Imagine

 

Peace.

Three Cheers

I've long believed that something can start whenever desired.

So it was that I wrote a post on Dec 30, 2018. I wrote about -- shockingly -- play-by-play and a live stream of classic baseball games, including Game 4 of the 1943 World Series.

The post was basically what you've come to expect from "Exit 55." At the same time, there was a method to my madness.

I had written -- to that point -- 34 posts in 2018 with the Dec. 30 entry included. I thought it was either time to write or time to say goodbye. To that end, I had debated whether I would write some kind of farewell or just walk away quietly.

But I wrote the post and it felt good. Yet I often ramped up my writing around the turn of the calendar.

I had toyed with the idea of a post-per-day before, normally around the same time each year.

Each effort had failed but this one felt like it had a finality to it. Do it or stop.

The next day, John Nash wrote about his idea for a post-per-day project and suggested it was something he'd like to see me try.

I noted it in my post on Dec 31.

Then I wrote again on Jan 1, 2019.

And Jan 2.

Jan 3.

4...

Today is the 1,097th consecutive day with a post. It's the third anniversary of starting this crazy idea.

The Channel Four News Team celebrates the achievement

You know the deal by now. I've often revealed too much and, yet, not as much as you might think. Oh, the things I haven't written about.

You know the emotions I've dealt with. 

You know the losses and the triumphs.

You know about the parking lots and strange locations I've written from.

You know when I wrote from a stadium or San Francisco or Brockton or Stedman, North Carolina.

In total, since Aug 2006, I've published 3.445 posts, including this one.

At this point, it's a habit. It's something I think about every day. The posts are probably better earlier in the day but they're not always logical to create. The ones written under duress and late at night are more slapdash.

As has been said, there might have been some home runs and some not. I'll leave that to the critics to discuss.

There are stances I'm proud of taking and things I cringed about. There are some posts that meant a lot.

I think I'm more well-rounded and wiser -- hopefully, a better person -- but I'm not sure I'm a better writer.

I'm sorry to those I've ticked off. Still, thanks for reading.

I'm grateful to all for clicking each link.

When will this end? I don't know. It will happen one day. It has to.

There have been days that I just thought I'd stop. There have been nights where time was running out and I thought it made sense to skip.

There have been moments where I couldn't wait to get to the computer. There have been dark moments where it felt over.

Yet here we are and we'll likely be back tomorrow. Some days I know what I want to say ahead of time. Others? Well, I sit down and write. You all probably know that I'm best when I ad-lib.

I can't predict we'll complete the fourth year of Project 365 but we'll get it started and see where it goes.

Editing the Highlights

 

I have a process that I do after each broadcast.

I publish the game on Robcasting via Mixlr so that it stays in their showreel archive. Then I open the audio in an editor and do some basic cleanup, including changing the file's bit rate so that I'm not filling up hard drives.

Then, before uploading each broadcast to Mixcloud and Archive.org, I pull out any highlights.

Obviously, highlights can accumulate over the year, especially if you want to do a year-end collection.

Well, we're at the end of the year and I just reviewed all 167 highlights.

From there, I tried to edit down to just pertinent stretches of audio, meaning most of my moments of shutting up and letting crowd noise take over is removed. That also means there are limited appearances by analysts (don't worry, Chris Erway, you made it).

And? When I was finished, it was a monster file at 14:33.

Yes, fourteen minutes and thirty-three seconds.

So, back to the drawing board I'll go. I'll listen to the whole file and pull more highlights out. There is no magic time I'm trying to get down to but over 14 minutes of highlights just seems obnoxious.

I'm always trying to represent everything and everyone. I'm trying to get so many names into the collection. Kyle McDonald and Derek Craft and James Nelson and Anthony Volpe and Josh Breaux and Oswald Peraza share space with Michael Salandra and John Scarlata and Jack Wilson and James Iarapoli and Thomas Foster and Danny Lauter and Chris Gaine and a lot of others.

I try to find the laughs, like when I called John Scarlata's pick-six against Trumbull while trying to put a hoodie on. Or when, after snacking on candy, I broke out, "Break me off a piece of that Kit Kat bar" following a big play.

I don't normally have a "call of the year" (I leave that to those begging for approval from STAA) but I'll gladly submit both the walk-off home runs by Breaux and Volpe.

But I try to catch all of it. Jake and Jomboy? Yup. Trumbull winning the Babe Ruth Tourney? It's in there. Delaware Valley Youth Sports? Yes.

Not everything can make it. Not every name can be represented. Realistically, there's probably a lot I can slice off of that.

Yet it does highlight (blech, bad pun) how special all of it was. I didn't call a game in January and was pretty quiet for most of March yet I stayed as busy as ever.

Still, I didn't have any highlights in the package of Brunswick baseball or lacrosse. I don't have anything from Section 1 soccer. 

My guess is I might have had other things on my mind as the highlight system isn't always perfect.

Or, and this is likely, I told myself I was terrible and there was nothing worth keeping.

I wanted to find a better segment of the 100th-anniversary baseball broadcast we did in August but it was a bit too cumbersome.

So I'll chop and cut, and hope to play it this week on "Doubleheader." Short of that, I'll post it somewhere, regardless of how narcissistic that feels.

It's no secret I am protective of this industry because I just hear so much bad (the past 24 hours alone have me on alert for my well-being). I realize it often makes me look bad. I also realize I often lack a filter and call out garbage.

In the long run, I'm trying to give tough love but I don't think many will ever understand that. In truth, I'm a teacher and think I can help (which I realize is foolish). Many don't watch to be taught and/or think they're "too good" for some small-time broadcaster like me.

But I'd like to see people get better and the sports broadcasting business improve as a result. We're in this troubling time where basically anyone thinks they can do it.

They can't.

I'm not saying there's a course they have to pass but sometimes I wish there was something to gain a license!

Silly me, caring about quality.

So, I'll go back to editing now.

The Football Sundays of My Youth

 

Pat Summerall and John Madden

Just three days after the All-Madden special on FOX, John Madden has died at the age of 85.

The tributes will rightfully pour in but, for me, that ends a special time of broadcasting.

I've alluded to some of it in the past. My Sundays in the fall and winter consisted of "Monday Night Football" and various other voices. There was Charlie Jones and Bob Costas and (the Great) Don Criqui and Jack Buck and Frank Glieber and Dick Stockton and Tom Brookshier. Just to name a few of the play-by-play voices.

But, the big voices (and dare I say, "The A-Teams") were Pat Summerall and John Madden on CBS and Dick Enberg and Merlin Olsen on NBC.

My but it was glorious.

Summerall was steady and a man of few words. He was of the Ray Scott school of word economy: "Simms...Bavaro...touchdown Giants." 

Then Madden would come along with the telestrator and a few "BOOMS" and away he'd go.

Merlin Olsen and Dick Enberg

Enberg was the Renaissance Man, equally adept at anything he called and oh so wonderful at football. His timbre controlled the action but punctuated the big plays as necessary.

Enberg: Draw to Byner. Ernest Byner...

Olsen: Fumble!

Enberg: Fumbled the ball and Denver has recovered! OH MY!

After the excitement died down, the thoughtful Olsen always stayed understated like Jonathan Garvey or John Michael Murphy, the characters he portrayed in "Little House on the Prairie" and "Father Murphy." It was always so strange to think this soft-spoken man with the easy sense of humor was such an anchor of the Rams "Fearsome Foursome."

