Rethinking the Post

 

Another random picture: I want Tom Baker's voice occasionally
(Tom was the Fourth Doctor on "Doctor Who" ... 
if I need to explain that ... )

So, I made a mistake.

Sadly, I knew it at the moment but I thought maybe it wouldn't be bad..

I tried to kill two birds with one stone. I could write about depression and Bell Let's Talk along with admitting a few things I'm currently facing (more to come!).

I also thought I could address Joe Rogan, Neil Young, and Spotify. To that end, I initially wrote a longer version before deleting most of it.

"Leave it basic," I said out loud. "Just enough to acknowledge it."

Today, instead of literally anyone acknowledging what I wrote personally, the only comments were about Rogan.

Again, to be clear, I'm blaming myself. It should have been two separate posts.

I accept it and got what I deserved.

I was initially annoyed. I thought I'd just write, well, not a lot tonight. Honestly, what good would slapping readers on the wrist do?

No. I can't make it clear enough. The fault is with me.

Sometimes two different topics can run together. In this case, I couldn't do that. It's too toxic (huh...Tox...) a topic.

The minute I noted Mr. Rogan, Young, etc, that became the focus. Nobody was going to give a damn about mental health, my need for a place to live, or anything else.

So, this is clearly a case that is not about you. It's me.

The Spotify topic is one I should have gone nowhere near and the reactions probed my point.

So I'll learn from my mistakes.

Or I won't.

But I accept the blame.

Oh, and full disclosure, I'm on at least two podcasts that are on Spotify (and elsewhere). 

#BellLetsTalk and Joe Rogan

 

This is a random picture of a bear. For no particular reason.

Joe Rogan depresses me.

Well, no, maybe not. OK, I'm mixing things up here so let's start over.

First, the serious stuff. The annual #BellLetsTalk day passed on Thursday and I didn't know it. While I realize it's an attempt by an obnoxious corporation to curry favor with the public, it also marks the day that I talked publicly about depression for the first time a few years ago. It was something I struggled with given that I've long heard whispers of how "there's no such thing" and "it's just an attempt for attention."

We'll leave those harrowing words for another time. Be all of that as it may, I still wanted to acknowledge Bell Let's Talk as I have for the past few years. I still have ups and downs and am going through a time of great transition. Perhaps I'll elaborate more in the future but the short version is, for one thing, I will soon need a place to live.

(And I just began to shiver writing those words. Incredible that I should feel that way.)

It's a nerve-wracking time and a time in which I've arguably never felt more alone.

If you want to believe that is attention-seeking well maybe it is. Call it a cry for help.

I'm trying to reclaim my life after, say, 15 years. I've been stuck in neutral with occasional glimpses of moving forward and back. I'm content with a lot but don't have benefits (for instance) and feel like I lack stability.

So I'm hoping that will get resolved. Soon.

Again, perhaps I'll say more in the future but the point is mental health issues are real and something people -- more than are willing to admit -- struggle with every day. 

That's why I try to be here for friends and family, even if only to listen. Admittedly sometimes I should listen more and talk less.

But I'm here. That's the point.

OK, so back to Joe Rogan. Joe Rogan is an idiot.

See? That's easy. He spreads nonsense and, if I'm being honest, I've never been a fan.

Spotify, as you've probably heard, is a place to get his podcast. Neil Young, noted musician, basically gave Spotify an edict: "Rogan or Young."

Spotify pulled Young's music, per his request. Others have followed suit, including the legendary (jeez, that's putting it mildly) Joni Mitchell.

That leads some to think that Spotify chose Rogan over Young.

Some say that's not the case. Those people feel Spotify honored Young's wishes. That doesn't mean they're endorsing Rogan.

And I've decided to stop here. I had more written but, as we've long discussed (and evident in this very discussion) we lack the ability to have civil conversations. I'll add that I don't think anyone wins here. I'll also add that nobody looks good. So there's that.

And Joe Rogan spreads dangerous information. That doesn't mean I agree with Neil Young.

That's all I've got.

Other than Rams/Bengals.

Super Bowl in two weeks.

That is all.

Hoover This

 

Tom Brady isn't the GOAT but let's leave that right there.

We're not here for that (Jim Brown and Lawrence rank higher in my eyes).

If the news of Brady's retirement is true (his agent is telling different stories) then people will have plenty of time to fawn over him.

But it still gives me a reason to post a favorite story that Tom Brady plays a part in.

First, you need a little context. Once again, I'm delving into something I rarely discuss: the time around the end of my marriage.

It was 2008 and things were, well, bleak. I lived in a separate room and she would often cook meals for just her and Sean.

Yes. 

Yet we'd still do some things together, like spend Super Bowl Sunday at her parent's house. In this case, it was the Giants/Patriots game -- Super Bowl XLII.

To be honest, I didn't have a huge rooting interest but Sean, who had played baseball for the Giants at one time in Carmel, told me that's who he wanted to win.

And, if we're being transparent, my ex's eventual second husband is a huge Patriots fan.

*****

I should stop here and say that I've long been so cautious in discussing any of this because of 1) Sean, 2) her parents, siblings, and other family members, and 3) it's undignified. So I've barely written probably 5% (at most) of what I could tell you from 1987 to the present day. I continue to learn things. See things.

Even tonight.

Oh, there's a book for sure.

But I think this story is kind of funny.

*****

It was a typical Super Bowl gathering (other than the tension between us) at my former in-law's house. We had chili dogs and watched the game. 

While I had a pit in my gut over the events going on, I just quietly watched the game. I took it all in. I marveled at the Giants' approach, remembering how they gave New England all they could handle in the last week of the regular season.

The Giants did what I always felt should be done. You could rattle Brady by hitting him and that's what they did. The Patriots held just a 7-3 lead heading into the fourth quarter.

I felt content if the Patriots won, not really bothered if they were the first team to ever go 19-0, surpassing the 17-0 effort of the 1972 Miami Dolphins. They'd be only the second undefeated team of the Super Bowl era.

For the most part, I just wanted a good game.

But.

In the back of my mind, a snowball began to build. Basically, a year of bad stuff (and lots of other items) began surging through me.

The Giants took the lead back at 10-7 early in the fourth quarter.

I sat quietly.

Sean -- noted Giants fan (I kid)  -- paid next to no attention. Keep in mind he wasn't quite six and was playing.

Brady, seemingly working his "magic," found Randy Moss for a score with 2:42 to play. It was 14-10 Patriots.

I sat quietly. I kept telling myself that I had no rooting interest.

Eli Manning -- helping cement his own legacy -- directed a 12-play, 83-yard drive that featured two iconic moments. The first one, of course, was Manning's scramble on third-and-five from the Giants 44. Eli's high throw was trapped against the helmet of David Tyree for 32 yards. "The Helmet Catch" was born.

The second play happened with :39 to play. Former Steeler Plaxico Burress ran a slant and go to the left side of the end zone and Manning lofted the ball perfectly. Burress grabbed it for the go-ahead touchdown.

At once, I burst. The months of being demoralized and emasculated with things that I knew and how I was being treated popped (and we were just getting started). 

"SUCK IT!" I said. I looked straight at the TV as I burst from my seat on the couch.

The Giants went on to win, 17-14.

I sat back down, fairly embarrassed. It just sort of happened. It wasn't scripted. I surprised myself. I don't know if anyone understood what had just occurred.

It was dumb.

It was petty.

It was also glorious and hysterical.

So became "The 'Suck It' Super Bowl."

If that's it, thanks, Tom. Or thanks, Eli.

Or whoever needs to be thanked, thanks.

A New York Moment

 

People love New York. They also hate New York.

Like, hate, New York.

Tonight we had one of our moments. It was loud and obnoxious and everything that New York always is.

Madison Square Garden -- fittingly, "The World's Most Famous Arena" -- roared as Henrik Lundqvist was honored for his distinguished career with the New York Rangers.

His number 30 was raised to the rafters, concluding a ceremony that featured an eloquent speech by former Ranger Kevin Weekes, gifts from the likes of John McEnroe and others, and the presence of Lundqvist's family. Royalty also reigned with Mike Richter, Brian Leetch, Adam Graves, and Mark Messier in attendance, decked out in their blue sweaters.

As always, The Garden did a phenomenal job putting on the ceremony. There was nothing cringeworthy or painful. There were laughs, tears, and cheers.

