Judging the Home Run Race

 

(Photo: Getty Images via CBS Sports)

August begins tomorrow and Aaron Judge has 42 home runs.

Never one to jump onto hype, I avoid the home run chases and other statistical things until they get serious.

But then Judge hit his aforementioned 42nd home run and it suddenly struck me that he was 19 away from tying Roger Maris.

Roger Maris, left, and another Yankee

Maris, if you don't know, still holds the American League mark as well as the Yankees team mark. Of course, Babe Ruth hit 60 home runs in his epic 1927 season before Maris was heavily scrutinized in the pursuit of 61 home runs in 1961.

To many, 61 remains the mark even if it is not the record. In fact, the record book tells a different tale:

Courtesy Baseball Reference

Maris now sits in seventh place in all of baseball behind the six seasons in which a National League player passed his mark. 

Yet, when you look, you begin to figure they all have some things in common. Why don't I just stop beating around the bush: fair or unfair, they all have the stigma of using performance-enhancing drugs.

Much as I suspected, first when Mark McGwire reached 70 in 1998 and then when Barry Bonds set the mark at 73 in 2001, the court of public opinion has largely ruled.

Maris is still king in their eyes.

The Bonds support was especially glaring since it was obvious that he was using something both in his pursuit of the single-season and then the all-time home run titles. Generally, only San Francisco Giants fans and a few who don't care about steroid use ignore the transgressions.

Personally, I'm one who knows what the record book says. I feel, generally, that most fans were complicit in turning a blind eye ("chicks dig the long ball," remember?), and that hypocrisy is overwhelming.

The record lists Bonds at number one for both most home runs in a season and most in a career. That doesn't mean I like it. In fact, watching what Bonds, McGwire, and Sammy Sosa did made me sick. I felt no joy as I saw it happen.

The record book -- once sacred -- is fairly filthy to me for a lot of reasons. The inclusion of Negro League numbers isn't quite as fantastic as it has been made out to be. I was a big supporter of it at first but I don't think it will have the long-range positive impact that many want to believe.

But, most glaringly, is that we've lost the luster of those numbers we knew so well. Ruth's 714 and Hank Aaron's 755 sat as high as Will Mays' 660. 

Bonds has 762. I had to go look it up again.

We hold numbers sacred in baseball. Ted Williams and .406 in 1941 and Joe DiMaggio's 56 that same year. Most fans don't even need context. They know those numbers.

Cy Young has 511. It was even on his license plate. That's "wins" in case you didn't know.

But there is Barry Bonds with 762 and 73. And he can't sniff a spot in the Hall of Fame.

Should he? 

Well, yeah. He should. Look, I'll always view him with contempt for the records but they do exist. Chances are, you cheered it, just as you cheered McGwire and Sosa in 1998. You believe "they brought the game back."

I don't, mind you, but that's me. I knew they were both dirty then.

Still, we cheered, just as we did Rafael Palmiero or Roger Clemens or even Alex Rodriguez. 

See, I think the court of public opinion often gets it right. Just as I think Pete Rose should be in the Hall, I would put the 'roid users in. In the case of steroids, let's be crystal clear: there are already users in there.

One might have gone in just last week. Dirty water and all.

And, again, you likely cheered.

So let's stop being hypocrites. By putting those plaques in the gallery, the court of public opinion will be open. You can pass your judgment as you stroll past the plaques, each one a little fouler than the other.

The Hall of Fame is supposed to tell the story of the game and it doesn't do that by having Pete Rose's socks but his plaque.

One other thing: clubs like the Hall of Fame tend to ostracize those who don't belong and I don't necessarily suspect Bonds, etc would receive the kindest of welcomes. Still, each era had its thing so nobody is innocent.

Oh, and I've long said that for anyone like Pete Rose, let the plaque tell the story. Put it there that he was banned from baseball in 1989. The truth shall set you free!

My Hall of Fame is tough. Always has been. Numbers and how they stack up always play a part in my judging process. There are too many -- some who went in last Sunday -- who don't get my seal of approval but I don't have a say so what does it matter?

A borderline player gets a "no" from me. If I have to think about it, then they're not a Hall of Famer. However, the bar has been lowered greatly and it will be fascinating to see who gets admitted in the near future.

As for Aaron Judge, I'm not even thinking about anything other than wins and losses though 61 will be in the back of my mind with each home run he hits. History also hasn't been kind to home run kings. Though Ruth was on the mythical '27 Murder's Row team and Maris was on the '61 M&M Boys, neither Bonds, McGwire, or Sosa won rings in their big home run years.

If you know anything about Maris, for instance, the pressure of passing the Babe wore him down to the point he was losing his hair. A circus surrounded both Sosa and McGwire in 1998 and Bonds in 2001.

I'd prefer to see Aaron Judge just continue to do his thing.

And win a ring. 

That's the stated goal.

He needs 19 home runs over the last two months of the season to catch Roger Maris.

That's the only number I'll be noting.

(Oh, and Babe Ruth is still the GOAT of GOATS. Just in case you needed to read that.)

24

 

I announced via a tweet today that I will almost certainly be back for my 24th season of high school football -- and my 25th overall as a sports play-by-play broadcaster -- beginning in late August or early September.

My first foray into football was as the guy in the studio. That led me to opening doors at WGCH that took me to winter sports before I got my first play-by-play chance, calling baseball on April 10, 1999. Football came along that fall.

The details aren't 100% finalized for 2022 but given the chat I had with a key person today, it should all come together quickly.

There's one more piece to the puzzle to work out but, once that's done, it's very likely that basically every Friday and Saturday will be spoken for from just after Labor Day until Thanksgiving.

There are still details, such as a lead analyst. Of course, yes, I fully expect Chris Erway to be along for most of the games. Still, there is the detail of how many games. Chris and I agreed that we would stay together if a team (or teams) wants us.

But there will be a few times where Chris can't make it and there's most likely a day where I will have a conflict. That day will include me stepping off a plane, coming home for a few hours, then going to one game. I'll be unable to get to the other game that day. I'll have to deal with that.

So, while I'm being vague, I guess I can let some of the basics leak: I'm back and, I suspect, we'll both be back.