Olsen left broadcasting far too soon for my taste, departing NBC in 1989 and breaking up that iconic duo. He spent some time at CBS and was soon gone from the booth. He died in 2010.

Madden and Summerall moved to FOX in 1994. Summerall initially retired from FOX in 2002, following Super Bowl XXXVI. FOX lured Summerall back to the booth a handful of times, including his last call -- the 2010 Cotton Bowl.

Summerall died in 2013.

Enberg, having moved from NBC to CBS and ESPN, called everything from the NFL to tennis to golf and basketball. But he loved baseball and, in 2009, accepted the job as the TV voice of the San Diego Padres. He stayed there until 2016, calling his last game on the same weekend that Vin Scully retired.

Enberg died in Dec 2017 

Madden moved onto ABC for "Monday Night Football" and then to NBC for "Sunday Night Football." He retired after the Steelers beat the Cardinals in Super Bowl XLII.

We lost Big John today.

It's not to say that we haven't had other great and wonderful NFL voices before and after but the 80s felt like a golden era for broadcasting. Certainly, Jim Nantz and (yes) Joe Buck and of course Al Michaels and countless others have blessed the NFL broadcast booths week after week.

This was special though. 

And this was nostalgic to me.

This was a big part of my youth. 

Sundays meant making game predictions and watching the first half before the inevitable call to the dinner table at 2:30 which, fortunately, almost unilaterally meant halftime on the 1:00 games. Then it was right back to the TV (which, hopefully, I'd taken over in the living room) before the 4:00 games.

It meant scouring the newspaper to find the broadcasting assignments or simply hoping for the best. Wait, Broncos/Seahawks from Seattle (back when the Hawks were in the AFC)? That probably meant Enberg/Olsen. I'm all in!

Cowboys/Giants always meant Madden and Summerall.

Plenty of BOOMs! and "Oh my's! were to be found and seen and heard.

Dan Fouts would throw a touchdown to Kellen Winslow.

Dan Marino would be lighting up the Miami sky.

Lawrence Taylor would knock someone silly.

The Steelers and Browns would wrestle in the mud in Cleveland.

Joe Montana would be fawned over.

It was a great time. A wonderful time to grow up and be a football fan.

It was, of course, innocent.

The air has since been deflated from the ball and the clock has run out.

Thanks to the big four NFL broadcasters of my youth -- three of whom were active on the field at one time.

Thanks to John Madden, as authentic a man as you'll ever encounter.

A special broadcast booth awaits.

Thanks For Joining Me

 

Hey everybody! Look at the Rodecaster and P4!

Barring any changes, my 2021 game broadcast schedule is finished.

I'm already glancing at my next broadcast, which will likely be on Jan 4 or 5 for Brunswick.

Oh, I had thoughts about games to call this week and last. I reached out to Jeff Alterman to see if he wanted to do anything with Trumbull and his TEN Network.

We bounced a few ideas -- including a basketball tournament in Stratford -- but after talking with people there learned 1) they don't have wifi in the gym and 2) cell service is bad. Now, I called basketball there once before (a first-round playoff game between Greenwich and Stratford on Mar 6, 2006) but I don't recall if we had phone issues (my memory says yes).

So, given I would have called the game on my own dime, it didn't seem worth the gas and effort. We bailed.

I toyed with a few other things, including Greenwich's Winter Classic but, when I thought about it, there just seemed to be no reason, except me proving a point that has long been proven already. So I felt content to back off. Maybe next year.

My oh my but we've been down this road too many times. It's sad that many think they can just show up and do it and have the power to do so. All good. I'm fine.

Sure, I could probably call more games every year -- a lot more -- but the number just doesn't seem to be relevant. Yes, I'm super proud of every call -- all 137 this year, with well over 100 being solo calls -- but I'm also big on quality.

That 137, by the way, is a record, and I don't take it for granted, but...

It all just feels like an exercise in ego-stroking. I say I've done 137 games and someone will be compelled to say they did 150! 160! 200!

Show them a picture of the arena you worked in or the equipment you broadcast with and they'll always try to top you.

Nah. I'm good.

Quick side story, there's a guy who is always tooting his own horn on "the socials," especially in a group I belong to. He posts every positive review and comment he receives and, the other day, he posted his "broadcast channel" logo not once but TWICE! The logo makes it clear: 40 years!

Ick.

Anyway, I laughed about it with Shawn Sailer and Mike Hirn who both had the same reaction. Me...being me...I added to my existing Robcasting logo...

Original logo courtesy of AJ Szymanowski. Embellishment by me.

That's right! Robcasting for FOUR AND A HALF YEARS!

In other words, who cares? That and a couple of bucks get you a subway ride.

As for 2021, I busted my heart, soul, skull, butt, and sometimes my voice for every call. What I did and hope to do again doesn't work for everyone but it works for me. We've been through this. You show up with charts and pretty colors. I show up with a roster, a scorecard, my computer, and my brain.

I'll carry the memories of all the calls but I think I'd be happy to review them at another time. I'm proud of the work I did. I hope listeners and viewers are also.

A few weeks off isn't what I want but, in some ways, it is wise. For one thing, I had a chest cold and worried about my voice (I'm fine). For another, well, COVID part...er...what number are we up to? I can't help but wonder if maybe games should have taken these few weeks off as well but I respect those who keep everyone safe and smart.

These few weeks gave me a chance to deal with other things, including getting my trusty Zoom Podtrak P4 off to the manufacturer. As I type, I am the recipient of a new P4. The old one (less than a year old) was having dropouts and that's not ideal when broadcasting.

But I'll be right back under the headset in 2022. 

Same as always, I suppose.

In Awe

 

Photo: John Nash

John Nash is the once and forever co-conspirator of #Project365, which will soon hit three years. The idea was something I had considered for years and he supported and encouraged me to start and keep it going.

John texted me the picture at the top of this post earlier today. Taken in the Mall of America, it marks where home plate was at Metropolitan Stadium in Bloomington, MN. The mall was built on the site of the stadium after the Twins and Vikings left for the Hubert H. Humphrey Metrodome following the 1981 season.

Eventually, the Twins moved to Target Field and the Vikings made their way to U.S. Bank Stadium.

Metropolitan Stadium reminds me of Fran Tarkenton and Alan Page and Harmon Killebrew and Rod Carew. I can see coach Bud Grant breathing steam on frigid days and Gene Mauch managing the Twins against the Yankees in the summer.

That's where John comes back in. It seems he decided to treat himself to a trip for Christmas. He booked a voyage to Minnesota to see his beloved Vikings in person. He's been posting updates on his Facebook page as well as posts at his great blog, The October Weekend.

I'm a combination of delighted, astounded, and a touch jealous (in a good-natured way). As someone whose favorite football team plays eight hours away (Pittsburgh, of course) and loves travel, I admire his level of whimsy and commitment to doing this for himself.

For the record, I haven't seen the Steelers in person since 2004 when I attended my only game at Heinz Field.

I try to have glimpses of this kind of spontaneity and yet that always level-headed side keeps me from doing such things.

"I can't afford it."

"The car isn't up to the trip."

"I have to be at home for (insert reason here)."

I've watched life go by.

I texted with both Kristy and Hector -- my niece and her husband, who live in North Carolina -- yesterday and each one said to me they'd love to fly me down there, especially if they'd known I was going to spend Christmas solo.

Hector still wants me to come down next weekend to watch college football with him, which we did once before when they were up here.

