MLB, You're On the Clock

 

You can't help but wonder if it has all been a waste of time.

I've loved baseball basically as much as I've (almost) loved any person. I've spent every emotion on a game that has held my soul for basically 50 years.

I've studied it to the extent my father wished I cared a lot more about the history I was being taught in school instead of the 1927 Yankees.

Yet, tonight, as baseball hangs in the balance and with fans bouncing between glimpses of despair and hope, I find myself wondering if we're the fools.

Whether you want to buy into the "millionaires versus billionaires" debate or not, the rhetoric from everyone has purely sickened me. While some are content to literally tweet every last thing as if Woodward and Bernstein have rifled off such facts, I've mostly stayed in the background. The work of a few on Twitter has been my go-to.

Without RTing their every word. That's got to be a sad life.

I've tried to be patient but I've seen this movie and, let's be honest.

They don't care.

Why have I been the fool to have put so much into all of this? I have memories of fifty years of baseball. I've read the books and visited the Hall of Fame and watched the movies and bought the audio and traded the baseball cards and hung the pictures and...

for what?

Why didn't I just invest fully in another part of baseball? Who needs the majors? The game itself is still awesome. A Little League or Babe Ruth or Cal Ripken game brings me tons of joy as I broadcast the sport at its most raw.

It doesn't matter. I can be standing leaning on a fence at Greenwich High School or in some stadium and be pretty happy. 

Literally, sitting in the booth at Trumbull as I have so many times now for Babe Ruth tournament games thrills me. Any place where I can describe the game, enjoy the weather, and tell stories will bring me joy.

Even to just watch is great. Ball? Meet bat. Here's a glove. Make beautiful music together.

Instead, I'm seeing a world where I'm just not wanted.

I realize everyone has been trying to tell me this all along but I guess it's just finally hitting me that it's passing me by.

Maybe I should just stick to being a professor of baseball history, with my focus being up until a certain point.

Like tonight.

Maybe I should stick with the black and white and early color films. With DiMaggio and Musial and Gehrig and Foxx. With Mickey and Roger.

With The Babe.

Maybe my baseball life should end when Vin walked away.

They'll resolve it tonight or overnight or sometime tomorrow. Or they won't. Then they'll start canceling games.

They don't care. Why should I anymore?

There are other places for my passion for this game. Brunswick baseball seems to want me. Maybe Greenwich High does. I hear Fairfield Ludlowe and a few other programs like having me around. Mike Buswell always wants me to call games for him and Trumbull Babe Ruth.

I'm probably turning cable off soon and, with that, I'm likely done with the YES Network.

Why waste my time anymore?

It's not that I'm desperately sitting here pining for wool uniforms or some bygone era. Honestly, I'm not doing that. I've evolved with it, though granted I'm kicking and screaming sometimes.

I'm just pretty convinced that professional baseball -- led by Rob Manfred -- doesn't care.

And when you've lost me...well...who cares anyway?

We've apparently learned nothing. 

This isn't to say I won't go back but I don't have season tickets anymore and haven't been to Yankee Stadium since before the pandemic. 

I'm not done with the game. I don't know that I'm done with MLB. 

But there's damage. 

I never thought I'd say that.

MLB is the girl you've pursued who doesn't love you back yet you continue to woo.

Maybe it's time to stop wooing.

At this time, I'm the washed-up old righty heading for the showers and wondering if I "can push the sun back up in the sky and give us one more day of summer." (Vin Scully, "For Love of the Game")

Tonight, I don't know.

Tomorrow is another game.

Maybe.

Doubleday Field, 2012

Stairway to Broadcasting

 

A panoramic view of Sport-o-Rama

Two games. Six periods. One-hundred-two minutes of play. Twenty-two goals. One penalty shot.

In the end, Pelham Memorial beat John Jay (Cross River) 9-1 and Suffern beat Mamaroneck 11-1.

The Pelicans (NOT PANTHERS) topped the Wolves (NOT INDIANS) and both head to the regional playoffs while the Mounties also advanced. Sadly, the Tigers' season is over.

I called all of it from a stairway in the corner of the Sport-o-Rama Ice Rinks in Monsey, NY.

Look, many facilities are just not built for media. Few hockey barns have designed space for such. Sport-o-Rama has nothing. They had an area that was apparently used by the media in the past but due to insurance concerns was closed off by the time I walked in this morning.

Josh, the cameraman I worked with today, stood atop a set of stairs while we hashed it all out with the rink staff. In one version, I was going to stay at ice level and work from the corner, getting to know new best friends in the overflow crowd.

Ultimately, I joined Josh on the stairs where I would have to lean over to see the scoreboard.

Lesser broadcasters -- more entitled, dare I say -- would have squawked or demanded a better perch.

Others would have just helped themselves to space.

No. I'm a guest in their building. I do as they tell me -- like it or not. Sport-o-Rama, who was great to work with, was willing to accommodate Josh and me but this stairway appeared to be the best option.

So, you adjust. Moaning makes you a malcontent and people won't want to work with you again. So suck it up and set up and kill the broadcast.

My view of the scoreboard

My style will always be honest. I explained where we were positioned. I explained that there wasn't a PA announcer for goals and penalties initially. I just make the best of things. 

Younger broadcasters want to rule the world (don't we all?) but you also have to earn that respect by grinding and being open-minded. This isn't just handed to you. It's not always about showing up in your best suit jacket. I stood in a grimy ice rink (the best kind) in jeans and a quarter-zip, with a hoodie and a wool jacket on. I sat on those stairs at times between periods and games. I dug for notes and rosters and Kevin Devaney, Jr. fed me some info via text.

This is how you do it.

I have a great relationship at Brunswick yet I don't have an open door at Wick. It's still their facility. I know I can grab two basketball chairs for broadcasts. I can't just go commandeer a table. There is a protocol. There are people on the food chain higher than I am.

Same with Greenwich High. You can say that's my pressbox but I am entitled to none of it. Besides, people move on, times change, and I'm easily forgotten.

This is how it works.

Today, at Sport-o-Rama, it was a set of stairs that were used a few times as we worked there and we had to adjust to that also.

But, do it right, treat everyone with respect, and (guess what?) you'll get the same in return.

I should charge for these lessons.

Onto a new week. FCIAC boys basketball semis. Probably back to Brunswick on Wednesday, FCIAC boys hoops championship on Thursday, maybe to Atlantic City(!) on Friday, and more hockey on Saturday.

On a day when I felt I wasn't at my best, I'll shake it off and get right back to it. When I got home I will tell you I was grumpy and low before Travis Jackson texted me to say people are giving my call a lot of love. I can't explain how much I needed that.

The grind continues.

Or someone else will take it.

The FAA Championship Broadcast

 

(Brunswick social media)

It was a "Storm-y" night.

Oy. That's the best lead I've got.

St. Luke's -- the Storm -- won the FAA Championship today at Brunswick, defeating the Bruins. A game of runs, the Storm won 47-39.

I think this was the third FAA Championship game I've called (two baseball and now one basketball) so I only have another 51 to call to reach my FCIAC total.

Still, the story was the same. I felt enormous pride and responsibility in handling the call and was (and still am) completely exhausted when it was over. Despite being associated with Brunswick, I worked hard to make sure that I had no true dog in the fight on the air. 