I'll add that there were a few groups that reached out to me about calling their games. Maybe you can figure them out and maybe you can't. I was really pleased to be asked and would love to find a way to work with everyone but high school football isn't that forgiving. Generally, it's Friday. Saturday. Or nothing.

What I'm saying will become clearer when I'm able to release a schedule. I got verification today on one thing and the other is basically 75% good. There are still things to tidy up.

There was a brief moment when I considered ripping it all up and trying something else. I thought about an FCIAC Game of the Week and/or a Section 1 (New York) Game of the Week.

Still, at least for now, I'm a radio/audio guy, so that meant anything on my own would have to be on Robcasting without video. To some -- and this thrilled me for the Babe Ruth tourney -- that was enough. To others, it's not. I remember trying to add a Facebook video element just by including a cell phone feed along with the radio play-by-play. Of course, we got complaints. That was enough. Ungrateful people couldn't stay quiet. I ended it. 

But I have thought about video, especially with a videographer for a son.

As I've said so many times, the chemistry of a booth is so important. Chris and I work because we get each other. He knows my cadence and I know his. We're also very good friends and that helps. We rarely step on the other when talking because we know how annoying that is to you, the listener.

We know when to have fun and entertain you. We know when to tighten up and let the game drive the bus.

Rare times that one might have jumped the others' call have been met with a look of shock, an off-the-air apology, and laughter. 

Not everyone can say that. I was being told about a championship game tonight where the analyst jumped the play-by-play in a pivotal moment. The first time that happens, it's on the analyst. After that, the play-by-play announcer deserves a large share of the blame for not shutting it down.

When I would join Sean Ford at Dutchess Stadium, it was his booth. He'd give me plenty of room. He trusted me. But he was the man. The play-by-play is the lead, especially in places like high school sports where most likely the play-by-play is also the producer of the broadcast.

A good lead announcer knows how to make the call and get out of the way. The crowd can then dictate the moment before the analyst can drive him their point. It's a dance but, with proper footwork, it can be flawless.

I think about how Chris and I called the key moment in the 2015 FCIAC Championship Game in Stamford. Timmy Graham of Stamford rolled to his right and lobbed a pass to the back of the end zone. Hudson Hamill "climbed the ladder" to make the catch for a touchdown. I called it with some zest, amping myself up pretty high. Chris maintained that energy after initially letting the crowd noise roar. He then brilliantly broke it down.

The camera work and direction of our HAN Network colleagues added to that play.

It remains one of our finest moments.

I'm blessed -- and I've said this so many times -- to be able to have that kind of relationship with a number of great people who have joined me in the booth. They understood how it worked. I'm proud of myself to adjust to styles, whether it's Chris, whom I've known for basically 16 years now (what?!) or Ian Nicholas, who was basically thrown onto a Brunswick football game with me. Still, he's a professional and it worked well.

Even the times I brought in "non-pros" they still got it and, with practice, became professional in their own way. I immediately think of the times Harold joined me. He got it.

On the other hand, just walking away from the booth and handing the keys to any old person is a dangerous thing to do. There has to be a leader in the booth; a professional. This person must know how to open and close a broadcast, get to and from certain moments (such as the end of the inning, quarter, period, etc), and know to remain a professional at all times, adhering to basic stuff like language, description, and a certain modicum of not being a complete homer.

And give the score. A lot.

Oh, and don't say "we." Please. Don't.

The thing is, there's this idea that I'm this big meanie who hates this and that and doesn't like any other announcer. It's frankly not true. I've loved teaching people this business (and will be doing so again this week). I don't like people who think they're bigger than this business or who are complete narcissists. I don't like people who disrespect the business either.

I want to hear stories. Not stats, screaming, and nonsense. Not monotone either.

I actually want people to succeed. But I also want people to succeed who have earned it.

It should be a joy. An honor. It shouldn't be a circus or a bunch of over-the-top bon mots. It is, at the end of the day, still a reporting job (aka "journalism) so accuracy absolutely matters and exaggeration is tiring.

It will come as no surprise what teams I'm (likely) going to be broadcasting and I hope you join us for the ride. I look forward to making it all official.

Then begins the gathering of the rosters and getting to know the faces and families and securing space at games and having the proper equipment and transportation and wishing we had done it all better.

But we'll try. Just as I did in those nascent days of 1999. I can still see that raw, nervous guy -- still a kid in some ways -- walking to the booth at Fox Lane High School for that first call on WVIP (1310 AM).

Just days after signing off from baseball, fall begins to come into focus.

There's work to be done.

A Happy Day

 

Day after day, I write about life.

The posts are often about life and can almost have more of a diary feel even if I don't want them to.

There are plenty of days that are just blah.

Or blech.

Or depressing.

Then there are days that are simply great.

Maybe there's a reason and maybe there isn't. Maybe there are multiple reasons.

Maybe, sometimes, it's nobody's business.

Oh, it started normal enough.

Man wakes up.

Cat meows.

Man tries to get more sleep but, being middle-aged, has the reality that he needs to use the restroom.

Cat meows approvingly.

Man gets out of bed.

Cat gets food.

Cat wins.

Man does radio interview.

End scene.

Or fin.

Anyway, the day goes on. He goes out to grab breakfast and pick up things for the house.

And life just happens from there.

Even the trip to pick things up becomes an odyssey but there's something maniacally wonderful about it.

Breakfast on the west side of Greenwich. Then drive across Greenwich on US 1 looking for something.

Almost to the Stamford line.

Then?

Turn around and go clear across US 1. As in, the way he just came from.

The mission ends just outside of Greenwich. In Port Chester. In New York.

Yes, New York is always the answer. Including about pizza.

Back home.

Life goes on from there. Things to do, people to talk to, maybe even people to see. Continuing to plot and clean and adjust to apartment life.

Cat meows numerous times.

Before the day is over, joy will register in various and sundry ways.

Always various and sundry ways.

Even the radio show is energetic but not explosive.

A wonderfully kind social media post creates more good feelings.

A comment: If you love listening to baseball games on the radio(and I do) then his call of all of the games is something to behold. He gave the boys the same respect as if they were pros. He was awesome!

