Houston. Look, we know what they did. There's no way I can excuse it, though I can't buy into "the Yankees would have won the World Series in 2017 if the Astros didn't cheat" stuff. About the only thing I'll sort of buy is that Aaron Judge probably would have been the MVP.
Still, that doesn't produce a title.
No, I haven't personally forgiven any of it but it's also just time to move along. The court of public opinion will generally treat the Astros much like it treats Barry Bonds, etc. That is to say, it happened, but it's looked at with a skeptical eye at best.
Forgive? Meh. Forget? No shot. Obsess over it? It's unhealthy.
To be fair, how can one truly root against Dusty Baker? I mean, I get how in this case, but he was actually the perfect choice to manage the Astros.
There's been much talk of Carlos Correa becoming a Yankee next year, and if Yankees fans can handle that. I saw Wade Boggs and Johnny Damon (Red Sox heroes both) come to New York and have an impact on championship teams. Other enemies have come here (heck, Babe Ruth was once an enemy and that worked out just fine). I think we'll all survive if Correa puts on pinstripes.
So, our largely miserable society, which seems to long for wallowing, will have much to detest. Joe Buck, John Smoltz, A-Rod, Big Papi, the Braves, the Astros, trash cans, tomahawks, social justice, team names, and fan behavior, will all be on full blast.
Oh, yeah, and the actual games will also get discussed.
The winner? Baseball! Talk it all up! Have at it. I'll be making the popcorn to observe all of it.
Another winner? Waffle House! There's a Waffle House in Truist Park (so Bill Plaschke can, well whatever he does). But...Hoston also has plenty of Waffle Houses in the area. So there's plenty to go around!
Who am I rooting for? BASEBALL! A fierce series that might go seven games.
But...you probably don't have a heart if you don't like Freddie Freeman, and Brian Snitker is a baseball lifer who never gave up. I have a soft spot for people like that.
And Atlanta is the home of Waffle House. Which I might have just mentioned above.
I expect the Astros to win which will have me leaning towards the Braves for the drama/underdog factor. Plus it will upset some fans more if the Braves win and, well, yeah, that's fun.
No matter what there will be plenty of outrage.
And maybe a few exhilarating moments of baseball.
I'm ready for the next chapter in the history of the Fall Classic.
Somewhere near Andover, MA -- I tried. Really, I did.
I took the trip to here to call Brunswick's game against Phillips Academy.
The game? 40-0, Bruins. Brunswick had five takeaways in the first half -- four in the first quarter -- and the victory was never in doubt. I enjoyed the experience.
But there's the matter of where I called the game from. You see, there's a two-level "booth" where coaches and assorted personnel go to call the game.
However, there's also a spiral staircase that one must ascend -- and descend -- to reach each level. Did I mention the staircase hangs off the back of the bleachers?
"Don't look down."
Now, the truth is, I love a good observation point. If I feel safe, I have no problem enjoying a view. But ladders and the like? Oh, no. No. No. No.
So the initial plan was that I would call the game from the top level of that monstrosity. I'd be up there with assistant coach Wayne McGillicuddy as well as Gus the cameraman extraordinaire.
Then I really began to look at it. Uh oh.
Wayne mentioned he's not a fan of heights. I admitted I'm not either.
But, up he went. I let him get upstairs and pondered things before I began climbing. I decided I would only take my backpack, figuring I'd need to come back down for the equipment bag and a bathroom break before kickoff.
My mind was totally playing me. I began to climb.
"Don't look down," I repeated as I spiraled upstairs.
I got up top and looked at Wayne.
"I don't know about this," I said.
"Yeah, me neither, and I felt it shake," he said.
"Nope. Nope. Nope Nope."
I felt a sense of a panic attack. My breathing was short. I felt weak.
I grabbed onto the railing and began spiraling back down.
My legs were wobbly.
"Nope," I repeated.
That took care of that. I set up down below next to the official running the scoreboard and the young PA announcer, who had never been an announcer before. He was a player who was offered the duty.
"I'm just repeating what you're saying," he told me.
I told him to keep doing what he was doing and have fun.
He thanked me for the advice.
I'm on the bus now as we work our way back to Greenwich before making the trip home.
A long day.
A good day.
A good weekend for Brunswick and Greenwich football with both picking up definitive victories.
I've been up since 2:05 -- though I've been up on and off for hours.
So, as promised, here we are.
I've already vacuumed, in case you were wondering.
I've shaved.
I'm sipping cup of coffee number one.
I've also heard a rumor that the deposition will be four hours. Now, that could be four hours total or four hours on the record.
My understanding is that all of us on this job are either in Eastern time zone in the US or in Europe.
Keep in time I'm legally not allowed to tell you other details of the job in question, so I've tried to explain the basics. I'm the videographer for a court deposition online.
It's more mentally taxing than one might think but I'm quite sure there are some that look down on the gig.
Frankly, I'm fairly good at it, mostly because of my technical ability and my ability to multitask.
I'll never try to say that it's physical labor or compare it. Honestly, why does everything have to be compared? We do hypotheticals all the time, and they're fun (Beatles or Stones? Elton John or Billy Joel?) but, in truth, we normally don't have to choose, do we?