Still, there's always something. COVID, work, the cat, cost, Sean, etc. All are legit. All can also be answered of course.

I'm not saying I'm flying or jumping in the car to go to North Carolina next weekend but John's meander to Minneapolis reminded me that I need to start living again.

Actually, it was another reminder because I'm often yelling at myself about it.

Sean and I were talking the other night when he noted Pittsburgh -- a city he's never been to.

John's post came right back into my mind.

"We should go to a game in Pittsburgh," I said.

"That could be fun," Sean said.

He and I have conjured ideas over the years. I've wanted to take him on an Amtrak trip -- even if only to Philadelphia, Boston, or Washington, DC because he loves trains.

We've also talked about going back to the baseball Hall of Fame in Cooperstown. I mean, it's three hours away. I haven't been in six years (heading for seven). Shame on me.

So go to the Hall of Fame.

Go on that Amtrak trip.

Go to the Haskell Library or Houlton, ME.

Go, Rob. You're waiting for something and it's time to stop!

More importantly, go John! I admire your ability to go on adventures and I think this is a great Christmas present.

Sadly, the sports gods do not care about such things. The Los Angeles Rams beat the Vikings, 30-23. The Vikings -- the Purple People Eaters -- dropped to 7-8 with the loss.

Fran Tarkenton asks for quiet at Metropolitan Stadium
as the Vikings host the Packers in 1976.

The Vikings are a team with a frustrating history, including four Super Bowl losses (including Super Bowl IX against Pittsburgh), and some absolutely gutwrenching defeats in the conference championship game. Don't talk to a Vikes fan about Roger Staubach, Drew Pearson, Gary Anderson, Brett Favre, or Blair Walsh.

Their fans are rabid and remarkable.

Today, John Nash was among them. Sorry for the loss. Happy for the trip.

Travel on, John!

As they say in Minnesota, "Skol Vikings!"

So...This is Christmas

 

What might have been: Vin Scully and John Madden

In the end, circumstances kept my Christmas quiet.

Honestly, it's been fine. Nice, even.

I didn't sleep well last night (probably too excited for Santa's arrival) so I actually fell asleep at one point during the day.

Otherwise, I watched a lot of TV, talked to The Cat*, texted and messaged with many, and (at times) forgot it was Christmas.

I'm not a "Crazy Cat Person." Honest.

I also still have plenty of food from the magical elf.

Honestly, I'm fine. 

Also honestly, it's easy to forget that it's Christmas.

The highlight, for me, was the absolutely tremendous tribute to John Madden that aired on FOX.

Now, to be honest, John hates the Steelers. Literally, that's a fact. That didn't come across via his broadcasting but even now, 49 years later, he still moans about the Immaculate Reception.

If you don't know, Madden was on the losing end of that greatest play in NFL history. Also, Steelers/Raiders was a fierce rivalry in the 70s.

Additionally, Madden was a CBS guy mostly doing NFC games. I was an NBC guy, adoring the team of Dick Enberg and Merlin Olsen as they did mostly AFC games.

Lastly among Madden's early partners was a guy mostly known for his baseball play-by-play who had a chance to be Big John's CBS partner. Guy named Scully. Pat Summerall was chosen to be Madden's partner instead. In the end, it all worked out fine.

Incidentally, the guy who told Scully that he wasn't getting the Madden partnership (and, thus, Super Bowl calls) was Terry O'Neil. Mr. O'Neil's son Liam was the starting quarterback at Greenwich High School and I got to know them.

But back to the Madden special. For me, it felt like so much of my life watching football went by my eyes. It reminded me of the NFL I fell in love with. I knew of the early 70s of Madden's Raiders and the Dolphins and the Cowboys and so on.

Then I came into my own with Madden, Merlin, Montana, Marino, and the 80s.

I watched a ton of games with Madden on the call, including his very last game, when Ben Roethlisberger threw a dime to Santonio Holmes on the side of the end zone in Tampa in Super Bowl XLIII. It was bliss for me and time for John to step away.

He's 85 now and has lived a fascinating life as one of the most important people in NFL history. The special made it clear just how truly beloved he is, in case it needed to be said.

He's a national treasure. No question.

The show was spectacular. If you love the NFL -- I mean, truly love and appreciate its history -- find a way to watch it.

Christmas, 2021 had unique circumstances. In the end, I want everyone to get well and be good to each other.

Let's eradicate COVID or get it under control.

And with that, Christmas is over.

Christmas Eve

 

DEAR EDITOR: I am 8 years old.

Some of my little friends say there is no Santa Claus.
Papa says, ‘If you see it in THE SUN it’s so.’
Please tell me the truth; is there a Santa Claus?

VIRGINIA O’HANLON.
115 WEST NINETY-FIFTH STREET. (letter to the New York Sun, printed Sept 21, 1897)

*****

Christmas Eve has evolved over the years for me.

I suppose the holidays have also.

As I wrote recently, a favorite Christmas Eve is one my mother would have preferred to have forgotten. She was in rehab, recovering from open-heart surgery. Yet those of us who gathered around her felt a certain relaxation and, dare I say, joy.

I'm not sure I've felt that in the years since.

Still, life is what you make of it.

With nowhere to go, Sean and I continued our recent tradition of watching movies and eating dinner. Our prior movie selections have been "Avengers: Infinity War," "Caddyshack," "Psycho," and "Fargo."

This year we opted for a double feature of music biopics: "Bohemian Rhapsody" and "Rocketman." Though I've seen both of them, Sean had expressed an interest in seeing them. I made sure I wasn't "that person" and kept most of my knowledge to myself, both historically and in terms of the movies.

As for the food, we had an elf that likes to feed us hand me a bag of steaks, shrimp, garlic bread with cheese, and other delights. There also might have been a few rice balls that this elf is known for.

Oh, and I added a cheesecake from Junior's in Brooklyn. So, yeah, we were sufficiently fed.

The movies were great, each in its own way. I'd probably lean more towards "Bohemian Rhapsody" but that's only if I have to give you an answer. Rami Malek as Freddie Mercury is just one of a collection of remarkable performances in that film. The Live Aid segment to close the movie is off the charts and is a time capsule for me, even if I didn't see it live.

While it isn't ideal for either of us, we both seemed fairly content with the evening. It's still not the same, sitting just a few feet from Mom's chair. My parents literally lived and died in this room. That's not an attempt to be maudlin. It's simply a fact.

I think we'd both like to be a little more settled in 2022. It's been a long path to what's next and we're both anxious to get there.

To be blunt, I want to be in a different place physically, emotionally, and spiritually in 2022. It's time. 

I'd like to believe I'll recapture a little bit of holiday magic though I haven't seen it in several years and I don't know if I ever will.

But, let's not be a downer. We made the best of the night and my heart is full.

Sean heads back to his mother tomorrow and my Christmas plans are, well, up in the air based on COVID. My family keeps getting hit and I'll figure it out in the morning. Still, it's OK. There will be football to watch and I've been staying busy around the house.

*****

While we live in a dour world of people who want to break down "It's a Wonderful Life" into being sexist and whatever other nonsense they sling at it, I believe in thinking that it's a movie from 1946. To further analyze it is to say that George Bailey was a good and decent man who was also flawed. His beloved wife Mary adored him and was the rock of everything, saving everything.

Why not just enjoy the movie?

Just as we did tonight, watching the stories of two flawed legends. No further analysis was needed.

*****

So, yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus, just as the New York Sun editorial (written by Francis Pharcellus Church) said in 1897. He or she is what you make of it.

