Crazy Day (subtitle: I'm Just Crazy)

 

The goal: Get home to them

Last night, around 7:15 p.m.: I told Sean my plan for Thursday.

"You're insane," he said. If nothing else, he's seen that I work hard and it's something I'd like to pass on to him. People have noticed my often crazy work schedule and there's actually a deeper reason behind it that involves toxic people and why go there?

See, what you need to know is that I'm normally organized. Very organized. But yesterday I made a mistake. While standing at Brunswick, getting ready to call baseball, I got a text asking me to work a video deposition on Thursday night.

Looking at my calendar quickly, I thought my night was wide open. We were good! I said yes and went on to start calling the game.

Then came reality. I looked at my calendar again. Turned out I completely dropped the ball. Sure, I could do the deposition but it would be at the back end of a day that included going to CSB to teach and calling another Brunswick baseball game. I texted Dan Macom and told him that I'd probably need to come to the office in Greenwich. Keep in mind I hadn't done a depo in the office since Nov 2020.

So, I went to bed and got some sleep.

5:58 a.m.:  The alarm is set for 6:30. Of course, my brain (and a black cat) wouldn't cooperate to allow me to get to that time. So I'm up earlier.

The Cat wasn't too bad but he'll sometimes just stand near me and stare until I wake up. It's the very definition of having the feeling of being watched.

So I caved in. I got up. I fed him. The good news was I didn't have to rush to get out the door. I was able to eat some breakfast.

7:49 a.m.: I'm in the car and on the road (clearly, I'm writing this part after the fact). I popped up to the nearby gas station/convenience store for coffee and a wrapped sandwich that I can eat later.

9:26 a.m.: I walked into CSB Media Arts Center in Stratford, CT. My class was already waiting for me. I laughed about traffic and we got underway. For the next 3.5 hours, I wowed them (not really) with my knowledge as we created a sports report for them to deliver to me. I also explained the mastery of Mr. Vin Scully and explained the styles I don't like in the play-by-play world.

In the middle of things, one of the students departed early as his mother had called and told him he had to leave. Admittedly that was a first for me.

1:00 p.m.: I wished the class well and departed. Rain had pelted the area and the ground was wet when I got out of bed. The initial forecast wasn't promising so I thought perhaps baseball at Brunswick would be called off, allowing me to get back to Mahopac for the deposition.

However, I had no text from Wayne MacGillicuddy telling me otherwise so I proceeded towards King St in Greenwich.

1:15 p.m.: My first stop was at the Stratford Wal Mart for a small shopping trip. Next was food. Now, while it's probably not politically appropriate to do so, I wasn't considering politics when I arrived at Chick-fil-A in Norwalk.

1:57 p.m.: Arrive at Chick-fil-A. You might know that I have a guideline that I try to follow in which I don't eat things that I can readily get in New York and Connecticut. Chick-fil-A used to be something that wasn't available up our way. That's no longer the case since there are several locations within an hour of Mahopac.

My spicy chicken and fries with an icy cold Coca-Cola hit the spot.

2:35 p.m.: Arrive on the Brunswick campus. A gaggle of men are talking as I back into my parking spot. Nobody is at the baseball field.

The field looks great as I greet Wayne MacGillicuddy. Both of us expressed surprise at the turn of the weather. He said the weather forecast looks playable while my forecast looks less promising.

(Spoiler: His forecast was better and I'm now questioning my sources)

We went about setting up the Local Live camera before he went to the outfield to throw batting practice to stud prospect Adonys Guzman. That, by the way, explained the gaggle of men, who turned out to be scouts. We'll come back to them.

3:10 p.m.: Concerned about the weather, I return to the car to get my large Pelican case that will hold my computer, mixer, and a few other things. It allows me to close the lid if it beings to rain. If I had more time I would have utilized my trusty SportPod but I want to make a quick exit today to get to the office for the deposition.

3:55 p.m.: So I have a Brunswick lineup. I've written it down. I've set their defense. We have umpires. 

We don't have opponents. The New Canaan Rams haven't turned up yet.

3:59 p.m.: OK, New Canaan has arrived. They've gone to the outfield to stretch but they don't intend to take I/O (infield/outfield practice).

They've made it clear the game is a scrimmage. But now that opens a question in my mind: is it a scrimmage for Brunswick?

4:05 p.m.: Answer: yes, it's a scrimmage for everyone. That changes the tone of the event entirely.

4:14 p.m.: I have a New Canaan roster, found on the CIAC website. What I don't have is a lineup for them and the game is about to start. I grabbed an assistant coach.

Me: Do you have a lineup?

Him: (Gestures as the head coach shows it to the umpires and Wick head coach Johnny Montanez).

Me: Is the roster on the CIAC website official?

Him: It should be. We've brought a few players up for the day (from junior varsity)

4:17 p.m.: The game has started.

OK, we're late and I'm really supposed to be logging into the deposition at 6:00 but I can be a little late for that.

Bottom of the first: scouts crowd around me (standing off to first base side of home plate) to watch Adonys Guzman hit). They, frankly, don't care about being in my way, and overall, they're not. They have a job to do and I give them as much space as possible. A couple of them are really friendly and pleasant to chat with. In fact, they all seem pretty nice. I specifically talked with one from the Brewers for a bit.

This scene would repeat itself several times, including times that they wanted to watch Guzman in his catching position.

Eventually, I glanced to my left. I spied a cord, basically like a headphone cable, sitting on the ground. It wasn't connected to anything.

That was bad.

There was nothing I could do about it at the moment but that meant my audio, intended to go through said cable to Local Live, had become disconnected.

Short (and clean) answer: drat.

Between innings: I reconnected.

But anytime I so much as drifted away from my position, someone jumped in, including a few parents from New Canaan and a photographer.

We might need a defined broadcaster space. It will happen. All in due time.

The game is dragging along. Brunswick scored four times in the second, three in the third, and three more in the fourth. They lead 10-2 after four innings.

Oh, and in the third inning, New Canaan puts in a new pitcher. I can tell you his number was 7. I can't tell you his name, any more than I can tell you pronunciations of the Rams player's names.

Nope. Not the finest hour.

Other realization? If I want to finish the game, I won't make the deposition on time. That's not ideal. So it's decision time.

5:40 p.m.: I throw in the towel on the broadcast. The scouts were overwhelming and, let's face it, I was calling a scrimmage that was rapidly getting out of control.

In almost any other circumstances, I finish the job. In this case, I had another job to get to.

I packed up.

5:59 p.m.: I texted Dan that I was on my way.

6:15 p.m.: I walked into the office. Honestly, I could have made it home but it would have been stressful. I would have had to fly in the door, get online, and set up my paperwork. It was too stressful to consider, so I just came to the office. Dan and Craig Jones were both there.

7:11 p.m.: We are on the record. It feels weird to do a deposition from the office but it's fine. I quickly adjusted. While it will be a late night I'm not worried about the drive home. I can stroll into Dan's office and chat with him as I listen to the testimony. Dan and Craig are both great friends and huge tech guys, and, like The Joker, I'm always marveling at their wonderful toys.

8:00 p.m.: Dan and Craig go home to their families. I'm now on my own.

8:30 p.m.: We go off the record. 

8:39 p.m.: We go back on the record.

8:49 p.m.: I realize that this can be viewed as a fun post detailing my day. I also realize that this can be viewed as horribly self-serving (never my goal). I try different approaches every day and I thought this could be fun, snarky, and playful while breaking down some of the ponderous stuff in a long day. I realize there are those who work much longer days and do things nowhere near what I do.