I gave it all I had. I fed off the crowd. I fed off the players who aren't far from my broadcasting position. 

I loved it all and was sorry to see it end.

Oh, there's still plenty ahead. I'm on the call of the Section One hockey championships tomorrow (I'm still waiting on one roster sadly) and FCIAC boys basketball and hopefully Brunswick hockey and FCIAC hockey and maybe more wrestling and then...

The CHSGHA girls hockey championship follows.

Then a break. Briefly.

Then? Brunswick baseball and Brunswick lacrosse and maybe (hopefully) some Mahopac baseball and Greenwich baseball and FCIAC and...

And, let's face it, I love it. I love all of it.

Today was even a little extra special because Sean came along and he was in a surprisingly complementary mood. He enjoys jabbing me about my age, especially as I pointed out the number of players I covered who are now coaches or any other so-called "six degrees of Sean's father" type stuff.

"Jokes about your age aside," Sean said, "I am impressed by you."

Whoa.

Then, as we were getting dinner, we stood waiting to order sandwiches as the adrenaline just drained out of me.

"I gave it my all," I said out loud.

"I'm always amazed by that," he said. "There were times last year where you looked read to collapse and yet you'd somehow find the energy. There were nights at the stadium when I was falling asleep and yet there you were, still excited."

"I love what I do," I said, somewhat shocked at the overflowing kind words.

You have to be a little crazy to do this. It can make you insane. There are rules to follow and certain ways to do things. One shouldn't just show up or help themselves to tables or space without having done the things to cultivate the relationships.

We're broadcasters. We're way down on the pecking list yet some still have the arrogance to act like they own a place.

I've worked hard to build relationships at Brunswick and everywhere else. I stay out of the way. I try to never ask for much. I didn't have a table for basketball all year. I grabbed two extra chairs and used that as my table for every game.

Simple, basic courtesy and respect for the school and teams. It's not difficult.

On Tuesday, at Wilton, I'll sit where they want me to sit and mostly keep to myself.

Then I'll leave it all out on the air for Wilton/Westhill and Ridgefield/Warde. And, I'm thrilled to say, people actually request my voice be on these broadcasts.

It means more than you'll ever know.

Back to prepping for hockey tomorrow.

Basketball Tuesday...

The Answer is "Absolutely Nothing"

 

Kyiv, Ukraine

I'm horrified over what is happening in Ukraine. This is no great social or political commentary. It's just me expressing sorrow over war and the question that has lingered for years: what is it good for?

The images are terrible and I see no possible way to defend what Vladimir Putin is doing.

Basically, that's it. That's the post. I'm saddened by the images of events in that part of our world and always concerned about how they can impact our own lives as well. Those, to be clear, are two separate thoughts, and both are OK to have (in case you need to hear that).

Lives are in danger tonight and have been for a few nights now. I guess I've been trying to wrap my head around it all.

I will say, and I'm not 100% sure it's true, but the story that I've read of Ukrainian border guards on Snake Island is pretty "boss." A Russian soldier is heard on the audio as telling the guards to surrender. A Ukrainian soldier responds by telling the Russians to go f**k themselves.

Thirteen lives were lost in the act of defiance.

I lament the loss of life in something that is a combination of brave, bold, and maybe even foolish. May none of us ever be put in such a position.

As I said, I don't know if the story is true but, as we've learned, "when the legend becomes fact, print the legend."

And so we'll print the legend.

Stay strong, Ukraine. Stay strong.

Connections

Before tonight's game at Trumbull

I implore students to develop a network. 

Make friends. Lots of them.

It's the thing that I'd go back and tell my teenage self. I tend not to shop in the regret department but I suppose this one counts a little.

Sure, I'm all about education. I push broadcasters to go to college, even if they've opted for something like CSB. I think it's all about personal development. To that end, if I'm being honest, I still beat myself up occasionally for not having a Master's, as if I'm somehow not worthwhile otherwise.

But there's no question that the broadcasting industry is about who you know. I've long said that talent and quality do not ultimately win out.

There's a whole separate post in that paragraph.

So I've built my network. I've cultivated it and, of course, I did it, ahem, my way. I've mentored so many broadcasters of all ages.

I always say I'm rooting for them -- and I am. I then laugh and ask them to not take my job.

Those whom I'm close to don't forget and I don't forget them.

My actual goal in 2021 was to have many of those friends join me at Dutchess Stadium and it just never worked out. Chris Erway, Jake Zimmer, Dan Gardella, Kevin Halpenny, and on and on and on were on my list.

To further my point, Jake Zimmer and I always look out for each other. So, when he texted me today, it was to create a new connection for me. I won't get into details yet but by the end of the conversation, I was considered part of the rotation for a future situation.

It could be great.

Maybe another place to call home.

That's the very thing. These connections are important. I think all the way back to coming home one night, finding a message from a radio friend, and returning his call.

"I was asked if I was interested in doing something for WREF in Ridgefield," he said. "I'm not, but I know someone who is. Get an audition tape to him ASAP."

I did and I got that position. Sadly, within six months WREF was sold and closed their studios.

The connections I made at WREF led me to WGCH 25 years ago right around now.

And it's gone on from there.

Is this a reason for some excitement? Well, not yet, but it's a positive thing and we could all use a little positivity.

Oh, and St. Joseph won the girls FCIAC championship tonight in girls basketball. Brunswick won their semifinal game so I'll call my first FAA basketball championship on Saturday. I've also picked up the Section One hockey championships for the first time. Then it's FCIAC boys basketball and hockey next week. Maybe wrestling in Atlantic City. 

I just need to have a voice.

It's a little sore tonight.

It Was 20 Years Ago Today

 

Sean R. Adams was born on this day in 2002.

I texted him the famous opening line to "Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band" and a GIF of the album cover and, of course, he laughed.

I was confident he would.

That's Sean. Oh, I've talked about him countless times over the years but always tried to never beat you over the head with stories and pictures. It's tough as a proud parent to know when to hold the line but I've tried and, more than likely, failed.

As he's gotten older I figured they were also his stories to tell.

But you know him by now. He's honest and loyal and so many other wonderful and amazing things. He has his faults -- of course, he does -- but I'll happily take them as part of the whole package. 

We've remained every bit as close as I hoped we would but also am thrilled when he hangs out with the boys. I always knew -- whatever life threw at us -- that we'd stay close and I think we're both happy with that.

I keep waiting for him to say that he doesn't want to travel with me and that day is coming.

But I remain every bit as proud and more as I was that morning 20 years ago. That's the first thing I remember -- beaming -- as I pushed his bassinet through the maternity ward that morning. 

He can be shy. Quiet. Reserved. But, I warn you, that mind is always churning and there's likely a zinger waiting to happen.

That's my boy.

I also know he was bullied in school and that took a lot of the happy-go-lucky out of him. That makes me sad and I feel like I failed him at times.

But I can brag and talk about him for hours. He's so level-headed and just so...cool.

Sometimes I suppose he's a little too cool. I mean, for the love of something, please do the dishes or take out the garbage!

But I know I can count on him to watch things, including the cat, when I go to London.

As a parent, you hope you've passed on the right things. You hope you've made him even better than yourself. You hope he's respectful and kind and thoughtful.

You also hope you can turn him loose to the world eventually, and he'll do so.