Just like life.

And Christmas Eve.

And I heard him exclaim as he rode out of sight, "You can tell everybody this is your song!"

And to all, a good night.

I Need a Road Trip

 

The international border runs through the Haskell Library (Photo via Reddit)

With the possibility of a very quiet Christmas looming* I've pondered exactly how I'll spend the day.

*COVID is impacting everyone, including my family. There might be a "plan B" but, for purposes of this post, it got me thinking about what if I'm alone.

So, yeah, I thought about just getting in the car and going somewhere. I haven't done much since Sean and I went to North Carolina in the summer. I realize I had two weddings and there are always sports adventures, such as the game at Avon Old Farms but, still, it's not the same.

There was a point where I thought about treating myself to a getaway. Honestly, given my current life, it would have been a completely solo trip because I don't think it would have interested Sean (justifiably).

Oh, to be clear, I like to have a travel companion but, much as with a broadcast booth, chemistry is mega important. The right person has to saddle up. It's not necessarily my desire to travel solo but I'm also not afraid to.

I've found traveling alone to be freeing and also awkward. There's no right answer.

So, unless you're new here, you know I love roads and driving and quirky things. 

There are two New England things of note that have intrigued me but you need to understand why.

Love it or hate, I've long been fascinated by Interstate 95. Oh, I quite know what a bear it can be. I've sat in traffic in almost every state it traverses.

I've seen the south end in Miami a few times and have driven nearly every mile of it. I've missed a stretch in Florida but, otherwise, I've driven the entire thing...

Until north of Portland, ME.

Photo: Daniel Woodrum, TakeMyTrip.com

I've never reached the north end at Houlton, ME.

So that was one of my ideas and, with that, maybe shoot up US 1 to its northern terminus at Fort Kent since I've also been to its southern end in Key West, FL.

Another fascination of mine is borders. For instance, I didn't go into Mexico when I went to San Diego in 2011 because I didn't have my passport. However, I went to the Mexican border.

I've also been to Canada a few times. However, I'd like to go to the place where you can cross the border and take out a book at the same time.

Haskell Free Library and Opera House (Photo by Amy Kolb Noyes for VPR)
The border is marked by the flower pots and border marker

That means Derby Line, VT. 

The Haskell Free Library and Opera House (yes, opera house) is intentionally built on the international border. The books are all in Canada but the entrance is in the United States. As for the theater, the stage is in Stanstead, Quebec while the majority of the seats are in Vermont.

A look at Canusa Ave. (Google Maps)

Oh, there are plenty of other border-related things I'd love to see, like Canusa Ave just a few miles from the Haskell Library. The road literally splits the border, with the southern neighbors in the US and those in the north in Canada. Have fun visiting customs for literally anything across the street.

Outside of Rouses Point, NY, Route 276 literally skirts the border, with the road parallelling Canada, sitting ever so quietly to the north.

I'm weird but I love this stuff and I do not apologize.

These are just a couple of my quirky ideas and none of them are realistic for a day trip. Houlton, ME is eight hours away and Derby Line is close to six hours away. Rouses Point is closer to five hours, which isn't impossible I suppose.

Of course, a Christmas Day trip would present its own issues as I'd either have to pack food or take the risk of finding places that are open.

I did drive a couple of times on Christmas and recall even finding an open Dunkin Donuts was easier said than done. Rightfully so, I might add.

So the whole exercise was literally a fun thing for my brain. As it is I need new tires and probably could use an oil change and, yeah, you can see where this is going.

But it was fun to think about.

Another Night Off

 

Photo: JT (@AvengerTwitch on Twitter)

Honestly, I'm not in a great place tonight.

The holidays are bad enough as it is and I've talked about that many times.

But, yeah, things aren't great. 

So I'm asking for understanding as I take another break.

COVID might very well keep many of us home on Christmas. In my case, that will mean completely alone. Me and the cat.

I did it once before and thought -- in the moment -- that it wasn't so bad. I watched movies all day. But, as things often happen, I realized later on it was miserable. I spent part of that morning at my father (and, now, my parents' grave). I can't tell you things are that much better since that day as I walked aimlessly.

It's like what I've come to realize about the pandemic. I thought I handled it all just fine and, while maybe I did, I still dealt with a lot more than I ever realized, including concerns for my own health.

But, see, this is where I stop myself because I have critics/demons/whatever who think this is just for show. Just drama.

Oh, yeah, cool. Sure.

Anyway, I've said too much.

Until tomorrow.

Or not.

What to Write About?

Don't we all? (2018 photo)

So what shall I write about tonight?

It's the shortest day of the year which is always bittersweet. Yes, it is bittersweet. Honestly, it's terrible and all (at least I think so) but the days will start getting longer from here. So there's that.

Just trying to put a positive spin on things, amirite?

We're careening towards 1,100 days in a row that I've written. No matter what -- banquets that have run too long or games or the one or two times I almost forgot -- I've put something online.

I've sat in parking lots and various sports arenas and hotels and offices and houses.

I've literally fallen asleep typi...lafjdsjlfdsakl....TYPING!

I've bled and often told too much and yet held more cards to the vest than I've ever let on.

But when I hurt (most of the time) you knew it. Same with the triumphs.

Yet, I sit here tonight with just...nothing.

Fairly empty.

Peace on earth and all of that, of course. Lovely ideas, indeed.

But, honestly, I'm a little stretched tonight.

We're in this awful time where if you have allergies or a chest cold you might as well have the plague. Someone told me about having a runny nose on a cold day and another person actually said something to them about it. 

A stranger.

I mean, this is our world.

So, yeah, what is there to write about tonight?

Instead, let's take tonight off -- I've already written enough words anyway -- regroup and see what tomorrow brings.

Tomorrow. It's another day.

The sun will come out.

We'll keep turning.

The days will get longer.

It will all be OK.

He Stashed the Bill in His Shirt

 

(Photo by Lynne McAfee/Shutterstock)

I just saw a question on Facebook asking what was the best spoken word part of a rock song.

The answer I saw that most was the famed "Late Lament" in "Nights in White Satin" by The Moody Blues. The poem was spoken by keyboardist Mike Pinder and written by drummer Graeme Edge. 

I'd have to say that would probably be my answer -- at least off the top of my head but there are plenty of spoken-word portions of songs. The answers were all over the place, including the user that suggested John Lennon saying "We hope we passed the audition" at the end of "Get Back."

That's probably a stretch.

But there were others, such as the one who suggested Harry Chapin's reciting of fare conversation in "Taxi."

And she handed me twenty dollars,

For a two fifty fare, she said

"Harry, keep the change."

I've got to admit, that's pretty solid. It's also a pretty special song to me. But then again, Harry Chapin was special.

I knew of Harry as a child, especially for "Cats in the Cradle," his look at the circle of life of a father and son. Any grown man can clearly struggle when Chapin sings: 

And as I hung up the phone, it occurred to me

He'd grown up just like me

My boy was just like me

That's not as great as it's made out to be. The sadness in those words is profound.

Another favorite of mine is WOLD, the tale of a radio DJ whose best days are behind him.

To so many of you, "Cats in the Cradle" is probably familiar. A large chunk of you hasn't heard of Harry Chapin (and I guarantee the views on this post will likely be small). 

But Harry matters. Still. He was born in Greenwich Village and was a New Yorker; a true folk singer-songwriter. He fit in the sound of the 70s up to a point but not in the "Laurel Canyon" way that was exploding out of Southern California.

