The Blue Plate Special

 

So it looks like you're stuck with me, Connecticut.

I went to DMV today and, lo and behold, the people at that soulless place approved everything.

I have a license. I have a registration. I have license plates. 

In return, my New York license was taken from me and my old plates are to be surrendered to the Empire State.

With that, I think it's over. Almost.

But, yeah, the DMV is soulless. I'll say that 2.5 of the four people I dealt with were nice and even cool.

The woman who did my eye exam? Quick, professional, even a chuckle.

The woman who took care of my car registration? Not as quick (but that could have been her computer), but professional and seemed pretty cool. No, we didn't make lunch plans or share laughs but she did her job and didn't seem miserable.

The woman who is supposed to be the "greeter?" Well, I suppose she was overwhelmed but she was Sahara dry in her approach. Not quite "greeter" material.

Then we have the person I went to for my license. If there was an encyclopedia entry (always the World Book, by the way. Those things were awesome) for "miserable in her job and life" it would be her.

It was clear that I was anxious and nervous about all of this and she had the bedside manner of an alligator in a dog pound. No response to any of my "thank yous." No acknowledgment of literally anything. Look, I'm not there to be your best friend. Trust me on that. But, on the other hand, you're there for customer service and while I may be an idiot I'm still the friggin' customer.

A smile isn't necessary. I don't want your home phone number or go clubbing. I just want what I got from the latter two people I dealt with. Efficient and professional.

Not snarling.

I became a doddering fool in her presence. Even my -- get this -- initial license picture wasn't good enough for her because apparently my head was tilted somehow.

You know, I've only been having my picture taken for 53.5 years and have been told I take a decent shot. I didn't try to flirt with her or make love to the camera. I stood there and smirked. This wasn't "GQ" or "Terrible Broadcasters Weekly."

I'm a frequent cover boy on that publication.

On version two, apparently, my chin was too low. Or high. I really don't recall now what Annie Leibovitz of the DMV was saying (that is, growling). But, supposedly, she found it "acceptable." That or we were both recognizing this love affair wasn't going to work out and she just wanted to be done with the jackwagon from New York.

Oh, I don't doubt us New Yorkers (even former ones, such as we are) are hated.

On the other hand, read the 684 commuters page on Facebook about the "blue plates." As in Connecticut license plates. 

Just remember, y'all, ya boy was a Noo Yawkah until a few hours ago, despite the new blue plate.

And I'll always have the 845 in my soul.

So don't judge.

*****

A quick note of congratulations to my friend Annabelle the Pinecone and her girl scouts troop in Wilton for an event to celebrate pride. Look, flag-waving really isn't my thing but, you know what is? 

Acceptance.

I love and dislike people equally! I tease people equally!

I'm all about equal opportunity.

That's really all I am and I realize this is a political pier that I don't step out on very often.

Women should decide what to do with their bodies.

Love is love.

All should be accepted.

And we should laugh more and lighten up and stop being so sensitive.

And that, friends, is all I have to say about all of that.

Today was about Annabelle and her troop. Great job, girls. Keep spreading an important message.

And a shout out to Lucy (Snakey) who was doing face painting. She wanted to paint my face but it's probably a good thing she didn't.

She didn't have enough paint to fix my problems.

Or enough time.

*****

That's Mirror Universe Rob (thanks, AJ) or, as Chris Erway named him, "Bobbie Adams."

Further proving I wouldn't look good with facial hair. 

And I need new glasses.

If that were me.

Which it's not.

Oh, and you should be safe to accept a friend request from me now if I've sent you one.

Which I haven't.

It was Definitely NOT Me!

 

Here's the thing: I've been expecting this to happen for a while.

The first message hit me around 9 a.m, followed by another and another and another and...

OK, thanks, everyone. I got the message quickly. If I was short with you it was because I had numerous people letting me know about the situation.

Facebook friends were getting a friend request from me.

Except, we were already friends on FB.

So, you know what that means.

No, I haven't been hacked, despite what you might think. My account had been cloned. The key, friends, is for you to not accept said friend request.

To those who didn't get a request, my sincere apologies. It wasn't personal. At least I don't think so. You'd have to check with my clone.

I've seen it numerous times with numerous friends. That's why I expected it and, overall, why I was sort of ho-hum about it. The fatal part is for those who accept the request.

But, repeat, I have not been hacked. I appreciate those who reached out but it's not a fatal thing. In fact, in doing my own research, I found that I didn't have to change my password. I still felt that was a prudent move and went ahead with that anyway. It was probably time to do so.

Don't worry. It wasn't my parent's former phone number.

The "panic" was probably over by 10 a.m. and I went about my day. To my knowledge, I haven't bought land in a strange land or handed thousands over to a Nigerian prince but, hey, the night is young.

I also didn't say anything about anyone's backside, amirite, John Nash? John wrote a post today that was charming and hysterical and had the feel of Michael Scott going to get an egg and cheese sandwich. Just great stuff.

Dolly the Sheep, not Rob the Broadcaster/waffle eater

But it was fun to ponder an "alternate" Rob, with thanks to Harold, who said the following: "I like this other Rob. He said 'Black is a Met color.'"

He, apparently, also loves the work of Gus Johnson, Ryan Ruocco, and Hawk Harrelson. He also loves Joey Zana...no. No, I just can't go there.

He prefers pancakes and IHop, no doubt. Probably loves Nickelback and John Mellencamp. Would take literally anyone over Paul McCartney.

Oh, it was fun to consider all of this until, frankly, I got on with my day. I worked and began to realize that I might not do "Doubleheader" at all this week. Friday is possible but...

Well, I can't announce anything yet but let's just say you can't keep a good play-by-play voice down.

Or me. Because I'm awful.

As you know.

But I bet the alternate Rob is the best play-by-play guy! He likes to exaggerate, and read a steady stream of stats but, otherwise, lacks all energy and passion.

Anyway, one of us -- me of the Rob the Alt -- will be under the headset very soon.

And the moral of this story is to NOT accept a friend request from me today.

A Quick Tuesday Night Hello

 

I'm going to keep things short tonight.

I served as the PA announcer for the Renegades so, by the time I got home, I was starting midnight in the eye.

The bonus -- as I continue to highlight -- is getting to see Sean. Further highlights include the many friends I have there, including the crew I work with in the PA booth. Plus I get to see good baseball.

Of course, the downside is that I got home after 11 p.m. and I'm tired.

I still don't know that I'm what anyone wants in terms of doing public address announcing but I guess it's going fine. 

I'm back with them this weekend for two games.