(Incidentally, the correct answers for me would be The Beatles and Billy Joel but you already knew that.)
It is otherwise pitch dark outside and I honestly want to get ready and go away. A road trip. Somewhere.
I haven't driven all the way to Florida since 1989. I'd like to do that again. The closest I've been to hitting the Florida border on the road was maybe a little over three hours in Jan 2012 when I drove to Charleston.
Where else would I go? Anywhere with open roads and good food and things to see.
Incidentally, The Cat is keeping me company, though he's currently burrowed under the quilt on the bed to my left.
While I'm basically throwing thoughts on the screen, please also understand in no way am I looking for attention or pity or, basically, anything for what I do. I do this mostly for fun. I started this thing 15 years ago because I wanted to try my hand at it. When I committed (finally, after numerous false starts) to the post-per-day concept, it meant coming up with content every day/night. Sometimes that commitment is tougher than others.
Some nights it's a travel log.
Some nights it's a slice of life.
Some nights it's just an outlet to scream or talk.
Some nights it's serious and other nights it's not.
There are no rules.
With that said, I've vacuumed, had coffee, cleaned a toilet, talked to the cat, petted the car, turned the lights on in the living room (it's helping me mentally as if there's life in the house), and stayed dedicated to the job at hand.
I'm hoping for a few hours of sleep later before I pull everything together to go to Trumbull. Greenwich, frankly, has a big game today against the Eagles who are always good hosts for us.
I've taken a few breaks from writing since I've started but I'm now looking at 4:54 on the clock.
Daylight will start peeking through soon.
I should be miles down the road. Maybe in New Jersey or Pennsylvania or somewhere else.
Which reminds me, my passport should be on the week (fairly) soon. I'm getting a new one, long after my first one expired. Big travel on the docket for 2022.
But for now? Just staying awake for this job before I make the short commute to bed.
I should tell you that, unless you're one of a select few, I'm probably rolling my eyes as the phone rings. I generally don't like talking on the phone.
So, yes, I rolled my eyes but I knew work awaited.
Wait. What? Work...starting at 2 a.m.?
Yep. I can log in at 2:30 if I wish but, at that point, we're splitting hairs.
So I've already napped once -- just after completing "Doubleheader."
I plan to put my head down again with my phone nearby to act as an alarm clock.
I make no promises that I'll stay awake for the whole job -- one that I hope is short. Then again, I have to sort of stay awake.
So, don't plan to hear me on WGCH tomorrow morning.
Generally speaking, I'll be taking it really easy until I head out for Greenwich and Trumbull football.
It's quite possible I'll write a post overnight.
I might vacuum the house.
I'm going to do whatever I can to stay awake while I work but the sleep both before and after will be priceless.
Why do this to myself? I ask that a lot but of course, work is work. The money is good.
It's my mentality to take these kinds of gigs and always show that I'm flexible. Plus I've sort of become known for my willingness to take a gig at basically any hour.
I suppose it's often me proving myself as well. Why I feel I need to do that is beyond me but it's what I do.
So if you're up in the middle of the night, check in on social media because you just might find me hanging out.
One of the great "comebacks" of the sports debate world (aka, "idiocy") is the notion that a fan can't celebrate their entire teams' history.
To this, I say, watch me...oh wait, you can't over the glare of these championship trinkets my teams have amassed.
I was probably seven or eight years old when I begged my father to buy me a baseball book at Caldor (a discount department store that was around the northeast). He gave in and I inhaled it. For the record, I still have it.
Eventually, I'd begin absorbing other baseball books, having moved onto the adult section of the store. I began living and breathing baseball history.
And, even more, I began to want to know about the Yankees, so I bought up books on their history also. With that, the years became etched in my mind...