Joy. Kindness. Glad tidings. Recognizing the blessings and accepting it. And it is humbling because not everyone gets that kind of love and respect.

In the evening there's an urge to go out and, yet, it can wait.

Why not start early tomorrow?

So it's moving some stuff around and pondering a new TV stand and is it time to go to Ikea yet and should the TV(s) be mounted on the wall?

Oh, and dinner. That was whipped up also.

And maybe the foundation of a vacation plan. An idea came about.

And a business trip is booked for September.

This was my day.

It sounds mundane.

Yet it was joyous. Blissful. Full of fresh starts.

And every day should feel like this.

We all deserve such days.

The Character Clause

 

A fine character actor named Bernard Cribbins has died.

It's quite possible you have seen his work though admittedly his work was almost entirely in England and I don't know how much "telly" or film he did in the US.

Still, to many (me), he will be known as Wilfred Mott, the grandfather of Donna Noble on "Doctor Who." He wound up as a brief companion to David Tennant's tenth doctor. He also served as a companion as a separate character to Peter Cushing, who played The Doctor (billed as "Doctor Who") in the 1966 film "Daleks' Invasion Earth 2150 A.D. "

It was a sad day for Whovians, such as Sean who was pretty bummed when I told him the news.

Cribbins was 93.

But it got me thinking about characters. What makes us latch onto them? I'm sure there are deep thoughts about familiarity and comfort and we allow ourselves to feel like we know them but, honestly, they're individuals on our screen.

Sometimes we see ourselves or people we know in these characters.

Now, I realize there are levels to this. There are people who feel literally nothing and there are others who fully invest and, as such, are crestfallen when they're gone.

For me, I immediately think of the gut-wrenching departure of McLean Stevenson, who played Lieutenant Colonel Henry Blake on "M*A*S*H." Not only are there the initial comedic hijinks leading up to his farewell when the character is saluted by  "Radar" O'Reilly, but then there is...

(For the love of "Hot Lips" Houlihan do I really need to say SPOILER ALERT here?)

So, after Blake flies away on a chopper, O'Reilly receives news that Blake was killed in a plane crash. It's a tour de force of television -- one of the most famous scenes in history -- but it also takes me back to the original point: why do we invest to where we become emotional?

With the passing of Cribbins today, I went down the rabbit hole of the last time Wilfred sees The Doctor. His granddaughter Donna has just gotten married and everyone is outside of the church. Donna, who no longer remembers The Doctor, is impervious in the moment.

But Wilfred is very much impacted by the site of his friend. The Doctor, in fact, goes around to see his companions one last time. The site of Sarah Jane Smith, always near the top of the list of most popular companions, is cause for tissues.

But the site of Mott saluting The Doctor and crying leaves the toughest soul beaten.

Again, why?

Of course, it has to be the investment of emotion in general. As a viewer, some of us allow ourselves to immersed in the story. We suspend things and get taken away.

From there, I really went deep, watching a half hour's worth of every regeneration in the history of "Doctor Who" and, again, there is a lot of emotional stuff in there. The toughest for me, personally, is the regeneration of the eleventh doctor (Matt Smith) to the twelfth (Peter Capaldi) in which all of the feels come out.

The site of his friend and companion Amy Pond is a wrecking moment. His final monologue, as well as that of Capaldi's a few years later, is incredibly poignant.

"I will not forget one line of this," The Doctor (Smith) says. "Not one day. I swear. I will always remember when the Doctor was me."

And I currently have a lump in my throat.

So whether it's Michael Scott on "The Office" or one of the myriad other character departures that I just read about tonight, it makes me think about why we invest in these people when, so often, the actors are nothing like the characters.

But we adore and respond to their characters.

Scott's departure from Dunder Mifflin is a mixed bag of comedy and emotion, perfect for a lighthearted "mockumentary" like "The Office."

Yet (SPOILER) when Scott returns in the series finale, it presses every button.

That's what she said, of course.

It strikes me that perhaps the only characters one never really "felt" anything for were the main four on "Seinfield." While funny, they weren't necessarily likable so we didn't quite reach for the Kleenex when the show ended.

Now consider the gruesome death of Adriana La Cerva on "The Sopranos." Was there an attachment to her? Or is it the pure awfulness of her demise that left us so speechless? Or both?

I also wonder how people can't feel anything. For me, there's an investment in who and what is on my screen, be it fictional characters or Brian Piccolo in "Brian's Song" ("I love Brian Piccolo. And I'd like all of you to love him too. And tonight, you hit your knees, please ask God to love him.").

Or Vin Scully's last game broadcast. Let's not go there.

So I'm sure that it comes down to emotional ties and the willingness to embrace that. 

At least that's what I think it is.

From Trumbull to Fishkill

Before I turn into a pumpkin at midnight (it's 11:35 p.m. as I begin typing) allow me to congratulate Pittsfield, MA on their victory in the 13U Babe Ruth New England regional.

Thanks, of course, to the amazing volunteers and everyone involved with Trumbull Babe Ruth. Kudos, all.

Thanks for putting up with me and my voice for six days. 

It's an exhausting and profoundly wonderful experience.

Thanks to Tri-County, Maine and Waterford, CT and Quincy, MA and North Providence/Smithfield, RI and Keene, NH, and Three Corners, VT.

Amazing and fun.

If there's a tourney in Trumbull next year, I'll be interested for sure. If there's a tourney in the area, I might be interested in that also.

Who knows what life will be like next July?

*****

"The Martian" has landed

The day ended hours later at Dutchess Stadium where I was on the public address mic for Renegades/Cyclones. 

I got my first look at Jasson Dominguez ("The Martian") and you can tell he's quite good. Tonight wasn't his night but, then again, it wasn't the Renegades' night.

Lace 'em up and get 'em again tomorrow. Baseball is great that way.

But tonight will be remembered for the home run that Derek Blau hit. Derek is seven and had a condition called Chiari Malformation. With successful surgery, Derek is doing fine.

He said thank you to his doctors and nurses with a video on the board at the stadium. Then, with both teams forming a diamond, he "homered" off Rick Zolzer and ran the bases, high-fiving each player and coach.

It was one of the cooler and more touching things I've seen.

Well done, Derek.