I feel like anything else that I'd want to write about tonight would take too long so I'm going to grab some sleep.

Oh and I'm starting to go out of my mind without any games to call. Just thought I'd add that. Apparently, I was once decent at it.

Offering Fran Pomarico a coffee

The Preponderance of Being Pedantic

 

Screenshot of article on The Athletic

It feels like, as a people, we're a collection of know-it-alls, always wanting to be right.

I see it on social media every day.

A post gets written and, in minutes, someone is out to tell why it is wrong.

It might surprise you to know how often I simply bite my tongue or, in the virtual world, fingers.

Sure, I believe in correcting errors but I think there's also a point where it's just not worth it.

Let's take the picture at the top of the post as an example. It's about Josh Rawitch, the president of the National Baseball Hall of Fame. More to the point, it's about Rawitch and his obsession with the Dave Matthews Band. It was written by Zach Buchanan.

The passage that caught my eye, in particular, was the part about the location of the Hall of Fame. Specifically, "...the intersection of New York state routes 80 and 26..."

And I knew immediately that it was wrong.

Look, if we're really being extra persnickety, I could add that the Hall of Fame is a few blocks away from the intersection in question. That's simply a little literary license. The bigger point is that it's not the intersection of routes 80 and 26. 

It's 80 and 28.

Twenty-eight.

NY state route 28 is a 281-mile road that begins in Kingston and weaves its way to Warrensburg. I've driven it from Kingston to, where else? Cooperstown, where it makes a left turn at route 80 and heads off towards Herkimer and beyond.

Still, route lesson aside, I let it go. I didn't feel like being "that guy."

Yet, by the time I checked back to write this post tonight, it had been corrected. That, of course, is a good thing.

But it's a long way towards making my point. I watch it in the roads world, for instance. Of course, I see it in the sports world as well.

These groups (and others, of course) always seem to have "that guy" who will correct the most needle-like item.

I especially love when people try to give me lessons about history (baseball, Yankees, broadcasting, etc). This is when I pick my battles.

Oh, I don't mean about opinions. We all know, generally, there's no absolute correct when it comes to opinions. But facts, on the other hand?

So that's the thing, of course. This isn't just about correcting a big mistake but about correcting the most minuscule of mistakes.

In this case, leaving the story that mentioned NY route 26 instead of 28 wasn't going to change the world.

Saying Cooperstown is in Canada would be worth changing. Just as a for instance.

Why can't we simply just say "it's not worth it" when it comes to this stuff? Wouldn't we be nicer people overall?

I know. I'm out of my mind. Grasping at straws here.

Instead, we'll just keep being divided and spewing the same talking points.

Yeah. That will work.

I'll leave you with a picture of some "overrated shortstop" and his wife.

(Happy belated birthday, Derek Jeter)

Nothing's Easy

 

Old welcome sign on 95 (2016)

We interrupt the serious problems in life for the frivolous.

If you prefer to not deal with problems that are minimal in reality, then you might want to skip this post tonight.

If you understand that I tell stories then carry on.

As you are probably really aware, I recently moved to the delightful little nook known as Greenwich, CT after half a century in Putnam County, NY.

In hindsight, what was I thinking? It's apparently not that easy to just plunk down life in a new state without headaches.

The first thing I did was head to visit the Greenwich post office and change my address. The process was fairly simple and painless. In fact, it was great.

Cool, cool.

Heck, the police found me a short time back when they showed up to ask about my being in the neighborhood of an accident earlier in June. 

Along the way, I've changed a few accounts online to get things to the Greenwich address. In at least one case, I had to make a phone call.

Please note I largely abhor making phone calls.

But that phone call -- to my car insurance -- wasn't just a matter of, "Sure! Let's update that address!" Instead, it was, "Oh, while we're at it, we have to change your account which will come with a higher rate even though you won't be commuting as much but, hey, if you pay the full cost upfront then we'll give you a discount!"

I felt like I was going to bang my head.

Oh, there will still be other headaches (see: support, child) and so on.

This, of course, was in addition to getting services for the new address. Overall, a painless process though the Verizon visit took a lot longer than necessary and I still wonder if I made a mistake with my TV package.

Then there's my car.

So, yeah, it seemed nice and easy at first. I made an appointment to go to the DMV. I chose the Norwalk office because it seemed like that would work.

My insurance company had already sent me a temporary card for Connecticut while keeping my New York policy (wisely) active. 

Still, there were delays and hangups that made me decide that my first choice of DMV appointment wasn't wise. I changed it, giving me more time.

The next thing was to get my emissions checked out. That turned out to be simple, with a visit to a nearby site in Greenwich. Five minutes, $20 cash (a little prehistoric, I might add), and I was out.

Today, I decided to pull together the necessary documents, including the main form that I needed to lay out my entire life apparently.

Then, another note caught my eye.

Proof of ownership.  An original title is required, and a leased vehicle requires an original power of attorney from the leasing company.  If you have a lien or are leasing a vehicle, you must contact your lienholder or leasing company to notify them that Connecticut requires the original vehicle title to register a vehicle.  Please notify the lien holder or leasing company using this form and ask them to mail the title...

And, with that, I knew I was once again stuck. So, now, I have to get with the bank I have the loan with and there's nothing on their site that says anything about getting power of attorney.

So, yeah. Nothing is easy.

I'm sure it's no better if I were to go to another state but this sure doesn't thrill me. So the appointment set for this Tuesday will once again get changed.

A quick scan of the appointment portal indicated I could have an invitation in late July. As in, a month from now.

But, hang on, in typical Rob fashion, guess what expires later this week? My New York state inspection. So, if you're following along, I have to go somewhere in New York and spend the money for an inspection that will get used for maybe a month. Because that beats getting a ticket for an expired inspection!

I get it. This, as I said, isn't exactly the biggest thing in the world. It's a nuisance; an annoyance.

It will get resolved and life will go on and we'll say, "Remember when?"

But it's a story for tonight and it's an outlet for me to grumble.

We now return you to your regularly-scheduled big world problems.

(Seriously, this isn't to take away from the reality of "real" issues. Just a brief diversion.)

*****

UPDATE, 6/27: I've filled out all of the forms and have moved my appointment to Thursday. It looks like I might have everything I need after all so keep your fingers crossed that this post was, in the end, unnecesary.

Electric City Waffles

 

I walked out this morning not expecting to be back home tonight.

Sean and I are great at wanting to do things. We're great at talking about them. From there, he leaves it to me to do the work. Now, look, I'm not criticizing him. He knows I enjoy planning stuff.