1921 (Lost World Series to the Giants -- all games played at Polo Grounds) 1922 (Lost WS to the Giants with one tie due to darkness) 1923 (Beat Giants in first year at Yankee Stadium) 1926 (Lost to the Cardinals, Ruth thrown out to end series trying to steal second) 1927 (Beat Pirates in -- "Murderers Row") 1928 (Beat Cardinals in -- Ruth: .625, Gehrig: .545 and 9 RBIs) 1932 (Beat Cubs -- Ruth's "Called Shot") 1936 (Beat Giants -- Kid named Scully feels bad for Giants after seeing Game 2 score, becomes fan) 1937 (Beat Giants...again...) 1938 (Beat Cubs) 1939 (Beat Reds -- Ernie Lombardi "snoozes") 1941 (Beat Dodgers -- Mickey Owen drops third strike of spitball) 1942 (Lost to Cardinals) 1943 (Beat Cardinals) 1947 (Beat Dodgers -- "Oh Doctor") 1949 (Beat Dodgers -- Tommy Henrich walkoff HR in Game 1) 1950 (Beat Philles -- "Whiz Kids" are no match. Kid named Whitey Ford wins Game 4) 1951 (Beat Giants -- "Shot Heard Round the World" doesn't resonate in the Bronx) 1952 (Beat Dodgers -- Yankees win final two in Brooklyn to secure title) 1953 (Beat Dodgers -- Billy Martin has 12 hits and Mickey Mantle hits a grand slam) 1955 (Lost to Dodgers -- Jackie was "out" but safe and Sandy Amaros saves series with catch) 1956 (Beat Dodgers -- Larsen and perfect in final NYY/BKN matchup) 1957 (Lost to Braves -- Burdette too much) 1958 (Beat Braves -- Bullet Bob Turley is huge) 1960 (Lost to Pirates -- heartbreak of Mazeroski in Game 7) 1961 (Beat Reds -- Mantle barely a factor but Whitey and Roger lead the way) 1962 (Beat Giants -- Rain delays series and Giants nearly walk-off Game 7) 1963 (Lost to Dodgers -- Koufax is brilliant as Bombers are swept for first time) 1964 (Lost to Cardinals -- can't pull Game 7 out. Mantle's last WS) 1976 (Lost to Reds -- Cincinnati embarrasses...I hated the Reds for years. First Yankees WS of my life) 1977 (Beat Dodgers -- Reggie times three. So that's what winning feels like?) 1978 (Beat Dodgers -- Down 2-0, Bombers storm back to win in six as Nettles puts on a clinic) 1981 (Lost to Dodgers -- Bobby Murcer finally makes the Series. The result still bothers me.) 1996 (Beat Braves -- They're baaaaaacccck...behind Core Four and the earth-shaking triple by Girardi) 1998 (Beat Padres -- As dominant as any team I've ever seen) 1999 (Beat Braves -- Team is relentless) 2000 (Beat Mets -- 1st Subway since '56. Mets celebrate one win. Jeter HR on first pitch of next game) 2001 (Lost to Diamondbacks -- After Sep 11, NYY gets three stirring victories but loses on walk-off) 2003 (Lost to Marlins -- NYY had little in tank after brutal ALCS vs. Boston. Marlins played great.) 2009 (Beat Phillies -- Matsui shows he's a big-game player and Damon swipes extra base.)
Does that -- all off the top of my head -- make me legit? Can I dare to celebrate everything prior to 1976?
Yes. Yes I can. It's frankly none of your business how a fan handles this. You're entitled to your opinion, of course.
I get the "27 titles/history" statement can seem lame and tiring but, if you know your stuff, then you're very much welcome to go with it.
Look, one can't live in the past of course. It's the here and now that matters but you better believe I'm proud of the 27 titles and my knowledge of it all.
I mean, it's such idiocy. Does that mean one can't acknowledge any history before they were born? It's arbitrary. So, let me see if I've got this straight. You're not entitled to discuss Abraham Lincoln because...
Come on now. The fact is it's the only bullet you've got in the gun and I've just deflected it as if you've shot off a dud.
I can do the same thing with the Steelers, though I've been alive for all six Lombardi Trophies. The same goes for the Knicks (again, I was alive for both titles). I admit I've only been alive for one Rangers Stanley Cup (out of their four) but, again, it's not invalid. I'm fairly comfortable with Tex Rickard ("Tex's Rangers," after all), Lester Patrick, the Bread Line, Eddie Giacomin, the GAG Line ("Goal-a-Game"), and so on.
Oh, and about the "rings," they weren't handed out in baseball until 1922. Before that, pins or pocket watches were often the keepsakes. The Yankees got a watch in 1923 and didn't distribute their first rings until 1927 when Ruth and Gehrig basically ran the Pirates off before Game 1.
So, twenty-SIX rings and one pocket watch, anyone?
Waite Hoyt (right) as a pitcher with the Yankees and some guy on the left
The biggest thing I want to see in the Play-by-Play group that Shawn Sailer, Mike Hirn, and I are moderators for is conversation.
I don't care about what game you have to promote. Honestly, why would you promote it in the group? Do you want feedback? There's a subset of the group that gets all tangled when anyone is criticized.
So I don't get the self-promotion. Literally, no one (except for the original poster) cares.
What I do like seeing are things like the nominees for the Ford Frick Award (OK, that was posted by me and gained very little traction). I like seeing discussions of equipment and streaming platforms and preferred broadcast styles and job openings.
I like topics. Things that actually pertain to the production of a game broadcast.
It's supposed to be a forum.
To that end, I occasionally see things of interest but the comments are...well, not often my style, I guess. More than once I've just wanted to say, "You guys are funny," and leave it at that.
One question of interest recently was about criticism at the high school level. The person asking the question was quickly drawn and quartered for even suggesting that criticism should ever occur.
What my peers fail to recognize while sitting on their high horses is any context of the question. Yes, I say, there can be criticism, but how it's delivered matters.
My job -- first and foremost -- is to report. It's telling you what I see.
If I see a team go for it on fourth and 15 from their own 10-yard line in the first quarter, am I just supposed to say nothing?
Or do I phrase it like this: "An interesting decision for sure. Let's see what happens"?
After said play fails, it's easy to add, "That was questionable, for sure. I'm curious what (insert coach here) saw that made him try that."
That's a simple but effective way of reporting and even adding an edge of criticism of it.
But that's talking about a coach. When it comes to a player things have to be a lot more delicate.
If there's a turnover, it's simple: "You have to protect the ball there," or "A costly turnover."