8:51 p.m.: I also realize I shouldn't speak in disclaimers.

9:13 p.m.: We're done! I'm shocked! Yay for justice! 

9:31 p.m.: All paperwork and files have been finalized and I'm heading for The Cat. Oh yeah, and The Son.

9:55 p.m.: Stopping in North White Plains, NY for gas. The roads are a bit wet as some rain has fallen.

10:09 p.m.: Forget what I've just said. As I climb the Taconic State Parkway past the exit for Millwood, the skies exploded. Heavy rain and...ahhh...a little ponding on the roads*.

*Again, I'm typing AFTER I turned the car off.

10:29 p.m.: I'm thankfully home after that adventure. The Cat greets me as I yell at him for not taking the recycling out.

Sean waves.

The day could have been much worse. I assumed I wouldn't be home for a few more hours. But it's done. 

10:57 p.m.: I'm sitting in bed finishing the post. Rascal/Squeaky/Walter/The Beast/The Cat is walking around, doing his thing, Sean is talking to one of "his boys."

It's good to be home.

My outdoor setup (if needed): the Pelican case

A Quarter of a Century of Gratitude

I can still hear the directions.

Take Exit 3 off I-95 and make a left. Proceed through the lights and, going to the left, go up the hill. Just past the traffic light for town hall, turn left on Dayton Ave. If you reach the Food Emporium grocery store, you've gone too far.

The address? 1490 Dayton Ave.

Go to the back door and ring the bell.

So began my first foray into this strange land called WGCH Radio in Greenwich, CT.

I was there to learn how to run their programs. I was there to learn the nuances of their colsole.

I was there to prepare for my first air shift the following Sunday, when I would fill in for Steve Goodwin, who was partially responsible for my being there.

Steve the late Luke Michaels both wanted me to join them at GCH following the demise of WREF, where we had all worked.

So there I was. I learned what I could.

That was 25 years ago today -- March 30, 1997.

I did that fill-in shift the following Sunday. Then? I felt like it would be fleeting at best. The station left a message for me to call them in May 1997 (back when you called your home line to see if you had any messages). I called them back and they asked me if I could fill in again. The problem was that I was in Las Vegas.

I felt like I had missed an opportunity. In truth, I probably had because my phone mostly went dry. It took until late 1998 before I got asked to be the board operator for some football games.

Fortunately, they liked what I could do. They liked that I was reliable and did as I was asked. I also wasn't pushy to get on the air.

Oh, I'd get on the air plenty. Eventually.

Far right, at Boyle Stadium in Stamford

Soon I was the go-to guy. Need a board-op? I'm in. Need an engineer? Teach me and I'll do it. Want me to be the pre and postgame host? Halftime and intermissions reports? Cool.

And, by early 1999, a play-by-play announcer.

Obviously, I haven't looked back since then.

Oh, it hasn't always been easy. Politics, internal squabbles, management issues, crazy salespeople, technical concerns, and so on.

But, on the other hand, there have been 25 years of a lot of games and news and Election Nights and talk shows and Greenwich Town Parties and breaking news.

I know I'm missing things.

I can't even begin to name the names. It wouldn't be fair. I'd forget someone.

But I'll take a shot at Jim Thompson and Dima Joseph and Tony Savino and Bob Small and Joy Marshall and Lindsey Romeo and Sam Romeo and Sean Kilkelly and Mark Rosen and Chris Erway and Chris Kaelin and Ryan DeMaria and Jim Campbell and Mary Anne DeFelice and Amy Beth and Don Russell (rest his soul) and Clark Burgard and Ricky Fritsch and Anthony Karlogrides and Matt Hamilton and Mark Smallwood and Bill Brehm and John Spang and Michael Breed and John Connelly and John Iannuzzi and Tom Kane and Nick Angotto and Zach Fisher, Mark Jeffers, Dave Torromeo, and like I said I'm missing names.

The names include every analyst that stood with me in a booth. Every intern that did stats or reported from the sideline.

The names include salespeople and executives -- some of whom didn't drive me nuts.

The names include the people who kept asking for me to keep coming around.

They include the people who somehow -- often with a string and two cans -- kept the station on the air.

They include every caller, sponsor, and most of all, listener.

Naples, FL 2007

The place -- that radio station -- has driven me nuts. It has infuriated me. 

It has enriched me.

It is one of my great loves. I'm proud of it and proud to have spent a quarter of a century at WGCH in some form or another.

I've been there full-time. Part-time. No time (1997-1998). 

And I've basically been there consistently since 1998. Even when I was at HAN, I still did a Friday sports chat with Tony Savino.

Which reminds me, I've been paid and unpaid.

And the shows? "Spotlight on Sports with Rob Adams," "The Rob Adams Show," "The Press Box," "Coaches Corner," "Inside Sports," "Tee Time," "The Clubhouse."

"Doubleheader."

And many others. Even shows that I've forgotten.

Oh, and the sports I've called? Football (always the king), basketball, hockey (yeah, I could say I was the voice...oh, forget it), basketball, and baseball but also softball and lacrosse. Also Bridgeport Bluefish baseball and GYFL football and, again, so much more.

We covered Greenwich High, Brunswick, Stamford High, Trinity Catholic, Rye, Harrison, and Port Chester. If management let me, I did it.

It's changed since I first got there. It's changed a lot.

Yet I'm still here.

I know more changes await WGCH and who knows how much longer I'll be a part of it? So, yeah, I'll admit that hitting this 25th anniversary mattered to me.

You saw me through life, death, triumph, and tragedy. You welcomed Sean into the world and made him part of the Greenwich scene.

In a town that is protective of its "townies," you've made me an honorary member.

It hasn't always been pretty but it's been a great 25 years.

Thanks, Greenwich. Thanks, listeners. Thanks, friends.

Thank you, wonderful WGCH. May your transmitter light for years to come.

Sean Kilkelly, Chris Kael, me, Chris Erway, and Sean Adams, Oct 2011

I Guess Honesty Is Really Such a Lonely Word

 

Among my many traits is honesty.

Generally, I think it's a good thing, but if we're being...er...honest...let's just quote ol' Jack Nicholson.

"You can't handle the truth."

And so, friends, I sometimes have to say nothing. Now, staying quiet is something I can do but I also have to either say what I want to say privately to someone else or write multiple versions of a tweet/post and delete all of it.

I see things or, should I say I get sent things. 

For their own sake and the sake of their loved ones, I want to be able to tell them that they're overdoing it in one way or another.

There are online meltdowns and pity parties and other really concerning stuff that I simply can't discuss with them. 

And I want to help but, more often than not, they don't want that help.

Or they'll argue that they're right.

Like it or not, I have a pretty honest core surrounding me. I hear things I don't want to hear but, in the long run, it makes me better.

Or I say things that I simply need to say (even though it's wrong) just so I can hear myself say it and then realize what a dope I am.

It's therapeutic.

I'm not good at simply staying quiet. At least not in person.

It's why I detest phonies.

It's easier when there's a trainwreck online because I can react. My poker face can contort itself into a living question mark before I ... likely say nothing.

Which drives me crazy.

But. When they refuse or don't want the help, what can you do?

And -- worse -- they have a collection of pacifists who tell them what they want to hear.

At that point, there's simply no helping it.

The sad part is I really pride myself on being the voice of reason (Mike Richter once called me that). But, seriously, I always admired how my father was so diplomatic and I'd like to believe I have that in me. That's why I like being the big brother/uncle. 