So we've talked about a Waffle House trip for months. For all of the grief I take (some of it tongue-in-cheek) we haven't been there since last July.

But we've promised for months to treat ourselves. He (and I) is off from baseball for two weeks so I kept saying we needed to do something. 

Today was that day.

I wanted to grab a room and stay over. I know he doesn't have a bathing suit with him here but I was willing to see if we could find one at an Old Navy-type of place so we could both jump in some hotel pool. 

I don't know anyone with a pool so I couldn't tell you the last time I've been in one. Probably just as well. Nobody needs that visual.

Insane deliciousness

But I looked at hotel prices near the most logical (and closest) Waffle House locations.

Scranton, PA

Allentown/Easton/Bethlehem, PA

Lancaster, PA

Elkton, MD

Nope. No. Negative. Uh-uh.

All too expensive...until last night. I saw something reasonable. I was willing to give it a go but, shame on me, I didn't commit.

Still, I sort of liked the spontaneous nature of seeing what kind of deal might come to light today.

Sean was non-committal.

We were on the road before 7 a.m. It felt good to be on (fairly) quiet roads. I didn't insist on a crack-of-dawn departure though I could have since I slept like garbage.

We made a quick stop in Mahopac to grab the mail. Nothing else to report otherwise.

From there it was north on the Taconic and west on 84 to Scranton.

We decided the Electric City was the best choice because we knew we could walk around the Steamtown National Historic Site.

"You're a roads guy," Sean said. "I'm a rails guy." 

For sure, his statement is true though each has a healthy appreciation for the other.

Interstate 84, overall, bores me. I appreciate the rolling fields and farms of Orange County, NY before the eventual climb near Port Jervis into the Delaware Valley. I also appreciate the scenery of the trees of Pennsylvania.

But my point remains. From Sturbridge, MA to Scranton, PA I-84 is a sort of dry drive.

I bring this up because, for the last 20 minutes of the drive, I was growing really tired. I didn't have coffee before I left Greenwich and I didn't sleep great as I said.

And our beloved Waffle House, well, didn't have their best day. No refill on my coffee and onions in my hashbrowns?! No, I did not order onions. Still, these are "First World" problems and I made the best of it. I figured I didn't need the second cup of java and I could work around the onions.

Done and done. Onto the trains.

Somewhere along the line, Steamtown National Historic Site stopped charging admission so that was a bonus. Yet we cruised through the exhibits and buildings and were out pretty quickly.

A walk into the nearby mall got us a picture of the welcome sign from "The Office" but didn't exactly give us much to see.

Sean admitted that while he loves him some Scranton, he just didn't think there was a lot to do and wasn't so high on staying over.

Though bummed, I took it as a positive to save the money and cruise back to Greenwich.

We didn't leave immediately, driving around and visiting some other things before we stopped for lunch.

I create my own fun, I guess. I can waste time strolling around a lot of places before heading to the hotel. But neither one of us was feeling that great either (before you joke about Waffle House, we both felt that way when the day started) so the signs pointed to this being for the best.

We also had a good, long talk at lunch about some stuff. 

There was one stop on the way home -- a train turntable in Port Jervis that has become a bit of a traditional visit whenever we're in the area. They've changed things a bit there and have added a small museum that caught out eye for the future.

We rolled home from there. He laughed at things on his phone and I grumbled as I listened to the Yankees get no-hit by three Houston Astros pitchers.

I mean, it happens. The Yankees have been no-hit twice in my life -- both by several pitchers on the Astros. A single pitcher hasn't no-hit them since 1958. So while the no-hitter is annoying, losing is the thing. They lost. 

Pick it up tomorrow because the vultures are already circling.

And thus we're back in Greenwich. Three states (and a view into a fourth as we were less than a quarter of a mile from New Jersey), good food, good talk, good laughs, and good times.

Now we have to do it again.

And, if Sean won't stay over, then I need to allow myself to.

Just not on I-84.

I'm Benching Myself

It feels like today is a good day to grab some popcorn and say very little.

I categorically disagree with the big announcement of the day. I have no business telling a woman what to do with their body.

But I also see hypocrisy is cool today. "Whataboutism" is fine so long as it swings a particular way.

Hey, so long as everyone can say "But her emails" then all is cool, no?

Because that helps.

Actually, no it doesn't. Those words don't help the conversation tonight. 

Be part of the solution.

That being said, I'm also a journalist and I believe those opinions should be very limited.

Besides, my words have no impact. None. Zip.

I pondered just posting a picture of the Supreme Court with no text.

I pondered a lot of things to write.

Ultimately, this is enough. In fact, it's probably too much.

As I said, I'm sitting out.

Topics have been heavy lately. 

See you tomorrow.

The "Road" Best Traveled

 

Question for the "hive mind," the denizens of the Exit 55 community:

How many times must one take the high road?

It's a serious question. 

There have been times -- too many of them, if we're being honest -- when, despite what you might think, I've bucked up and said nothing about something.

Oh, we can pick the topic. Heck, when you get right down to it, the company (Greenwich-based, mind you) that will never pay me what they owe me got off easy. I never named them or even really hinted at who they are.

Incidentally, I saw their product earlier today as I had my car's emissions checked, and just laughed. Perfect for cleaning windows.

Or my...well, I'll hold off on discussing that one...but you can probably guess what topic I'm alluding to here. I haven't even scratched the surface of that title wave of nonsense and the stories that can be told. The lies and utterly deplorable behavior. Yet I've said nothing.

We're not even scraping the professional stuff that could be aired out here.

Then we have the latest in which someone is disowned, still gets their way and refuses to pay anything they're responsible for. All due to petty jealousy and whatever demons are floating around.

After having bullied a family for too many years. It stops.

So, again, I ask: how many times must I take this high road? Does just walking away serve me best recognizing karma, Babe Ruth, or some other power will right the wrongs?

Do I just swing low sweet chariot and have my airing of grievances? 

After a life in which I refused to act like others, I find myself in that same spot. 

I had family members, essentially, disappear before I was born. I never wanted that to happen. They existed but they lived in a vacuum.

Yet...here we are

I was tested and, ultimately, cut the toxicity out of my life. Too many years of things being "their way."

This is no way to behave. Money, of course, is the root of pure evil and it's just not who I am.

I also won't be accused of lies.

Many of you laughed when I told you the story.

In fact, I laughed.

Do I unlock that cage and let it all out?

Have I already said too much?

Have I said enough?

The high road, bluntly, gets to be tiring after a while. The life of "Thank you, sir, may I have another?" is pure garbage.

I called it out for years. People still allowed it.