You hope, eventually, you make each other proud.

Sean does things on his terms. At his time.

He's created 20 years of happy memories and I suppose even a few regrets on my part.

But if you had his number or some way to get hold of him I hope you wished him a happy one.

As for me, I'll see him this weekend and we can do something.

Happy birthday, kid, and thanks for making me a dad.

Keep getting by with a little help from your friends.

Aug, 2020: Albany, NY

Monument Park

 

(MLB)

The Yankees announced the retirement of Paul O'Neill's number 21 today.

Look, I love Paulie. In my lifetime, he's in my "holy trinity" with Bobby Murcer and Don Mattingly. I loved his fire, his clutch play, and literally everything about him. When he looked done in 2000, he worked out a walk in Game 1 of the World Series against Armando Benitez after fouling off 20 pitches*.

*An exaggeration, though Benitez deserved to make the Hall of Fame just for allowing that walk.

When the Yankees were down to their last out in the 1997 ALDS, it was Paulie who basically dragged his face through the Jacobs Field dirt for a double to keep any hope alive.

I revere him. I'm happy for him.

But I still have reservations about the Yankees retiring numbers. They've really overdone it (in my opinion). Paulie's will be the 23rd to be taken out of circulation.

That being said, the Bombers have basically kept number 21 aside for 20 years*.

*OK, LaTroy Hawkins -- a fine pitcher and man -- tried to wear 21 with the Yankees in 2008. It didn't go well. He was booed. Horrifically booed. I didn't love seeing that number either but felt it was time to move forward. Hawkins eventually changed his number and soon left New York.

But the bigger issue to me -- past the ridiculous, Oprah-esque retiring of numbers ("Everbody gets a retired number!")  -- is how little the Yankees are truly acknowledging their history anymore.

Retired numbers aside, Monument Park is supposed to be a place of reverence where the Yankees can have their own form of a Hall of Fame. Still, as a business, they know millennials will come out to cheer O'Neill and the 90s Yankees.

Past that? Meh.

But there's a lot of history being left aside.

Look, I'll show my hand here. I don't think Bobby Murcer is a Hall of Famer. At best, I'd love to see him considered for the Ford Frick Award for broadcasting. But I do -- without hesitation -- think he should be in Monument Park. I don't want his number retired (though I think he, Earl Combs, and Bobby Richardson certainly honored the number one as much as Billy Martin did) but I do want to see a plaque go up to recognize his years as a player, coach (briefly), and broadcaster. Bobby spent over 40 years in MLB as a player and "voice" with most of those years with the Yankees. He played his heart out in San Francisco and Chicago between 1975 and July, 1979 but his heart was truly in New York all along (with apologies to Tony Bennett). He means a ton to those of us who grew up with him. He represented the team with total grace.

But the thinking is putting a Bobby Murcer plaque in Monument Park won't draw ticket buyers. The same goes for basically anyone prior to 1990 at this point. I mean, where's "Sweet" Lou Piniella? Where's the aforementioned Bobby Richardson? Where's Dave Winfield (that's actually embarrassing)? Where's "Steady" Eddie Lopat or Vic Raschi? Where's "Poosh-em-up" Tony Lazzeri or Waite Hoyt or Urban Shocker or (Spencer Pierce's favorite) "Wee" Willie Keeler? Where's Tony Kubek? 

Mel Allen is in Monument Park. Where are Red Barber and Jerry Coleman and Frank Messer and Bill White?

All should be considered.

But this doesn't sell tickets. Jorge Posada and Andy Pettitte and Derek Sanderson Jeter sell tickets.

Red Rolfe and Joe Gordon and Frankie Crosetti don't.

But, in my mind, Monument Park is supposed to be the Yankees' version of a Hall of Fame. They're the true giants -- Ruth, Gehrig, DiMaggio, Mantle, Ford, Yogi, Mo, Jeets -- and the players who we all loved and respected.

That would be Donnie Baseball and Mel Stottlemyre and Bobby friggin Ray Murcer.

And Paul O'Neill.

So, take nothing away from Paulie O' on today's announcement but it triggered my brain that the Yankees could do much better.

Much, much better.

The Yankees are about history. They're about greatness. They're about 27 World Championships and the drive for more.

They're about excellence. 

Much like I want to walk loved ones around Cooperstown and explain to them who certain players are, I very much want to do the same in the Bronx. This is how we keep the history of "our game" alive, by passing the stories down through generations.

Few things would make me prouder than to see Sean or literally anyone that knows me walk through Monument Park one day and say, "Ah, Bobby Murcer. That was my dad's favorite player. He told me all about the time he drove in all five runs on the night of Thurman Munson's funeral, how he hit for the cycle and homered four times in a doubleheader, and how he wanted to be a broadcaster because of him, and..."

THAT'S what a place like Monument Park is supposed to be about.

Let's Get Going

 

I'm so excited for the next couple of weeks.

That's it. That's the topic here. Let me break it all down.

Tomorrow, 2/22: FCIAC girls basketball semifinals (at Trumbull)
6pm: #1 St. Joseph vs. #4 Ridgefield
7:45 #2 Ludlowe vs. #7 Stamford.

Wednesday, 2/23 (also Sean's birthday): FCIAC girls ice hockey semifinals (at Darien)
4pm: #1 New Canaan vs. #4 Greenwich
5:50: #2 Stamford/Westhill/Staples co-op vs. #3 Darien

Also, please note Wednesday night is the season premiere of "The Clubhouse." It pains me that I can't be at O’Connor’s Public House (222A Main St, Mt Kisco, NY 10549) but such is the juggling act. Mark Jeffers, Dave Torromeo, and Bob Small will guide things perfectly fine. Trust me, I won't be missed. Listen to the show at 7pm on WGCH and wgch.com. I hope to be back in March.

Thursday, 2/24, 7pm: FCIAC girls basketball championship (at Trumbull).

Brunswick basketball will also be playing in the FAA semifinals on Thursday.

Friday, 2/25, 7pm: Trinity-Pawling visits Brunswick for hockey in the final home game of the regular season.

Saturday, 2/26:

3:50 pm: FCIAC girls ice hockey championship (at Darien). Looks like I won't be on this call. This could be good because...

Time TBD: FAA boys basketball championship (and I'll be on this call if Brunswick is involved).

Also on Saturday are the FCIAC boys hockey quarterfinals. Always possible I jump on a call of one of those.

Sunday, 2/27: I breathe (and probably go to Poughkeepsie to be on "Poughkeepsie Nissan Sunday Sports with Zolz")

Next week, remove Brunswick basketball and girls sports and replace it with FCIAC boys hockey and basketball as well as Brunswick hockey. At last check, I'm supposed to call all of it, including the boys hockey championship, which I'd very much like to do as it's been a few years.

If you don't know, I love calling playoffs and championships and you know my philosophy by now.

I've seen most of the spring schedules as well. Let's just keep this train rolling.

The Cellphone Case

 

I mentioned that I got a new cellphone on Friday.

Whatever jokes you want to offer, I like it. Apple has suited me for several years and I've enjoyed having their products ever since I got my first i...Pod way back in probably 2005.

But the tech world is always littered with secondary products. Thus with getting a new phone comes the realization that accessories might be needed or wanted.