Although I've got a new neighbor who keeps calling me "sir."

"Sir?"

Yet, I walked away from him limping with back pain after a long day of standing to teach at CSB and calling lacrosse at Brunswick.

So I guess I am "sir." 

Drat.

But, back to the point at hand. It's really hard to be an honest, open book and not be able to address things.

Sometimes you also know you can't say what you need to say no matter how much you want to say it because odds are, you'll simply look bad.

Or petty.

So, I guess what we're coming down to is that, occasionally, I can (and actually do) keep my mouth shut.

I actually do it much more than I let on.

But it's not easy.

The Invoice

 

I emailed an invoice today.

It was for services rendered over the past few months and it will be paid in due time. I have no doubt of that as the company I sent it to is always honorable, prompt, and professional.

Some invoices, in the freelance world, often take a little time to get paid, but inevitably, they almost all do.

So long as I'm not truly destitute I don't worry about a delay. It happens. An email gets lost, even forgotten. I'm not the world's best businessman in this regard. Oh, for the love of Rockerfeller, far from it.

A quick follow-up normally resolves things. Sometimes it's even my fault. One of the places I work didn't send any confirmation that they paid me. They just electronically put the money in my account and I failed to check the statement before sending a quick text.

I was redfaced but, ultimately, no harm.

There are a series of invoices, dating back to 2017, that has gone completely unpaid by one former employer. In fact, most emails and attempts to collect have been ignored.

The money isn't insignificant, though I've been told in various channels that suing for it would be fruitless, so I've mostly given up.

That doesn't mean it has been forgotten or forgiven.

I accepted a position there as a way to get my career and brain back in balance following some difficult though fruitful professional experiences. The brain has a funny way of looking back at such things.

Like anything else, there was a honeymoon period. But promises that were made weren't kept and money was often slow in getting to me.

Eventually, we whittled everything down to doing the job as a contract employee. OK, cool.

I didn't love any of this but it would have to do. I now had no medical benefits.

"You'll make more money than you did before!" I was told.

That might have been true if I were ever paid for those duties.

Look, I'll blame myself for some of this. The number I was promised per job started at a higher rate.

Then I was told that wasn't true.

Like an idiot, I didn't have it in writing. No email. Nothing. Totally my own fault for being so naive.

There's a deeper backstory of other things, including being able to pay for my car and the hell -- that's the word -- I went through. The same went for child support. Attempts to recoup that money were a failure.

All of this as my mother was sick and I was caring for her, I might add.

Threats to the employer to get a lawyer involved -- and I had contacted one -- didn't work. The whole thing was a nightmare. A huge nightmare.

You look back and you wonder. Should I have just stayed in one situation, where those close to me feared I was heading towards physical ruin, over going to a situation that put me in financial ruin?

"If you had stayed," one person said to me, "you would have had a heart attack."

On the other hand, how's the stress when you're financially worried?

Ultimately, I was able to get some unemployment, which they actually held against me for pursuing. Honestly, what choice did I have?

No, I was entitled to the unemployment -- you stopped using me as an employee -- and the past-due invoices.

I tried to get the value of the invoices. At first, I pushed the number higher because I felt the car issue and, frankly, interest was due to me. OK, they rejected that.

I brought the number down.

I brought it down lower.

I kept thinking they'd be honorable. Wasn't I doing the same? Wasn't this a negotiation? Couldn't we just resolve this and walk away on good terms? These were people who supposedly wanted to do the right thing for me -- mentally and in terms of my career.

Eventually, I whittled the number down to where the lack of response led me to feel that the fight was no longer worth it.

It was one of many kicks in the face that I've received. 

Lessons learned I suppose.

Karma's a bitch, they say. There are ways to get the point across.

Like a blog post that doesn't name names.

I came through it a better man. You might read this and shake your head. You might read it and have your own judgment of me.

I hold my head high.

Other invoices will be paid.

Other employers treat me well.

Consider this an editorial you'll never run.

(By the way, I've already received a reply to the aforementioned invoice that I sent today. They thanked me and I have no doubt I'll be paid quickly. That's a great relationship and that's how it's supposed to work.)

A Special "Talent" Talks

 

You might know I host a podcast called "Talent Talks." It's an interview-style show that I've hosted for a few years for Hunt Scanlon Media.

It's fair to call it a niche podcast, focusing on talking with movers and shakers in the talent management community.

It's all set up through the Hunt Scanlon office in Greenwich, as Erik Boender gets the process started. I get involved when it's time to schedule the recording session.

So there I am, trying to work out a time to record with CarterBaldwin Executive Search out of Atlanta. I'm told that Chris Guiney -- a partner in the firm -- would be my guest.

Huh. I knew a Chris Guiney. We were close friends back in the days of Austin Road Elementary School. We were in classes together several years in a row before we moved on to both Mahopac Junior High and Mahopac High School.

Chris was part of a core group of friends with Frank Viggiano, John Vaughan, and Brian Power, as well as assorted others. I would often walk or ride my bike up Agor Lane to meet with the boys at one of their houses -- most likely Frank's or Brian's. 

There was always a chance we'd walk up to Austin Road to practice football plays we scripted out or play baseball. Maybe we'd climb on the roof of the school (it's been 40 years so I think I'm safe).

Maybe we'd shoot hoops at Brian's house.

Maybe we'd listen to music, watch sports, and be teenage boys.

We could always ride our bikes to town for sandwiches at Rodak's or ice cream at Carvel.

Then we could jump off the dock at Lake MacGregor to cool off.

Lazy, hazy, crazy days.

So, Chris Guiney, you say?

I had to look. I knew we had connected on Facebook and exchanged brief hellos from time to time.

I thought he was in Atlanta but I couldn't remember.

So I checked Google.

"Chris Guiney CarterBaldwin."

His bio came right up and it was 1981 all over again.

Fourth Grade. Chris is top left. I'm in the second row, third from right
in the glasses and the silk shirt.

Of all the podcasts in all the towns in the world, he was going to be on mine.

We spoke for a few minutes before we recorded and caught up. Life is what it is. Kids and so on.

Then we recorded. The process itself was brief -- roughly a half-hour -- with a script constructed by Erik Boender. It's always the same. I try to make the guest be the best they can be and I can fix things in post-production as necessary.

Chris was sharp and smooth. If he wasn't an old friend of over 40 years I'd still recommend him to anyone in his industry. 

We dropped a few Mahopac references in but I think we both knew that it couldn't be overkill. The idea is always that it's important to still make the outsider feel welcome.

Maybe Mr. Salvestrini (4th grade) would be proud. Hopefully, Mrs. Colasacco (5th grade) was. I wouldn't doubt Dr. Levy (Mr. Levy to us -- 6th grade) would be pleased.

Chris was effusive in his kind words to me but I was simply beyond impressed with him as a guest, an executive, a dad, and a man.

I called it "special" as we wrapped up and I meant it. As we were both busy, we said a quick goodbye and carried on. I edited and delivered it to Hunt Scanlon for them to promote it.

It's now online and can be found here as well as on all of your favorite podcast providers.

I realize it's a niche program but I'm pretty proud of this podcast so I hope you'll give it a listen.

Just a couple of Mahopac boys doing OK.

Games 1 and 2

 

"Right now it is a beautiful day, and a called strike on the outside corner on a fastball gets us going..."

My hands shook as I wrote the lineups.

I just felt anxious. Nervous.