It's now over for me and for others.

Maybe that's enough.

Then again, they don't care.

They never will.

Ultimately, it will be my own blood pressure that will pay the price and that's not worth it.

Oh, they're reading. Trust me. I've been studied like the Zapruder film.

Or "The Godfather."

"Business. Not personal."

Today, they think they're punishing me. Again, I'm laughing. 

I shouldn't be surprised, I guess. Given the past why should this be a shock?

It's not.

It's over.

Done.

Make sure to tell your "best friend" this story.

Oh, wait. He's watching.

In disgust.

Horrified.

It ends here.

Consider this "the medium road" and we'll call it a day.

To quote another movie, "Here endeth the lesson."

The Mid-Week Morass

 

I did "Doubleheader" from this fascinating place today

You know how occasionally I beg for a night off?

Yet I still throw some kind of a post together?

We're here tonight.

See, the thing is, I'm not fake. I bleed here, even when I muzzle myself.

I'm currently muzzled.

And, if I begin to bleed, well, it could get messy.

I'm not ready for that. 

Yet.

Oh, it could happen eventually and it could be cathartic.

But it's not going to happen tonight.

So, I can tell you that we wrapped up the spring season on "The Clubhouse" and I did a show that I'm reasonably proud of from the Sports Business Institute Camp at Fordham University's Westchester campus.

It's always nice to be anywhere that has a connection to Vin Scully, even if it's tangentially related to where he went to college.

It wasn't a bad day, to be clear.

But I'm content to just keep tonight's post short.

Until tomorrow, friends.

And the Countdown Continues

 

I was rigging up some audio tonight and needed something to play to test things out.

Most of the time I reach for "Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band" because that song (and the rest of the album) has the sound that I want when performing a test. I can quickly tell if things are off during that song, especially on Paul McCartney's lead vocal. 

In fact, I know it in the opening guitar salvo.

But tonight I just wanted sound and, specifically, I wanted it from the TV in my bedroom so I turned it on and went to SiriusXM.

The first thing to come on was Prince's "Let's Go Crazy" which made me appropriately crazy.

"Dearly beloved, we are gathered here to get through this thing called life."

Quick side note: while grocery shopping today at Wegmans, I heard both UB40 and Bon Jovi in separate departments but both at the same time. Not wanting my son to witness my demise I avoided all sharp objects but, friends, hell is real.

I digress.

I changed the channel and went to 80s on 8 where the Top 40 Countdown from this week in 1981 had moved into the seven biggest songs in the nation.

Air Supply was telling us about "The One That You Love." I've had a bit of an awakening on Air Supply in recent years, recognizing that I was the wrong kid for them in 1981. So I left it on.

Honestly, what teenage boy was rocking with Air Supply at that time? But I've since discovered there's a Beatles influence and I've softened on them.

Again, I digress, but these were the things in my pea brain as the songs -- and memories -- rolled by.

"Being with You" sounded so smooth at number six because "Dad, it's Smokey!"

Then along came George Harrison with "All Those Years Ago" at number five. It was safe to say that we were in another spurt of Beatlemania (though we've never left) in the months after John Lennon's death. George hit us hard with "All Those Years Ago," a tribute to the fallen Walrus. The backing band for George was pretty solid too as Al Kooper, Herbie Flowers, and Ray Cooper -- pros, all -- were joined by Denny Laine and Linda McCartney.

Oh yeah, to top it all, Ringo Starr played drums and Mr. Paul McCartney sang backing vocals. A Beatles reunion -- or as close as we could get in 1981 -- gave the tune the extra push.

By the end of 1982, Harrison, Elton John, and finally, McCartney, each paid musical tribute to John Lennon.

The countdown continued -- hosted by former original MTV VJs Nina Blackwood, Mark Goodman, and Alan Hunter -- with Ray Parker, Jr and Raydio. Their song, "A Woman Needs Love (Just Like You Do)" played while I went up into the attic to gather cables for my project.

Besides, I hear Ray Parker, Jr and I think of how he ripped off Huey Lewis to write "Ghostbusters."

Next.

Number three was a mostly forgotten song called "Sukiyaki" by A Taste of Honey, better known for their big disco hit, "Boogie Oogie Oogie." A Japanese artist, Kyu Sakamoto, originally recorded "Sukiyaki" in 1961 and it was a number one hit in the States in 1963.

Hmm...1963. Just before Beatlemania...

Number two was number one the week before and it would be number one again the following week. But, this week it's one spot off the top. Gosh, I sound like Casey Kasem, don't I? Ponderous, man. 

If you knew anything about music in 1981, you might (even probably) already know the song.

(Narrator: Rob knew what song it was)

"She'll tease you, she'll unease you. All the better just to please you..."

Kim Carnes and "Bette Davis Eyes."

"Just to please you..."

All of this brought back such wonderful memories of being glued to my radio as I listened to any of the myriad countdown shows. Kasem, of course, ruled the world, but there were many others on a national and local level.

For those of us on a budget, we lined up our cassette players to hopefully record our favorite songs. My finger would hover over the pause button waiting for that next anticipated hit for my own mix tape.

The next song, in this case, was the work of The Beatles. Except, this number one song for the week of June 20, 1981, wasn't by The Beatles. It was one long cover medley.

(Narrator: Rob knew what it was)

The "group" was called Stars on 45. Like everything else, there's a longer backstory but let's just leave it at them featuring Dutch musicians faithfully (or, trying to be faithful) making cover songs.

In this case, a lot of Beatles songs, a couple of other tunes, and a song called -- what else? -- "Stars on 45" to bring it all to a conclusion.

Officially, the track was called "Medley: Intro, Venus, Sugar, Sugar, No Reply, I'll Be Back, Drive My Car, Do You Want to Know a Secret, We Can Work It Out, I Should Have Known Better, Nowhere Man, You're Going to Lose That Girl, Stars on 45." The reason behind the title was for licensing purposes. Every song had to be listed. It's also still the longest song title in the history of the Billboard chart.

For 12-year-old me, I was mesmerized. You see, sure, I was a certified Beatles nut still mourning John Lennon's murder but I didn't know even a slight percentage of what I know now. This medley was, in some ways, the first time I became aware of great songs like "No Reply" and "I'll Be Back." As The Beatles' catalog goes those songs weren't on the radio-friendly side of things.

I wasn't hearing them on WABC or WNBC in 1981. I certainly wasn't hearing them on FM either.

Still, it was fairly appalling to hear these great songs all combined with a singular beat but it worked for the summer of 1981.