I've attended ceremonies honoring other athletes before and have watched plenty of others. This one was tremendous.

There are some athletes I've been tough on over the years. Bernie Williams immediately springs to mind. I love Bernie but, man, I often felt like something bad was going to happen when he stepped to the plate. Obviously, it was unfair.

Same with Lundqvist. I growled at "The King" nickname. I snorted at the PR appearances. The GQ shoots. Playing guitar on Jimmy Fallon.

I just wanted a Stanley Cup.

I must also note Harold's mom Pat. She was a great Rangers fan and a huge Hank critic. I can't help but wonder what she'd think tonight.

Personally, I was touched by everything.

Oh, I knew my criticism was silly but we expect excellence, especially from some more than others. We demand it. Was some of the criticism warranted? It probably was. Sometimes I felt the media gave him a pass but, honestly, that's all in the past (see what I did there?).

I had the opportunity to be around Hank a few times. Once was at MSG against the Columbus Blue Jackets, with Greenwich's own Cam Atkinson in the building. Henrik gave up three quick goal and was pulled late in the first period.

Columbus went on to win, 4-2. 

Late in the game, I was sitting with Paul Silverfarb in the media section of the Chase Bridge and glanced at the monitor under the clear desk where I was sitting. I spied Henrik, wearing a baseball hat, on the TV feed. I snapped a picture on my phone and, Apple being Apple, the picture turned 90 degrees.

"Sideways Sad Hank" was born.

In the locker room, Henrik tended to things quietly and wasn't speaking to the press. So was his intensity.

The next time I saw him was in an interview room at Yankee Stadium following a victory in the Stadium Series against the New Jersey Devils. He was happy, charming, and answered every question.

He never stood taller than he did just a few months later, helping to guide a Rangers team to the Stanley Cup Finals against the Los Angeles Kings. While it was a competitive series, with three games going to overtime (and two to double overtime) the Kings won the series in five games.

I sat in a hotel in Meriden, CT preparing to call three baseball championships the next day.

I yelled when Alex Martinez scored off a rebound in double overtime.

Henrik just stayed down on the ice before coming to his knees. He had given everything.

Respect. Sad, but respect.

He left for Washington -- it's a business as we all sadly are reminded -- but never played a minute. Heart surgery ended his career.

No, he never won a championship. We have those who are never able to mount that last hurdle.

Ernie Banks. Ted Williams. Dan Marino. Don Mattingly. John Stockton. Jim Kelly. Ty Cobb.

Henrik Lundqvist.

Each is a legend in one form or another that never won a title.

It doesn't take away from the quality of the man or the greatness of his achievements.

He's a New York icon.

He is beloved.

He's King Henrik.

We had a New York moment tonight to honor him.

Big Ben's Best

 

Ben Roethlisberger officially retired today.

I'm not here tonight to talk about his legacy. On the field, it's rock solid and legendary. He's not better (my opinion) than Terry Bradshaw but he holds his own and will waltz into Canton in five years.

Off the field, we know it's messy, though I think we can all agree that it's been clean as a whistle since 2010.

No, I'm here because when I think of Big Ben, I think of a few things. I think of that excitement of the Steelers drafting a quarterback in the first round after years of middling players.

I think of going to my one -- sadly, one -- Steelers game in Pittsburgh, in Ben's rookie year, 2004. The "Stillers" beat Washington (I don't dare use their name at the time), 16-7. Ben was a pedestrian 9 of 20 for 131 yards. He was sacked four times. Jerome Bettis -- forever, "The Bus" -- ran 31 times for 100 yards and a touchdown.

Of course, I think of Ben in the playoffs, making the AFC Championship in his first year and winning the Super Bowl in his second. 

But it's his second Super Bowl, on Feb 1, 2009, that stands out. Maybe he should have been the MVP but it's irrelevant. He was the man that night.

And, personally -- that's where the story is going -- I needed the Steelers to win that night. Bad.

Oh, you can go through the archive and find the posts I wrote from that time.

For those of you who don't know, 2009 wasn't a shiny, happy time in my life. The process towards the end of my marriage was slogging along. We still lived in the same house but it was, at best, ice-cold.

I slept in my office on a twin futon from Ikea.

Life went on every day and I'll let those couple of paragraphs stand as the quickest representation of what it was like. A topic for another time.

Sean and I had actually awakened on Super Bowl Sunday in Pennsylvania. My baby great niece Emma was having a birthday party.

Oh, let's throw in that I got a ticket on the New Jersey Turnpike and the cop questioned Sean as if he might have been abducted. He was doing his job and I get that but it was awkward and, frankly, it freaked Sean out.

So, yeah, I needed that Super Bowl. It's dumb and it wouldn't have mattered if the Steelers weren't in the game. But they were.

We drove back home on Sunday afternoon and made it in plenty of time for the game. His mother would not be joining us. She spent the weekend where she would eventually move and get married.

Sean hung in with me for quite a while, watching the game and getting excited (for as much as his almost seven-year-old brain could process).

He made it into the second half before he began to drift off. I helped him to bed and said goodnight.

On the field in Tampa, the Steelers had built up a 10-0 lead. The Arizona Cardinals cut that to 10-7 and were heading towards a score as time ran out in the first half. Kurt Warner tried to force a pass into Anquan Boldin two yards deep in the end zone.

James Harrison intercepted the pass at the goal line over the middle and rumbled 100 yards for a touchdown.

In Carmel -- where we lived at the time -- I was unhinged. Despite what you think, I'm normally not like this.

I danced..."Go...Go...GOOOOO!" before throwing my arms up in exaltation.

It was 17-7 at the half. The lead stretched to 20-7 in the third quarter.

A 13-point lead! A great defense of Harrison and Troy Polamalu and LaMarr Woodley and James Farrior and Ike Taylor...swaggin. How could they lose?

And then?

Then?

Larry Fitzgerald -- truly an all-time great -- caught a touchdown with 7:33 to play. 20-14

OK, no need to panic.

The Steelers went three-and-out. Still, trust the defense.

The Cardinals drove to the Pittsburgh 36 before they punted. They pinned the Steelers on their own one with 3:26 to go.

But they've got this! Pound the rock with "Fast" Willie Parker! Throw short passes! Keep matriculating the ball down the field, boys!

Ben hit Santonio Holmes on a gutsy call on third-and-10 at their own one. First down, baby! Move the chains! Arizona would have to use their timeouts (two remaining)! The sixth Lombardi trophy was on the way.

And then I saw it.

A flag.

Holding. Justin Hartwig. In the end zone. 

That's a safety, two points for Arizona, and they get the ball. 

20-16 with 3:04 to play. Trust the defense.

Sean, thankfully, is a deep sleeper. That could work against him but, in this case, it was a good thing, as his maniacal father paced the house on Collier Drive. 

1st and 10 at the Steelers 36: Warner threw incomplete. I took a deep breath.

2nd and 10 at the Steelers 36: Warner dropped and threw over the middle. Fitzgerald was matched up with Harrison. The throw was on the money.

"Thirty, twenty, TEN!" Al Michaels said on NBC. "Arizona has the lead!"

23-20.

I was sick.

This wasn't happening.

There was 2:47 to play and the Steelers had two time outs. They needed a field goal from Jeff Reed to tie it and possibly go to overtime.

They had Ben.

As sick as I was, there was hope.

They started the drive with 2:30 to play.

When the Steelers had a holding penalty on first down, my sickness grew. They were now back at their own 12. But Ben, avoiding the rush near his own end zone, hit Santonio Holmes for 14. Few -- ever -- were better buying time in the pocket (sometimes too much time) than Big Ben.

They were at their own 26 and in hurry-up mode. No need to panic. Nate Washington couldn't hold on to a deep pass to the right side as the clock dipped to the two-minute warning.

It was third-and-six at the Pittsburgh 26. Facing a blitz by Arizona, Ben threw high and Santonio pulled it down at the 39. Thirteen yards and a first down.

Breathe, Rob.

Nate Washington took in a quick pass for 11 yards and another first down but couldn't get out of bounds to stop the clock.

1:15...1:14...1:13...

"And it's become a little bit windy here," Michaels said. Those aren't words you want to hear when you need a field goal to tie the Super Bowl.

Ben ran for four yards on first down to the Arizona 46. Timeout, Steelers, with 62 seconds remaining.

I picked the wrong night to stop sniffing glue.