About calling baseball.

Was I kidding myself? Am I not that good? Did I have any business being there?

I kept thinking I have to be good. It's a new opportunity. I have to be better than good.

I expect it from myself.

This was different.

"Tell me I'm just calling baseball," I said in a message to a friend. It was a plea to help me calm down.

I'd like to think that the average viewer couldn't pick anything up but, if I'm being honest, it took a few innings. OK, several innings, before I stopped feeling uptight.

I was in the cozy little booth in the press box of Frank Vieira Field. I could close the door, which I don't mind, since calling a game in an open press box can be a bit intimidating.

Somehow I think I'm in a vacuum. Nobody hears me.

In fact, there's no audience.

But I know better.

These are new people I'm broadcasting for. A whole new audience.

The University of New Haven and Pace University were locked in a pitchers duel. In fact, both games were. The final scores were 3-1 and 2-0, both in favor of Pace. No, I couldn't bring any luck to UNH.

Matt Almonte of Pace homered in the sixth inning for the first run of the day. New Haven answered in the last of the sixth but Pace put two on the board in the seventh and took game one.

The pitching was outstanding all day.

Of course, playing into my brain was that my voice hasn't sounded right for about a week due to a head cold I've been dealing with. Also, food was at a minimum so I tried to avoid starving.

As a broadcaster, I'm arguably at my worst when hungry.

No matter. I survived all 14 innings and don't think I embarrassed myself.

Weather also factored into the day as rain hit just after the end of the first game but then backed off to let the second game start. It reappeared once but was never a problem.

Of more fascination to me was my little booth in the press box. It's a separate room with a monitor, a mixer, a headset, and some wires for the video and audio. The astounding thing for me was that I didn't need to carry my own equipment case over. Things were already set up when I arrived.

That was very unusual for me.

Still, the booth is so small that a second person in there would get...er...intimate.

Overall, the facility is a nice place with the baseball field in the middle of the softball field, football field, and Charger Gymnasium. I could definitely get used to it. But it's also a fascinating area -- in the middle of a neighborhood. 

After it was over, I was told that there would indeed be more opportunities to call games at UNH. It wasn't a result of being particularly good (or bad for that matter). It was that I was a warm body who was responsible. Nobody told me that but nobody needed to tell me either.

I showed up. I was responsible. I helped UNH out when they needed it. But, yeah, I'd like to think I was also good.

That also counts for something.

The next game -- weather permitting -- is Monday back at Brunswick, followed by lacrosse on Tuesday at Wick.

Super Charger!

University of New Haven

I had a post written.

It was time to talk up the first baseball broadcast(s) of 2022 as Brunswick hosted Belmont Hill.

I was going to tell you about being nervous and having a bit of a crisis of confidence but how I was looking forward to getting back at it.

Then it all got canceled. The short version is because there's a 40% chance of rain.

This isn't a case of postponing either. The games are outright canceled.

Not only is it the loss of a chance to call games it's a loss of income.

So it's fair to say I'm a bit bummed right now. I sort of needed these games for a couple of reasons.

And then?

Well, there had been a Plan B but it felt like it was shot. The thing is I had also been asked to jump on a broadcast for the University of New Haven. I told them no but we said we'd stay in touch.

Early this evening, I emailed to say the Brunswick games were on and I'd be there. UNH thanked me for staying in touch.

I literally just got word at 10 p.m. that Brunswick was off. Moments later, I touched base with UNH to let them know what had happened.

"If you still want to come down, you’re more than welcome," came the reply.

Let's rock.

Oh, I'll be even more nervous now. I've never called a game there or for them but I'm excited to jump in. Sometimes, last-minute can be great.

We've been here. Many times. My peers would be flipping out. They want to create charts, graphs and discover who their distant relatives are. I'm going to call the games. It's a doubleheader. I have a computer. I see there are stats and bios. I'll make it work.

So, yeah, buckle up for a doubleheader between the University of New Haven Chargers against the Pace University Setters from just down the road in Westchester County (another team that I've talked to about broadcasting for).

First pitch is at noon.

I'm glad for the opportunity.

The games will be live online here.

I have a lot of work today to get ready!

The Trophy Was Treasured

 

(Photo: Ljupco Smokovski/Shutterstock.com)

A recent tweet grabbed my eye. In short, it took a meme of Jeff Foxworthy, who said he didn't get a trophy every year he played sports unless his team won. The tweeter said, conversely, he did get a trophy every year during the same era (basically, late 60s/early 70s). So, does "Everybody Gets a Trophy" run along some kind of party lines?

Good grief but I hope not.

And now, on with our feature presentation.

*****

Second place, 1983. I think it was the West Division.

That was my first sports trophy.

Everyone did not get a trophy back then.

I played baseball from 1977-1987 in the Mahopac Sports Association. It was purely spring baseball. No fall ball. No travel ball. No outfield scoreboards or even dugouts. Uniforms were t-shirts with iron-on letters and numbers.

And it was glorious.

Believe me, all of that would have been pretty great but no matter. We played hard, developed bonds, strengthened the love of the game, and were driven to win.

From 1977 to 1982 I played on teams that had fun but weren't really winning teams. Oh, I still enjoyed them and I should mention that at least one or two of those seasons weren't competitive. It might have just been my first year and trophies began in the second year.

Still, postseason games and such avoided the all-heart, no talent outfielder and second baseman of those teams who wore numbers 12, 4, 11, 13, 2, 6, and 2.

Yes, 2. As in Bobby Murcer (at that time). The others were either given to me of it was the best remaining number. I willingly took 13 when that was all that remained. I didn't mind.

My Ridgeview Auto Body team did just enough in 1983 to finally gain entrance to the post-season banquet, which wasn't open to everyone.

The 1983 MSA spring banquet was at the old Lantern Pub in Mahopac. It was there that I got that magic moment of a trophy being placed in my hand. Expecting to put it on a shelf in my room, my father had another idea.

"That's the first trophy in this family," he said. "It should go in the living room on top of the TV."

Now you should understand that, back then, the living room TV was a piece of furniture itself.

And so that's where it went and I wasn't going to argue with that. Having my father proud of this moment meant much more than it sitting near my stereo in my bedroom.

The '83 trophy was lovely. A silver player sat on a small marble base. Yet as I studied them all that night I still looked at the big winners.

The champions.

That's what I wanted. While I adored the time with my teammates and the entire experience, I wanted to win a championship.

In 1984, my wish was granted. Wearing number 12 again, I was part of a team that roared through the regular season. I can remember the nerves of my first championship game.

I can remember the euphoria of winning that title and feeling like I was on top of the world. If I recall I walked and scored a run.

I can still feel the joy of hugging Coach Lou D'Aliso and celebrating with my teammates.

And I got that championship trophy.

Two more would follow -- one a co-champion (37 years later and I'm still pissed off that we didn't play that game due to the rain. Nah. No bitterness).

Nineteen eighty-six brought a hard-final championship that concluded in extra innings as the leadoff hitter walked, moved to second, and scored on a double by Billy Carey.

Not bad for an all-heart, no-hit first baseman/outfielder.

By the time Sean played, he got a trophy each year for just showing up. Nobody called individual players up to accept their trophy. We had them handed to us en masse. So I held a separate ceremony to make sure each player had "their moment."

No, not everyone got a trophy when I played.

And I liked it that way.

 

That's my 1986 Sportsmanship Trophy. It was the only one I could unpack.

Let's Pause for Station Identification

 

So many topics.