It was a number one hit but would also be the biggest hit of the Stars of 45 machine, which tried several attempts to keep that magic brewing through 1987. They'd trotted out medleys by the Rolling Stones and Stevie Wonder and even Frank Sinatra as well as others before the novelty final ran out.

Oh, and the audio test was fairly successful. I'm still not sure I'm happy with the quality of what I rigged up but I'm pleased that everything worked.

That was sort of the point.

Music is making a bit of a comeback on AM radio. I think WGCH should let me do a music show. OK, yes, a Beatles show, but an overall music show would be fun!

Anyway, enough babbling for tonight.

May you have a pleasant evening with the one that you love because we can work it out.

Remember, twist and shout.

I need a break.

Patience Place

 

The potential broadcasting studio closet

On the one hand, I'm patient. Very. In fact, too patient.

On the other, I'm not. At all.

In the case of the Presidential Suite (aka, our apartment) I think I've been mostly patient. With each day, I try to do something if I can.

If I can't, well, then I have to be OK with that, even when I'm not.

I think about where we were almost four weeks ago. Or even roughly two months ago.

We packed, junked, and sold most of the last six decades of our house and then packed, junked, sold, and/or moved my life.

And, to be clear, I wound up in the right place, even if my life suddenly is bringing me back up to the Hudson Valley more.  It's OK though -- it just allows me to go back and visit or work.

But back to patience. I definitely got impatient with the process of finding a new desk. Then I had to get a bracket to set up my three monitor setup to do depositions.

Then it was decorating and more unpacking and organizing and more decorating and on and on. But, with each day, I get things into the attic. Eventually, when the weather is more comfortable, I'll go into the attic and organize that better.

As the living room and bedrooms get less cluttered, I begin to get more ideas. Seating in the living room is truly limited (as in just my chair). I have a little space to work with so now I'm pondering a love seat and/or some kind of a futon.

Some of the items I put up in the living room tonight

I also discovered that the small closet in the living room can double as a recording studio when I need a little extra silence. Remember, I'm coming from a dead end street in Mahopac where extraneous sounds weren't usually a problem. In fact, none of my prior homes had noise issues.

There is a constant hum here between I-95, our main street, nearby houses, the train tracks, local businesses, and, simply, life. It's all rolling by our windows, making things lively.

(And a siren just went screaming by as I'm typing)

So while that's been no issue so far, there might be times where a podcast might need a little more silence and I'm ready.

This is my clean slate -- and Sean's, too.

Oh, and let's not forget Rascal, who is asleep in his tower nearby (and is not a scary monster).

With each day (for now) I feel a little better. I don't go to the mailbox with fear. I don't dread. I feel promise and hope and a little excitement. Oh, that doesn't mean there aren't the blues and dark times but it's just different.

There's no doubt some weight came off my shoulders on May 25th. Some still remain but they'll be gone soon.

Then it will be time to decide if we're going to tell those stories and to what extent.

But that's for then. 

For now, I'm here. The canvas is partially painted.

We still have some room to create. 

The Original Drum Battle!

 

Happy Father's Day from Greenwich to you and yours.

I tweeted a picture of the album cover in the picture at the top of the post. The concert -- at Carnegie Hall, as part of the "Jazz at the Philharmonic" series -- was recorded in 1952 and released on vinyl in 1960.

It was among the most precious of my father's records, along with his cherished copy of Benny Goodman's "Famous 1938 Carnegie Hall Concert" that was released in 1950. I have that one also.

But when I think of my dad, I think of "The Original Drum Battle" and how, in no uncertain terms, he firmly believed that Gene Krupa definitively kicked Budy Rich's ass.

This was Babe Ruth versus anyone else to him. This was The Beatles against all challengers. You stood no chance.

And so, I will not debate.

Mom and Dad in Mahopac, circa 1976.
This picture hung on Mom's dresser mirror until the day she died.

He'd play the record often and if the house was empty, it would shake. I mean, I could hear the music outside and the windows rattling if the house was closed up.

Now that I live in an apartment, I don't want all of Bruce Park -- heck, all of Greenwich for that matter -- to hear Rich, Krupa, and their bands -- to be inundated with this masterpiece.

It took me several years before I ever found this on CD and when I finally did -- in the early 2000s, I think -- I equally treasured it. When I purged my collection for the move, it survived and made it here to Greenwich.

There are literally hundreds of CDs that I donated to Goodwill but this one will remain with me.

The CD (released as "The Drum Battle") has extra audio on the last song -- "Perdido" that features the magnificence of Ella Fitzgerald scatting and singing her heart out. I can only assume it was a time issue that kept Ella off the vinyl release.

Jazz on a Sunday morning used to be my standard. In fact, if it wasn't jazz, I'd concoct some kind of musical brunch to sip my coffee with. To that end, I probably need a better Bluetooth speaker or something else so I can do this on my balcony.

For this morning, running it through my actual stereo was simply golden. And, more perfect, was opting to play the record, spinning it for the first time in years. What pleased me was how crisp it still sounded. The quality was tremendous with no scratches or skipping.

For a brief moment, I closed my eyes, put my head back, and let the music wash over me. In a time of tremendous reflection, I was able to pause and just...be.

I pictured Dad in his recliner doing the same.

That's when I posted the album cover on social media. It was a reminder to honor those lost and celebrate those with us. Not just "natural" fathers but those who are positive figures in life. I'm thrilled to be Sean's father and Rascal's guardian (though can anyone truly corral him?) and, hopefully, a mentor and supporter for many others. I also think about my own dad and the many who have been role models for me over the years.

A wall of honor (apologies to Chris Erway for any crooked pictures)

Sean and Rascal gave me a card and ULTIMATE chocolate chip cookies. Let us be quite clear: Sean will be the one devouring the cookies.

Can it be a day of sadness? Sure. But it's a day of joy and reflection as well.

It's also a Sunday and a beautiful one at that.

So I'm going to enjoy it. 

I hope you do also.

And, if you can, go have a catch with your dad.

(And make sure it's clear nobody is better than Babe Ruth, The Beatles, and Gene Krupa. Of course.)

Saturday Night's Alright for Yard Goats

 

I ate Peruvian food today.

That might not be shocking for you but it was a bit jarring for me.

You see, I have a picky diet. Yet, most of the time I can find something. So, when I pulled up to The Rockin' Chicken in Hartford today, I realized I had time to study the menu.

Again, I'm picky, and I don't like to fuss over it. My diet -- while often a source of amusement -- in fact embarrasses me.

So I did what was most logical for me.

I got wings and white rice. Problem solved.