In fact, it's almost ironic that Harry Chapin's music found any chart success but all of his singles charted. In some ways, they almost felt like they didn't fit. The brilliant Joni Mitchell or James Taylor had a more radio-friendly sound, though in Joni's case I'm not sure that was of any interest to her.

Of course, the Eagles were determined to have chart success and then bleed us all of every last dime (nothing wrong with that, of course).

Harry Chapin, though, loved his success because it allowed him to pursue his charitable endeavors, including World Hunger Year (now WhyHunger), which he co-founded with DJ Bill Ayres. An annual Hungerthon is held every year to raise money for the organization.

Harry Chapin was driving to a free benefit concert in East Meadow on Long Island (home of our good friends Mick, Gretchen, and Finn) on the afternoon of July 16, 1981.  He died in an accident on the Long Island Expressway when a truck collided with his VW Rabbit. 

Determined to leave a mark on Long Island, he was buried in Huntington with the words to his song "I Wonder What Would Happen to This World" as his epitaph:

Oh if a man tried

To take his time on Earth

And prove before he died

What one man's life could be worth

I wonder what would happen

to this world

Chapin was just 38.

Uh oh?

 

I had to endure the pain that is football on TV in the New York area.

At 1 p.m. today, we were stuck with the Jets at the Dolphins and the Cowboys at the Giants. Both New York City area teams are not good, to say the least.

I'm not as lucky here as others are. Ah, to have the days of the late 80s and 90s when the cable system gave us the NYC and Connecticut TV stations. At least we had options.

No more.

The Jets/Dolphins game was at least interesting before the Dolphins wrapped up the win. The Giants -- they of the free soda for season ticket holders on "Fan Appreciation Day" -- should have taken today off.

The Giants. Jeez, has it ever been this bad? The answer, of course, is yes. From 1964-1980 the Giants were middling at best, going over .500 only in 1970 and 1972.

Then, of course, the bottom dropped out with The Miracle at the Meadowlands in 1978, as the Eagles truly snatched victory from the jaws of defeat.

Yet, the Giants were always like the Yankees. There was always class with "Big Blue."

But, a soda?

Oh, have I buried the lead! My writing friends are no doubt shaming me quietly.

I'm pleased to have these games to watch, in addition to the Packers/Ravens and tonight's game also.

(Photo: Graham Hughes/The Canadian Press via AP)

Still, the bigger point is we're in a bit of a pickle again. In Montreal the other night, the Flyers/Canadiens game had no fans in attendance. Earlier today, the US/Canadian border was closed, essentially, to the National Hockey League. So, for instance, the Canadiens/Rangers game this week at Madison Square Garden is postponed.

Multiple NBA games have also been postponed.

We get a wonderful plethora (such a great word) of NFL action with two games tomorrow and Tuesday. We'll get three of them on TV.

All of this is courtesy of the new strain of COVID.

And I'm not here to panic or speculate. I'm here to just say...

WTF?

Is that wrong? Not the question, I mean my language. Too strong?

I find myself flashing back to the halcyon days in early 2020 when the messages were constantly mixed.

Just look at last night's "Saturday Night Live." Far be it for me to question this but the performers were unmasked for virtually the entire show until the end. THEN they wore masks to say goodnight?

Keep in mind there was no audience and just two regular cast members, along with host Paul Rudd and special guests Tom Hanks (America's Actor) and Tiny Fey.

Even the band was a keyboardist and a sax player who performed basically the saddest coda of "SNL" I've ever heard.

To be clear, I don't even watch the show but the clips -- what little I watched -- were enough for me.

Again, I'm digressing. 

So, what do we make of all of this?

You know I don't have answers. I never have. Speculation does me no good. I'm not a doctor.

To me, all of this calls Christmas into question for me. It makes me wonder about other sports (such as the ones I work in). 

I'm not worrying, per se. As I said, I'm not panicking. But I'm mindful. I'm observing.

Day at a time and all.

Hopefully, this passes quickly and we move on to whatever comes next.

(Photo: Yuki Iwamura/AP Photo)

Hell's Playlist

Sheesh 

It's another afternoon on WHLL, the radio station located in, well, a place down below.

One oh six six Hell with the sounds of the season as Mariah Carey warbles, "All I Want For Christmas is You." This is Satan in the PM reminding you that, following our program today, catch "The Maroon 5 Hour" where we play all Maroon 5 all the time! Commercial free tunes that make you want to punch Adam Levine in his already-pathetic face.

But now, back to the tunes! Here's John -- is this Cougar? -- Mellencamp with a little ditty about Jack and Diane on 106.6 HLL!

*****

Another devilish double play with Nickelback on 106.6 HLL! I'm Satan in the PM with a reminder that, tonight, catch Ben Affleck and Keanu Reeves in their new buddy flick, "Pop Quiz, Gilgli." Affleck and Reeves are joined by J-Lo and Brendan Fraser on a bus ride to nowhere. Jennifer Lopez also sings the theme song, which we debuted last week. So go check out the new movie tonight only on Disney plus!

Now, here's...well, you know...shot to the heart and all that stuff. Here's Bon Jovi!

*****

Satan in the PM with Beelzebub Bon Jovi. I couldn't just play "You Give Love a Bad Name!" I had to play...blasphemy as it is..."Living on a Prayer!"

It's HLL's playlist all day and all night on 106.6 HLL. But, sometimes, we take a break from the music. Tonight, after "The Maroon 5 Hour," we talk sports! Join Jim Rome and Colin Cowherd for "The Mets/Patriots/LeBron Show." The guys also break down if Tom Brady will join us down here. Of course, he will!

Also, Mets fans will talk about black jerseys!

It's Satan in the PM on HLL with UB40 and "Red Red Wine!"

*****

We'll catch up on the news from FOX at the top of the hour and Tucker Carlson's evening commentary. It's hellacious radio on 106.6 HLL and I'm Satan in the PM. Seems like it's a good time to hit the 80s with two legends. Stevie Wonder and Paul McCartney sing "Ebony and Ivory" for us after Starship and "We Built This City" on 106.6 HLL!

*****

Ha ha ha! Did I forget what day it is? Yeah, I probably have, but never mind that because Rebecca Black and "Friday" is coming up! Also, the Black Eyed Peas, Vanilla Ice, The Who at the Super Bowl, and Limp Bizkit are coming up when we return on 106.6 HLL!

*****

Hey, have you checked out our new show, "Don't Stop Believing?" It's Journey's "Don't Stop Believing" for TWO STRAIGHT HOURS! Can you believe it? It's after Ryan Seacrest in the Morning on 106.6 HLL! Now, here's Bob Seger and "Old Time Rock and Roll!"

*****

Well, my time is up for today. I'm Satan in the PM reminding you that "The Maroon 5 Hour" is up next but first, here's "Mambo Number 5." Have a good night everyone, and remember, if you're looking for the sounds of Hell, you'll find it right here on 106.6 HLL. Don't forget to check out "American Idol" later on. Have a lousy night everyone!

Blazing Saddles

 

"Blazing Saddles" was trending on Twitter today.

There are few movies -- few works -- that have ever made me laugh so hard.

"Caddyshack" and "Slap Shot" immediately come to mind. So does "Airplane," "The Philadelphia Story," "His Girl Friday," "Anchorman," "Ferris Bueller's Day Off" "The Birdcage" and so on.