So little time.

I did "Doubleheader" and "The Clubhouse" tonight.

Made $0.00.

But got dinner.

Yet I was up until 2 a.m. this morning and made money there.

And everyone wants to know where I'll live and what I'm going to do and what do I want to do and maybe I should just walk away from broadcasting and I'm literally qualified for nothing and I'm sure we can get you a job but there would be no on-air work.

You know what? I'd love to have answers to a lot of questions.

A.

Lot.

Apparently, I've given up years of my own life and am not entitled to those answers.

So yes, I'm pausing for station identification and a word from your local station.

Adios until tomorrow.

(There's a real possibility that the end of our long #Project365 run is approaching, especially with a trip to London under four weeks away.)

Fifty-three's Company

 

You might recall that I'm currently searching for an apartment.

UPDATE: I don't have one yet.

I'm looking basically anywhere from southern Dutchess County (not ideal) to Fairfield, CT (the town...and the county). I need a two-bedroom or a one-bedroom with a living room that can be converted for Sean. Price DOES matter.

But that's not why we're here tonight.

Friends have tried to offer suggestions and I'm certainly grateful but one yesterday brought a comical edge.

Should I say who offered yet?

Yeah...it was Tako.

God love Christopher Kaelin. Always well-meaning, he said he would reach out to his landlord about places around Stamford.

In Uncle Kato's inimitable style, he started by telling me that his landlord had a potential space.

But..."Here's the catch. You'd have 2 roommates."

I began to type a quick "no thanks" but he texted faster.

"2 ladies in their mid-20's."

I stood there, in the basement, cleaning. I looked at the phone. I pondered a response.

"Um. No."

I had to text it to Susan to get her response. Doubled over in laughter, she could only think of one thing:

It was obvious. How did I not think of that?

Jack and Janet and Chrissy!

The Ropers!

Mr. Furley!

Jack's friend Larry!

The other "non-Chrissy" characters after Suzanne Somers was fired from the show (Cindy and Terri)! 

For the uninitiated, "Three's Company" ran for 172 episodes on ABC from March 1977-Sep, 1984. Then it spun off for one more season as "Three's A Crowd" before departing. It also spawned a spinoff, "The Ropers." It was among the best of "jiggle TV" at its finest and funniest.

The concept was simple: bachelor moves in with two females who needed a roommate. However, the landlord, Mr. Roper won't allow a guy to live with two young women without any of them being married. That is until Janet tells Roper that Jack Tripper is gay.

No, really, it was funny, mostly in the hijinks of not getting caught since Jack was, of course, straight.

Frankly, even for a prepubescent me, it was hysterical, though I didn't get all of the jokes. 

Suddenly, I was living my dream of being John Ritter, one of the great comic actors (and did some really good drama* also) who is sadly missed, having died in 2003.

*Seriously, he was fantastic in "Sling Blade."

Upon casting our version of this comedy, Susan felt that Kato had to play Larry, though I wonder if Chris Erway would resent that. I digress.

Beyond that, the whole idea of a 53-year-old cohabitating with two 20-somethings was just too funny and seriously unrealistic.

I appreciate the suggestion.

And the laugh.

The pursuit of living quarters continues.

So you lived in that era, tell me the theme song isn't in your brain now.

Come and knock on our door.

We've been waiting for you.

Where the kisses are hers and hers and his, 

Three's company too!

"Professional" Announcer

Safe to say he's a professional, right?

I saw an interesting debate break out among members of a group I belong to tonight on Facebook.

It centered around the definition of a "professional."

Some defined it as "making money."

Others vehemently argued that it wasn't that simple.

Of course, in sports, the thinking is "professional" means the highest league, thus MLB, NHL, NFL, NBA, etc.

But...what about the minor leagues? And the even lower leagues? Are they all professional? See what I mean? It's a very deep answer.

For my, ahem, money, I was a professional play-by-play announcer the first day I called a game on WGCH. That would be April 10, 1999. I got paid for that and it aired on the radio. Boom.

Still, I could go back to 1995 when, while working for Kraft Foods, I became "The Voice" of the softball league I played in, broadcasting games (including one that I wound up playing in).

My point is I am committed to always being a professional in every broadcast. No matter how many laughs and goofs there might be, you're still (hopefully) going to walk away believing that you've just heard something of high quality. That's my goal every time.

However, I didn't start counting my list of games until that Port Chester/Greenwich baseball contest in 1999. I've let a few false starts since then help make up for the softball games that were called from 1995 on.

So, I suppose that being a professional is also a bit of a mindset as well. I like having that level of perfection in mind.

If I ever felt that I was putting on the headset to just be a hack then I'd rather call it a day.

It's so important to hear that the audience is satisfied. That's the mark of professionalism.

Plus, let's be honest, there are quite a few games that were done for a gift card, swag, or "thank you."

That's a whole different topic that would make the group in question's head explode.

Look, I've thought about visiting Mike Hirn in Ohio several times to call a few games and it could very well happen this summer. I look at it as a getaway. I don't immediately think of it as a money-making venture. But I know Mike. He'd make sure otherwise.

Regardless of that, I see my presence as bringing an expectation of a professional broadcast and I wouldn't have it any other way. I'm not showing up for laughs.

I don't see the only definition of being a "professional" announcer being a full-time job. It just isn't that simple.

The short answer is that you might be a pro when you've been paid to do so.

The real answer is more nuanced than that.

I know people who get paid to announce (public address/play-by-play/etc) who don't conduct professional broadcasts. 

So, yeah, as I said, this is not easy to answer.

A lot of context and depth are necessary.

But I'll take it to my grave that I don't have to worry about this debate.

I AM a professional.

The same group also posted a question about, to paraphrase, fighting through a broadcast due to some kind of pain. Yeah, I think it's safe to say I've got a few stories. Let's think of a few...

- Dangerous heat issues (a couple of times)

- Personal issues (beyond the basic "hard day at the office")

- Twisted my ankle so badly before a broadcast that I probably should have had it checked out but I called the game, limped for a while after that, and still feel occasional reminders of it.

- Got sick during a hockey game to where I could feel my voice slipping as I called it. But I finished the broadcast.

Just a few examples. I'm nothing special as we all have tails to tell.

So, yeah, to repeat, I'm a professional. I'm trained, have been paid for my duties, and am committed to my craft.

And I probably also should be committed for doing so but that's a different topic.

I Googled "professional announcer" and got this

Changes, Cleaning, and "Fancy Nancy"

 

We're teeing off on the last hole here on Walton's Mountain.

Can I throw a few other metaphors in?

So I once again changed the office arrangement and I suspect that will be the last time before I move.

Unplug. Move. Bring a table up from the basement. Remove old card table. Move other table in place. Plug everything back in. Now test it all out for comfort.

It will do. Of course, further testing will take place upon tomorrow's "Doubleheader," the next deposition, and the next podcast. Then I'll be content.

Then it will get broken down and moved.

There were also piles of things to go through. One of those included a gaggle (a fine word) of old USB flash drives that I wanted to go through.

My goal is to clean a lot of junk out over the next few months in a process that I think will be cathartic.

So I plugged each flash drive into the very MacBook I'm typing on. Most were empty.

One had a folder that said Fancy Nancy on it and a movie file of the same name.

The folder was loaded with photos. The movie was those photos in a slide show with a somber, thoughtful piano loop.

It was for my mother and it played at her funeral. At least, I think it did. To be honest, that's one of those things that's still a blue.