Probably not the most Peruvian meal even. In fact, it was probably the least Peruvian meal ever, but it worked.

Yes, those are frogs on a bridge. My mother would be horrified.
Willimantic, CT

From there I spent the day driving around the wilds of Connecticut with three friends for a few hours. It was a pseudo road meet, lunch, and eventually a baseball gathering.

I finally made it to Dunkin Donuts Park, home of the Hartford Yard Goats.

The Goats won. I ate brisket. The Dunkin (Donuts) coffee cup atop the scoreboard blew off steam.

Merriment was found despite a fairly consistent rain from the moment we walked into the stadium.

Parking was reasonable. Tickets were great, despite being standing room only. 

The team store was expensive and didn't have anything I wanted so I walked out empty-handed. That's a shame because I went in to buy something.

I went in actually considering a sweatshirt on a cold Saturday night with the temperature dipping into the 50s. Yet, I wasn't plunking down $80 (or whatever) for a hoodie. I just couldn't do it.

Honestly, I couldn't find much to complain about. I appreciated the history of Hartford as I walked around. I liked seeing a nod to Lou Gehrig who played there in 1922.

Of course, I found the press box and, for a moment, wished I was in there. Yet I didn't give it much thought beyond that.

I drove home in the rain. Then it was dry. Then it wasn't.

And all day I got reminders of how godawful Connecticut traffic is.

But I ate at a Peruvian restaurant. 

How was your day?

The "Lost" McCartney Gem

 

Paul McCartney, 1987

I expect literally no one to like this song.

Yet, when I heard it a few months back, I was pretty stunned. We know the 80s weren't great to Paul McCartney. "Ebony and Ivory" is the only song I ever blocked on my CD player (ah, such technology) and of course, there was the pain of his work with Michael Jackson.

I mean, "The Girl is Mine" is so bad I cringed just typing the title.

There were a few gems, such as "No More Lonely Nights" which I have come to appreciate and hold higher with age.

"My Brave Face" was solid work with Elvis Costello giving Paul a bit of a boost. Of course, there are others but many classic rock gods struggled with the 80s.

By 1987, a compilation of Macca's solo work was being assembled. "All The Best!" had the usual traits of the era: the hits with a new song or two.

Except, it didn't have the song on the U.S. version of the album.

That song was called "Once Upon a Long Ago." Oh, it's an 80s song and there's no question. The production is straight out of the era. So are the saxophone, violin, melody, and echo vocal.

And, yet, I love it. I don't think I had ever heard it, in part because it was never released in the US and is still basically difficult to find. It reached number 10 on the charts in the UK.

I finally heard it for sure on The Beatles Channel on Sirius XM. A channel for nuts like me, there are specialty shows hosted by, essentially, the same four or five people (or at least so it seems).

Anyway, I heard it with no introduction, and, well, it struck me. I had initially decided to just keep what I felt was a guilty pleasure to myself and those who have ever heard it but with Sir Paul's birthday happening (it's after midnight on the 18th in England as I write), I figured I'll take the risk.

The deeper backstory of the song fascinates me just as much. The song had been written for Freddie Mercury to duet with McCartney in a potential greatness overload. Schedules wouldn't allow the duet to happen. 

Also, the song was initially composed for the movie "The Princess Bride."

Alas, none of it mattered. "Once Upon a Long Ago" -- perhaps more McCartney fluff to you -- didn't appear in "The Princess Bride" and Freddie Mercury didn't sing on it. It had, as I said, a limited release around the world, and virtually no presence in the United States.

Is it an all-time great McCartney song? I'm not saying that. I'm also not saying it would have been a hit in the States either, given the choppy 80s for Paul.

But, I like it. 

Music is subjective, right. I mean, while most hate "Wonderful Christmastime" and a few other Macca songs, I appreciate them or like them. 

So, I guess I don't apologize nor do I expect you to come away loving it either.

You can listen to "Once Upon a Long Ago" in all its gooey 80s schmaltzy glory here.

One Song?

 

Paul McCartney is turning 80 on Saturday.

He's also playing at Met Life Stadium in the close of his US tour as I write.

I don't think there's any need to explain who he is or what his achievements are.

I realize there are people who haven't heard of him but, let's be honest, how many people over 15?

I recall someone once trying to debate prolific songwriters with me and saying the only answer was Bob Dylan. Now, look, I like Dylan, but do you want to debate spitting out songs versus spitting out great songs? No. 

Hate on McCartney all you want. The facts are the facts.

He's also consistently put out incredible music for 60 years. Have there been mistakes (hello, "Ebony and Ivory")? You bet.

But there have been triumphs. Iconic songs. Too many to discuss.

Earlier today, I read a story from Stereogum in which 80 artists (including many I've never heard of) pick one McCartney song.

Sure, I suppose I could do it if I had to. Fortunately, I don't.

How do you break it down? Early Beatles, Mid Beatles ("Rubber Soul," "Revolver"), Psychadelic Beatles ("Sgt. Pepper," "Magical Mystery Tour"), Late Beatles, Solo 70s, Solo 80s, Latter years?

You could pick out great songs just along those lines that were specifically McCartney's work.

Paul (right) gets by with a little help from his friends

How do we do it? Let's throw a few songs out.

"Eleanor Rigby"

"Here, There, and Everywhere"

"Yesterday"

"Let It Be"

"Helter Skelter"

"For No One"

"I'll Follow the Sun"

"I'm Down"

"Penny Lane"

"Hey Jude"

"Blackbird"

"Get Back"

I mean, that's simply a sliver of the songs that were primarily his with The Beatles.

The solo work and his songs with Wings are fairly mesmerizing as well.

"Maybe I'm Amazed"

"My Brave Face"

"My Valentine"

"Band on the Run"

"Jet"

"Goodnight Tonight"

"With a Little Luck:

"Coming Up"

"No More Lonely Nights"

"Another Day"

"Live and Let Die"

and, yes, "Silly Love Song," which has an incredible bass line but is simply too happy for some.

And, for what it's worth (and at the risk of incurring wrath) I also like "Spies Like Us." Hate away.

We're not even hitting on things like "Junk" and "Temporary Secretary" -- a song that you'd never believe was the work of James Paul McCartney.

I didn't mention much of his 21st-century work, though "Deep Deep Feeling" from his "McCartney III" album is stellar.

Even today, as a fan for basically 50 years, I'm still finding new Macca gems. I might write a separate post about one that I don't think I'd ever heard until just recently.

So, pick one song?

Sure, if I absolutely have to, maybe (pun intended) I'd pick "Maybe I'm Amazed" simply because I'm always blown away by the complexity of what is being said there. Only John's "Jealous Guy" can compete with it. 