In that spot, you haven't hammered the player by name.
Simply reporting the facts can be criticism (or praise) enough.
But my colleagues are falling all over each other to impress themselves with their answers.
Remember how I often say to stop trying to be the smartest person in the room?
I know there's a desire for rainbows and unicorns all the time. Yes, everyone does indeed get a medal. I also very much understand that these aren't professionals. Still, I know my audience and the teams that I cover respect my approach. I basically use the approach no matter where I'm working.
I report and I'm honest. The end.
Not everything in the group has to be a teaching moment from the pulpit. As I often say to Shawn and Mike privately, I don't have the bandwidth to go into that snake pit with them so I just read the comments.
From there, I mostly laugh.
For me, most coaches and athletes (and even families) know that I have their backs and I'm there to report the story accurately. If there's ever a line it quickly gets discussed but I can tell you that there have been very few of those conversations ever.
I could literally count those conversations on one hand and it's never a harsh one.
Still, I'm glad to see these kinds of topics are coming up in the group.
As for my Hall of Fame/Frick Award post, the replies dealt with those who aren't already honored with the award. My question, immediately, becomes "Who would you take out?" We'd all love to see our guy get honored, but the award is given once a year and there are many worthy names.
Let's face it: nobody is being removed. So time marches on and not everyone can receive the award. This years' nominees are all deceased and worked over 50 years ago. Many people wouldn't know the names anyway (Pat Flanagan, Jack Graney, Waite Hoyt, France Laux, Rosey Rowswell, Hal Totten, Ty Tyson, and Bert Wilson). They're all worthy, to be honest. I've mentioned Rowswell before as he was the original sort of "circus clown" of play-by-play.
Graney was the first player to successfully transition to the booth.
Hoyt is already in the Hall as a pitcher with Babe Ruth and the Yankees. His stories about Ruth during ran delays in the Cincinnati radio booth make him in a legend in Ohio.
Most, if not all of these nominees, have middle-American ties, with Tyson a legend in Detroit, Laux in St Louis, and Wilson and Flanagan in Chicago.
Anyway, that's enough from me for tonight.
I'm babbling, so I'll shut down and watch baseball.
AJ and Victoria are a week into their post-wedding life (though officially and truly married for over a year now). Katie and Marshall got married Saturday night in Connecticut.
The following morning, Ashley took that picture of me and her adorable daughters (and my great-nieces). Since I have a different take on family these days (you can't pick them) I needed that picture. I needed that laugh.
How I love to laugh with kids, whether it's them or driving toy cars and dancing with little Carson (my great-nephew) at the wedding or talking journalism this morning virtually with students in New Milford (Susan's sister teaches there). I just enjoy the interaction, especially if I can connect. I guess I feel that about all ages but obviously some are tougher than others.
Oh, the family comment? Family is tough. What you find out over time is that there is blood and then there are the people that you pull into your life and they become a true family.
All of that can be true.
*****
You might have seen that Minor League Baseball (aka "Minor League Baseball presented by Major League Baseball") has agreed to pay for housing for players. Of course, it's about time. Now, it would be nice to see players and non-players making living wages.
I appreciated every dime that the Renegades gave me this year. I loved the experience. Obviously, you know that. But that grind isn't for everyone, especially those who can't afford it. That's why I get bat bleep crazy when I see the utter insane entitlement who don't have the talent but still can afford to stay in the business. Specifically, I'm talking about broadcasters in this case, of course. I can discuss it because I see it literally on a near-daily basis.
I survived 2021 because I have other jobs that help me pay my bills and that appears to be the case heading into 2022. Still, I can't speak of insurance and that scares me. I'm often talking to people about trying to create the opportunities that will keep my life going and allow me to take better care of myself while actually living.
Lots of people give up on broadcasting because they can't afford it and that's a straight-up shame. I have love and respect for the grinders who have worked their tails off and don't give up but I also completely understand those who do give up.
So, yeah, it would be nice if a living wage wouldn't weed out those more talented but less fortunate.
*****
Staying with the Gades, let's wrap up with this video that I just keep watching over and over again. It's the 2021 promo video that recaps a whole lot of what happened at Dutchess Stadium this season. I can't say clearly enough how fortunate I was to have worked with all of these people (especially the guy at :15).
Assuming Zach Neubauer was behind this masterpiece (he hates compliments) I think he did an outrageously good job of pulling so much together. Not much is missing, to be honest, and it's impossible to capture everything.
But he found footage of Sam and the bucket hat video and Clint, who left us for Michigan, and of Conor and Spencer in the booth with me and Derek Craft with the chicken and a glimpse of Kyle MacDonald posting with Anthony Volpe and Volpe's dog and a collection of big in-game moments and a lot more.
I often dread doing audition reels and highlights unless I have them pre-cut (which I do with the Gades).
I've watched the video at least four times.
I miss all of it.
I miss all of them.
Speaking of which, it's almost time for me to join Zach for a Renegades Offseason Podcast (working title, of course).
Twenty-three years, many gray hairs, pounds, and one purple collar ago...
Before 1998, I'd never spent triple digits to attend a sporting event.