But "Blazing Saddles" might be the funniest of them all.

I know -- "Young Frankenstein" (and it's utterly brilliant, of course).

But "Blazing Saddles" is just so...

Wrong.

Yes, that's the word. 

Look, let me deal with the obvious thing. Less than five minutes in, the "N" word is uttered a few times and I admittedly cringed. But that's the thing. History, sadly, is messy. 

But Slim Perkins comes riding in on his horse and says, "What in the wide wide world of sports is a-going on here?" and I just fall over laughing.

It's a movie in which Cleavon Little is the hero as a Black man who becomes sheriff.

Keep in mind the movie was not only from the mind of Mel Brooks but from Richard Pryor.

Plus Frankie Laine sang the theme song.

I mean, we're just warming up.

Harvey Korman as dastardly attorney general Hedley Lamarr.

Gene Wilder as Jim, the Waco Kid.

Alex Karras as Mongo, who steals each scene he's in, specifically when "Mongo likes candy" and announces how he's a pawn in the game of life.

And Madeline Kahn, who is uproariously hysterical Lili Von Shtupp ("Let's face it, I'm tired!")

Look, and I can't make this clear enough, the use of the "N" word is abhorrent and I cringe each time it's said, even by Cleavon Little himself for comedic purposes. But I also howl when John Hillerman blindly acknowledges Little as he rides into town to assume the position of sheriff of Rock Ridge.

Then Little says, "Excuse me while I whip this out," with "this" being his proclamation to be sheriff and more hilarity ensues.

And then there's Mel Brooks, who didn't only direct it but was a co-writer of the screenplay and played two roles: first, that of Governor Le Petomane....and then...

As soon as Little's Sherriff Bart speaks of being on the wagon train as a kid, I start laughing uncontrollably.

That's when Brooks, as the Indian Chief, greets them in Yiddish.

Now, there's nostalgia in this as it might have been my father's favorite comedic scene ever.

No, I'm not kidding. Ever.

So I laugh thinking about him laughing which makes me laugh even more.

Then comes the beans scene. Say no more.

It's 93 minutes of parody, satire, and belly laughs.

Of course, we say it can't be made today because of whatever.

Do we take ourselves too seriously? Sure. Are we smarter and maybe more advanced? Probably.

So why worry about it? The movie was made in 1974 and if we can get out of our own brains for a moment we can see how incredibly hysterical it is.

Give the Governor a harrumph!

You don't need no stinking badges.

Rob's Really Unfocused Thursday Night Post

 

I had no idea what else to use for a picture for this post

I've got a big day tomorrow of work and stuff and, well, I don't know that I feel like getting deep tonight.

Sometimes, it's tempting to stop typing right there. 

Seriously, I mean there's nothing to break down from today. I was able to do "Doubleheader" and I can probably do it again tomorrow before I work all night.

I mean, that stinks on a Friday but the money is good and I don't have to leave the house.

But, otherwise, why get deep into the weeds? That's when my brain overloads.

That's when I start writing posts of sadness or anger or resentment or whatever.

I have happy thoughts at the moment.

Without breaking it all down, it was a good -- no -- great day.

No reason is necessary.

Besides, focusing on the bad would mean dealing with...blech...COVID again.

You've probably heard about the hockey game in Montreal without fans and how "Hamilton" is going dark for a few days.

Just lots of scary and/or concerning stuff going on around us.

So, again, why dive into the deep end?

I'd rather work with gratitude in my heart tonight.

This time of the year -- and I've talked about it many times -- is tough enough. I talked with someone yesterday to try to figure out exactly what it will take to care about it again.

No tree is up here. There are minimal decorations.

Frankly, it doesn't bother Sean. Or if it bothers him he doesn't say it. In fact, well, it's not that he encourages it but he doesn't discourage it either.

What worries me is continuing the trend of saying, "OK, next year will be the year."

You know how that works. So do I.

So we start with now. 

Then tomorrow.

I want to get cranking on life again and stop feeling like the record going right round, baby, right round.

It will happen.

Right?

Adjustments

 

I was supposed to do hockey today.

Portledge at Brunswick at 4 p.m.

It was on my schedule. I was beginning to prepare my scoresheet and get ready for the game.

Then I got a text from Wayne McGillicuddy at Brunswick telling me there would be no game today.

It's postponed.

Now, Brunswick's winter schedules have presented some challenges this season. The biggest thing is that there are seven occasions where hockey and basketball are playing at, basically, the same time.

Wayne and I discussed it this week and decided I'd do hockey today, primarily because it's the only home hockey game before the end of 2021. We'd figure the rest out later on.

Fortunately, nobody had been put on the basketball broadcast so guess who called basketball today at 3:30?

But but but but but but...what about all of the hockey preparation? And how will I prepare for basketball?

My brethren say they need 20 hours (?!?) to prepare for a game!

Where oh where will they find time to create charts and graphs?

I shrugged my shoulders and said, "OK. Basketball it is."

I pulled up my basketball scoresheet and printed it. It's that easy.

I'd like to be one of these people who has 20 hours to prep for a game. I'm sometimes lucky to have 20 minutes. There's always something going on in life that I have to hustle to and, frankly, I'm OK with that.

I like that I can fly like this. 

While people are busy appointing themselves with fancy titles, I'm moving towards the next broadcast. Had Brunswick not worked out today, I had the chance to do another hockey game remotely and you know how that last one went! Actually, it went pretty well given I got those rosters minutes before faceoff.

As I moved around last night's Greenwich football banquet, people stopped and asked about me calling hockey and basketball at GHS. 

One person expressed shock to find out that, yes, I've done hockey and have since the late 90s. Specifically, I've done -- GASP! -- Greenwich hockey.

Same with basketball. In fact, I covered Greenwich hockey and basketball before I covered Greenwich football.

I kept grinding every year to get a couple of GHS hockey and hoops games on WGCH. Later on, we did a couple of games on HAN.

Heck, that's my voice on Greenwich's last FCIAC hockey championship win, in early 2016.

But players, coaches, boosters, and other factors change. 

So I went to the gym and called the Brunswick hoops game against Avon Old Farms. Brunswick won.

With that, it appears my 2021 schedule is done. I suppose there's always a chance that someone will ask me to jump in and I hope that's the case. I think a certain Mr. Sailer is going to try to get me off the couch for a couple of games.

But if it is over, it has been a wonderful year of games. Considering my first broadcast wasn't until February it was fairly remarkable. Of course, 61 of the games came from the Renegades.

So if that's it, thanks. Just thanks.

My heart is full of gratitude for all of it.

And hungry for more.

Goodnight, Big Red

 

Greenwich head coach Tony Morello and the 2021 captains

Put the dishes away, friends.

Clean the silverware.

The banquet was tonight and Greenwich handed out the hardware.

The thing you want to know -- even if you don't realize it -- is who the 2022 captains are. As is tradition, they were named at the end of the evening.

To be quite sure, the ceremony was an Oscarsesque total of three hours and thirteen minutes but it was a delight to be there. I sat at a VIP table -- I'm hardly a VIP -- with wives of coaches plus the cheerleading coaches, the varsity cheer coaches boyfriend, and Erin Montague.

Who's Erin? How about "awesome?" I covered Erin as a varsity cheerleader and now, besides being an outstanding educator, she's director of football operations for Big Red. 

So what was initially an awkward table for me (because I felt sort of out of place) turned into a comfortable spot. OK, I initially just stood and watched for probably 45 minutes before I finally figured out where to sit.