For me, this is everything and literally, every man can understand this:

Maybe I'm a man and maybe I'm a lonely man

Who's in the middle of something

That he doesn't really understand

Maybe I'm a man and maybe you're the only woman

Who could ever help me

Baby won't you help me understand

I live those words.

It's poetry.

Yet, how does one pick against "Yesterday" or the game-changing "Eleanor Rigby."

But Paul is easy to knock. Perhaps the easiest of the Fab Four (yes, really).

He writes songs that are supposedly "saccharine." He's not edgy like John or spiritual like George.

He's not Ringo. That says it all.

He's also the standard-bearer at this point. Paul has outlived John by 41 years and George by 20.

So, one song? I'm happy to not have to do so.

I could. But it would change.

This is the brilliance of his work.

It's just, dare I say, "amazing."

My Brain Hurts

Why exactly was Jon Bon Jovi on The Beatles Channel tonight?

It's 10:03 p.m. and I've got nothing. I'm tired and just sort of done. There's nothing wrong. I'm just tired...

My brain: WHAT? No way, bro. You've got this! 

Me: Look, I'm wiped out. I did "The Clubhouse" tonight I had to try to find a parking spot on the street. Yes, the street. I let my kid take my ONE -- count 'em, ONE -- parking spot in the driveway. 

Brain: Chill, bro.

Me: No, I won't chill. I should be able to find one bleeping spot but people don't know how to park. Pull up! Move back! Don't be selfish...

Brain: OK, You've got me there.

Me: I mean, who cares? I can't write the same stuff every night. Does anyone care that I hung up old pictures that Sean created years ago? Or that I hung up broadcast-related items that might...by definition...define me as "an award winner?"

Brain: Child, please. You don't care about that stuff.

Me: Well, I appreciate what I have but, yeah, no. But we're getting sidetracked. This happens too many nights where I'm just fried.

Brain: Well, why not write in the morning?

Me: Oh, of course, that would be your answer. You realize it's more often a lot easier than that...why am I asking you? Of course, you don't know that.

Brain: Yeah, no.

Me: It's great when I have time in the morning. It's often not reality. Let's examine our surroundings. There are still bins of things that need to be addressed. There's still a ceiling and roof to respond to. There are still priorities.

Brain: And thus here you are -- *checks watch* at 10:31 p.m. -- trying to conjure up something.

Me: Now you're catching on.

Brain: So, you thought this post would be humorous?

Me: In theory, yes. Then I sat down to write. It hasn't worked.

Brain: No, it really hasn't.

Me: But at least I can forget about a Jon Bon Jovi interview airing on The Beatles Channel.

Brain: Yeah, about that...

For Carter

 

Yes, I used this picture of Saturday from Pennsylvania in another post

I didn't know Carter.

I wish I had.

But, who is Carter?

As you might know, I called the Delaware Valley Sports League softball championships on Saturday in Pennsylvania.

To say "Pennsylvania" makes it sound like a long trip but it's really not. It's the first exit across the Delaware River after leaving New York on I-84.

I know I wrote that the games were a joy. The kids -- probably 99% of them -- filled out little questionnaires to give us some flavor and get to know them. Kevin Halpenny, an outstanding play-by-play guy in his own right from nearby Port Jervis, NY who covers Delaware Valley Sports, was in charge of reading the tidbits about each player.

In the second game -- the majors championship -- Kevin told us about Aubrey. Her shoutouts included her "Pop-Pop, listening in Tennessee" and her best friend Carter, in heaven."

I was flabbergasted. I mean, anyone would be. All I could do was say "Oh wow!"

Thankfully, Aubrey gave us no time to react any more than that. She immediately whacked a base hit to right field to drive in a run. 

I described. After all, it was radio. 

One run scored.

But then another run scored.

And, as youth games can be, Aubrey made her way to third. Sure, a tough official scorer would have rung up errors and no RBIs but, on this day, in this moment, she was standing on third base, unaware that literally seconds earlier we told the world about Pop Pop in Tennessee and, most importantly, Carter.

Her friend in heaven.

From the broadcast perspective, it was just a reaction. I didn't want to overplay it. I didn't want to be insensitive or trite. I kept it simple.

I also put it in the rear view mirror. I didn't think too much about it, other than it being a moment of sweet serendipity.

The next day, Kevin reached out to me and described it as a top 10 moment in sports broadcasting history at Neversink Media (the radio station that broadcast the games). 

He had listened back to the broadcast and was really blown away. His wife agreed.

Humbling words, for sure, but it was really about Aubrey and Carter and even Pop Pop.

In the chaos of a broadcast, especially in a situation like this where there are sheets of paper in kids' handwriting with myriad facts, it can be easy to lose the moment in the shuffle. But, for me, it's so important for each kid to be a star. 

And, so that brings me back to Carter.

There's likely no way to know more about Carter but he couldn't be much older than, what, 12? Aubrey remembering him was the star of the moment, followed by her immediate two-run hit.

What was there for me to add? Only to acknowledge the late Carter, no doubt tuned in on a heavenly computer.

With an ice cream cone in his hand, I hope.

He should have been there to cheer on his best friend.

Yet, somehow, through Aubrey acknowledging him, he was there.

Hats off to you, Aubrey.

And to you, Carter.

I'm glad Kevin and I got to tell just the smallest sliver of your story. For there is obviously so much more to tell.

Check this out on Chirbit

As the Trains Roar By

 

The desk is coming together!

Greetings from my balcony. I'm either Statler or Waldorf. 

Alas, I might be both tonight.

In other affairs, the co-conspirator is back.

John Nash wrote another intensely deep post earlier today.

He and I began two journeys a few years ago. 

1) This Project 365/Infinity/Whatever-it-is thing. We both wrote daily. He stepped back and reassessed. I kept going, in part, due to habit and fear of failing.

I know the world will keep turning when I don't post. It's me and a few others I fear letting down. I've said a few times that I was done and would skip a night. I was quickly told, sort of, to get to the computer and write. 

And here we are. Still.

2) Our podcast, "The Owner's Box Horse Racing Podcast." We were on fire. John produced, we recorded, I edited. Then schedules (mostly, shocking, mine) got crazy. Then we stopped.

What was that I was saying about letting people down?

I think -- if I may be so bold -- we're in the back of each other's minds. Oh, we know how this works with friends. It doesn't matter if you've known them for 50 years or 5 months. You mean well, think of one another and life gets in the way.

Similar souls. Fierce, firm, stubborn, etc.