I watched the whole thing, not knowing if what to think. None of it seemed real. There was that moment when it hit me that she's not in a nursing home or hospital or away with my sister or at dialysis.

She's gone.

Those pictures hit so many of the life moments. Smiles with kids and grandkids and her family and my dad. They were black and white and color. They spanned from probably the 1930s until just days before she died.

It raised a lot of emotions. Grateful for the 51 years I had with her.  Sad for the only 20 years with my father (the anniversary of his death passed quietly on Thursday though I don't doubt a few of you recognized it in the post that night). 

Even some glimpses of anger, for while I can't read what the dead think, I have a sense neither of my parents is doing a happy dance over what is going on among the living. Call it a hunch.

Yet it's best to not wallow in that tonight. I'd rather smile at the thought of her laughing with Hector at South of the Border or holding a baby Sean or smiling with me on the day of my high school graduation or as part of a group picture with Susan, Dave Torromeo, Mark Jeffers, Shawn Sailer, and the group from an expensive night of "The Clubhouse" in Norwalk.

Smile. Yes, I'd rather smile.

Before we call it a night, another poignant note is that I saw a picture of her and Eric and it was year ago yesterday that we lost him at the much-too-young age of 34.

Watch the video if you wish (you might want to mute the music) and have a few smiles of your own.

Sick Saturday

 

OK, I'm phoning it in tonight.

A head cold has me all plugged up so I spent a very quiet day at home. I slept some, watched a lot of basketball, and am now watching hockey.

I'll bounce between Rangers/Lightning and whatever NCAA game grabs me.

I resisted any urges to do anything else. I stayed true to mostly mentally checking out.

And that's what I'm doing tonight.

This is my body's way of saying, "Dude. You've given it your all but you need a break."

Does that mean I couldn't have done a game/games today?

Have we met?

I remember a few times I slammed into a metaphorical wall during the crazy HAN days. I had one cold (sort of like this one) that just sat in my throat and impacted my voice. I felt it was best for me to step back. so I did 

Yet, let's be honest, I could have done it. The truth is I often forced myself to take a break, especially when it came to doing something right like anything related to Sean. I remember one time where we did two games but I stepped away from the third that day to join my family for dinner to celebrate Sean's birthday.

So, yes, I try to do the right thing. There have also been a few times (very few, in fact, I can really only think of once or twice) where I was told to get lost and take a break. You better believe I didn't like it.

My body, which has hung in really since mid-February, got to the end of the Hunt Scanlon conference in New York on Wednesday and called a time out.

I can tell you that I felt utterly exhausted during the first game Monday night when Kobe Cathedral beat Berlin. I felt like I was making myriad mistakes. I kept waiting to read how Kolbe and Berlin were tipping me. 

Then came the nightcap and you probably know what happened: Fairfield Prep won at the buzzer and things went viral.

So these are the days for me to recuperate before next Saturday when Belmont Hill shows up at Brunswick for a baseball doubleheader.

I'll call as many of the baseball and lacrosse games -- home and, yes, away -- as I can. 

There will be a slate of games that I'll miss to go to London and while that doesn't thrill me, I'm fairly hopeful Sean Kilklelly will step in for me. That's a goal for me at Brunswick. I'd like to develop a stable of support and I asked Sean to see if he was interested. He was and he'll be great.

I will try to not listen from 3,600 miles away and five hours ahead.

I said, "try."

It will be a fascinating spring, no question.

(And no, I still don't have a place to live yet)

Oh, and while I've been enjoying the NCAA tourney, I can tell you that I don't remotely care about my brackets anymore. I've lost too much (and I'm not invested in any pools) to care about anything other than great games.

Assuming he doesn't want me to stay away, I'll co-host Poughkeepsie Nissan Sunday Sports with Zolz tomorrow at noon on Z-93. 

A Good Day

 

I've reached that inevitable point where I wonder what I'm going to write about.

It could be broadcasting-related, sure, but sometimes the tales are best left to the imagination. I'll say that I made an attempt to rectify a situation today. We'll see if anything comes of it.

Oh and the countdown to spring games sits at eight days. A week from tomorrow, I'll strap the headset back on and call baseball. Some say that's the sport I was born to call though I don't necessarily like being pinned to any one particular sport. I love my "Renaissance Man" moniker even if I've never been to a renaissance festival.

It will take a special person to get me to one of those.

But, as I searched my brain for a topic, I simply found myself wondering if it's OK to occasionally say the day was good.

Anything that could be bad or upsetting didn't upset the mood.

The laughs were happy and free.

The food was good -- both lunch and dinner. Even if dinner was just some reheated pizza it still popped.

The conversations were fresh and fun.

The weather was glorious. I mean, 77 degrees and sunny on a Friday in mid-March? Yes, please!

Even "Doubleheader" -- in studio, no less -- felt good. I doubt many listened or watched but, sometimes, that's not what it's about.

I truly aim to crank roughly 500 words every night and, admittedly, some nights don't even come close. But, really, do I need to hit some mythical number when I simply want to say I had a good day and I'm happy tonight?

No. No, I do not.

The secret to this is I'm not feeling great as I've been sniffling. Yet it was still a great day (and no, I don't have that).

The key is to do the same tomorrow. The key is to keep finding that happiness.

For the first time in a while, the calendar is quiet for a few days but, fear not, I'll fill it.

That's for tomorrow.

Tonight is for the joy of this day.

It's Not Easy Being Green

Johnny Bench's green Reds uniform from 1978

 

This day hasn't gone as planned.

Do something good. Do something fun. That was always my approach.

No.

Work a deposition that starts at 10 am and...as of 6:08 p.m....is still going due to internet issues (not mine).

So I'm not going to be the Debbie Downer. Hope you're all enjoying your green beer and corned beef and whatnot.

I've watched a little college basketball (I called Richmond's upset of Iowa), recorded liners for Mike Hirn's coverage of high school hoops in Ohio, and even sort of drifted off at one point.

I've also done the most Irish thing of all! I ordered a pizza.

I haven't talked about today at all. Why? What is there to say?

Life goes on. It's made abundantly clear.

The Cat and I are currently sitting on our bed. I'm writing and he's being a cat. He's good at it.

Nah, 33 years is a long time. Get over it. Get busy living or get busy dying.

Or work on a job that has you in a holding pattern.

One that could have three or four hours to go when it does resume.

Oh yeah, I also worked on the Brunswick spring schedule.

I'll be busy.

I was told I'm "fantastic calling baseball." I'm glad someone thinks so. Weather permitting, I'm nine days away from that.

For what it's worth, I hope I'm not too shabby on lacrosse -- the other spring sport of note for me. I let that one breathe differently than baseball I suppose.

That is...when nobody tries to take work from me.

So happy day o' green y'all. 

I wasn't going to be the one to stop the festivities.

Today in New York

 

(Photo: Chris Hunt) That's me: star of stage and screens

I know there's an expectation for me to write about the Hunt Scanlon conference I moderated in New York today but, frankly, I'm pretty exhausted so let's see what happens.

I didn't sleep well last night. I tried using my nose-canceling headphones and they helped for a bit but my mind was just too wired.

So my sleep was, at best, scattered. A few minutes here and a few minutes there.

I opened my eyes, pretty aware that it was close to the time for my alarm. I was right. I turned the light on and began my day.

It was 3:40 a.m.

I did what I often do when I drive that early in the morning. I put AM radio on and listen to the far-away signals. In this case, I got a traffic report on WGN from Chicago. Traffic was moving nicely. Things were well in Cincinnati also on the famed WLW.