Also, well done, Gades and Cyclones.

And my time is up. Time to resume whatever normal is.

Game 17

 

I've done some marathon stretches of games and will hit a new level tomorrow.

It will be the 17th game in six days.

That's probably a record but I really don't know.

The Babe Ruth New England regional ends tomorrow with Waterford, CT playing Pittsfield, MA. The winner is off to Glen Allen, VA for the Babe Ruth 13-year-old World Series.

I'll be right back at it, live around 9:50 a.m.

There are a host of emotions with the end of the tourney.

- Happy: It's over. We survived.

- Gratitude: As happens every year, I make new friends and have a great experience with a group of people in close quarters.

- Sadness:  It's over just as quick as it started.

- Relief: I didn't have throat or voice issues. and problems were minimal. I really struggled with a sore throat and raspy voice when I did 15 games in five days in 2015 but I've gotten better since then somehow.

- Frustration: Wifi was spotty at best and I had to do quite a few games using my cell phone data.

And so on.

For Trumbull, there is disappointment that they won't be playing tomorrow. Waterford eliminated Trumbull, 3-1. The looks on the faces of the players and their families said it all.

The ride is so quick. Within just over 48 hours, at least two teams that I'd gotten used to had been eliminated. Two more teams were gone on Monday.

Two more today.

Tomorrow, we get to the bottom line.

Selfishly, the sad part for me means that I'll likely call my last seven innings of baseball tomorrow. It's certainly not how I wrote it up last September. I thought I'd do more.

Much more.

Instead, I called my first game in March and, tomorrow, I suspect it will be finished for 2022.

Had Trumbull won this tournament, they swore I was going with them to Virginia. Additionally, their 14U team said they'd take me ...

...

to North Dakota. That's where the 14U World Series is.

I began to actually think about such a thing.

Alas, both teams were eliminated today.

Sports are cruel.

There is most certainly gratitude for the ride but I'll now (most likely) head into a funk of no broadcasts until the very end of August or even early September.

(In other words: I'm available)

So, sure, I'll try to travel somewhere in August and whatever and football will be here before we know it.

But, no, this isn't how I wanted it.

Then again, what is?

So I'll try to savor these last seven innings tomorrow.

Savor the last moments in the Trumbull booth.

Savor the time with these people.

Continue to provide the coverage that has received record numbers and many kind words.

Savor the interactions such as with Matt Shampine, the Waterford pitcher who beat Trumbull today. A Babe Ruth Connecticut official told me that he wanted to meet me so I was happy to oblige. We had a brief chat before he and his family departed. I think we were actually both thrilled. We only forgot to get a picture together.

Tomorrow, there are seven more innings of pitch counts and changing defenses and words that will emerge from my lips.

And after it's over?

I'll go to Dutchess Stadium and do PA for the Gades. I'll get my first look at "The Martian."

Eventually, I'll sleep.

It's an exhausting run.

And I'll miss it all.

Four Players

 

They sat with their backs against the wall.

Their backs really had been against the wall, fighting for their baseball lives as a four-run lead had evaporated.

Now, it was tied.

A walk, a strikeout, and a fielder's choice had them set up to win it. Then two intentional walks. Then, a base hit down the line.

Trumbull 5, Quincy 4. That eliminated Quincy and kept Trumbull's dream of making the Babe Ruth World Series in Virginia alive.

Trumbull plays Waterford, CT tomorrow morning. The winner heads to the championship of the New England Regional.

But now, four of the winners sat behind the first base dugout, their backs pressed against the wall, They wore their dirty uniforms, partially untucked, eye black decorating their cheeks.

They could have been Mays and Mantle and Robinson and Ruth. 

But they were four 13-year-olds.

I said hi as I walked by and congratulated them.

"Thank you," they said in unison.

Then one spoke up softly.

"We're listening to your broadcast."

Suddenly, I could hear it. It was coming from one of their phones.

It was my voice.

They told me they were listening to an earlier broadcast and that they really enjoyed it.

Maybe they are. Maybe they're just being nice.

Maybe both.

But I was touched.

Like, really touched.

Four kids, laughing and talking and listening to a rebroadcast of their game, which happened to be called by me.

And they approved.

I'm not getting rich doing these games and that's OK. It's another year and a new cast of people but, once again, Trumbull has welcomed me with open arms.

This is what makes the experience worth it. It's not about the prestige and anyone wanting to look down at me, well, that's on them. I'm happy doing this. It's a grind, no question, but a grind that I enjoy when it's all over.

It's not so much about the work that I do. Sure, there are kind words and I'm really grateful but it's giving coverage to the kids for games that wouldn't get covered. There has not been a single other media person around Trumbull High School this week.

I get it. It's summer and budgets are tight and so on.

But not one.

Other than me.

That's not slapping myself on the back. That's just a fact.

Players enjoy hearing their names. Families enjoy hearing the players' names. Everyone enjoys the attention. This is how it works.

I'm that conduit, providing the coverage that they deserve.

And that they seem to like.

Four players seemed to be happy.

Sitting against a dugout wall on a hot day as a thunderstorm loomed.

They laughed the laughs of a winning team looking forward to their next game.

Baseball played on a device in the background.

Audio only.

It sure sounded sweet.

*****

I won't put out another "press release" but the listens for this morning's game far outdid the game from last night that prompted that post. I'm overwhelmed but it speaks to the power of sports radio (audio) and the desire for coverage. 

*****

I'll be on "Melissa in the Morning" tomorrow morning on WICC Radio in Bridgeport to talk about the Babe Ruth tournament and the Baseball Hall of Fame Class of 2022. Join me at 7:35 a.m.

*****

Suzyn Waldman, the longtime Yankees' radio broadcaster, as well as a trailblazing reporter on WFAN before that, has been named a 2022 inductee into the Radio Hall of Fame. I get it. You don't love her. "Oh my goodness gracious, Rogah Clemens," blah blah blah. But I think you should respect her. There comes a point where the criticism gets foolish. 

She's remarkable. I congratulate her.