Realistically 20 yards would get Reed in place for a 43-yarder. Still, nothing wrong with being greedy. Ben, head coach Mike Tomlin, and offensive coordinator Bruce Arians decided to get greedy.

Roethlisberger took a four-step drop. He pumped. Then he threw and hit Holmes at the Arizona 35. At that point, they were looking at a 52-yard field goal.

But Holmes wasn't done. Defender Aaron Francisco fell and Santonio turned the sideline. He kept running as he broke back inside.

He was tackled at the six yard line. Oh, they were in field goal range now. 

The Steelers took their last time out.

I aged.

Life flowed through my brain. So many emotions.

This was no longer about a field goal.

Go win the Super Bowl, Ben.

He emptied the backfield with five wide receivers on first and goal at the six. He looked right and pumped. Then he threw high -- seven yards deep -- towards Holmes, who Arizona simply couldn't seem to stop. He had eight catches before that play.

But nothing is ever easy and the ball sailed incomplete.

Second and goal at the Arizona six with forty-three seconds remaining. 

The house was empty and quiet, as Sean slept. Michaels, John Madden, and 70,774 nuts in Tampa were the soundtrack.

Plus me.

Hoping.

The play started with Ben in shotgun and Mewelde Moore lined up next to him in the backfield. He would peel out as a check-down receiver, creating five options for Ben. Moore went to the eight as Ben dropped back.

Washington worked over the middle. Heath Miller streaked along the left hash marks. Hines Ward turned near the three and waited.

Holmes went towards the right back corner of the end zone.

Al Michaels -- calling a brilliant game -- spoke:

"Roethlisberger. Has time..."

Ben held the ball out in his right hand. Then he pumped. He directed traffic with his left hand. He danced to his right.

Then he cranked and let it go.

"Throws to the back of the end ZONE..."

I watched Homes. It's what I would normally describe as "climbing the ladder" but it was more than that.

Three Arizona defenders were nearby. The pass had to be perfect. Ben, arguably, never threw a better ball.

Santonio reached and tapped.

"And it is..."

Come on. Do this.

"CAUGHT FOR A TOUCHDOWN," Michaels growled. 

A brief moment passed.

"BY HOLMES!"

Santonio hugged the ball like a long-lost friend.

A few seconds passed before Madden -- calling his last game -- could only muster one word: "Unbelievable."

"Incredible," Michaels added.

In Carmel, I didn't care who heard me. They could hear me rattle the house from the Moon for all I cared.

As the eight-play, 78-yard drive concluded, I let loose.

"YYYYYYEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEESSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS"

Like the classic cork, I popped. It all rushed out of me. 

I was out of breath.

There were still 35 seconds but, with the extra point, the Steelers now had a four-point lead. Warner and company needed a touchdown to win. If that happened, all I could do was tip my hat.

People will always talk about "the Helmet Catch" the year before and Lynn Swann's magic in Super Bowl X. This catch -- Holmes tapping both feet down while snagging a ball that only he could catch -- stands right there.

Still, there was time. The Steelers gave the Cardinals the middle of the field and Warner exploited that to get to the Pittsburgh 44 in two plays. Arizona burned their final two time outs.

Fifteen seconds. That was it.

Warner scrambled but couldn't avoid LaMarr Woodley, who knocked the ball loose. It rolled forward and Brett Keisel -- always fear the beard! -- recovered it.

But.

Wait.

A flag, fortunately, after the play on Woodley. So the fumble stood but there was still a review to confirm that Warner's arm wasn't moving forward (thus an incomplete pass).

The fumble was confirmed. Ben gathered the crew in the victory formation, then took a knee to end it.

Pittsburgh 27, Arizona 23.

I smiled. I exhaled. Eventually, I'd sleep.

The house would get emptier a few months later, then fill up as Emma and family moved in with us for a fun stretch. We were all gone by the spring of 2010

But that night -- Feb 1, 2009 -- the Steelers were on top of the world. 

The roller coaster of emotions came back into the station with euphoria.

It took a while before I got any sleep.

Thanks, Ben, for a wild ride.

See you in Canton.

Choices

Sunset outside Brunswick's Sampson Athletic Center.
Looking towards Westchester County Airport

 

I had a choice today: basketball or hockey?

Brunswick's winter schedule has several of these conundrums on them.

Admittedly, it's a bit of a dance. Which game should I call?

I am -- by definition, I suppose -- the "voice" (cringe) of Brunswick hockey and basketball. Plus football, baseball, soccer, lacrosse, and perhaps lots more. One can dream.

My gut told me that basketball was the correct decision because I had just called hockey on Monday. I want to be fair to both teams.

Yet, one could compare the games and draw their own conclusion.

Brunswick basketball has injuries to key players and was taking on a physical team from Suffield Academy.

Brunswick hockey -- ranked number 4 -- hosted the 18U team from South Kent. That could be an excellent game.

Whatever the case, I decided that basketball deserved the attention.

You need to know that I like both coaches and coaching staff. You also need to know that I like both teams. I also love both sports. And, for what it's worth, my number of hockey broadcasts is basically the same as my number of basketball broadcasts.

On the court, Brunswick had a four-point lead -- 14-10 -- before Suffield Academy reeled off 20 straight points and never looked back.

Final score: 64-43.

As that went on, I kept an eye on hockey, updating viewers as I called the basketball game. The two games were played maybe 100 feet apart but all I had to do was watch on my iPad to monitor the action on the ice.

That game, on the other hand, went to overtime before South Kent ended the Bruins' six-game winning streak, 5-4.

Broadcasters often prove their worth in games that might be lopsided*. We tell our best stories then work harder to remain engaged, not just personally but for the audience. The student-athletes deserve the best coverage I can give them whether the game is close or not.

*I'm choosing my words carefully because these are teenage athletes and the last thing I ever want to do is say anything offensive. I admired how hard the Brunswick kids continued to grind even as any chance of a comeback began to slip away.

I love watching sports like that. Not everything has to be about wins and losses. The beauty of sports is often found in the little things.

Oh yeah, and I love calling sports.

So I guess that's what I'm trying to get at. I've called many games that seemed one-sided or, frankly, were one-sided. Still, our job as blabbermouths is to continue to do the basic tenets of play-by-play" Report, Inform, Educate, Entertain.

It's not some pithy "hey look at me" #LCRR nonsense (you'll have to look on Twitter for that). It's reporting the damn game and trying to keep the audience engaged.

So whether it's a 5-4 overtime thrilled or a 7-6 walk-off a home run or a 57-0 football blowout, I'm going to call it essentially the same. Sure, the entertainment factor might increase in a game that likely appears over but my goal is not to be a circus clown (Do I amuse you?).

Next up is girls hockey on Friday though I'm extremely dubious on that game between Section One East and Greenwich. I have my doubts that game will happen due to the weather. Frankly, I currently have tires that are round and made of rubber.

That's where it ends. So going out in snow/ice/blech is not a smart move.

There's always Brunswick hockey on Saturday but, chances are, that will get wiped out also.

So, currently, I suspect the next broadcast will be Monday at Brunswick.

For hockey. 

The next time basketball is around is Fri, Feb 4. There's also a basketball game that same night.

My gut is I'll go back to the hardwood.

Everyone deserves coverage.

More On the Hall (or "Moron Talks More About The Hall")

History is messy. That's a fact.

I wrote about who I would have voted for enshrinement in the Baseball Hall of Fame last night.

The reaction was basically like a tree falling in the woods and nobody hearing it.

So, allow me to waste more of your precious time.

The National Baseball Hall of Fame and Museum is, just that, a museum. It is supposed to tell the story of the game of baseball.

Under no circumstances am I a fan of Barry Bonds. I've heard far too many incriminating stories -- yes, stories -- about what a miserable individual this guy is. But he could also hit and field and play some ball.

Yes, his father was also traded one-up for an outfielder named Bobby Ray Murcer but I'm not going to hold that against him, despite the fact that six-year-old Robbie is still devastated.

When Bonds came to play the Yankees in an interleague (pfft) matchup, I went with excitement on a Friday night. I also enjoyed every moment of it when Mike Mussina struck him out as part of a 2-1 Yankees win.

The Hall is loaded with a mixed bag of characters but they're all there to tell the story of the game. Don't tell me you have a bat or a sock or some other trinket from a banned (or unofficially banned) player. It's just hypocrisy.