In my case, that means a case and a shield for the glass. While I appreciate the higher end of that market, the rational side of me says a quick trip to Five Below will suit me just fine. That's where I've gotten some of the stuff I've used for a few years.

When I got my iPhone XR, I went to the nearby Five Below or Marshalls -- it was one or the other -- and grabbed a reasonably priced case. It did the job.

Sometime later, a couple of angels conspired to get me a new phone case. One gave the other my address and, suddenly, a package appeared in my mailbox.

I was the recipient of a new conversation piece: an iPhone case with a Waffle House menu on it.

It really did people talking occasionally. I'd take my phone out for some reason (let's face it, I rarely need a reason) and a puzzled glance would come across someone nearby.

"Is that...a Waffle House menu?" they'd ask. Others went for the more direct, "What IS that?"

I could gaze at it whenever I wanted. Perched near the opening for the camera was my very favorite thing: The All-Star Special. Oh, I didn't need to ponder it. I always know what I'll be ordering: scrambled eggs with cheese, hash browns covered, white toast, ham, coffee, and a plain waffle.

There are occasions where I ponder switching it up but I always just come right back to the All-Star. 

Yet, once I popped open my iPhone 13 on Friday, it was all over. The new phone wouldn't fit in that delicious case. Wait, I mean the case with all the deliciousness on it. I was hoping it hadn't changed but that would be too easy.

So, as I alluded to, I traveled the world through TWO snow squalls looking for the proper accessories. I looked for something with a little personality. I looked around the interwebs for some new Waffle House gloriousness.

It was not to be.

It took three Five Below visits (Cortlandt, Danbury, and Poughkeepsie) before I found an acceptable case along with the glass protection. 

Yeah, I know Apple has gotten better at making the phones a little more durable but I'm an unlucky klutz so forgive me. I'm more comfortable having these things.

I found, basically, a plain black rubberized thing that surrounded the phone with a clear window on the bak that allowed the blue shell of the phone to be seen in all its glory.

Which, I suppose is a small victory.

Still, it's no Waffle House menu.

I need to visit the real thing.

Soon.

Cover the Games: A Simple Answer

 

The crowd at Trumbull High School for the 2020 FCIAC Girls Basketball Championship

It was a very quiet day around the homestead and I hoped to catch up on stuff.

I need a new phone case (hint: I didn't find any at a reasonable cost) so I decided to go walk around Danbury, CT.

While there, I got a message that the FCIAC girls basketball quarterfinals weren't being covered by any broadcaster. Now, this doesn't surprise me but it still saddens me. To be clear, next Saturday's boys quarters will likely also not have coverage.

Now, let me repeat part of that again: I was walking around Danbury, CT looking for a cell phone case and running menial errands. Down at Staples High School, in Westport, CT, four girls basketball games proceeded without broadcasts.

Oh, they had great Twitter and print coverage without a doubt (including Shawn Sailer). But nobody -- no students, no professionals, broadcast the games.

And I was shopping. I bought milk, coffee, food at Stew Leonard's, and a shower curtain liner. I also got gas for the car.

Sad.

Now, I'll be on the semis and finals (girls and boys basketball, and I'm also supposed to be on hockey as well). 

Look, I need to make a living and pay bills. That is 100% true. But I also could have brought Robcasting to Staples High Shool and called all four games. Yes, money would be best (and only fair) but a polo shirt, any other swag, and my meals aren't too much to ask. I called a game one time at Fairfield Ludlowe as a favor and I got a gift card for dinner to say thank you.

In short, you could also promote Robcasting with a banner or something to say thank you. You could have the public address announcer mention the broadcast. Basically, you could pump me up a bit. 

All would work as a form of "payment."

I want the athletes to get coverage, even if it's just audio or a minimal video. Often, you having me call the game does me a favor by getting me out of the house and giving me something to do. It's a win-win and I feel like I'm doing something good.

This is the exact approach I'll use for the CHSGHA girls hockey playoffs in March. I lose money on those games but if people appreciate it, I deal with it.

I've done it with plenty of others as well.

Still, and I can't repeat this enough, it should be a paid gig.

And while I'm talking, playoffs and championships should be handled by professionals. There are exceptions, of course, but I can cite too many examples of broadcasts that were and are unacceptable.

At the end of the day, I'm one of the few who cares. Thus, it's my problem.

To that end, I'm messing around with my new ESPN+ subscription. I wanted to see and hear some baseball. I've tried out two college games. 

Sheesh.

The first game featured a terrible sync up between audio and video. Then there was the commentary, provided by "Mr. Radio Voice." Having "the voice" doesn't always mean using "the voice." Just call the damn game.

The second game has a questionable choice of camera placement, not to mention shaky camera work. The broadcaster has some chops but is raw. He'll get better.

In both cases, the broadcasters are being repetitive. Change that up a bit and it will be better. Don't just say, "The pitch," before every...ahem...pitch. Or, "Here's that 0-2," before the 0-2 pitch each time. 

There's a reason Doc Emrick used over 150 different terms for a pass in a broadcast. While that's extreme, variety is a delightful spice of broadcasting.

Being original is great but don't necessarily try to reinvent the wheel. Not that I know anybody like that *cough* *cough*.

So, to recap: four FCIAC girls basketball playoff games happened in Westport. I went shopping in Danbury, drove through two snow squalls including one in a whiteout, and am now watching poorly-produced college baseball games from my couch. 

Oh, and I took a nap at one point.

I'm old. Remember?

The crowd at Wilton High School for the 2020 FCIAC Boys Basketball Championship

The New Phone

 

It was past time for me to upgrade my cell phone.

Of course, me being me, this took far longer and more research than necessary.

Something would talk me out of pulling the trigger every time. The monthly cost was too high, I didn't like what came with it, the phone was out of stock, I didn't like the color. Literally, anything.

But my older phone was beginning to show some age and it felt best to get a good trade-in and move on once and for all. So, finally, I jumped.

The process, in the end, was mostly painless. It however reminded me of the painstaking process of setting up my mother's phone each time.

Well, she wasn't going to do it. Thus, it fell to me.

One thing I allowed myself was a phone with larger storage. I didn't go for a better camera and maybe I should have but I figured I have a fairly decent point-and-shoot camera still and the camera on this phone should do the job just fine.

But I decided I was done with using older devices as a repurposed MP3 player. I wanted my music and anything else on my phone.

It's part of my master plan to put on a pair of headphones, take something to knock me out, and listen to tunes as I sleep from New York to London in April.

Or on the train into New York in March.

Or in the car.

It was time to move into the 21st century in this regard.

So I went through the process of loading the phone with music tonight. There are nearly 17,000 songs on my older laptop so I decided to not overthink it.

Shocking, I know.

While it would have been easiest to just sync everything, I wanted a little more control so I opted to do it manually.

Look, some things are obvious. Almost all music by Huey Lewis, The Beatles, Billy Joel, and Messrs. McCartney, Lennon, and Harrison made the cut. I don't think I have much of Mr. Starkey, to be honest.

Certain complications from the above group didn't make it because I probably don't need every version of "The Heart of Rock & Roll." Studio? Yes. Live? Sure, a couple of different versions, please. But each version of "Sports"* plus greatest hits albums? Come on. Even I can't be that crazy.