PRESS RELEASE

 

ROBCASTING DRAWS BIG AUDIENCE FOR BABE RUTH TILT

Many listened. Could be a record

Contact: Rascal (he's The Cat)

ROBCASTING MEDIA, America's most electric local online sports broadcaster (find us another one), proudly announces possible record-setting numbers tonight from their broadcast of Babe Ruth Baseball.

The broadcast -- part of the New England Regional Tournament -- featured Pittsfield, MA and Trumbull, CT. Pittsfield beat the host team (Trumbull), 17-10.

Listening numbers -- unavailable to the media -- were strong, according to President, Vice President, Creator, Program Director, and Lead Broadcaster Rob Adams.

"We don't release our numbers," he said. "But, if we did, I'd say they were among the highest we've had since creating ROBCASTING in 2017."

Indeed, ROBCASTING RADIO -- a division of Robcasting Media -- just passed its fifth anniversary and has had a steady climb in terms of listeners every since. Created out of the ashes of another entity that doesn't pay its invoices, ROBCASTING MEDIA started out as a bit of a joke when board member and Technical Director/Designer AJ Szymanowski made a graphic that he sent to Adams.

The graphic became the basis for the channel.

Hard-pressed to think of another broadcast with similar listening numbers, ROBCASTING considers this to be a pretty highly-rated broadcast.

"We're very proud," Adams said. "Shawn Sailer (Vice President in charge of Statistics and Ginger Ale) really brought profound analysis to the broadcast. Our numbers have been strong throughout the Babe Ruth Tournament and we hope they continue."

The New England Regional continues Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday at Trumbull High School. All games can be heard live on ROBCASTING RADIO at robcasting.mixlr.com.

Robcasting Media, founded in 2017, is the home of sports broadcasting in Connecticut, New York, New Jersey, and basically anywhere else professional play-by-play is needed. It is the top-rated Tri-State broadcaster in Northwest Ohio (according to Mike Hirn), as well as in Wilton, and Fairfield, CT. Its current home base is in Greenwich, CT after starting in Mahopac, NY. 

-- 55 -- 

Robcasting Founder, etc Rob Adams. (Photo: Rascal The Cat. Or Rob Adams.)

Eight Games Gone

 

Quincy, MA and Tri-County, ME prepare this morning.

Once again, I'm home from basically 12 hours of baseball play-by-play.

It was a long day.

The fourth game got interesting for a moment scores of 5-0, 13-1, 15-0, and 11-6 don't inspire, do they?

Oh, I'm not complaining. They can't all be nail-biters.

Tomorrow is the last day of pool play and, weather permitting, we'll get four more games in with the playoff round beginning on Monday.

The reviews have been kind and I'm so grateful. That's what makes me want to keep doing it. I admit that I was exhausted and basically dragged myself to Trumbull this morning. Then, I was slowly drifting off during the 15-0 game. 

So I'm going to try to sleep now and rev back up for tomorrow.

Games again at 10, 1, 4, and 7.

A big thanks to Shawn Sailer as well as the people in the booth for keeping me buzzing. They respond to my jokes and basically put with me and that helps my energy.

And they've been fantastic about keeping me hydrated and fed. That's monstrous.

I also did a better job of having some food available in case I needed it.

This is all that makes me love this experience every time. Even when it's a grind -- and it was today -- it beats so many other things I could be doing.

I get to call baseball. I get to make people happy. Where's the issue?

Although, apparently, I indirectly caused trouble too as people listened to the call. It's a little hard to explain but one of the pitchers today looked like he was throwing breaking pitches in the way the ball was moving. Someone was listening and, the short version is, that the player isn't supposed to be throwing breaking pitches. I reported they were because they were looking like it.

In truth, he was lobbing "fastballs."

Consternation followed, though not directly at me.

Sorry to have caused such an issue.

The power of the medium, I suppose.

Onto tomorrow as we sail past it the mid-point of games called in this tournament.

Fingers crossed for good weather.

And hope for more laughs and enjoyment.

That's why I keep coming back.

I Should Get Paid By the Word II

 

So it's heading towards 11:30 p.m. and I just got home from four baseball games.

Pittsfield MA 14, Keene NH 0.

Waterford CT 2, Tri-County ME 1

Quincy MA 12, Three Corners VT 0

Trumbull CT 3, North Providence-Smithfield RI 2

Two were shortened due to scoring rules and one went to extra innings.

So, basically, somewhere around 26 innings of baseball stretched out over 12 hours.

It was hot and sticky and sweaty and rainy and so so so so much fun.

But, it was a long day and I'm going to sleep so I can do it all over again tomorrow.

Then Sunday.

Then Monday.

Tuesday.

And, finally, Wednesday.

Fun. Fun Fun.

Not all of it but most of it.

So tune in tomorrow and join me.

I Should Get Paid By the Word

 

The view from the booth in Trumbull, 2021

Mixer. Check.

Headset(s). Check.

Banner. Hmm, well, it's still sort of accurate and they might not let me hang it but OK. Check.

Crowd mic and cable. Check.

Pens. Check.

Pencils. Check.

Scorecards and binder. Three-hole punched and check!

Notes? Er...minimal but check anyway!

With that, I'm sort of ready for the 2022 Babe Ruth New England Regional 13U Tournament.

Seventeen games (though I see possible bad weather on Monday that might throw a wrench into the plans). Lots of pitches. Lots of talking.

Oh yeah. Honey lemon throat drops! CHECK!

Hard candy. Not enough, but check.

I'll need water and/or seltzer and food.

Pacing is important. I have to control my voice and save it for the big moments.

I have to be prepared for the sags in energy and that will happen.

This is absolutely a marathon over six days.

Hate to say it but normally it's the midday games each day that tend to be rough. I'm fired up for the first game of the day.

Then I feel a bit of a lag in game two.

Then I bottom out in game three.

Then I'm revved back up for game four.

I mean, I hope to be great for every game but one has to be realistic.

It has to be fun. That's non-negotiable. Why do it otherwise?

We laughed a lot in that booth last year. The people up there all understood me and I them and, as such, we had a blast. It was sad to see it end. We helped each other.

There will be new people in the booth and we'll learn the rhythm again. We're stuck with each other.

And, hopefully, someone will do a coffee run.

One of the very wise things that Trumbull Babe Ruth does is schedule who is on each game, keeping a rotation of people moving around.