Put Pete Rose in. Yes, we know about the gambling. We get it. But, as I said, history is messy. We yell about educators teaching our kids, well, what about us?

I welcome walking into the Hall of Fame with Sean or anyone else and telling them the stories.

"Pete Rose was a hell of a player but an absolute train wreck of a person," I would say. "He gambled on baseball, which is rule number one. The biggest no-no of all! See? It says it right here on his plaque. He was even banned from giving a speech in exchange for his election. He gambled as a manager and there are still questions about what he did as a player. He's a degenerate. However, you can't argue about what a player he was. Great slap hitter. More hits than anyone. Led The Big Red Machine with Bench and Morgan and Perez and Foster. Great player. Awful person."

There. 

I can do this all day. Shoeless Joe Jackson, come on down! Bonds, Clemens, Sosa? You're next!

As I said in my explanation of Rose, my Hall of Fame would say Rose was thrown out of baseball for gambling. I'd say the same on Shoeless Joe's plaque. Pete would not be allowed to give a speech either. Oh, he'd talk, and he'd never stop, but he's not addressing the assembled crowd on Induction Weekend.

Baseball -- and the Hall of Fame -- need to move forward. Yes, the Hall is a sacred place to me. I speak in reverent and mostly hushed tones when in the gallery, which is cathedral-like to me. But those plaques include as many saints as there are sinners. Those plaques include many wonderful people who really shouldn't be Hall of Famers but, well, they are. They include myths who were fair enough players but made the Hall because of a poem (Tinkers to Evers to Chance).

Now just because the Hall of Fame has made mistakes before doesn't mean they should make them again. Putting the much-maligned Harold Baines in doesn't mean there needs to be someone else to "make up" for that.

And, look, we all know Baines was a questionable decision. It was controversial. But it also happened and it's over. Harold Baines was a really good player and an extremely decent and humble man. Let's let it go and move on. That doesn't mean the drink should be further watered down.

Yes, I'm a "small Hall" guy but I'm also a "fair Hall" guy. I want the best of the best. Otherwise, I want to start a "Golden Diamond" that elevates Ruth, Cobb, Mays, Gehrig, Aaron, and yes, Bonds, to another level.

I think we all agree that Bonds and Clemens used PED's. Most of us -- if we're being fair -- would say the same about Ortiz and a few others (again, Hi Queens). I know a few Yankees (Giambi, Pettitte) used. These are facts. 

When it comes time to address Carlos Beltran (who is up next year) and Jose Altuve and the Astros, put what happened on their plaques.

Tell the story of the game.

That's the job.

Don't just write a Hallmark card.

I love Cooperstown. I've often thought of packing up and moving there to work for the Hall. I think they should have an official broadcasting historian and game broadcaster and I'm more than willing to be that guy. Oh, they sort of have those, but I can handle the gig as well. I'll call all of the games over at Doubleday Field.

One needs to dream occasionally.

But Cooperstown -- or at least baseball's Cooperstown -- is also built on a lie that ol' Abner Doubleday went to his field and mapped out our National Pasttime.

Sigh. Not even remotely true. There's no truth that Doubleday -- who's buried in Arlington and whose grave I've visited -- ever SAW a baseball game. He certainly didn't invent it.

The game came in parts from England and other places and was refined in the USA. It evolved throughout the 19th century.

It didn't start in Cooperstown. It started everywhere.

So if they can fix that mistake but still accept that Cooperstown is the mythical home of baseball, can't we tell the truth about our grand game?

The Hall of Fame has truly stepped up to tell the correct story of the Negro Leagues and the All-American Girls Professional Baseball League. It continues to adapt and, as we say in our common tongue, "do better."

Well, "do better" on the plaques that hang in that hallowed gallery.

That's your job.

Tell the story.

The Hall of Fame Ballot

 

Hall of Famer Sean Adams in Cooperstown, 2012.

Tomorrow's the day we find out if anyone has made the Baseball Hall of Fame.

Personally, I love it. I love the process and the debate. I love the conversation.

So, because nobody asked, I'm going to do my own ballot that nobody wants.

You're welcome, planet Earth.

There are 30 names on the ballot and you can choose up to ten. You're going to like this or not like this. Keep in mind I'm a "small Hall" guy, meaning I'm not Oprah Winfrey.

"YOU GET A PLAQUE! YOU GET A PLAQUE! YOU GET A PLAQUE!"

Let's do this. I'm going to rattle my choices off in no particular order.

1) Barry Bonds. Yup. Look, we're not inducting the best people. Bad people are already in the Hall of Fame, though it's time to stop the myth about Ty Cobb. He wasn't that bad. At all. The numbers are remarkable for Bonds but very stained. The court of public opinion is fairly firm that he used PED's and isn't the home run king. However, the record book says he is. As with Mark McGwire, Sammy Sosa, and others, we applauded for the most part*.

*OK, I didn't because I was skeptical and disgusted the whole time. In fact, I remember many people really sickened when he passed Hank Aaron for career home runs. Still, overall, we were complicit as a society. Bud Selig applauded and he was as guilty as anyone. He's also in the Hall of Fame. Shameful.

Still, while not the GOAT people try to make him out to be (Babe Ruth says hi), we have PED users in the Hall of Fame already (I'm glancing towards LaGuardia for some reason). Whatever the case, Bonds would get my vote. His enlarged head should get its own plaque

2) Roger Clemens. You basically can't have one without the other. Look, I can remember getting tickets to Yankees/Red Sox in the Bronx and being legitimately excited to watch Clemens pitch. To an extent, isn't that what it's all about? From there, the numbers are pretty great. Like Bonds, there's guilt even if there isn't enough proof. But I marveled at Clemens. I was there the night he struck out his 4,000th batter and won his 300th game. No bias intended. I'm just saying he was great. He is a Hall of Famer in my eyes.

3) Alex Rodriguez. The numbers are as flawed as Bonds. Completely stained. He admitted guilt. He did his penance. He's also, largely, rehabbed his image. Oh sure people still detest him but he's a fascinated character study. He's also among the greatest ever to play shortstop AND third base. He's also a jackass who used PED's. Still, 3,115 hits and 696 home runs? Certain benchmarks once almost guaranteed you for the Hall of Fame. A-Rod won't get in this year, nor should he necessarily, but I want him on the ballot to continue the conversation. But, man, did he piss me off and I say that as a father of an A-Rod fan years ago.

4) David Ortiz. Oh this is soul-crushing. I'm not big on DH's unless they're next level. And while I think. he's a good guy and glib and charming I also think he's a huge phony who has been a media darling. Thus, given we're all fairly certain (I get it -- conjecture abounds) that he failed an "anonymous test," if I vote for A-Rod, I will vote for Big Papi. He hit 541 home runs and was at the forefront of giving Boston its greatest baseball glory (my God but those words hurt to type). He was monstrous in the postseason. He hits the target for me, regardless of being a DH and a PED user in my eyes.

5) Curt Schilling. This is where you know I'm trying to be fair. As people go he's not exactly a great guy. But he's got one of those key numbers -- over 3,000 strikeouts -- and I'm striving for consistency. I still struggle with certain things but the postseason puts him over the top. Plus it might be fun to see the writers -- who he asked to not vote for him -- vote him in. I don't like him but that's not how this works. To be honest, I could pull him in favor of another name but no. It's the Hall of Fame and I believe in being fair.

6) Sammy Sosa. He has become a pariah in baseball circles but that still doesn't take away 609 home runs. Quick, who has hit over 60 home runs in a season? Now, who hit over 60 three times? Right, Sammy Sosa. You likely cheered him. You likely loved his personality and the tapping of the heart and the kissing of the fingers. As with Bonds, Clemens (and, to me, McGwire, who will also get his day) you were likely complicit and it's OK. 

7) Gary Sheffield. Again, there are certain numbers that work for me. Granted I used to be able to name every member of the 500 home run club and the Steroids Era killed that. But I loved watching Sheff hit. I didn't necessarily love watching him field and that's definitely a downside here. However, 509 home runs. That's enough.

8) Scott Rolen. The offensive numbers don't blow me away but third base is incredibly underrepresented. It's a position where defense is also a star (think Brooks Robinson and I'd have a more realistic conversation about Graig Nettles if we could). But Rolen did hit over 300 home runs and 2000 hits. However, I struggle with "Hall of Very Good." Still, I believe a vote for him keeps him on the ballot to keep reexamining. I think time and defensive metrics will serve Rolen well.