I have four different versions of "Sports": the original, "expanded edition," Original Master Recordings, and 30th Anniversary Deluxe. It's a sickness but I'm the fool that falls for marketing.

Still, there's the album/original version of "Pretty in Pink" and the soundtrack version from the movie of the same name. Both by the Psychedelic Furs, of course. Many prefer the original. I love both.

The beauty of this exercise was just that: I could pick whatever I bloody well want!

If I didn't want to include Billy Joel's Russian concert album ("Концерт") or his efforts pre-solo years (don't ask if you've never heard it) then I could with ease.

If I wanted to weigh myself down with jazz then you knew I would. So Miles Davis and Dave Brubeck and Charlie Parker and Louis Armstrong and Duke Ellington and Charles Mingus and John Coltrane and Benny Goodman all made the cut.

This always allows me the chance to see just much...awfulness I also have. I've acquired stuff from others over the years and always find myself in that spot of wondering if it's time to delete some things. Of course, the downside -- especially as a purveyor of production -- is that someone might need a certain song for a certain spot.

Or it's needed when I'm handling music and public address duties.

Or, as does happen with me, something or someone turns me onto the song or the artist and I suddenly enjoy that I have it in my collection. I can never thank Susan enough for making me care more about Joni Mitchell, for instance.

Then it's exciting to have Abba or Enya or Adele or something else that had basically a slim to no chance of winding up on my phone.

At least not this time around, and no offense intended to host artists. The point is there are a lot of things that I own that I find myself wondering exactly where I got that from.

Still, every picture tells a story (Rod Stewart, and no I don't have that). Or, in this case, maybe every song tells a story?

The music stretches across decades, from "Take Me Out to the Ballgame" recorded in 1908 to the earliest work by Louis Armstrong in 1925 to "McCartney III" by, well, the GOAT and "Weather" by Huey Lewis and the News (that other "GOAT") in 2020.

Nothing from 2021, apparently.

Oh I'll no doubt be looking for a song or an album one day when it will strike me that I didn't sync it to my phone. That's the downside of this, of course, but I'll take that in exchange for the ability to review what I own.

And cringe.

Well, at least some of it.

Oh and the deal with Verizon came with Hulu, Disney Plus, and ESPN Plus, which will make the sting less noticeable when I turn cable off.

He got the honor of the first picture

blah blah blah Rob Wants a Road Trip blah blah blah

 

2019

It's the middle of February and I'm feeling the pull of the road.

Last week's wrestling drive to New Jersey didn't quite satisfy me. Simply the snow that was falling at that hour took a lot of that joy away.

It all got me thinking about February in the 1980s when we'd pile into the silver Chevy Impala and begin the drive to Florida to visit my grandparents.

For those expecting Waffle House on those trips, you'd actually be wrong. In fact, leaving Mahopac early in the morning meant grabbing breakfast most likely at the Olympic Diner over on US 6. While my father always preferred the Crompond Diner in Yorktown, the Olympic was open 24/7. The Crompond opened at 6 a.m. and my dad -- generally -- wanted to be further down the road by then.

Can you see now where I got the love of driving early from?

Our place of choice on the road was always Howard Johnson's (RIP). I knew the locations, basically, of each one and if there was an attached hotel/motor lodge.

As the next meal time would approach, Dad would consult the computer (my brain) for the location of the nearest HOJO's.

As we might be on the road around 5 a.m., that lined us up to be in the Richmond, VA area at lunch. Thus, I knew the exit for VA Route 10 would yield a Howard Johnson's on the right side just off the ramp.

Of course, back then, I was also juggling handing my father toll money, either for the NJ Turnpike, Baltimore Harbor Tunnel, or the Richmond-Petersburg Turnpike. 

By dinner time, if we were on our game, we'd hit Florence, SC at Exit 164. Again, a right turn would produce a comfy HOJO's where we'd spend the night. Dinner and breakfast would both be consumed there.

In the morning, I'd experience the most delightful bliss. After my father consumed the Big Breakfast and myriad cups of coffee, we'd climb back in the Impala. My mother and sister would take the back seat, perhaps ready to sleep some more as it was pitch black outside, and I'd have my maps ready to go up front (not needed, of course). I was also in charge of the (AM) radio.

Yes, even up to our last trip in 1986, we only had an AM radio. That is until I started carrying my Panasonic AM/FM boom box. Then we had FM and cassettes, so long as we had batteries.

But, most wonderful of all, it was mostly some trucks and us heading south on I-95. I can still remember asking my dad -- sometime in the early 80s -- why trucks would flash their lights at us as they finished passing. At the same time, why was he passing them?

"It was courtesy," he explained, a language that truck drivers (which he was one of) knew. "I'm telling them they have room to pull in front of us and they're thanking me."

I never forgot and still do it to this day. Don't get me wrong -- I'm sure you do it also -- but I always felt like it was a little top of the steering wheel to the old man.

The job of being his co-pilot was one I treasured with my tasks of radio changing and HOJO's finding and toll paying and other duties as assigned. One of those was always waiting for the exit at Jacksonville, FL when he'd try to remember if that was the right way to go. Thus, I'd chime in.

"Yes, we take 295 around to 10," I'd say, even if "he knew."

The drive to and from Florida is one that I'd absolutely love to do though I know it would be much different than when my dad was alive. For one thing, he insisted on a sit-down meal every time. That's not my style at all. I'm pretty content to grab a sandwich at Wawa or Sheetz. Breakfast, needless to say, would likely be at...come on, sing along!

Waffle House.

Either way, I just like to keep moving.

But style differences wouldn't be the only thing to change. Traffic pinch points are different. The grind of certain spots -- looking at you, northern Virginia -- is worse than ever.

We would rarely consider a different route unless we were trying to change things up back in the 70s and 80s. My brain now is constantly spinning with how to get around the mess known as Washington, D.C.

Lodging is also different. Howard Johnson's just aren't what they were. For one thing, their beds fit my dad's physical concerns best given his constant pain due to arthritis.

Now, it would depend on where we were stopping. 

I always loved packing the car and bringing a jacket just for the morning in New York. By the afternoon, whether due to warmer temperatures or just plain stubbornness, the jacket would be in the trunk. It was no longer necessary.

That day is coming. That early morning departure is one the way.

A road trip is good for my soul.

I look forward to it.

Thanks for letting me babble.

It Was Almost Over

 

I'm working on a deposition tonight. I logged in at 10 p.m. for the 11 p.m. start.

OK, I actually logged in around 9:15.

The rest of the day was trying to stay ahead of a lost night of sleep after a lost night of sleep. I also had Brunswick and Greenwich Country Day in basketball.

I kept reminding myself to find a few minutes to write but, well, here we are.

It's 11:40 p.m. as I begin typing.

All of a sudden, as I watched the US/Canada women's gold medal hockey game, I realized I had not visited the blog.

So, here we are, with a few random thoughts before midnight.

I suppose I should take a moment to thank the many people who reached out publicly and privately since last night's post went live. I'm touched by the overwhelming love I got.

Let me clarify something: many have mentioned my next gig and so on. The truth is the Renegades for me in 2021 was a part-time job. Of course, given my insanity along with my love of baseball and broadcasting, I focused on it a lot more than most. It might have seemed like it was full-time.