Between speaking engagements

At Robcasting I also have a rotation of me, myself, and I.

With Shawn Sailer whenever he can make it.

Gone are the days of Jake Zimmer and Dan Gardella joining me. Same with AJ Szymanowski. A booth door is open to all of them but they each have lives.

Chris Kaelin and Chris Erway and Ryan Demaria aren't coming through the doors either. All busy as they should be.

There's almost never a lengthy break between games so I have to stay ready.

This is my baby. And Shawn's. 

And if something happens? Well, let's not consider that yet.

(That being said, you know I've considered that, right?)

You have to be a little bit crazy to do this, as I told a group of high school students at Norwalk Community College taking part in a sports career camp today.

A few hours later, I addressed the Babe Ruth banquet in Trumbull.

My passion and excitement for this business and the tournament were on full display.

So I'll get up tomorrow, grab a good breakfast somewhere, and hit the road for Trumbull High School.

I'll try to scoop up some water and snacks as well. Best laid plans and all.

I'll set up, probably in the window as I've used before.

Then we'll get down to work.

I told Pittsfield they were up first (Keene, NH wasn't at the banquet).

There will be mistakes. Mispronunciations. 

Hopefully, there will be triumphs also. Hopefully, these will be broadcasts everyone will be proud of.

I need some rest. It will be here soon.

The Blank Page

 

When in doubt take a picture of The Cat

Every post starts this way.

Blank.

Then I try to fill it.

It's one of those nights where I've got nothing.

Well, it's not that I've really got nothing but I suppose I don't have energy or time.

It was a good day though. Laughs and happiness.

Then I did a "Doubleheader" show that I thought was pretty strong. It featured a segment in which I dealt with the Mets and how they need to just forget about that other team.

Hell, I'd rather focus on the Red Sox, personally.

So, as I promised I would, I played Fran Pomarico's brief rant from our Monday night show with the Zolz on Z-93.

Basically, the theme was: this is who you are. Focus on you. You're the little brother. But little brothers can win (and hoo boy could we go down a deep road there). Now, move forward.

There's actually a chance that we could all get along better if you'd just do that.

instead, you're too busy whining about why your closer -- "best closer in baseball," you say to the sound of laughter -- didn't get into the All-Star Game.

I mean, this is what goes on. Not with all of them but with many.

This is the blank slate that begins every night.

The one that often gets me in trouble.

But, let's look ahead to how I will fill that daily void.

Tomorrow begins seven crazy days. 

You know, typical for me.

Speaking engagement in Norwalk, hosting "Doubleheader," then a banquet and another speech in Stratford.

Friday? 

P1 10:00 AM Pittsfield MA vs. Keene NH

P2 1:00 PM  Tri-County ME vs. Waterford CT

P3 4:00 PM  Three Corners VT vs, Quincy MA

P4 7:00 PM  North Providence-Smithfield RI vs. Host - Trumbull

The Babe Ruth New England regional tournament. 

Saturday, Sunday also. Four games each day. Then two on Monday, two on Tuesday, and a championship Wednesday morning at 10.

Stories will be told, games will be called, and so on.

If for some reason I can't do a game I will find a suitable fill-in or we'll just have to skip it.

See, the reality is, nobody gets on a broadcast that I'm in charge of without them being someone I can trust to run the ship.

You have to be able to get on the air and run the equipment. You also have to know how to call a game.

Sure, I've put friends on the air to do color. Some have even ascended to where they can drive the ship (think Chris Erway, for instance).

But just throw someone to the fire as the lead broadcaster?

No. 

People rely on these broadcasts. They're not the end of the world but they matter.

No, it's not rocket science. It never will be.

But doing a good job is important.

It begins with a blank canvas.

All-Star Night

 

Giancarlo Stanton celebrates following All-Star Game home run.
(Photo: Jayne Kamin-Oncea, USA TODAY Sports)

The All-Star Game is on tonight.

I might as well be sitting in a rocking chair since I have some gripes.

You know, as in I'm old and "get off my lawn."

The annual affair is in Los Angeles and, in typical Dodger Stadium fashion, I still see empty seats. Late arriving in the third inning of the All-Star Game?

And I hate the uniforms.

We all know it has changed since the first official one in 1933, a creation of a sportswriter in Chicago. I say "official" because there were other efforts prior to that but it became an officially sanctioned annual event in July of 1933 at Comiskey Park on the South Side.

Bet you'll never guess who hit the first All-Star Game home run? That overrated "bum," G.H. Ruth. The Babe.

He's like the "Overrated Shortstop," Mr. D.S. Jeter.

For years, like all sports, it was a radio affair. In fact, the recording of the 1934 game is online, back in the day where there were broadcasts on three networks (NBC, CBS, and Mutual). Only the NBC broadcast can be found on the interwebs. 

That game featured "King" Carl Hubbell striking out five consecutive Hall of Famers.

Ted Williams ended the 1941 affair with a home run and Johnny Callison did the same in 1964.

I first started watching in the 70s, after Pete Rose knocked Ray Fosse into another area code, getting to see my guy Bobby Murcer make his appearances.

I've basically watched them all ever since, for the most part.

To me, I still love it more than the Home Run Derby but I also know I'm wired differently.

I want it to have more of the juice it used to have, where there was a true rivalry between the two leagues.

Then again, I don't like interleague play.

I also want the players to wear their real uniforms, not these Nike-concocted nightmares. Yet corporate overlords win out.

Tonight probably isn't the night to drone on about the problems with those running baseball yet, in many ways, it feels like a microcosm of such.

I know FOX is trying so hard to make the game accessible by micing up players, including pitchers. I get it and if fans like that than I don't think I can get upset about that.

On the other hand, to be fair, those conversations make the game feel secondary and the crowd noise feels almost minimal.

Photo: Associated Press/LA Times

But -- and you should have known this is coming -- there has been no mention (as of now, in the top of the 4th) of a Mr. Vin Scully. As I've pointed out elsewhere, the game is on Vin Scully Ave and the broadcasters are in the Vin Scully Press Box.