9) Billy Wagner. Here's the thing, Wagner (foolishly) used "Enter Sandman" in the town where the Sandman pitched night after night (though he'd have an Astros hat on his plaque unless you're smoking something strange). Mariano Rivera IS the Sandman. I think there are certain positions -- DH and relievers -- where you have to be past exceptional to make the Hall of Fame. Mariano is. Obviously. Billy Wags was a great closer. He had 422 saves and a 2.31 ERA. In no way -- on no planet -- am I picking Wagner over Mo but the comparison isn't necessary. In a world of Mo, Rollie Fingers, Goose Gossage, Lee Smith, Bruce Sutter, Trevor Hoffman, Dennis Eckersley, and Hoyt Wilhelm, Billy Wagner is a worthy enshrinee.

I'm sold on most of the first nine that I've selected, but I'm arguing with myself over Andruw Jones, Jeff Kent, Manny Ramirez, Todd Helton, and a certain Mr. Andrew Eugene Pettitte. I even want to acknowledge Mark Teixeira but I just can't. If I take Andy Pettitte, I'll hear about bias. The guy did win 256 games and was a wonderful postseason performer. In terms of WAR, Pettitte is 10th on the ballot, while Ortiz and Sosa, for instance, are much lower. Additionally, I'm not voting for Omar Vizquel so long as the character issue exists and he has character stuff that would need to be cleaned up. He's not a sure thing to me, so no. I gave this a lot of thought and...

10) Manny Ramirez. I know, he's a wackadoodle but, so what? So was Dizzy Dean, and we find him lovable if we're being fair. Manny B. Manny has 555 home runs and if I'm putting the other steroids users in then I'm going to be consistent. He was as much a part of the Red Sox run as Ortiz but, again, there's an agenda with Big Papi. Manny was never that great with the media.

Tough calls but I can live with these especially since I'm not really doing a ballot. Keep in mind, my ten are as much about making sure these names stay on the ballot for further evaluation as it is to endorse them for the Hall of Fame. I could have been swayed to pull, say, Schilling off for Helton.

I think the BBWAA has a huge task and I'm fine with how (most) of them do it. Tomorrow night, we'll find out how well they did their job for 2021. Keep in mind, Clemens, Bonds, Schilling, and Sosa all fall off the ballot if they don't get in tomorrow. Then they move to the veterans' committee for further evaluation. That will complicate things even more because there will be a logjam but that's a problem for another time.

We get our answers tomorrow.

Not As Drawn Up

 

1)Not remotely as beautiful or delicious as anything Susan makes.
2) At least I didn't dump it like Kevin on "The Office."

I planned to be on Zolz's Poughkeepsie Nissan Sunday Sports Show today on Z93. I promised I'd be there but, of course, life throws us curve balls occasionally.

Still, with an egg and cheese sandwich and a cup of coffee, I began the drive from Mahopac (or Guam, per Zolz) to Poughkeepsie.

Oh, and if I do say so myself, we had a really good show, despite the absence of Frank Pomarico. I'm usually the third wheel with those two (me? Third wheel on a broadcast?) but I have a blast with those guys.

We did our playoff predictions. The thing to know is that I had a one-game lead on Zolz heading into today but I just pick games without worrying about losing. Don't get me wrong, I want to win but I'm comfortable.

I picked Tampa Bay to beat the LA Rams. Well, that didn't come true. Zolz -- wanting to catch me -- picked the Rams. I've picked the Kansas City Chiefs in the nightcap. He wants to take the lead again, so he picked the Buffalo Bills.

The Chiefs just won the most insane game. I'm back up by one.

All good. All fun.

My day went nothing like that after. At one point I was supposed to see my sister but that plan fell apart for her. I was also supposed to work another overnight tonight and that also went pfft.

The thing is, it was a good reason. The technology tonight being used was different and the last thing I want to do is poorly represent our group. At the same time, Dan and Craig didn't want to put me in a bad spot. It's not a reflection on me. Instead, they'll take the bullet and teach me for the future.

I would have taken the ball and am bummed to lose the income but they'll take care of me.

On the other hand, I made plans based on that job tonight, including moving a podcast recording session I had scheduled for tomorrow morning. I didn't want to risk going to be at 4:30 tomorrow morning to be wiped out when we recorded. 

We'll do it Tuesday.

So instead I spent the afternoon working my way down US route 9 from Po'town to Fishkill. 

For Shawn Sailer: US 9 goes from Laurel, DE to Lewes where it crosses Delaware Bay via ferry to Cape May, NJ. Then it comes up through New Jersey, crosses the George Washington Bridge, and proceeds through New York to Champlain at the Canadian border. Technically, it dead ends at the border but in reality, it ends before that near Interstate 87. You're welcome.

I'm traveling to London in April with the Hunt Scanlon crew so I decided to look for a few things. Chief among them is comfortable pants to travel in, so I walked around Marshall's and TJ Maxx as well as a nearby Burlington store.

I walked out empty-handed.

I went down the road to the Poughkeepsie Galleria mall. It occurred to me that the mall opened right after I graduated from high school so I've been going to that place for over 34 years but I digress.

I looked at shoes and some other goodies, including noise-canceling headphones. The thing is, I want to knock myself out on the flights and listen to music or podcasts or whatever. So I'm fact-finding, I guess because, again, I left without buying.

Onto Wal Mart in Fishkill where I looked at Wild Mike's frozen pizza. Sean introduced me to that last summer and we both really liked it (as frozen pizzas go). Much like Rice Krispies, the pizzas are hard to find these days.

I walked around and, again, swung and missed. I couldn't even find some ground beef to make chili.

Sigh. That would involve a grocery store trip.

All was not lost as my pursuit took me up into Hopewell Jct. Admittedly, if you don't know, that took me out of the way towards home but we needed milk in the house for my fake Rice Krispies.

So I got my milk and ground beef and some yellow rice.

I could salvage things after all. I'd have chili, watch football, and hang with the cat.

Oh, remember the Facebook thing I mentioned yesterday? Well, the thing is it's too cumbersome to try to explain but the gist of it was that there are two play-by-play groups. One was created because the originator was thrown out of the first one (long story). Self-promotion is the hallmark of that second group (not the one run by Mike Hirn, Shawn Sailer, and me). Well someone questioned that constant self-promotion and that led to him being ejected. From there, the story gets frankly really bad and I just wasn't going to sit idly by while it went on. I'm astounded at the behavior of some, especially when the person who was thrown out is mourning a family tragedy. No compassion and a lot of hypocrisy. I couldn't watch it happen.

But I was told, "I have talent." Thanks a bunch.

Jeez. The latest edition of "Broadcasters Behaving Badly."

The thing is, one of them says they self-promote because they're looking for work. But, let's be real. What potential employer or sponsor is going to look at that behavior and say, "THAT'S OUR GUY!"?

Anyway, that's more time than I should have spent on that, but I felt you deserved a little more context.

Too Busy!

 

You need a basket to play basketball. Nice work at Brunswick today.

It's 11:05 p.m. and I need to write a post. 

Oh, I know, I should have started hours ago. Get on this!

Well, other things crept up.

I caught up on a little sleep. I went to Brunswick. I called basketball. I'm currently working another overnight deposition.

I hear there's a chance we might not go all night but I've heard that before. I'm prepared to go to bed at 4:30 tomorrow morning again. I just try to hear the cash register KA-CHINGING!

In between, I navigated Facebook foolishness between fellow broadcasters. The story is too long to try to explain but I did my best to mitigate the egos and ridiculousness of it all.

Oh, I argued and made my thoughts clear but I walked away with my head held high.

It wasn't about me but it was a situation that I still could address.

And I did.

So I came home, jumped straight into working the overnighter and cranking other projects.

With that, I almost forgot to write the post!

I mean, not entirely, but I looked up and realized it was approaching 11 p.m.

And here we are.

So that's my Saturday night. Things to concentrate on as I work before another long day tomorrow.

Power Through

 

I went to bed at 4:35 this morning. So ended 17 hours between two video depos.

Just to give you an idea of what's going on.

I was out and about for the first time in four days today. See, that's the thing with the video depo world (and working from home). It's very easy to get trapped or simply complacent with being home. I love working from home. Love, love, love it. But, yeah, I have to get back into the world occasionally.