The 2022 captains take their rightful place

Oh, so the captains. Well if you saw my Twitter feed then you know already. If not, well, they are Jake Kiernan, Domenic Deluca, Jack Wilson, and Matt Trimmer. A huge senior class is expected for the 2022 Cardinals and these captains will do an outstanding job.

Head coach Tony Morello (who told the crowd that I gave him his "Big Tone" nickname) spoke very kindly of Chris Erway and me. Speaking for Chris, I know we both appreciate every kind word. It was very humbling when a parent was talking to me and actually gasped when she realized who I was. Honestly, I don't have words for what that means to me.

I typed this into my iPhone. Always working!

But enough about that. The Cardinals will come back locked and loaded for 2022. It's a solid eight months before football is back for me.

Back to hockey tomorrow as Brunswick plays at 4 p.m.

"The A-Team" was used for teaching purposes at CSB earlier in the day.

Pisces, Aquarius, Capricorn & DeCristoforo Ltd.

 

Susan, as promised, wrote about Mike Nesmith today. It was brilliant and beautiful. It hit all the emotions.

It's tough to bleed like that. I'm quite familiar with it.

I admire the writers and other creators who can just throw something to the world and go, "Meh. That's gone. Don't care."

I care. Susan cares.

You feel exposed when you do this. You're naked. It's a raw nerve. That's not true of everything we create but it is for certain things.

Like discussing the feelings of losing someone and something that has been with you your whole life. 

I've watched her put literally everything into something numerous times. She's written exhaustingly about various topics for different publications, most of all for her beloved Darien Times.

Susan often knocks her musical taste but, in reality, being an aficionado of Mike Nesmith is one of the coolest things about her. She often says my taste is more diverse and deep and so on. Yes, I dig jazz and a lot of other stuff but I'm also nuts.

This is actually a deeper topic and better for another post at another time but, in truth, for all of her pop sensibilities, she was loving The Monkees when it wasn't cool to love The Monkees.

And, specifically, to appreciate Mike Nesmith? He wasn't the charming Micky Dolenz or the "cute" Davy Jones or the happy hippy Peter Tork.

He was distant and difficult and perfectionistic and...cool. Way cool.

He made country rock when the world wasn't quite ready for it. Then along came the Eagles and Poco and the Flying Burrito Brothers and...

While I was honing my ears for The Beatles off my sister's records, Susan was spinning around in the basement of her Staten Island home with Mike, Micky, Davy, and Peter.

There's something cool about doing something that isn't cool. It makes you unique.

Nesmith is only now being viewed as the visionary he way. But, as I told you on Friday, it's Susan's story to tell and I know she obsessed over crafting it.

She can write fast -- trust me -- but something like this has to be sculpted. She finds her analogies along with her paintbrushes and hammer and chisel. From there, the artist goes to work.

No, you're wrong, Susan. Your tastes are cooler than you've ever known and your post today was a master class on honoring your heroes.

You'd be well-served to read the piece.

You'll learn a lot. Not about his mom inventing Liquid Paper or the "easy topics." This is more personal and, well, wonderful.

"My gift in memory of Michael Nesmith is to commit to exploring as much of his music as I can," Susan writes. "I’ve not done nearly enough. I hope he can forgive me for being late."

Nez would forgive, Suze. He'd be honored.

So will you.

Of Pizza, Ice Cream, and Cold Weather

 

2012

Traditions, sadly, can die.

I found myself thinking about one today.

I decided it was warm enough to go up into the attic today and do some cleaning. I find the process to be cathartic, if not painful. Mostly physical pain but also mentally exhausting.

Attics carry monsters. Memory monsters. Oh, some memories are great. I came across binders of baseball cards that I had forgotten about and a 1978 World Series program that was given to me and no doubt has my scratch on the scorecard inside. I kept score of the series-clincher in Game 6.

But the monsters also mean reminders of previous lives and portions of my life that I'd prefer to forget.

I was content to throw some of that out.

Now, to be clear, I have also given plenty to Sean to do what he wishes with it.

In this case, it found a garbage bag.

But I cleaned and scrubbed old mugs and dishes and silverware and drinking glasses. I pretty much opened and closed every drawer and cabinet in the kitchen.

Again, cathartic.

Again, exhausting.

Among the finds was an old stop sign. Not a real one but a wooden one that used to have a pole attached to it. The sign -- which has the word "go" in green on the opposite side, could stand up and be a toy for a kid who loves roads.

It, obviously, was mine.

My great nephew Carson has developed a fascination in his very young life with stop signs.

So it's my great honor to offer it to him, and I texted his grandmother to do that very thing.

That's my sister and that's where the tradition comes back to the conversation.

You know, the original topic here.

She, Carson, and two of her kids were having dinner at Post Corner Pizza in Darien.

No, I'm not here to talk about Darien's championship win yesterday in football over Fairfield Prep, though I do congratulate the Blue Wave. Yesterday doesn't avenge the sting of their 2019 loss to Newtown on the last play of the game but gives them a new feeling. They're the champs and they've won quite a bit over the last decade.

Instead, Laura and I were both reminded of our December tradition of meeting at Post Corner Pizza for dinner before driving to the Setti's Christmas village in Norwalk. The collection of lights, small houses, and wooden characters created a cornucopia -- a plethora! -- of the Christmas feels.

Of which I now have none. I suppose that's a post for another night.

To that end, my mother went for a stent eight years ago today and wound up with open-heart surgery. So began that story. 

Again, for another time.

Anyway -- and I'm a lousy storyteller -- we'd do Post Corner for pizza and salad, then go visit the Setti's house (we didn't know them but did they welcome all of us every year), then finish up with -- yes, in December -- ice cream at Stew Leonard's.

It was glorious. It was us.

We'd freeze and warm-up and freeze and eat ice cream and finally thaw out as we each drove home.

Indeed, the year of Mom's open-heart surgery, we didn't think we'd do any of this because of what happened and when it happened.

Funny thing, though. We still made the visit to the Christmas village happen spontaneously.

Mom was in rehab in Fairfield following the surgery and we spent Christmas Eve with her. Curiously, it wound up being a really nice evening of pizza and laughs. OK, Mom didn't exactly enjoy it but something about it was relaxing.

Somewhere along the line, we decided after saying goodnight to Mom that we'd go to the Setti's house.

So, we did. Snow began to fall hard which created both a festive atmosphere and a dangerous ride home.

Sean and I were working our way towards Mahopac through New Canaan and Pound Ridge. At one point, with the roads slick, we started slowly down a hill when I felt the car sliding.

We were losing control.

In the moment, I tried to stay calm. I said nothing. I didn't flinch. Internally, I was flipping out.

I got the car back under control and we continued on when I felt a hand on my shoulder.

It was Sean, 11 at the time.

"You seem a little tense," he said, giving my shoulder a quick massage.

Smart kid.

The Setti's shut the Christmas village down a year later.

Traditions come and go.

Time moves on.

The memories linger.

Like old mugs in an attic.

Just a Quiet Saturday

 

I'm just sitting at home.

Army-Navy is on TV. The cat is asleep on the nearby ottoman and I'm thinking about dinner.

In short, I think I'm staying completely out of trouble.

And yet? Trouble finds me.

OK, first to the Army-Navy Game. I LOVE this game. Like love, love, love it. I went once -- 1989 when Navy beat Army on a field goal at Giants Stadium. It was literally the coldest I have ever been at a sports event.