But I have depositions (which I'm working on now), Local Live and Brunswick, Robcasting, Hunt Scanlon, and other freelance jobs. Hunt Scanlon alone will take me to London in April, San Francisco in September, and New York City a few more times.

The Renegades job was a driving force from May until September last year. As last summer went on I turned down plenty of gigs, especially video depositions that would have netted me better money.

So, in terms of future endeavors, I'll still be quite busy. The Renegades' position was a chance for stability and benefits in 2022, which I certainly long for.

That being said, there are things on the horizon. Maybe. Possibly.

If not, then we'll look into other things.

But there's no question the things I want the most are stability and health benefits. 

The road is full but also can easily change and we'll see what's next.

I can't deny that it's crossed my mind to 1) walk away from broadcasting or 2) back off to being more of a nights and weekends broadcaster as availability opens. That's where I say things will be interesting in the next stretch.

That being said, I'm not closing the door. Nor am I likely walking away. The words of the past 24 hours make it clear that I'm not bad at it.

In Case You Missed It

To quote Billy Joel: "I've loved these days."

I made an announcement last Friday night but, I admit, I buried it in another post

The news is that I'm not going back to the Renegades this year.

It was by design. It was news that I've been sitting on for basically two months. I had run how to say it through my mind a bunch of times.

I was going to do a fake press conference.

I was going to do a fake press release.

I was going to say nothing.

I was going to say something.

Patience was required in the process. I had told a few people quietly. I needed time to process it along with allowing the holidays to get out of the way (I found out in December). Then we were supposed to meet in January but life gets busy. So I just stayed quiet.

Let me be clear: the team said they loved me and wanted to keep me around. Maybe one day that conversation will happen. That tends to keep me from taking any of this personally. This is really just the side of the business that is, frankly, dirty.

So, despite my staying mostly quiet, the last few weeks have brought varying degrees of chatter and, as such, I felt it was finally time to say it.

As I watched a busy day at Brunswick last Friday, and after talking with the Bruins' baseball coach, I felt like I found a way to say it and move on. So that's what I did.

I got some reaction to the post, with one of them pointedly being that I should have given the announcement its own post.

With that said, here we are. I've decided to simply reprint what I wrote last week. I also announced it on "Doubleheader" today.

Life is funny. I'm realistic but you never know what will happen so I close no doors. I leave them we walking back in can happen again.

So, friends, here we are. As I wrote last Friday, I will hopefully have a full spring of Brunswick baseball (and more)...

And what it leads me to finally come out and say -- deep breath -- is that I won't be calling the Hudson Valley Renegades in 2022.

I'm actually surprised nobody caught on to my social media accounts. I changed each and every one of them by the time I exited I-84 for the Taconic Parkway back on Dec. 21. I expected a phone call or text that night.

Yes, Christmas was a little gloomier, if I'm being 100% honest. I'll miss it more than I can possibly describe. Simply working with Sean was priceless, let alone being a "voice" in the Yankees organization.

I'm still hurt. Sad. Bummed. Let's not sugarcoat it. 

But I treasure the whole ride of 2021. I'm proud of every one of those 61 broadcasts. It wasn't enough but it never is. I really wanted the chance to do it all in a "normal" year but that's not where the road will be leading me. 

I put heart and soul into it, as I do with everything. I still believe we put on the best broadcast in High A East if not all of High A. That's a testament to a great crew. I just talked.

I'm grateful to literally everyone involved and now look forward, though I'll look back at magical memories from time to time. I thought it was a thing I'd do for years but that wasn't reality.

I have many friends there, including my own son who will likely continue doing games for them. That's his decision.

As for me, 2022 will be paved differently. I'll be on a plane to London as the first home game is being played at Dutchess Stadium. I can't think of too many better places for me to be.

There are friends who want me to pursue some other baseball jobs and I just wonder if my time is done. I'm 53 and that's been made abundantly clear to me.

Right now, my focus is on my next broadcast and the search for a place to live and making money to afford that place to live and cleaning the place I currently live in and...

So there we go. It's gotten its own post. Its own mention. 

I visited the great Mel Allen's grave before the season started last year and promised to honor those before me in the world of Yankees broadcasters. I've done that. I did my best and received very favorable reviews.

All good. The news is now out there. My emotions are still all over the place. I can actually see some good.

It's done.

With that said, now we move on.

Valentine's Day

 

Happy Valentine's Day, bloggo family.

I know, and I get it. It's a Hallmark concoction at this point.

It's a day of heightened pressure for partners to step up. 

It's also a day that can make one feel inferior.

It can be as miserable as a lot of other holidays. I'm quite familiar with that feeling.

Of course, it can be horribly painful to be alone -- or feel alone -- on Valentine's Day. That's because of societal pressures, marketing, and just plain silliness.

When put in these terms, it doesn't sound pretty or pleasant at all.

Yet, if the circumstances are right, it can also be just simply about a day of love.

Not even romance. Love.

Love for yourself. Love for someone else. Simple platonic love.

In truth, anything can be a valentine. Now, I realize some of you are putting your minds in the gutter and I get that. I'd probably do the same. But what I'm trying to say to you is that, in case you need to read this, it's OK to be alone. It's OK to be whatever you are and with whoever you're with.

And, of course, it's OK to not be OK. Please just be honest and open with yourself about it and seek whatever help you need.

But there's simply no need to buy into the pressure.

For what it's worth -- and no need to ask -- I had a perfectly delightful, trouble-free Valentine's Day. 

It was a nice way to start the workweek.

In some ways, we've improved "V Day" with things like "Galentine's Day" for ladies and the like. Still, others have just said, "screw it" and didn't worry about it.

Those are the best outcomes.

The thing I just don't want to see is people feeling sad about this notion of Valentine's Day or anything else for that matter. 

The pressure of it all is unnecessary.

But remember you have friends.

I'm here. I'll be your valentine.

The concept of love can be so deep. You think you know what it is. You think you've found it. Then it all turns out to be wrong and it rattles you to your very core. You lose faith. Trust. There's damage.

I have no magic words for any of that.

But I have words of support. Sometimes that's all one can offer.

Take care of yourself today. Start there.

Then wake up tomorrow and carry it.

Happy Valentine's Day.

The Halftime Show

 

(Photo: Getty)

So the third quarter of the Super Bowl just kicked off.

Meaning the halftime show just ended.

I've said for a few years that I'm not the target demographic and I'm fine with that.

Still, given the reaction on social media, it appears this was either THE GREATEST EVER or nah, PRINCE IS THE GREATEST EVER.

Oy.

I've said my piece on Prince before. It bored me.

I know, I know. How dare I?

As for what I just watched, well, it was fine. I happily settled in and watched it. 

It wasn't like (sorry, John Nash) the Maroon 5 debacle where I changed the channel before going back to it and felt like I was watching a car crash.

Or Coldplay.

Or Madonna.

Or the Black Eyed Peas.

It was fine. It entertained me. That is sort of the point, right?

I don't think I have an opinion on the best halftime show. In fact, I know I don't.

I mean, I love Paul McCartney but that one was safe. I liked Tom Petty. A few others.

So at this point, I don't care. Maybe that's the message. I didn't even flinch when they announced who was performing. It was time for rap and R&B to have their moment.

I have plenty of music if I want to listen to something else.