Thankfully, I had a hockey game to call today. Brunswick hosted Delbarton on Local Live. The Bruins scored twice in the first minute and cruised to a 4-1 win.

I was supposed to be on Local Live and Robcasting. Which...yeah....OK.

The thing to remember is that some of the infrastructure goes months without being used. There is an XLR jack -- basically a three-hole port for the layman -- that I plug into to transport audio from my mixer on the balcony of the Hartong Rink. 

It's a different setup in the gym, where I basically plug into what you might see as a headphone jack.

Then Local Live picks that up and away we go.

Except...

Prior to a few weeks ago, the last time the Hartong Rink XLR was used was March 12, 2021. Somewhere between then and now, a gremlin got inside.

That's my story and I'm sticking with it.

So when you watched Brunswick hockey, you heard a lot of static and a little of me. I'm there but it's a tough listen (well, it's always a tough listen). I'm told it could be fixed by my next hockey broadcast on Monday.

So it's demoralizing when you know, basically, you're broadcasting to yourself.

Or, in this case, today, Susan and Shawn Sailer (thanks, guys!). Literally, that was my Robcasting audience.

Two.

And while it is tempting to just blow the broadcast off, the game and the professionalism win the day.

I admit there was a point where I just wondered if I should go home. That happens when it feels like it's all falling apart.

But, no. The show must go on and I called it with heart and soul, occasionally cracking jokes about the situation at hand. Humor is my best friend in those spots. I also joked about the person who ignored my backpack on the chair that was serving as a placeholder because he just had to have a spot along the railing right next to me.

I literally put that chair there to give me a little space, creating a small broadcast booth of sorts. But, no.

Back with basketball tomorrow then a depo tomorrow night then off to join Zolz on his Sunday morning show before another depositing Sunday night. 

It beats not being busy.

Archiving and Reviving

I'm powerless to stop him

I'm not much for writing a post tonight.

I've got reasons, including it being 10 p.m.

I'm also in the middle of a lot of work which, obviously, is a good thing.

But it's a lot of overnight work. It could have been four overnights in a row but I have hockey tomorrow so I'll get to sleep.

I've also got basketball Saturday.

I'm currently listening to Greenwich/Xavier football from 2000. The Cardinals shut out the Falcons that night to advance to the Class LL championship game. Dan Orlovsky and Shelton awaited. The UConn-bound Orlovsky, who played in the NFL and is now a legit star at ESPN, threw two touchdown passes as Shelton beat Big Red, 22-8.

Among the cassettes that I converted tonight was Staples beating Greenwich at Cardinal Stadium. The victory was a turning point for the Wreckers' program and they have matched wits with the Cardinals ever since.

But on that day, the Wreckers held on for a 14-8 play after a Hail Mary play fell through the arms of the receiver and went incomplete. Game over.

Then came the magnificent FCIAC Championship Game between Greenwich and New Canaan. The Rams took the lead and the Cardinals fought back, including a blocked punt TD that cut the deficit to one. Greenwich missed the extra point and an eventual game-winning field goal. New Canaan won 21-20.

I didn't really grasp what this championship game meant until I got there that night. Sure there was a buildup but it was all new to me. What I discovered were an insane crowd and a wonderful stadium.

I fell in love with Stamford's Boyle Stadium. The concrete bleachers and basic facilities that screamed early 20th Century.

The press box that hovered over the field and felt like it was built in the 50s.

There was an aura to the facility and to the game itself.

I enjoyed all of it but it was exhausting.

I still remember interviewing captain Michael Salvatore after the loss through his helmet and watching tears run down his cheeks. I should add he was the kicker for the Cardinals.

I will never forget the after Sean Kilkelly, Bob Small, and I packed up. I was on I-95 when I realized I had literally zero energy.

Every last ounce of adrenaline had run out of me.

Back then, we took the equipment back to the station, and, sometimes, I had to cut up highlights or do a write-up to leave for Jim Thompson to read in the morning. The point is, I still had to drive back to Mahopac from Greenwich after leaving Stamford.

I discovered what it was to feel completely spent after calling a game. It was somewhat intoxicating.

I've learned to manage that but it also speaks to why I've stood in many a parking lot or sat somewhere after a broadcast. This is why I look dazed sometimes. This is part of why I just pack up the equipment myself (that and I know where everything goes).

I learned it that night.

It was my honor to call 11 of those football championships and I can't say with enough clarity how much I miss them.

What a blast. 

*****

By the way, does anyone have any suggestions on how to keep #TheCat from jumping on the equipment?

*****

I'll be up for several hours (it's roughly 10:20 p.m. as I get ready to hit publish).

'The Trading Post' and The Charm of Local Radio

 

WGCH on Dayton Ave after we moved, 2007 (Google Street View)

I'm into day two of my cassette archive project.

The process remains fairly simple: I hit play and let the cassette run onto my computer. Then I edit out blank spots, pump up the volume as necessary, and save it. Then I load the file to archive.org and let it go.

I've moved into 2000 and I'm currently transferring a show called "The Trading Post."

My memory (and an Excel file that lists such things) tells me I dabbled in hosting the show on and off from 2000-2003 (give or take).

The concept was simple: it was the classified ads on the radio. I took calls from people with goods for sale or trade as well as tag sales they wanted to promote. We also accepted mail (yes, snail mail). If the phones went quiet then I could vamp a little with either music or talk.

But the phone normally rang off the hook and I'm glad I had the foresight to keep an episode that I hosted.

A special bonus for this edition of the show, from July 22, 2000, was that my nephew Michael was my guest host. He turned 11 just a few weeks after this show. He's now married with a house and two kids. We went to the Yankees game the night before.

Callers listed things like an accordion, Adirondack chairs, and a lot more. Tag sales were also announced among other items. I wrote each announcement down in a notebook in case there were follow-up questions.

I still hear similar shows when flipping the dial in other markets but WGCH ended the show a few years later as ownership changed. It was sad to see the pieces of local flavor that began to evaporate. "The Trading Post" was just one of those shows that kept WGCH relevant and buzzing, even on Saturdays.

We had a polka show -- "The Polka Party" -- hosted by the father/daughter duo of Fred and Cherly Witek. Fred started the show basically when the station went on the air in 1964. Cheryl took it as far as it could go after her dad died and, sadly, that show also eventually came to an end.

We had just so much more local programming. We were out doing remotes all around town. We did so many sports games (hi!). We aired the St. Patrick's Day parade. We drove in the very same parade.

Overall we stopped being a true community radio station by mid-2003. Shows that weren't profitable were eschewed in favor of dastardly network programming.

Most of the local flavor dried up.

There was always a buzz around the station seven days a week from roughly four in the morning until maybe 10 some nights and probably 7am-4pm on the weekends. 

Now? Nope. Just the way it is.

So shows was such charm like "The Trading Post" went away as internet usage climbed. The demographic changed and that's simply a fact.

Those who ignore history...well...you've simply got to keep moving forward.

But it was a fun listen. I was reminded of everything about the old building on Dayton Ave. I could see the board and the harsh lights. The small TV that rested above the console. The racks of reel to reel machines and the carts that we played with music, jingles, commercials, and more. The computer that acted as our (often faulty) automation.

Yes, I'm sure we belied that automation then since it replaced the on-air talent. Again, progress and all.

Oh, I could babble on about all of it and I'm sure more memories will flow.

But it was glorious and I'm glad I have the audio.

Listen to the show here.

Old WGCH studios, 2021 (Google Street View)

The Archive

 

I didn't wake up this morning planning to convert years of cassettes to digital.

Yet, here I am.

I agreed to two video depositions today, thus (mostly) anchoring me to my office, so I try to occupy the time with other activities.

My options otherwise area to go crazy or fall asleep. Both aren't ideal.

Oh, and option three is to walk away and have Sean monitor things for a few minutes while I step outside to talk to the guys from the septic service, who came to pump things out.

Let's just say it had been a while and that was kind of what I was referring to in a recent post. Thus we didn't have working toilets here for a few days. We adjusted but it wasn't pretty.

Anyway, that's fixed now.

So as I got ready to start the day, it occurred to me that I have a bunch of radio cassettes, dating back to 1999, that really need to be moved online.

Once I set up my recording system, I basically pressed play and let it go. I've done minimal editing as I've compiled several broadcasts.

The tapes span from 1999-2004 and most of them are audio from WGCH. I began carrying recorders of one form or another after 2004 and thus recorded things digitally.