My dad was in the Army so I root for the Black Knights of the Hudson. West Point is also, essentially, a 45-minute ride from Mahopac so it's a hometown thing for me. Lastly, I have cousins who go to every game (and are today's game as we speak).

So, yes, Go Army. Beat Navy.

But about the trouble.

It's championship day in football in Connecticut.

It comes as no shock that I'm sitting in Mahopac, watching Army-Navy, talking to the cat, and pondering dinner. Unless I had the desire to cover the high school football games (and maybe hang out with Jeff Alterman in Trumbull), my Saturday would have other ideas.

Like Army-Navy, yada yada yada.

As I've mentioned, I tend to avoid broadcasts -- especially of certain games. But that doesn't stop those broadcasts from finding me.

Again -- out of principle -- I don't pay to watch these broadcasts for a variety of reasons. That doesn't mean I don't get things texted to me.

Whether I want them or not.

So I've heard reviews of basically everything on the air, off the air, on the field, and off.

Look, I've said before that I'd be happy to call these games. As a parallel thought, I think the CIAC/NFHS is silly to insist on a monopoly on their stream since many broadcasters don't call the games for audio listeners. Thus an audio feed is needed for those running errands, etc.

Enter Robcasting or even, dare I say, WGCH.

If Connecticut, New York, etc want to talk, I'll talk. You know that drill by now.

Anyplace that I can call home!

Vin Scully never called a Super Bowl (and I'm not comparing myself to him). I've called several state championships (New York and Connecticut). Frankly, I'd have to look at how many. 

So I'm watching Army-Navy.

But...

"They desperately need you on the call."

Mike Hirn also tweeted that I should be doing these games (and so should Chris Erway, for that matter).

That's kind. I appreciate it.

But you reap what you sow friends.

So here I sit. The cat is snoring. Navy is winning 14-13 at the moment.

Chris Erway is seeing "Chicago" in New York with his lovely wife. 

I'm thinking about my next Brunswick call and if I can jump in for any public address work at Greenwich High School. I'm wondering about Greenwich girls hockey broadcasts and the Winter Classic.

The Renegades are in the back of my mind. I appreciate people worrying about that but I have no answers other than the press release and that I think it's a great thing.

I've moved on from high school football. Congratulations to Darien, Killingly, Maloney, and Cromwell/Portland. Worthy champions all and that's what matters. 

It's the athletes. It's the coaches. It's the game.

I'm just minding my own business.

A Different Drum

 

This isn't my story. It's Susan's. She'll tell it when she's ready and when she is ready? 

Grab tissues.

We all have heroes and there are people that we associate with one another. I think of Susan and Paul when it comes to Billy Joel, for instance.

For Chris Erway, it's probably Brian Wilson.

For Harold, it was Lemmy (if you say "Lemmy who?" you probably need to stop reading) and Bruins/Rangers great Rick Middleton.

There are others but you get the idea, and I know there are a few names associated with me.

But, back to Susan. Early in our friendship, we talked about music a lot. She said -- almost sheepishly -- that she was a fan of The Monkees. 

She specifically spoke glowingly of Mike Nesmith, the dude in the wool hat who just seemed cooler and angrier than the others and that was OK. He was more detached from what The Monkees were. He was more confounding than the other three members. He had a John Lennon/George Harrison way about him.

I think she then recoiled as she prepared for me to launch into a holier-than-thou-they're-not-The Beatles attack.

I didn't. I always liked them. I laughed at the show and loved the music. I knew a lot of it -- even a few lesser-known tracks -- and had a healthy appreciation for the hits.

How could anyone -- seriously -- ever dislike "Daydream Believer" or "I'm a Believer" or brilliant stuff like "Pleasant Valley Sunday?"

I knew the jabs -- didn't write their own music, was the "Prefab Four," didn't play their music -- but great pop craftsmanship doesn't have to come from the hand of the artist in question. Twas once a time, boys and girls, where there were songwriters who cranked out songs for others to play.

Yet The Monkees didn't necessarily want others to play write or perform their stuff. Especially Nesmith. No, "Papa Nez" was willing to punch a wall for his artistic integrity -- literally. He didn't want to be "The Monkees." He wanted to be The Monkees. That is, he wanted to be a musician. An artist.

I've sadly buried the lead here, but Papa Nez died today at 78, just a few weeks after his last performance with fellow primate Micky Dolenz.

But I'm giving you too much of a biography here and, for the real appreciation, I'm handing the keyboard to Susan, where it belongs. I speak as an outsider. She's the expert.

What I instead want to focus on is my initial point: we all have heroes.

The problem often is we have people in our lives who insist on telling you how these people -- larger than life and often intangible -- "put their pants on one leg at a time." God, I've heard that crap far too many times.

Except, when their pants are on, they make gold records (paraphrasing legendary producer Bruce Dickinson on Saturday Night Live).

But, seriously, despite the naysayers, some of these people -- people we'll never know -- become like friends. We know their catalog so deeply, regardless of what it is. Their work takes us to a happy place. It's a touchstone. A flash in time.

It's also a connection to our kids. Our parents. Our friends. Our loved ones.

When I hear the live version of "Trouble in Paradise" by Huey Lewis and the News, I'm 16 again and my father is still alive and I'm in high school and my worries are few. The Yankees and Steelers are both sort of middling teams but my band is arguably the biggest band in the world. I hear the song now and blink a few thoughts of life and times gone by in that moment.

I have no idea it will all crash down by the end of 1989.

So, for Susan, I got it. I knew what this all meant. I even considered surprising her last year with an online hello from Papa Nez. Yet something she said to me told me she was content to leave things as they were.

Those memories are happily frozen in time.

Again, it's her story.

Somehow, I fear this is becoming about me but it's really a story of protecting my friend while explaining that it's really OK to feel sad today. They're not always "some vapid celebrity." They're a part of our lives.

See, with Susan, she honored me with a deep dive of Monkes Mayhem. She made me a mix CD -- maybe the last one she's ever made -- of all kinds of groovy goodies. She turned me on to deeper recesses of Nesmith, Dolenz, Peter Tork, and Davy Jones (beyond his famous "Brady Bunch" appearance).

She made me realize the love of "Propinquity (I've Just Begun to Care)" while examining the lyrics of brilliant "Randy Scouse Git (Alternate Title)" more closely. 

We'll never hear the words "The four kings of EMI are sitting stately on the floor" without glancing at each other. 

The Monkees...and The Beatles.

Nesmith, right, with a couple of Lads named George and John

Oh, did you ever hear the fact that The Monkees sold more records than The Beatles and Rolling Stones combined?

Nesmith admitted to Gilbert Gottfried in 2015 that he made the whole thing up for an interview he did. How did I learn that? Susan told me to listen to the Gottfried/Nesmith interview.

Amazing stuff (hear it for yourself).

So when I glanced at my email today and saw that headline: "Monkees Co-Founder Michael Nesmith Dead at 78," I audibly gasped and texted Susan.

"Call me. Now."

I didn't want it to come from some random heartless D.W. Washburn or Auntie Grizelda. For Pete's Sake, it had to be delivered delicately!

It hurt.

Still does.

I got it. 

For her, it's a connection to her daughter and...again...

It's her story.

Let her tell it. Let her sadness and, hopefully, joy flow.

Let her take a Last Train to Clarksville.

And raise a glass to the brilliant Papa Nez, who's being feted with proper respect tonight in the pop culture world.

Listen to the Band.