But I'd also never been to a World Series game.
Up until then, the Fall Classic had been in the Bronx in 1976, 1977, 1978, 1981, and 1996.
I didn't have any illusions about going to a game. I didn't have any connections or the ability to get Series tickets. Obviously, 1996 was incredible, but I didn't get to the World Series. I went to Game 1 of the ALDS -- a loss to the Texas Rangers.
I'd been to my first playoff game -- Game 1 against Seattle -- the year before. I still remember that fans really didn't know what to do because the Wild Card concept was so new. I called Ticketmaster on a whim that Monday (the day before the game) and got four reasonably-priced tickets in the upper deck. After 14 years of no playoffs, Yankees fans were in a frenzy.
A playoff ticket came to me in 1997 in the rarified air of the lower deck, sitting just a few rows behind royalty in Rachel Robinson and a local businessman named Donald Trump.
I discovered that one way to be in the loop for World Series tickets was to become a Yankees season ticket holder. That didn't mean getting a full 81 game package. It could be had for as little as 13 Friday night games. Tickets were remarkably affordable so I bought two.
Of course, 1998 was an epic season. The Bombers raced to 114 wins and an invoice showed up to purchase two tickets for one predetermined game in each postseason round. In my case, it was the first game at Yankee Stadium. That meant Game 1 of the ALDS (Yankees beat Texas, 2-0), and the ALCS (Yankees 7, Indians 2).
I nervously watched Game 6 of the ALCS at home, with the prized World Series tickets (at $100/each -- expensive for the time) sitting in a FedEx envelope, waiting to see if they'd be necessary.
Yankees 9, Indians 5. It was happening. I was going to the World Series.
My then-brother-in-law drew the other ticket.
October 17, 1998, was a Saturday night. There was a comfortable chill in the air as I made my way into Yankee Stadium. My seats were at the very top of the Stadium on the third base side of home plate. We were literally one row from the top of the place but I didn't care. We were at the World Series.
With the ticket -- larger than a usual ducat -- secured in a lanyard that I wore around my neck and tucked into my jacket, I settled into the seat in plenty of time for the pregame ceremonies, including the introduction of the lineups.
It's hard to explain but there was a different feeling in the air. Among the things I remember is looking at the old out-of-town scoreboard in left field and seeing it dark. There were no other games to talk about.
Tony Bennett -- a musical hero -- sang the National Anthem as the Yankees hosted the San Diego Padres. Sammy Sosa threw the ceremonial first pitch.
It was time to play ball as David Wells fired the first pitch of the game at 8:06 p.m.
The Yankees took a 2-0 lead on a Ricky Ledee double in the second inning before the Padres scored five unanswered off of Wells. The great Tony Gwynn hit a bomb to right and Greg Vaughn homered twice to leave me feeling sick as the Padres led 5-2 after five innings.
Padres starter Kevin Brown had been pretty masterful but, with one out in the seventh Jorge Posada signed and Ledee walked on four pitches. Padres manager Bruce Bochy lifted Brown for Donne Wall to face Chuck Knoblauch.
Of course, many remember Knobby had earned the wrath of Yankees Universe when he argued a call as the Indians scored to win Game 2 of the ALCS. Here, he had a chance to redeem himself.
In the upper deck, I braced against the chill. I had earlier declined to participate in the joint being offered around our row, instead wanting the high of the Yankees winning this game. To do so, Knoblauch needed to answer the bell.
Ding. Knobby lifted a fly ball down the left-field line that went over the fence to tie the game.
We were now on the launch pad of delirium but the Yankees weren't done. Overrated Derek Jeter (HA!) hit the next pitch up the middle. With that, Wall was gone, replaced by veteran lefty Mark Langston, who induced a fly out from Paul O'Neill.
A wild pitch moved Jeter to second before Bernie Williams was intentionally walked. Chili Davis was next and the Chili Dog worked out a full-count walk to load the bases.
Up stepped Constantino Martinez.
Remember, Tino had struggled mightily in the postseason (he was 2-for-19 in the '98 ALCS). Langston worked carefully against the left-handed batter dropping a 2-2 pitch at the knees for strike three.
At least I thought it was but when umpire Rich Garcia didn't punch Tino out, my knees bent and I groaned with a smile. The whole crowd breathed a collective sigh. It looked like a huge break.
For what it's worth, Langston didn't gripe. Catcher Carlos Hernandez also stayed quiet. Bochy looked befuddled in the San Diego dugout.
Regardless, the count was now full. It was a 5-5 game. The Stadium was electric. Ball four meant the Yankees would take the lead. Strike three or any out meant the tie carried into the eighth.
Twenty-one seconds passed between pitches. My heart raced. This was the very reason I wanted those season tickets. This was it.
Langston got his sign and surveyed the runners. Jeter carried the lead run off third with Bernie and Chili behind him.
Langston had to give Tino something in the strike zone. He couldn't miss.
He set and dealt...
and time...
stood...
still...
(Photo: Sports Illustrated)
Then Tino connected.
My body tensed.
It was a rising meteor off the bat. A line drive, heading towards the upper deck.
It's amazing how such a moment can be simply frozen, almost as if things have slowed to a crawl.