While I haven't listened to every minute of audio, each tape presented a memory.

The first cassette chronologically was of a talk show I did at the time called "Inside Sports." Dated Aug 12, 1999, it begins with the voice of my friend and colleague John Iannuzzi as he presents the evening (!) news. Please note, again, we did an evening newscast!

I opened the show after that, cohosting with the late Luke Michaels. Luke, partially responsible for getting me to WGCH in 1997, always thought we'd make a really good on-air team and our chemistry is clear.

Of further note are the old jingles that we used and the commercials that used to run. The station just sounds different. Also of note was that WGCH had a sister station -- WVIP out of Mount Kisco -- and we often simulcast on the two outlets. In fact, WVIP had a High School Football Game of the Week at the time in Westchester County and I was the play-by-play voice for that year. It was also the last year we did it.

I'd heard there were some sketchy advertising issues but I can't tell you for sure.

A couple of those games have either been converted or will be. John Jay (Cross River, NY), Fox Lane, Ossining, Horace Greeley, and Brewster are among the teams that we covered on WVIP in 1999.

Eventually, we'll get into Greenwich sports, with basketball and hockey as 2000 begins. More sports will follow as the project continues. There will also be more talk shows and other nuggets as well.

Already converted is when I was asked to come in for coverage of Tropical Storm Floyd on Sep 16, 1999. Yes, there was once a time when WGCH (and WVIP) had a news staff. This is not to say we don't anymore (obviously, Tony Savino and Jim Campbell drive that now) but there was more coverage in the years that Jim Thompson was news director because there was a different budget in place.

I noticed there are old Renegades games and Bridgeport Bluefish games plus the 2002 Babe Ruth World Series. I even saw at least one edition of "The Rob Adams Show," my all-too-brief talk show that mostly avoided sports. I look back on that very fondly because it allowed me to spread my wings in a different way.

I even saw a tape of a sports talk show dated Feb 25, 2002. That's two days after Sean was born and I was probably able to shoot to Greenwich, do the show, and get back to my newborn. If I recall, Chris Carrino, radio voice of the Brooklyn (then-New Jersey) Nets was the guest and he congratulated me.

Another tape is dated Sep 12, 2001. I know I've already converted that one but it still takes my breath away. We obviously didn't talk sports that night.

I should also note that I don't have the tapes where I served as the studio host (this would be 1997-1999). I might have segments but not much exists.

All of those shows, and a lot of other things, got cut when ownership changed. It was sad

It's also sad that there are tapes that are lost. I've long-lamented there is no existing audio from WGCH or WVIP on Sep 11, 2001. There are games and other things that are lost to history.

For instance, Greenwich and New Canaan football played to a scoreless tie in 2002 at Cardinal Stadium. AJ asked me if I have it and, unfortunately, I can't find it.

Much like others in the history of broadcasting, the tapes were either lost or even taped over. We reached a point at WGCH where we got really cheap and refused to buy more tapes. The first time I called a game at Mahopac High School -- two football section championship games in 2004 -- we didn't record the broadcasts because we didn't have tapes.

It took 17 years for me to finally have audio of a broadcast at the field I graduated on when I called football in November.

After 2004, the percentage of broadcasts that were saved went way up. Occasionally a defect with a computer or recording device kept the event from being recorded. Even rarer is someone forgetting to record it. Otherwise, almost everything exists.

Except for audio from Superstorm Sandy, as we lost power while recording. That audio is gone.

Some tapes also got purged because they were just bad games or forgettable shows. Sad but true.

There are so many voices, both forgotten and remembered forever. There are commercials from Bob Small, who of course is still at WGCH. There's Dave Rothenberg, now a star at ESPN. There's Ron Lyons, my first football partner. In fact, when I did Fox Lane at Ossining, that was a change from the originally scheduled broadcast. Nobody told Ron we had moved the game so I did a chunk of the broadcast alone before he showed up.

Also of note for me is, well, me. I hear a lot of who I am today. I also hear a lot of who I'm not today. I think I'm more detailed in my descriptions. I think I'm more comfortable. I think I'm more polished. But there's no question you can tell that it's me.

Oh, and tape has a tendency to make one sound a bit like a chipmunk as time goes by. I don't think my voice really sounds like that.

These tapes from 1999 and most of 2000 are before I became sports director so more voices will come along. Sean Kilkelly was already there but others weren't yet.

But given I've limited the amount of work that it takes to convert these, this will be a fun project that I really wanted to do during the pandemic. I'll be posting the audio on my archive.org page so that you can hear it for yourself.

It's important to have these, if only for me.

OK, We Get It

I will never defend the Dallas Cowboys.

Are they the team I hate the most in football? At one time, definitely. Now? Maybe? 

Still, I won't deny that I felt a certain level of glee when "America's Team" (marketing plan) was eliminated from the playoffs yesterday.

But the deluge began.

The witty comments.

The meme's.

The childish names.

I mean, come on. 

Look, I had friends text me a few things and, sure, I found them funny. I saw one before yesterday's game of Ezekiel Elliott and Dak Prescott hugging. The caption said something like, "Hold me. We have to play real teams now."

I can laugh at those.

And, yes, the multiple shots put on the screen by CBS of one distraught fan after another were funny. 

But there are those -- you know who you are -- who just do it to excess. They're doing it to be trolls.

I'll use the same word again: childish.

Juvenile (same thing).

Like I said, I'm not going to defend the Cowboys. They named themselves "America's Team" and, frankly, I don't think they are. I think there are other teams who can claim that title and I happen to root for one of those.

But I get the whole history of hating the Cowboys. Tom Landry and his "uptight" coaching style in the suit.

The things he did offensively were radical at the time but are now standard (the shotgun, for instance). They were mocked at the time.

His quarterback, Roger Staubach, was "Captain America."

So add in the cheerleaders and the stadium with the hole in the roof and some of the mythmaking to go along with the five Super Bowls and Jimmy Johnson and Troy Aikman and Michael Irvin and on and on and on...

They were annoying to ridiculous points.

The big losses were glorious. The Catch. Jackie Smith dropping a sure TD against the Steelers. Leon Lett.

And Leon Lett.

Like I said, I get it.

But, as with other things, when every post is about hating the Cowboys...or the Patriots...or misguided (and wrong) thoughts...well, it's exhausting.

I'm not bothered by most of the meme's, etc. It's the dead horse that gets exhausting.

Somehow I feel like I've written this before.

And, look, I get to watch it as a Yankees fan on an annual basis. People can't keep their eyes off the pinstripes.

It's that concept of living rent-free. Maybe these people are actually closet Cowboys fans.

Anyway, they're done.

Move along.

It's Cold

 

A couple of guys are ready for the Steelers to play

I'm coming up short tonight and I admit it.

It's 6:55 p.m. as I begin writing. The Steelers play the Chiefs at 8 p.m.

And I'm completely exhausted.

So, with a heavy heart, I ask that you forgive me as I mail this post in tonight before I put my feet up, try to avoid falling asleep, and enjoy the waning moments of the Pittsburgh football season.

No, I'm not confident in them.

You probably know I'm not much for winter. I'm also not much of a handyman. I'm more of an assistant. I can dabble a little (I'm MacGyver, after all) but I know when stuff is above my paygrade.

So, off of my rather misunderstood post last night (the title and a few other references should have given it away), I was back at it today, trying to address some issues around the house.

The other big takeaway from yesterday was that the day/night wasn't great but it never rattled me. But I digress.

But, again, I suck at this kind of task. So in temperatures that were fairly uncomfortable, I hung in there, trying to help. Occasionally I'd step back inside and warm up.

Honestly, I didn't feel like I was much of a help.

The job got done with some help from me, I guess. The biggest thing I had to do was 1) recognize my limits and 2) stop acting like I was in a race.

But wow. Gloves, multiple jackets, heavy socks, and even a winter hat. I rarely wear a winter hat.

I'm sitting on the couch with a sore back and the desire to go to sleep.

I'll rally. 

And if this is it for Big Ben, it's been a heck of a ride.

Schitt's Day

 

Empty cat food shelves. Stop & Shop, Somers, NY 1/11/22

Yesterday was great.

Today was the opposite.

I mean, I survived it with humor and patience but, wow. It sadly follows the usual pattern of a really lousy day following a good one.

Issues with plumbing, rushing to Brunswick, and then a tough broadcast there.