I can change the channel if I want to watch something else like I used to do back in the 90s when I'd go watch the special halftime edition of "In Living Color" which was far better than whatever train wreck was performing at the time.

The NFL could go back to Up With People or a marching band and I'd also be completely fine.

The NFL could shorten it or eliminate it to get back the actual game and I'd probably be happiest.

I've also been up since roughly 3:45 am and drove through snow that I didn't expect to deal with. In the end, it was no big deal. I called -- when it was all said and done -- seven hours of wrestling with and without Chris Erway.

Oh yeah, and I did wrestling alone for the first time and it wasn't a disaster. Maybe viewers felt differently and that's OK. 

So the halftime show really isn't a big deal to me. 

I didn't change the channel.

I didn't roll my eyes.

I was tapping my foot at times. 

The way I look at it, that's a win.

Oh, and the Chevrolet/Sopranos ad was incredible.

Road Trip Tomorrow!

 

"What time are you going to have to leave the house?" Chris Erway asked.

"Probably around 5:30," I said.

"Oof," came the reply.

Chris and I have been asked to tag team (see what I did there?) wrestling at Franklin High School in New Jersey tomorrow. The first match begins at 9 a.m. and will roll until probably around 3:30 or 4 p.m.

I'll try to post a link via my social media tomorrow morning if you'd like to check some of it out.

Yes, it's Super Bowl Sunday but I never watch the pregame so this works.

There's a chance of some snow but it doesn't seem like it will be as bad as I had feared.

So, let me get this straight. I can get up early on Sunday, drive with (hopefully) minimal traffic and probably grab breakfast at Wawa? Maybe even lunch or dinner before I go home?

What's the problem here!?

The only thing missing is a longer road trip and Waffle House!

Heck, the Wawa factor almost -- truly -- got Sean to go with me. But he has school work to do and, look, I understand. You do have to be a certain kind of crazy (that's me) to do what I do.

Knowing the first match is at 9:00 and that Chris and I feel like we're walking in a little blind, we both want to be on-site early enough to get the lay of the land and compile whatever homework we can.

My colleagues in the play-by-play world would be in a fetal position, just as they would have flipped when I called Brunswick/Hamden Hall yesterday. I didn't have a Hamden Hall roster so I got one out of their scorebook, consulted with some stuff online, matched it up wrote a down, took a sip of water, and, WHAMMO!, I called the game.

Chris and I arrived for the FCIAC Wrestling Championship at New Canaan today and there were myriad items of concern. Where to set up? Who is our primary contact? What are the matchups? Who is our camera person? Do they know how to connect to Local Live? Is Local Live ready for us?

No need to panic. Each question was answered and you, dear viewer/listener was no less the wiser.

This wasn't my first rodeo.

Or wrestling match.

Tomorrow, I will call wrestling alone for the first time. Chris and I are calling the first session at 9am but we're splitting up at 11:30 so we'll each take a mat. It will be his first solo effort and he'll be great. He knows wrestling inside and out and can break down all of the action. I will take more of a narrating approach in my solo broadcast, letting the picture dictate more than anything.

Oh, don't worry, it will still be exciting.

We'll team back up at 2pm for the last matches of the day.

If it all goes according to plan I will be in front of my TV in time for the kickoff of the Big Bonanza at 6:30.

I highly suggest they make it exciting because I might fall asleep.

Incidentally, I don't think I've missed a kickoff of a Super Bowl since I watched my first one in 1978. Hopefully, that streak continues.

Rams 31, Bengals 23. Hopefully, Cincinnati has the ball late for a little drama.

I have no dog in the fight except the d-o-g-g named Snoop.

*Please note both road pictures in this post were picked at random and do not represent anything other than maybe I'll be on one of the roads represented. I know how...er...precise my fellow road enthusiasts are.

Basketball, Hockey, and Baseball

This is where I'm wanted

The tires are fixed.

It took much longer than it should have but I finally have new tires on the car. So there's that.

That meant I could work, calling basketball this evening.

I'm blessed in that Brunswick is happy with me and both the basketball and hockey teams want me on their broadcasts.

One parent approached me and told me -- jokingly -- that they were "mad" at me because I was setting up for basketball and not hockey.

So I called basketball -- Brunswick ran away from Hamden Hall -- and described hockey details when I could.

There was an audible buzz in the Dann Gymnasium. Nah, scratch that. It rocked.

The student cheering section bounced between the two facilities -- gym and rink -- to keep an eye on both games. Heck, I wandered over to the Hartong Rink at halftime.

The hockey game didn't quite go as well for Brunswick as the Bruins fell to Frederick Gunn. It will be roughly 10 days or so before we see the Bruins back on the ice. They'll be on the road for a few games.

There was a great spirit in the Sampson Athletic Center. Sure, masks were still the thing but everybody just seemed happy to be watching these games. Players played and students were raucous. That's sort of how it should be.

I stood at my "table" in the gym, which is actually two basketball team chairs placed side-by-side, and called the game. I fed off the energy in the room and had to remind myself to be careful. One really can't maintain that type of energy for an entire broadcast. 

I know I would have crashed in the second half.

The game, as I alluded to, didn't quite dictate an insane call anyway. It started as if it would be a brawl before Brunswick went to the locker room up by nine. They won 59-33 playing obviously great defense but also pushing the ball and scoring. They're now the top dog in the FAA (Fairchester Athletic Association) with a game remaining in the conference against Greenwich Country Day next Wednesday.

I'll be on the call for that and their season finale against Greenwich Farms next Thursday.

I also got a look at schedules for lacrosse and...wait for it...baseball. I chatted with their head coach, Johnny Montanez, and he said the Bruins might play 34 games. Now, we all know there are a variety of reasons why that number will likely go down but still, he promised me I'll have my hands full with Brunswick baseball.

Johnny always makes it clear how much my broadcasting games mean to him and he reminds me of how his father-in-law in Florida loves to listen. He's been listening since I was doing the games very informally with just audio, pre-Robcasting.

So if what I see is true, I could be calling baseball by the end of March. The same goes for lacrosse.

And the teams all know -- how can they not? -- that I will happily travel. While there's no way to split me in half to cover everything for every team, I'm in a desirable spot where the school, their players, coaches, families, and fans all seem to want me around.

That's really cool.

And what it leads me to finally come out and say -- deep breath -- is that I won't be calling the Hudson Valley Renegades in 2022.

I'm actually surprised nobody caught on to my social media accounts. I changed each and every one of them by the time I exited I-84 for the Taconic Parkway back on Dec. 21. I expected a phone call or text that night.

Yes, Christmas was a little gloomier, if I'm being 100% honest. I'll miss it more than I can possibly describe. Simply working with Sean was priceless, let alone being a "voice" in the Yankees organization.

I'm still hurt. Sad. Bummed. Let's not sugarcoat it. 

But I treasure the whole ride of 2021. I'm proud of every one of those 61 broadcasts. It wasn't enough but it never is. I really wanted the chance to do it all in a "normal" year but that's not where the road will be leading me. 

I put heart and soul into it, as I do with everything. I still believe we put on the best broadcast in High A East if not all of High A. That's a testament to a great crew. I just talked.

I'm grateful to literally everyone involved and now look forward, though I'll look back at magical memories from time to time. I thought it was a thing I'd do for years but that wasn't reality.