Twenty-three years later I can still hear the sound of the 56,712 in attendance. A normally studious fan, I actually tend to be more low-key, enjoying watching the reactions around me.
"Seven runs in the seventh inning in the first game of the best of seven World Series," Michael Kay exclaimed on the radio.
There have been 19 grand slams in World Series history (since 1903) and only two since 1998.
(Photo: Getty Images)
Complete euphoria set in. People were hugging and falling over each other as Yankee Stadium shook. The glorious old girl, opened in 1923 and remodeled in the 70s was literally "shivering in its concrete foundation" as Vin Scully said on TV during Don Larsen's perfect game 42 years earlier.
No, really. I felt it shake. I'd only feel that one other time: when Scott Brosius homered in Game 5 of the 2001 World Series.
The Padres quieted things a bit in the eighth as they closed the lead to 9-6 and the Yankees nearly blew it open in the bottom of the inning before stranding the bases loaded.
Mariano Rivera did his thing in the ninth and it was over.
My photo, as the Yankees get the win
The totality of the memories is hard to top. Sure, I saw the Yankees win it all a year later, beating the Braves to cap a four-game sweep. I saw the Brosius home run and the Bombers outlast the crosstown team in the first Subway Series World Series game in 44 years. I saw a no-hitter. I saw Roger Clemens win 300 games and surpass 4,000 strikeouts.
I was at Bobby Murcer Day and Mariano Rivera Day and Derek Jeter Day.
I'm fortunate to say, thanks to the season ticket program, that I saw a lot in person.
But Tino hitting the grand slam in my first World Series game might be my favorite moment. The Yankees went on to finish off the Padres in four straight and finish with a record total of 125 wins. They're regarded as being among the greatest teams ever and they top the list of the teams I've seen.
The streets are peaceful but there is a full day ahead.
The Cat (yes, I'm making him a noun) is sitting in the window.
A two-hour drive and a wedding and a brunch tomorrow and so on.
Y'all enjoy.
Or is it "yooze enjoy?"
Or what is it?
I saw an interesting exercise via the New York Times that could pretty much determine what my regionalism is. That is, what I say and even how I say it can determine where I'm from.
It's a personal dialect.
(I should mention that this was actually from 2013 so why it's making the rounds now is beyond me but I still got a good laugh out of it. I probably even did it at that time. But it's a Saturday morning with a lot to do so I hope you'll forgive me.)
So I grabbed my soda and my wedge (not hoagie or sub or grinder -- and "wedge" wasn't an option) and participated in the process.
They asked a series of questions about the pronunciation of "pajamas" (I don't say puh-JAM-uhs like I'm slathering some goo on a peanut butter sandwich), whether it is indeed soda or pop, and what exactly a drinking apparatus is called (such as a water fountain).
I mean, a bubbler? Really?
Of course, there's the question of an aunt. I'm from New York. It's not "ahnt." It's like the little bugs that interrupt any picnic.
And what is a collection of people? Is it you guys or you all or y'all or yinz (PITTSBURGH!)?
So many of these online "tests" are spam and ridiculous but this one caught my attention and, in the end, they figured me out.
My mother was born in Paterson, NJ and my father was born in Hartsdale, NY (lower Westchester, not too far from Yonkers). Now both families moved north when my parents were somewhat young but not too far to leave the dialect.
My father had his own small touches that I didn't pick up, such as emphasizing the second syllable on "Westchester."
I worked in central Westchester and indeed picked up the occasional harder "r" sounds that emanate from Yonkers into The Bronx. It doesn't happen often but I do say it occasionally.
For the record, the test said my "least similar" dialect places were Minneapolis/St. Paul, Salt Lake City, and Spokane, WA. Yes, I would quite agree.
Anyway, if you need a laugh (granted, from eight years ago) and have a few minutes, go ahead and visit the link.
I need to go buy comfortable black shoes and get on with the day.
I just read a post online about watching sports. A commenter chimed in and said they don't watch any sports anymore because of kneeling, etc.
Look, much like I wrote last year when people were complaining about baseball season being only 60 games (for instance), it's possible you aren't a sports fan or maybe your taste changed.
Now, look, there are other ways to embrace sports. You can go to watch Minor League Baseball (HI!) or lower levels in other sports. You can go to high school games. Youth events. There are plenty of options.
But, before you tell me college sports are much more "pure," you might want to rethink that.
As you know, I'm a music fan. I'd like to think I'm a bit of a music buff but sometimes I wonder if I'm not. I often wonder if I'm just a fraud, especially given I just don't really appreciate most of what's around today, to be honest.
But while my fandom for Huey Lewis is still strong, not everything he's ever done has connected with me. There's an album that I've only listened to once, where everything else is embedded in my skull.
The Beatles? Er. Yeah. That's never left me, and I'm not implying that Huey has. I just need to give that other CD/record/download another "spin." My point is I don't see either of my favorites as perfect yet they're both in my blood.
My own tastes have changed. I just read a pretty damning article on Eric Clapton and, admittedly, I'm still a fan of the man's music but am struggling with things he has said and done. Currently, I'm still trying to separate the art from the artist. I've felt that a lot over the past few years as our society encourages shaming for liking the work of certain artists.