I thought I should just get breakfast before I get on the train. Do you know how difficult that is? I literally found one place -- a Dunkin Donuts in Mount Kisco -- that was open.

Our 24-hour world is no longer that. Many of the delis and grocery stores aren't open before six at the earliest. I have a deli near the house that tends to open around five but I was already out of my neighborhood before that.

Oh, to be clear, I saw a few gas stations that were open but I wasn't taking that chance. 

Of course, I was trying to grab a nice, early train out of Mount Kisco around 5 a.m....and it was leaving the station as I pulled into the parking lot.

So I grabbed the aforementioned Dunkin Donuts. A bagel (sigh) and a large coffee.

I made the 5:40 train, put the headphones on, and sat in podcast land as I traveled to Grand Central.

Today's location was different. It was at the famed Plaza Hotel at Central Park South and Fifth Ave.

Most would take the subway. Or a taxi.

Me? With my always-stubborn and sore feet and my disdain for taxis? I hoofed it. Not the worst walk in the world and lord knows I can use the exercise.

It's like my Apple Watch went, "Wait. What? Is he moving? ALERT!"

The conference is so well done by my Hunt Scanlon colleagues. The well-oiled machine as it appears to the public adjusts on the fly. When I was informed that there was to be a small speech at the luncheon, I double-checked to make sure it was appropriate and then introduced the speakers.

It's sort of how we roll.

Roughly 500 faces looked back at me throughout the day. I kept expecting Count Basie and his orchestra to appear on stage. The room had that kind of feel and elegance. They could break into a little "April in Paris."

Let's try it one more once.

The reviews of today were kind and, trust me, this isn't the kind of audience to say something just to be nice.

And while I'm content to disappear during the breaks, no one will let me. There are always questions to answer or people who just want to talk. I had a couple of delightful conversations in these situations.

The walk back to Grand Central on this beautiful almost-sping day was worth it, despite the foot pain and the sore muscles.

I slept on and off as the train made its way back to Mount Kisco.

Upon getting home, I was greeted by a cat and a son.

But dad didn't come home empty-handed. My brain functioned just enough to pick up two glorious black and white cookies.

Look to the cookie, as always.

Insanity

 

Bedlam

I've said "insanity" during a buzzer-beating shot before.

It was Dave McClure of Trinity Catholic on a layup at Greenwich High School in 2002.

"McClure with no time!" I exclaimed. "Insanity!"

I didn't love it but others did. My old hockey partner, John Spang, called it a favorite of his.

Insanity reappeared last night.

Fairfield Prep and Norwich Free Academy battled in the CIAC Div I quarterfinals at Fairfield Warde last night.

NFA built up a seven-point lead before the Jesuits began to come back.

The tension in the room was incredible. While Prep's "bomb squad" is always present, a strong showing made the drive from Norwich to support the Wildcats.

Things reached their crescendo as Prep mounted a late rally.

A one-and-one opportunity sat in the way of improving the NFA lead to three but the front end was missed.

It was now on Prep to go win it but, first, they needed the rebound.

Leave that to Ryan Preisano, who hauled it in and moved up the floor. NFA didn't initiate contact.

Preisano (I know I said "Pres-ee-ah-no" at least once, sorry) turned and set himself outside the arc.

He let it fly.

By this time, I stood on top of the riser that had been placed behind the scorer's table. I wanted to make sure I had a good view with no obstructions from the crowd, officials, or players.

The ball sailed.

Time stands still in that moment. You aren't as concerned with "nailing" the call as you are getting it right. You want to do it all justice.

The line towards the basket was good.

Then?

Swish.

The first thing, for me, was to report the obvious. Oh, it was good. That's for sure.

Prep 57, NFA 55.

The tide of red-clad Prep fans exploded out of the stands. PA announcer Eric Scholl stood no chance of keeping the bomb squad off the floor.

In that moment, I looked for words. No question I had Vin Scully in my mind telling me to lay out, or "shut up."

Still, I had one thing to add: "Ryan Preisano! It's insanity in here!"

It was.

My mind goes to, well, everything. Be good to the NFA kids. Win with dignity and enthusiasm and sportsmanship. Make sure nobody gets hurt!

It was all good and I stood and watched -- Scully-style -- for 38 seconds before I finally opened my mouth again.

"One for the ages. At the buzzer. Ryan Preisano -- the 6-4 junior -- with nerves of steel drains a three-pointer to win 57 to 55 and put Fairfield Prep in the semifinals."

I finished. I listened to the call a few times. I played it for a few people, including Shawn Sailer.

I watched as Preisano emerged from the locker room to applause some 10 minutes after everything had ended.

That's when I walked out to the car. Then it hit me. I texted Kevin Devaney Jr to make sure the Local Live coverage made sure it went out on social media.

Then I went and grabbed dinner where the concept of it being sent to ESPN comes up. Personally, I thought nothing of it, but thought it would be great for everyone involved. Still, as history has shown, I had no expectation of hearing my voice. My experience with the YES Network taught me that.

As a side note, I did the game (and the Berlin/Kolbe Cathedral game before it, not to mention two games last week) as a favor. I did it for fun. I like Eric and his family and the people around Fairfield have been kind to me. Beyond that, Eric bought me dinner which I greatly appreciated.

While at dinner, a request showed up from ESPN on Twitter to use the video that Kevin had posted.

I drove home. It was time to edit the insanity.

Then Eric Scholl texted me.

Not only did he see the shot on "SportsCenter" but it was the number one play in their top 10. It was just past midnight when I found out.

Today has been a whirlwind of texts, tweets, and personal messages. The response has been incredible. The experience has been humbling.

Still, at the end of the day, Ryan Preisano shot the ball. Fairfield Prep won. Justin DeVellis and Dan Gardella and Local Live shot video. So did the social media account for Fairfield Prep.

I talked. That's all.

To that end, Kevin's KDJ Media account was credited and so were News 12 (Justin) and Dan. In the first airing on ESPN, I was called the PA announcer (full disclosure, Eric did PA and he's incredible at it). By the time I saw it live at 8 am I was no longer that. 

Here it is.

It was insanity. That was really it.

Just insane.

Transactions

 

The newest Steeler

Quarterback Mitchell Trubisky just announced he has signed with the Pittsburgh Steelers. It looks like he'll be first in line to replace Ben Roethlisberger following Big Ben's retirement.

I groaned.

Whether it was Mason Rudolph, Dwayne Haskins or something else (which has turned out to be Trubisky), Steelers fans weren't going to be happy unless a big name was replacing number seven.

I've personally been pining for Kenny Pickett to be drafted out of Pittsburgh but he doesn't seem to be "NFL ready."

Still, in reality, what do I know? The answer is nothing by comparison to the people in charge of the Steelers. The returns on Trubisky's career have been underwhelming since being drafted second overall by the Chicago Bears in 2017.

He backed up Josh Allen in Buffalo last year.

The announcement of Trubisky's signing has led to a mountain of laughter on social media. Now it will be up to him to prove that the Steelers' faith is well-served. They signed him to a two-year deal.

At the same time, I'm still reeling from the Yankees/Twins trade that sent Gary Sánchez and Gio Urshela (the most happy fella, per John Sterling) to Minnesota for Josh Donaldson, Ben Rortvedt, and Isiah Kiner-Falefa.