He's a good man.

So when he writes today that he's at a crossroads, well, partner, I went down to the crossroads as well.

I asked someone for mercy. If you please.

I get every last word of what he's saying. I've been at a crossroads for some time. It's like I keep finding other crossroads. Just one big neighborhood.

I'll let you read his words but I feel all of them. He wants to write more and, yet, I write every night. I feel like what John writes is impactful.

I feel like what I write is impactful perhaps once a month if I'm lucky.

It's just all perspective.

I find myself considering lots of things. Where and when to do a father/son getaway (and we fail every time), for instance. 

I have my own personal and professional things sitting in my skull as I write from the balcony of my home.

I worry about loved ones.

I think about finding the right situation for me.

I think about somehow getting out of neutral.

I also think a bit about the hole in my ceiling and the chat with the police today.

One was thanks to rain and the other was thanks to a license plate reader that had me in the neighborhood of a car accident.

Which I was not involved in and my car clearly has no marks on it.

Still, I think about all of those things.

And about John Nash. One thing I've learned about him is that no matter how much I push him to write, he's going to make up his own mind.

I get it.

What a day.

Also, thanks Chris Erway, for the visit and the housewarming gift.

And Sean's here.

And mosquitoes are entertaining throwing me on some miniature grill.

It's time to go back inside.

Progress

 

Another weekend has come to a close. There will be plenty to do tomorrow but, for now, I'm settling down.

It's after 11 p.m. as I finally sit down to type. The dirt and dust of Pennsylvania softball can still be felt on the protective layer that covers my keyboard.

I just finished putting my desk/bedroom/office area into some form of order. 

There is still a long way to go but I feel like I took a good step. Even good steps.

The Cat will be my big desk issue as he occupies it a lot, especially thanks to me wanting to put the desk closer to the window.

He also gets another favorite window -- the one that faces out front towards the main road.

There's no way to put the desk towards the view of the train tracks and I-95.

That does, as a side note, make it a bit difficult to record from here. The sound of one of the major highways of the world creates a need for the right microphones for recording sessions. It also creates a need for closed windows and that's not necessarily ideal at this time of year.

Also on the docket today was a return to Dutchess Stadium. The friendly faces there who are happy to see me make this a lot easier for me. Lori always makes me laugh and Spencer Pierce -- Greenwich's own -- went from someone I was mentoring to a close friend pretty fast. Oh, I can guide him with stories and advice as needed but the talent is there.

He should have a pregame show. Now.

He's a master studio host in waiting. Even a brilliant on-field reporter.

Use him.

That is all.

The Renegades won and I don't think I embarrassed anyone (myself included) so I drove home feeling OK. There's nothing worse than either thinking you did a great job and driving home thinking otherwise or having a rough day. Either way, that commute isn't great.

The best feeling is on days like today or even yesterday. I just drove home and didn't give it too much thought.

Meaning I can come home and resume trying to make sense of the office chaos.

By the end of the night, I felt like I had routed some audio to get a studio going, placed things where I think I want them to go, and put the cabinet back that I hauled out of the attic this morning. Now I need to get my deposition setup resolved and maybe put some pictures on the walls.

And possibly, after that, put the TV up on the wall as opposed to on the stand it's currently on. But those are all thoughts for another time.

Progress. 

Patience.

It's funny. I often think of myself as impatient, yet, I think it depends. But, yeah, after years of feeling paused I'm now ready and I'm anxious.

A new work week awaits.

Oh, to that end, check out WICC radio (600 AM) tomorrow morning at 7am. I'll be going on to discuss the new LIV Golf mess, I mean, tour. This is part of an occasional series I'll do on sports stories for "Melissa in the Morning."

Innocence

 

Today was youth sports day near Matamoras, PA. It was two championship softball games, with kids as young as third grade participating. 

Nobody told me what to say. OK, maybe explaining what the outcue on the broadcast was but, beyond that, it was nice and simple.

If there were complaints, I didn't hear them.

Instead, there was a lot of smiling.

And, yet, as always, it was called professionally. I'm all about making these athletes feel like they're "big time."

A post-game interview with one of the players featured an upbeat young girl, simply happy to have participated in the game and to be on the radio.

And she was on the team that didn't win.

There were no losers today. No, everybody shouldn't get a trophy but, for those girls, there were no losers. Sure, two teams won championships but I viewed everyone as a winner because I want them to keep playing and keep growing softball. I want to encourage them. They'll figure out the winning and losing stuff, and something tells me they already have.

It was a long day, no question, but I felt such joy calling these games with my friend Kevin Halpenny.

See, it's not about prestige. Oh, sure, I want every call I can get my hands on (and let's not talk about Connecticut today, shall we*) but these games mattered as much to me as any.

* I've heard things. That is all.

I watched kids dance to walkup music that wasn't being used for their team.

I watched a player roll her eyes each time she swung and missed, expecting more from herself. I get it.

I watched coaches teach and mentor and do all of the good things that coaches do.

I watched winning players and those who didn't win all brush it off with, generally, the same goal: post-game ice cream.

Adults can learn a lot from these players.

Don't get me wrong. I love every level of sports that I call. I love the passionate, fiery player. I love how serious it gets. I love all of it and eat it all up.

But, sometimes, I need a recharge. 

And, as broadcasts go, it went really well. The games were played at Delaware Valley High School and, at first, I worried about weather and sunscreen, telling myself that a Walmart was literally next door. However, my initial concerns weren't necessary because I found sunscreen.

But, beyond that, Kevin and I discovered that we would actually have a booth. 

A booth!

Yes, the new field at Delaware Valley has a small booth attached to the third base dugout. No sun issues! We had power! We had everything!

Oh, and silly me, I thought these were to be Robcasting broadcasts but, instead, we were on the radio. Lite 106.9 carried our broadcast.

(OK, so did Robcasting, but don't tell anyone)

So, for roughly 4.5 hours, we watched 12 innings of softball, as the Gators and Bruins won their respective titles. The Tigers and Spartans were the runners-up.

The teams departed eventually. In the end, I was the last one to drive away.

By then, hopefully, all players, coaches, and officials were enjoying their well-deserved ice cream.

I took my time returning to Greenwich, following the two lanes of US 6 from Matamoras, PA to Peekskill, NY.

I even paused to walk around the mammoth Woodbury Commons outlet center, though to no avail. I bought nothing.

One more day of chaos awaits, as I hit the public address mic again tomorrow for the Renegades. That means I get to see Sean.

All good.

All put a little step back in my soul.

Refreshed.

I got a text at one point: "You sound happy."

I was.