In other cases, I just lost the love for the artist and the work for a variety of reasons. The CDs sit unplayed.
So, yes, I get it. Time marches on and we don't have to be the same person we've always been. Good lord, I'd like to think we can all evolve.
But to walk away because of kneeling? No, I can't do that. Look, I've been fairly clear on the Colin Kaepernick thing from day one (and let's face it, he's the star of that overplayed program). He continues to make news in a battle for relevancy, recently saying that he's still working out with intentions of leading a team to a Super Bowl.
I thought there was a point some team would take a flyer on him. In the end, no one did.
Is it collusion? Perhaps it is at this point but never forget he walked away from an offer from the Niners and there were at least two other offers at the time -- said to be the Broncos and Ravens.
But, and I'll say this forever, if any team thought they could win a Super Bowl with him, they'd sign him. Honestly, look at the history of sports. It's littered with not-so-great characters who were allowed to play if it proved to be advantageous to the bottom line.
Regardless of all of that, is it worth walking away from? I guess to some it is. There are still those who never came back from the '94 baseball strike or the NHL lockout or some other issue.
The thing is, the sports all keep motoring on. Most, if not all sports, are doing just fine financially.
So if your stance is to have walked away because of kneeling, business decisions, or anything else, then it's possible you weren't that big of a fan in the first place. Or it was simply time to change.
Maybe, in truth, you just got tired of it.
Many of you don't miss it. I think I would miss it a lot. I mourn the end of baseball every year.
But it's all about "you do you."
Far be it for me to judge.
In the end, it's a matter of taste, opinion, and principle.
I also have Greenwich at St. Joe's football this Saturday.
But, let's be honest, I made the commitment to attend the wedding and, like it or not, I won't be able to cover the football game. This has cost me in myriad ways.
Yes, I did have a backup in place and everything was all set but they backed out, leaving me in this lurch. I've asked around. Nobody is available.
I even asked TEN (yes, the Trumbull Eagle Network) thinking they might want to take a stab at a pretty huge game. They're not available.
So here I sit -- in Trumbull, in fact -- absolutely horrified. In 23 years of covering games, I've never had this situation come up.
It was the very reason that I hedged on this wedding in the first place. My sense of commitment (and, indeed, liking a paycheck) fought with my duty to my family. I didn't want to put anybody in a bad spot.
Instead, I put myself there.
Now -- lest you think I've completely forsaken you -- I do see that St. Joe's is aligned with NFHS, meaning there will be a game broadcast via video. This doesn't automatically mean that there will be voices on the game, but I've at least found something.
You know the old saying: "If you want something done you have to do it yourself." I say that with no offense intended to anyone but lives are busy, including mine.
I'll be back next week and for the foreseeable future for everything.
I Googled "random picture" and this is what I got. It's clearly the elephant in the room
Forgive me.
I'm having "one of those nights."
It's a night where I have topics but I lack time and perhaps the grace to say things without showing my hand.
I try -- I've always tried -- to live a very honest, authentic but graceful life. Some of that honesty isn't often graceful. That's the thing about honesty. It can be messy.
History is messy, isn't it?
So instead of spouting off as I'm known to do, I'd prefer to simply say nothing. I continue to honor the writing streak by presenting the couple of you who bother to read my daily idiocy with a post but I don't know that I have much more to offer.
Sure, I did The Clubhouse tonight and it was fine. It was a good show. Dinner was good.
Then I drove home and tried to listen to the radio. The radio played something I very much didn't want to hear. It felt like a kick, frankly, in the balls. So I drove home in complete silence.
I did a nice journalism presentation today and I suppose I would have liked to have written about that but I am lacking "the bandwidth" to do so tonight. So I find myself just saying nothing.
It's honestly my best approach.
Perhaps the dam will burst and I'll let everything out. But then what? Will it have been worth it?
That's the thing I have to think about.
So, for tonight, take me at my word. I've always been honest and authentic.
From the FABULOUS Hyatt Place Hotel in Bowling Green, Kentucky, welcome to the 2021 MiLBYs! Tonight, we'll hand out the awards for excellence throughout Minor League Baseball. Now, give it up for your host GILBERT GOTTFRIED!
No, really, we're at that point. The nominees for the MiLBYS are out and the Hudson Valley Renegades have two nominees.
You can visit each of the pages (and link to the other categories) and place your votes. While I'd appreciate it if you checked off the two Renegades nominees, I respect whatever way you vote.
In that above (goofy) dream sequence of a fake awards show, I imaging the production playing highlights for the nominees. And so, for Volpe, it might include this:
I have to admit, that pleases me a great deal. Obviously, it's not about me -- nor should it be -- but I feel enormously blessed to have been the "voice" to describe those highlights and the others on Volpe's page. I also feel so happy to see the work of our entire crew receiving attention.
This one made me laugh. Volpe's family was at Dutchess Stadium on a rainy Sunday when Anthony hit one out. Spencer Pierce provided a level of commentary and Conor Santoianni let it breathe before dropping an anvil on Spencer. I reacted like they said nothing. It's comical.