I'm grateful I had help with the plumbing. It will be OK.

I'm grateful that people care about the broadcast. 

I am.

But, the thing is, when you approach me during the broadcast there's 1) probably nothing I can do about the issue, 2) it might not be an issue on my end (more often than not), and 3) it's distracting.

Yes, it completely takes me off of doing my job, which is to call the game.

Yes, there were audio issues on Local Live today. There were also issues on Wednesday.

All I can do is pass that along to the right people.

After that, I have to refocus on the game. This is part of the problem with calling a game among the crowd.

Do you know, for instance, how many times people look over my shoulder during a broadcast? It's insane.

What too many people, sadly, don't know is that Robcasting is live during basically every broadcast that I call (even if it's not advertised as carrying the game). I do that as a safety valve. It's my backup system and, sometimes, it's called into use.

It also gives me a copy of the broadcast.

So we ultimately fixed the audio issue by routing the broadcast audio through my computer to the Local Live nerve center. Now, it was a little more involved than that but you get the idea.

I'm sure I don't come off as the most gracious in those moments but I'm just trying to balance calling the game with handling the situation. I have such expectations when it comes to broadcasts that I'm on.

So it was really nice to read some kind words on Twitter as I drove home. It was much-needed.

When you factor everything in, this was a day in which I got into the car and just felt exhausted. I still had to get dinner and decided a trip to Wegman's might help.

It did but my body felt stiff.

But, yeah, somehow that cheesecake jumped into the cart. I suspect it wanted to go home and see Sean.

And I bought more boxes of "Crispy Rice" (the Rice Krispies knockoff) than I've ever bought in my life because they actually had some and we're in a full cereal crisis!

To go along with the cat food crisis.

So that's it. It wasn't a good day.

And, yet, we managed it.

That's a win.

As for those plumbing issues...

It was pretty...er...crappy...

But it will all work out.

I'm Good

Even an incorrect scoreboard made me laugh 

I'm tired.

That's all I literally want to say.

But, first, I should add that it was a good day.

Did you ever have a day that just brought a smile to your face? Even the hiccups didn't ruin it?

I've got some stuff going on that needs to be fixed/looked at but nothing that could ruin this day.

Is there a particular reason? Yes and no, I guess. It just felt like a day where things went right and I was happy.

Even driving all the way to Trumbull to call basketball didn't turn out to be a chore. Traffic wasn't too bad and the experience of calling middle school basketball was joyous.

I didn't make a dime but it seemed like people enjoyed the broadcast and, occasionally, that's good enough. Not something I should make a habit of.

Then I came back home, ordered dinner, and worked on stuff that needed to be addressed. Nothing was resolved but I took necessary steps and that's OK.

I've got hockey again tomorrow.

So, really, yeah, that's it.

Just wanted to say it's a good day.

On Self-Promotion

Promoting my work isn't as easy as you might think.

It's a dance.

I go through a constant barrage of self-doubt. Last night's post wasn't an easy one, for instance, because I wrestled with how much that was "about me" as I went behind the scenes at Brunswick.

So I felt like it was being too self-promotional even if I didn't intend it to be.

Promoting the games and shows and the blog and so on has sort of a formula to it. Beyond that, it takes tact.

That brings me to tonight when I saw Twitter friend Peter Wilkin tweeting about NFHS Network. Now, in full disclosure, I've done games via their channel over the years. To me, I'm going to call the game the same way regardless of provider.

Still, I've heard gripes about NFHS and I've had my own issues.

Local Live, on the other hand, well I love me some Local Live and that's what Peter was tweeting also. Local Live is free to the end-user and, often, uses play-by-play voices. Some are, frankly, teachers or parents or students or fans with little to no experience. Some of it is...well...it is.

I also do a lot for Local Live. That's it. That's all I'll add.

So when I saw Peter's tweet, I decided I could be playful and self-promote. The key to it is to say you're being shameless and add a wink/nudge to the recipe.

To further prove I was being playful, I added a few disclaimers. I considered using "seatback may be used as a floatation device" or something else but I liked what I came up with.

SHAMELESS PLUG! And you can get me calling play-by-play on Local Live (While supplies last. Some assembly required.)

Maybe some will laugh. Maybe some will roll their eyes. Maybe some will say, "Hey! We need to get that Rob Adams on our broadcasts ASAP!"

Overall, nobody will notice. Win some, lose some.

As for the emojis, well, they sometimes come in handy but I see them also used to ridiculous effect so I added the police light as a nod to that. A little parody, I suppose.

As I always say, the broadcasts aren't about us so this is a fine line to walk. We need to get noticed and, hopefully, get work.

To me, promoting my broadcasts in a Facebook group of other play-by-play announcers (as opposed to my personal page) is a waste of time and intense narcissism. 

Yet there are people -- the same damn people -- who do it every...single...day. 

I don't think I'm going to get noticed or more listeners there. In fact, I'd likely not hire any of these broadcasters because they go against my beliefs. Plus I don't see where they're helping others in the long run, which is supposed to be the idea of the group (or groups).

Now, on my personal page (and other personal accounts), that's fair game. Yet still, there's a line.

At least I think there is.

There's a right way to do it, I suppose.

I hope tonight's way was a little fun.

It Wasn't Just a Game

 

I was nervous but I felt -- no, I knew -- I was the right person for the job today.

I had to call the Brunswick hockey game against Millbrook. That's not meant to be obnoxious.

None of this is.

Yes, the Hartong Rink was where St. Luke's defenseman Teddy Balkind was last Thursday when he had an on-ice collision and, ultimately, lost his life.

As the week went on, I thought about if Brunswick would want me to call any games. Nothing is assumed.

They did, though there were two games to choose from: hockey or basketball against St. Luke's.

After some talk, we decided on hockey. I wanted whatever would make people smile and relax. 

That's what a broadcaster does. They try to be a conduit. They try to relay information and stories and, overall, stay out of the way.

So if that's what I can bring to fans, then that's what I'll do.

I had prepared myself to walk back into the rink and, honestly, wanted to pay my respects first. But a funny thing happened. The rink was buzzing when I walked in. Players were practicing and playing mini-games.

It was glorious.

The media -- a small portion -- descended upon the rink as their editors wanted content. Good people, those who were there (Pete Paguaga and Michael Fornabaio of Game Time CT). I'm proud to call them friends.

The whole atmosphere prepared us for whatever "normal" is supposed to feel like.

Still, there was an eerie feeling to the rink, as Dave Fierro and I both said.

I opened the broadcast on Local Live and Robcasting a bit earlier than normal, to set the scene and allow the audience to be present for the moment of silence to honor Teddy.

I don't rehearse stuff. You know that. I'm like Jackie Gleason in that way. I try to stay in the moment and react. Still, I couldn't help but think that the eyes of the hockey world were on Brunswick and St. Luke's last week. I worked that into the opening, as I alternated between remembering Teddy and those impacted while still recognizing there was a game to be played.

We paused.

Sticks pointed to the heavens.

Heads bowed.

Then the puck was dropped.

I'll tell you honestly that I had to catch myself a few times. 

"Don't choke up, Rob," I thought. "Definitely DO NOT cry."

I simply stopped talking if I felt that happening and it happened a few times.

I ran to the gym to keep an eye on basketball -- St. Luke's won -- as I feel a responsibility to report all of this.

That's just it. I felt a responsibility to relay the sites and sounds as much as I've ever felt. I felt like everything had to be said with more care. Choose the words with caution. Respect the schools and the athletes. Respect Teddy's memory. Respect his family. 

You never know who is watching or listening.

I wanted to be a voice of comfort. Even humor, like when I nearly dropped my clipboard off the balcony while the game was going on.

I laughed. I hope viewers did also.

At times I was amped. At times, I felt exhausted.

Brunswick won the hockey game 5-3.

I sat in the car for probably 20 minutes after I packed up because I just needed to decompress. That's what I do. I immerse myself in the broadcast.

Teddy -- his spirit, his presence -- was as much a part of the game as anything. Brunswick and Millbrook played was passion and class as everyone tries to move forward. Eventually, it became "just hockey."

But, really, it wasn't.

Not yet.

Whether it was Bruins' coach Mike Kennedy or rink manager Oscar Miranda or the fans or players or trainers or me, we had an angel looking in on the action.

The Bruins play Hill on Friday on the road then come back to Hartong to play Hill on Saturday.

I'll be there.