I have many friends there, including my own son who will likely continue doing games for them. That's his decision.

As for me, 2022 will be paved differently. I'll be on a plane to London as the first home game is being played at Dutchess Stadium. I can't think of too many better places for me to be.

There are friends who want me to pursue some other baseball jobs and I just wonder if my time is done. I'm 53 and that's been made abundantly clear to me.

Right now, my focus is on my next broadcast and the search for a place to live and making money to afford that place to live and cleaning the place I currently live in and...

The next broadcasts are a weekend of wrestling before more Brunswick next week. The FCIACs are on the way for hockey and basketball as well.

It's good to feel wanted.

Twitter Teenager

 

According to Twitter, I posted my first tweet 13 years ago today.

And my life has been all downhill ever since.

Well, OK, no. Maybe not. 

Still, nearly 51,000 items have flown off my account. I dare not think of what percent was truly worthwhile. Most, I guarantee, have not been.

Including this post, which will get tweeted upon its conclusion.

Admittedly, and sadly, I've found it essential for what I do. I check it for topics for "Doubleheader" and game broadcasts and news and life.

I explain to students why it's important but to understand it's not a source. It's a start when doing research.

But it's also a heaping pile of dog poop. It's an absolute cesspool.

Social media has not exactly helped us be nicer people, has it? I mean, that probably goes without saying. Still, it's fun on occasion.

It's also my daily car crash where I just can't look away.

I try to give people content that will make them laugh or think or dig a little deeper. Basically, it's an extension of this little slice of my neighborhood.

It was clear when I first took the leap into Twitter I had no idea what to do with it. My first tweet wasn't the standard "Hello world" or whatever. It was, basically, that I was working on writing the blog. I wrote two posts that day: one with a video that has since been removed so I have no idea what it was about, and one about A-Rod using steroids.

Ugh.

A few other nuggets include whether or not I was ready to commit to Twitter on Mar 11, 2009 (answer: yes) and something was up on Mar 17 when I wrote "Can't say what's going on. It's bad though."

I'm not entirely sure what that meant.

Oh, there's plenty more such as tweeting about being furious about something being "taken from my house" in early April 2009. I was going to tell the whole story of that but decided to pull back. Let's say I know what was taken, who took it, and that it had nothing to do with the object that was taken.

It was more about the principle and lack of respect.

Oh yeah, and my son also left the house that same night. So, yeah.

I'd like ultimately to see the good of Twitter and social media. There are friends that I've made and relationships I've enriched by being myself on "the socials." It doesn't take long to regret the bad -- I question myself a lot -- so I'd prefer to see the good.

There are also moments of interaction with people you might not interact with normally. Celebrities and such that provide an "oh wow" moment when they've liked or acknowledged something. Again, hopefully, the good stuff.

Sure there are the fights and stupidity -- the latest edition being something totally mindless about Mike Francesa and Chris "Mad Dog" Russo that a certain Mr. Tako Aktovious Mumpsimus (aka Mr. Kaelin) couldn't let go. And there's the daily ritual of idiocy that emanates from my list called "Good For a Laugh" that is, again, like a car crash.

By the way, I get the feeling the Mets are holding an Old Timers' Day but I could be wrong.

I often think to myself I'll just stop. I'll walk away. I'll get tired of it.

Well, it doesn't seem to be happening anytime soon.

Still, can I go back to MySpace?

It Was...Oh, I've Lost Track

 

It was 58 years ago tonight and I promised myself that I wouldn't write about it.

But...here we are and I don't want to write about anything else.

Those guys first appeared on American TV on "The Ed Sullivan Show."

You know them. John, Paul, George, and Bongo.

If you saw or heard The Beatles' appearance on TV with the great British comedy duo Morecambe and Wise, you'll know that Eric Morecambe referred to Richard Starkey -- our beloved Ringo -- as "Bongo." They did three songs on the show and participated in a singing of "Moonlight Bay" as Morecambe comes out in a Beatles wig. The show was recorded on 2 December 1963 (How British of me!) but didn't air until 18 April 1964 -- after "The Ed Sullivan Show" appearance.  

But it was on this night that those four provided perhaps the biggest bang in music -- dare I say pop culture -- history.

A mere 73 million tuned to CBS at 8 p.m. that Sunday night to watch the cast of the music "Oliver" (including Davy Jones, pre-Monkees fame), Tessie O'Shea, Fred Kaps, Wells & the Four Fays, Frank Gorshin (pre "Batman"), and McCall & Brill.

Oh yeah, and the four lads from Liverpool.

Ed Sullivan was the show. He knew talent and everyone knew being on his show was important. Others mattered. "American Bandstand," of course was among those shows. But Ed Sullivan was king. 

It can't be understated what a milestone it was. New York had literally been on its side since The Beatles arrived on Feb 7.

After Sullivan opened the show, he said The Beatles had received a wire from Elvis Presley and his manager Col. Tom Parker. After a few more words, it was time to pay the bills. A commercial break ensued.

Upon returning from the commercial, Sullivan spoke of how New York City seemed so alive, just a few months after the death of President John F. Kennedy. He informed the audience they'd see The Beatles perform twice. 

And then, with the cauldron reaching its boiling point, with 728 in attendance inside Studio 50, Sullivan spoke and the sonic boom was heard.

"Ladies and gentlemen, The Beatles!"

You can't possibly hear him say whatever he said next (which I think is "Let's bring them out").

After a shot of the crowd -- what a marvelous decision by director John Moffitt -- which showed how excited and generally out of their minds everyone was, the show faded to a high crane shot of all four Beatles.

Paul McCartney drew first dibs on singing, counting in, looking back at Ringo, and then singing.

Close your eyes and I'll kiss you.

Tomorrow I'll miss you.

Remember I'll always be true.

No doubt energized by the insanity, a brief "yeah" can be heard after that opening line, uttered by John.

The gorgeous crane shot descends upon the four before the first closeup is seen. It's Ringo, slapping away on the cymbal. I always love the "holy (bleep)" look on his face as he stares into the audience.

So began a special relationship between New York and The Beatles.

I think about that night every Feb 9. I wasn't even a thought yet for my parents. They did watch the show (not many didn't) and I have no reason to think that I wouldn't have watched it as well. My sister recalls it, though she was only five.

Beatlemania would only last officially until 1970 but, in reality, it was holding on by 1969. It was a comet. It's why their walking away when they did only makes us love them even more. We couldn't get enough and we still can't.

With John Lennon's death in 1980 and George Harrison passing in 2001, any hope of reunions was squashed. We'd get small glimpses while all four were still alive. The bootleg "A Toot and a Snore in '74" being key for those desperate for anything Lennon/McCartney.

The "Anthology" sessions with John's cassette tapes worked up by the remaining Lads, also teased us. We yearn for anything. I mean, "Get Back" anyone?

Or the "McCartney 3, 2, 1" series?

For some who were wise enough to be ahead of things, you were there for the first singles. If you had the amazing fortune of being around London, Liverpool, or Hamburg, well, that's pretty remarkable.

To see John, Paul, George, and Stu? Or Pete?

But on Feb 9, 1964, America officially met The Beatles.

The coming-out party happened.

The revolution -- which we'd say we wanted a few years later -- had begun and it was televised.