I can't begin to explain how much I miss the stadium and the team and everything. I haven't been back that way since late at night following the last game and I think I need to visit.
But the point of this post is to get you to vote for the various MiLBYS. So please do. Hopefully, the Gades pick up a few winners.
Victoria looked beautiful and AJ looked great. The food was delicious. The staff was tremendous. The venue and its view of Boston were magnificent. The people were all wonderful and kind to a broadcaster from New York who went stag and knew literally three people (the bride, groom, and mother of the groom). Those three each said how much it meant to have me there but it meant just as much to me.
But that's not why we've assembled tonight. AJ (the aforementioned groom) told me he loved the post on Saturday. I've actually heard those slice-of-my life/play-by-play of the day posts tend to be some of the best things I put on the blog.
So I felt I owed it -- as a gift to AJ -- to do the same for the return trip today.
Spoiler alert: it was nowhere near as eventful on Saturday.
In truth, I woke up around 3:30 this morning. In that moment -- wide awake -- I considered beginning to drive home. It would have been pure me with mostly empty/quiet roads. Maybe I would have been able to find something to eat on the way and be back home (and, likely, in my own bed) by 8 a.m.
Somehow I went back to sleep for a bit. Still, I was up and out of the hotel by 9 a.m.
I needed breakfast and, well, it's safe to say that finding a simple egg and cheese sandwich was not an easy thing. Where you can sneeze and hit a deli around New York (and even Fairfield County) that is not quite as easy in Brockton, MA.
With breakfast in mind, I hit the road with my first goal to take a look at Campanelli Stadium, home of the Brockton Rox of the Future's League. A stadium literally next to Brockton High School, it holds 6,000 and I was able to look through the gate at the field.
Brockton High School is the home of Rocky Marciano Stadium, and a large statue of the boxer is just outside of the facility.
I pursued something to eat from there. Not looking for a long, fruitless pursuit, I began looking for a Dunkin Donuts (good grief they're everywhere) but stumbled on a Cumby (Cumberland Farms). At worst, I knew decent coffee awaited. Lo and behold they also had little pre-made breakfast sandwiches, including an egg, cheese, and chorizo wrap.
Shockingly it not only wasn't bad but was decent. Or even good.
With that, I jumped back on MA Route 24 and considered a route. I'm never (ok, rarely) content to take the same route both to and from anywhere. Could I dip down to Fall River to drive past Battleship Cove (a place I first visited back in the late 70s and loved)? But what about Lizzie Borden? Forty whacks and all, I decided to hold off for Fall River for some other time.
Instead, having visited one baseball stadium already, I thought I'd head to McCoy Stadium, the former home of the Pawtucket Red Sox, in Rhode Island. That meant getting back on Interstate 495 and heading to its parent: I-95.
The visit to Pawtucket was almost more exciting than need be. I found the entrance to the stadium and turned in, figuring I could get out of the car and take a few pictures. Then I discovered other cars were coming into the lot and there was a line.
A line for COVID tests.
I departed. Quickly.
Still, I wasn't done with Rhody. Approaching the last exit on 95 in the state, I took a diversion down into Westerly just to look around. I didn't get out. I was afraid Taylor Swift's people might find out and eject me, so I departed without incident into Connecticut.
I did need to stretch my legs eventually so I stopped at a mostly empty outlet center and walked around. There's a larger outlet center a few exits away but nothing about it intrigued me enough to stop. Plus I could see where I-95 was beginning to act like I-95. It was, after all, a holiday (to some) so traffic returning from a three-day weekend was beginning to pick up.
That's where leaving the hotel at 3:30 in the morning would have been just fine.
The GPS in my car (I turn it on for laughs) was telling me to go all the way to White Plains before turning north. I laughed at that idea.
I left 95 in New Haven, electing again to pass on pizza and Ikea. In fact, my goal became not stopping again. I passed Yale Field and the nearby Yale Bowl and rolled through Derby on my way to connect with Interstate 84 in Newtown.
I told Sean I'd be home around 2:30 and that's pretty much what I did. Given that I didn't leave in the middle of the night, I chose to take my time driving home.
I was greeted by Sean and Rascal, and a house that I never once worried about. It was in perfect hands with Sean, who said things were very quiet all weekend.
As I reflect, I wonder if the joy of the road trip just isn't what it used to be anymore. Consider the traffic nightmares Sean and I experienced driving to North Carolina in July as well as the headaches I had on Saturday. I still love it -- and am already longing for another adventure -- but it just feels hellacious when looking at a long string of brake lights. In fact, I feel claustrophobic in those moments.
Don't get me wrong. It's still strategic for me. It's a mind game. As soon as I see those brake lights, the wheels start turning for an alternate route. Quite often it's successful. Often, I'm going out of the way and it might take longer, but at least I'm moving. Other times, I just find more traffic headaches on the second route.
Then again, maybe these (First World) problems are a mostly Interstate 95/northeast things. That's not to say other areas don't have traffic -- quite the opposite of course (LA, San Francisco, Florida, Texas, Chicago, etc) but it often feels like I-95 is a quagmire (Giggity) from Richmond, VA to somewhere in Maine.