There has been a salute to Jackie Robinson on the 75th anniversary of his breaking the color barrier and his widow Rachel on her 100th birthday (which is today). They're both treasures, and I've been near Rachel Robinson who is the epitome of class.

But not a word about their dear friend Vin?

Also, our guy from Washington Heights and Fordham, aged 94, hasn't been on his social media in some time.

Just saying. It's a little jarring.

And concerning.

I still enjoy the All-Star Game. It can't be as it once was.

But I hope it evolves into something amazing.

*****

My "Aunt" Irene died this morning. She and her husband Dave were close family friends. We spent much of the 70s together in Mahopac and, as life tends to do, we drifted a little apart. Kids grew up and grandkids came along. They were still a part of our lives but it was different.

Later on, Irene and my mom became frequent dinner buddies, especially after they had both lost their husbands far too young.

Now, all four of them are gone.

I'm saddened for Debbie, Renee, Tony, and their entire family. My heartfelt condolences to them but also gratitude for happy memories.

She was at my mom's gravesite the day of her funeral, putting in an appearance out of love for her good friend.

She had a sweet soul with a good heart and a great laugh. 

She'll be missed.

Electric

 

I had heard horror stories about Eversource, the power-providing behemoth that lights up Greenwich.

Their customer service was great when I created my account.

Today, they heard from me for a different reason: the bill.

I noticed the price on my most recent bill seemed a bit outrageous, at least compared to what I paid to power a four-bedroom house back in Mahopac.

In this case, the bill was double for a two-bedroom abode in Greenwich.

After waiting all weekend to speak with someone (their offices were closed) I spoke with a rep on the telephone this morning. Her answers, in short, were basically that I everything is running as it should and I used too much electricity.

There was more but it left me annoyed. So I stewed it over and decided to go to social media.

I tweeted at them. I also posted a screenshot of the tweets on my Facebook page. 

Reactions bounced between "I wish my bill was that low," "Welcome to Connecticut," and "Holy crap."

Some of my friends recognized that the cost was, indeed, obscene.

I guess I'm just astounded that Sean and I moved here -- a smaller place -- using less electricity than we used to and we're still paying more.

More than double, to be exact.

Eversource saw the tweets and opened a direct message conversation with me. We reviewed everything. We examined air conditioners and usage. We looked at the washer/dryer. 

Then we spoke about the electric water heater. That seems -- for now -- to be the culprit.

Look, we'll make this work. I can hope that we can either find an error or make an adjustment to bring it back down but, for tonight, it is what it is.

The concerning thing is that we're about to go into a rough stretch of high temperatures but Sean and I will be fine. We always make it work.

Now, I have to shut down before I need to charge my computer.

Which I'll be doing somewhere else.

I'm kidding. 

I hope.

The Second Base Caper

 

Fans exchange tickets for a future game

There's a scene in the movie "Bull Durham" where the titular Durham Bulls are on a grueling road trip and players are grumbling. Grizzled veteran catcher Crash Davis (Kevin Costner) bets a couple of his young teammates that he can get them a day off but the others aren't convinced. As one player says, "Man there hasn't been a cloud in the sky in weeks."

"Hundred bucks says I can get us a rainout for tomorrow," Davis crows.

Suckers.

With beer in tow, Davis and company "crash" (yes I did) into the field in question. They break open a fence, drunkenly giggling as Crash turns on all of the sprinklers.

"Oh my goodness!" Davis laughs. "We've got ourselves a natural disaster."

No game.

*****

Before I proceed, allow me to remind you that I don't represent the Hudson Valley Renegades or the New York Yankees. I do work for the Renegades currently as an occasional public address announcer and my son is still a cameraman.

So let's cut to the chase: the Gades were supposed to play the Greenville Drive today (Red Sox affiliate) in the finale of a six-game set at Dutchess Stadium.

Further keep in mind that I commute to the stadium from little ol' Greenwich, CT. Not a short commute.

I left the house before 9 a.m. to spend some time at Julian Curtiss Field watching Fairfield and Greenwich in American Legion action and hang out with Shawn Sailer.

All of the paces were the usual after that. I grabbed some food and a late coffee and motored to the stadium. I parked and went upstairs where Feldman, Fish, and R&D joined me as the PA booth crew.

We had our pregame meeting at 12:45 for a 2 p.m. game. We went through all of the usual steps in the pregame.

I eventually met up with Sean and caught up with him. I also chatted with Lori.

It was hot. No question.

Since it's Sunday we got free ice cream in the booth from the Sweet and Boozy stand (so good). Since I'm a father who has an ice cream-loving son, I felt guilty and gave him cash so he could go get his own.

"I lose money in this deal," I laughed to Fish.

I even bought myself a new Renegades retro hat with their colors from their maiden season of 1994.

I then did my pregame reads, going through the process of relaying each sponsor to the building crowd as we prepared for first pitch. I've gotten a little more comfortable in this gig so I've added more personal touches and the occasional off-script comment, such as welcoming fans (and dogs) as I finished the pregame.

Sundays are "Bark at the Park."

Up until then, it was business as usual. Then I got a text from Sean.

"Are you seeing 2nd base?"

I was largely impervious until then, content to stay cool, laugh with the guys, and await my next turn back on the mic. At this point, everything is in the hand of The Zolz until just before first pitch.

A couple of golf carts along with a gaggle of people were at second base.

Suddenly, I was back in play. We needed to entertain the crowd. Clearly, the game wouldn't start on time.

Now, what can I tell you about second base? Only what I saw: the phenomenal people who maintain the turf field could not get second base properly anchored. They dug and reached and strained and tried and ... nothing.

Both managers were out there. Both umpires were there. Zolz was there. Some players lingered over. Team officials were there. The grounds crew was of course there.

As that went on, Fish (the booth producer) radioed to the field for further word. We brainstormed and, with Feldman as the point man, decided we had some frisbees we could fling into the crowd. We also played some trivia and found other things to give out.

At one point, a young girl and her aide came over. Though the trivia contest was over, I could see in her sweet face that we could make an exception. Without hesitation, I got her tickets. I asked for her name.

"Claire," her aide said.

I gave her a shout-out over the speakers.