That deal was also getting the social media grinder treatment last night. Overall, I never love trades. People are flipping over taking on Donaldson's contract. They also don't like Donaldson because of some past stuff between him and Gerrit Cole.

I say nonsense. They can afford the money and players are professionals. They'll talk it out or simply drop it. Move along.

So, again, while things might not look great at face value, I'm left with no other option than to trust what GM Brian Cashman is doing.

One would say I'm crazy and yes that's true. Still, what other choice do we have? In no way, shape, or form am I (and most likely, you) in a place to judge. Can I do a better job than Cashman or Kevin Colbert of the Steelers? 

No. Come on now.

That doesn't stop us from having opinions but when it comes right down to it I'm not all that bright. Oh, sure, I'm not doing a happy dance over Trubisky today but play mistake-free football, avoid turnovers, and win games and all will be well.

I might not run out and buy a Trubisky jersey but I'll be a lot happier.

In the case of the Yankees, all one can hope for is that it goes well for everyone. I wish Sánchez well -- I do -- but I'd prefer to not get burned by him or Urshela. As I try to rebuild some interest all I can hope for is these three players to come to New York and contribute. I hope that Kiner-Falefa plays well and holds down the fort before either Oswald Peraza or Anthony Volpe comes to the Bronx.

I'm vaguely familiar with both of those guys.

But, as a general rule, despite any misgivings, I put my faith in the people who are in the position of making decisions. Sure, I'm questioning the sanity of signing Trubisky today but he can easily win me over.

This is how it works.

My approach will be measured.

Now let's see other moves will be made.

Fool Me Once...

 

You all knew it was coming.

It was about his "brand" or some other thing.

He wasn't gone long.

He was going to go back to the Bucs.

Or the Niners.

Or somewhere else.

Nah. He wasn't going to stay home for Gisele's "honey-do" list. 

He didn't really want more time with his kids.

This was all calculated.

A TB12 Production.

You may like your GOATs like that and that's cool. You do you.

He's loads of fun to watch.

He's just not my GOAT. I like the real deal, like Jim Brown or Lawrence Taylor. I like quarterbacks like Marino and even Peyton or Elway.

And, of course, ORIGINAL TB12.

That's just me.

So welcome back, Tom. You didn't fool me.

Game -- any game -- On

From Thursday night at Fairfield Warde

I was offered three basketball games tomorrow.

It's the 8th Grade basketball finals in the Fairfield County Basketball League.

Funny thing about my business. A lot of "voices" would look down their noses at such a thing.

I remember having a similar discussion in the Facebook PBP group where there were several who had a problem doing junior varsity games.

Me? I learned a long time ago to not care about that. A game is a game. If it's organized and I can describe it, I'm going to treat it the same.

Oh, tomorrow's games will be more colloquial in nature, I suppose. Look, the basic approach will always be the same but it's a different kind of, er, scrutiny. That's the best word I can think of.

I always think back to the very first championships I did in the GYFL in Greenwich. At first, I wondered why we were doing such a thing. Why would me and the crew -- there were several of us that day -- go stand on the back of a flatbed truck hooked up to a generator and call three youth football games?

Then I saw the reaction and I got it. I've never looked back.

Junior varsity? Freshman? Babe Ruth League? Little League? Cal Ripken League?

Doesn't matter. They want a broadcaster and I'm going to bring them what I have.

I've come to understand that people actually sort of care. To some, I'm part of the soundtrack of their high school lives and that means so much.

They remember that touchdown, that home run, that goal, that three-point shot. They remember the championship --  win or lose.

They quote my call or remember something I've said about them.

I was talking with Mick McGowan today. You might know that we were supposed to call the CHSGHA Championship, originally scheduled for this weekend. Of course, the game got moved to Wednesday night and I couldn't be there as New Canaan and Darien played an epic contest.

I grumbled to him and he got it. He also agreed. He also reminded me of the very point I'm making.

"Just remember we are immortalized on some father's DVD to his daughter...that's what's keep us humble," he said. 

That's exactly what I'm talking about. He reminded me of how a father messaged me a few years ago and asked if he could have access to our audio call so he could lay it over the video of his daughter winning a title.

It meant a ton -- then and now.

So that's what I think about as I prep tonight. That these broadcasts matter to players and coaches but especially to parents and grandparents and beyond.

These aren't "just some 8th-grade games." These are games that would have meant the world to me to participate in.

I've been arranging notes and rosters all day -- three games tomorrow and two more on Monday back in the high school ranks. As I sit here tonight, I'm lacking rosters and notes for two of the six teams on the docket for tomorrow.

It will all work out.

From there, they're going to make memories.

I'm going to try to narrate it without getting in the way.

Rings and Things

 

I was reading some ridiculous Twitter post when I saw a challenge.

In short, it was time for some good old-fashioned Yankees bashing. Yessiree a time-honored tradition!

Now, granted, baseball and I are currently in a trial separation so I read the comments somewhat detached.

But then I read it: "I bet ya their fans can't even name those 27 rings without looking it up.

Yeah, that was the wrong thing for me to read. Without flinching, I started...

1923, 27, 28, 32, 36, 37, 38, 39, 41, 43, 47, 49, 50, 51, 52, 53, 56, 58, 61, 62, 77, 78, 96, 98, 99, 2000, 2009.

Of course, the responses from the neanderthals were typical, with the original tweeter suspecting that I couldn't do it without looking it up. Ah, Boston fans. Almost as cute as Mets fans.

Would they like the AL Championships that resulted in World Series losses?

1921, 22, 26, 42, 55, 57, 60, 63, 64, 76, 81, 2001.

I know that so many of us "27 rings" talkers can't do that but I also get really tired of being told how "we're not entitled" to any of them prior to when we were born.

Well, 1) that's not for you to decide and 2) I know my stuff, bruh.

By that rationale history belongs to no one, right?

But, no, I'm content on this one. There have been a few responses and there have been attempts to tell me to "take the 'L'" but I'm comfortable. I like that I climbed in their heads because they didn't think someone would dare dive into their dojo and actually know what they're talking about.

Oh, incidentally, the poster that I responded to changed their setting so that I could no longer see the original post. So, again, who took the 'L?'

The whole thing gave me a good laugh.

On the other hand, the thing that concerned me but didn't shock me was how most baseball posts (likely including this one) are so poorly read here. Mention Florida the other night and the reads went way up! Mention baseball and I might as well do a post about roads.

That's the other topic that often gets low reads.

It's all just so curious, interesting, and, frankly, not surprising. Much of the time I feel like I get what this audience is interested in. Yet, all too often, I do get surprised.

In the case of last night, I wasn't surprised at all.

Oh, regarding Florida, the one thing I'll add is perhaps I'm not educated enough on the bill and the situation. I had a few people -- including someone I know who's working in Tallahassee -- chime in and they were wonderful and respectful.

I realize I poked a nerve with discussing that and I get it. I do think that Florida has become easy low-hanging fruit for the media and I'm pretty good at taking it all with multiple grains of salt.

So, while I'm not educated enough on the situation and I'll own that, I'll never apologize for the concern and protection of kids. I maintain that I tend to want the government to stay out of such things and that I want kids to feel safe.

Sometimes they don't feel comfortable talking to their parents and that often means leaning on people at school. 

So I'll apologize for not being well-versed but I won't apologize for having my heart exactly where I want it to be.

Look, Florida is special to me and it always will be. While it can be easily mocked, I carry memories from a lot of visits there throughout my life.

Plus I'd rather be in Florida right now because I don't want to deal with snow again.