No, not everyone gets that, but not everyone lights up like a Christmas tree and starts jumping up and down. That joy -- that smile -- made my eyes fill with tears and my heart soar. In that much-needed spot, I thought we were heading towards a great day, forgetting the bad juju of the night before.

I love bringing joy like that to people.

Then the aide returned. She explained that she now had a jealous girl on her hands and...

Look, I can be tough. I promise. I can be firm. I'm a believer in doing the right thing and that rules are rules and, in this case, the right thing was to make her happy. 

Take my word for it.

Initially, I told the aide to come back with the girl so we could present it to her and let her have that same feeling. The aide explained that wasn't as easy, since she needed assistance to get around.

Done. We gave her the tickets. After a minute, I announced her name as a winner to the crowd. An audible roar went up.

We were having fun and the spirit was good.

There were positives to be found but, ultimately, the best efforts of the crew at second base were for naught. Player safety had to prevail over all. Second base was unplayable as it couldn't be secured.

Zolz made the announcement and explained that fans could exchange tickets right now outside the stadium.

Indeed, as I stood on the balcony behind the PA booth, I watched the lines at the two ticket windows as well as at a secondary table with two more lines. Those who heard Zolz's announcement were getting their new tickets for any game they wanted.

It seemed like everyone understood the situation and there was peace in the land. Sure, fans were disappointed but I didn't sense any trouble or concern. 

But, obviously, you can't please everyone.

After the line of cars died down, I headed out to wash and vacuum my car in Fishkill and shop at Walmart.

Eventually, I told Mike Hirn and Shawn Sailer what happened when Shawn said he already knew. The team had announced it on their social media.

Up until this point, I had no intention of writing about this. I didn't tweet it or do anything on social media.

Then I began reading comments. For the love of Tyrus Raymond Cobb, good lord.

There are simply too many crazy things being said to comprehend.

Let's deal with a couple:

- If you were listening to Zolz make the announcement, you could have received tickets for a future game at the box office. So, in other words, the ducats would be in your hand before you got to your car. You wouldn't need to come back to get tickets.

- The team, front office, and staff all wanted to play. Despite the laughter at the "Bull Durham" story, the Bulls were the visiting team. That wasn't in play here. The Drive and the Renegades were ready to go. This was no great conspiracy to get a day off.

- Some people drove far. Yeah, no kidding. I'm one of those people but it's sports and, more specifically, that's baseball for ya. Sometimes things happen.

- It's not for me to carry the water for the team (and, again, I'm only representing myself here) but I can promise you this was not some kind of gross incompetence. I watched everyone try to make second base playable and it simply wasn't possible. At least one of those people -- Tom Hubmaster -- knows that field as well as anyone. "Hubbie" was on his hands and knees trying to fix second base. This is the same guy that I watched go into the third base dugout and go face down in probably brackish water trying to fix a flood last year.

Look, I understand the social media commenters aren't often worth a response. Some of them are simply mad at the world, don't have the perspective, or are simply venting. Some have the muscles of a keyboard warrior. I seriously admire the customer service ethics of everyone involved with the Renegades. 

But I'm also venting since I can't respond to the seriously inaccurate things being said. So, here I am.

It wasn't ideal for anyone and we were all astonished as we watched. I can guarantee we did our best as a group to entertain with a few on-field games and the things we did in the booth. 

Zolz said he'd never seen anything like it. I can't remember too many things like this either.

Canceling was the last thing I'm sure anyone wanted since, well, the reaction is going basically as expected.

But things happen.

And, consider that these are valuable young ballplayers to the most valuable organization in baseball.

So, you tell me: what would you have done differently?

I get you're frustrated. It's not like I strolled out of the ballpark whistling a happy tune but I walked out understanding the circumstances. I know how the team strived to make everyone happy.

The team will be back in a little over a week. I'll be back with them that Wednesday.

We'll entertain you as always.

That's the goal.

Residual Remembrance

 

Rascal, after pawing at his reflection in that picture of Sean

"Connecticut doesn't use stickers," the girl at the DMV told me a few weeks back.

Indeed, the days of owning a car with registration and inspection stickers -- a New York standard -- were over.

I've owned cars since late 1986 and they all had them. The little Toyota Corolla that I had for, basically, a month and the Oldsmobile Omega and the Chevy Cavaliers and the Honda Accords and the Nissans.

It took me a few weeks but I finally took out a razor blade and stripped off the two stickers, each one leaving a residue behind.

With it came memories of learning to drive and the hunger to get my permit the day after my birthday, which was on Thanksgiving in 1984.

Memories of my mom allowing me to drive home from Ulster County, NY and my first time across the Newburgh-Beacon Bridge came driving back.

The stickers are now a lot easier than they used to be. They're actual stickers with a backing. You peel it, following the instructions, and you're good.

The old stickers involved warm water and soaking it just so and oh my it was awful. There were many times when I'd just put tape on it.

Or it would be crooked or, worse, upside down.

The thing is that you really only had one chance to get it right or suffer with a messy sticker for the length of registration.

Even the process of the inspection has changed. Gone are the days when you knew who to go to. Now it's all via computer. But "back in the day," you'd run over to the Mobil in Baldwin Place and they'd have you drive into a bay. 

"Left signal," they yell. "Right signal." "Turn on the lights."

Then they'd walk to the back and have you repeat it before they'd bellow one last thing.

"Hit the horn!"

If they didn't see anything too out of sorts, you soon had the inspection sticker, paid something like eight dollars, and were on your way.

Now? It involves making an appointment. Gone are also the days of it being really simple because I lived in Putnam County and we didn't worry about emissions testing.

Nope. No more.

And now those items that suck in the driver's side corner of the front windshield are gone with only a reminder of their sticky mess until I get around to cleaning it.

I'm doing a decent job of remembering to look for a blue license plate when I go to find my car as opposed to what I had. Still, it almost feels like I'm driving a rental car.

I've had many times of driving cars with plates from all across the nation. All 50 states? No, not at all, but no doubt a sizable percentage I'd guess.

Rascal and friend

Tonight, that blue license plate found its way to Dutchess Stadium, and, once in a while, I get one right.

I sensed something and told Sean before we went into our respective booths.

"There's a weird vibe in the place," I said.

Right before the game started, I mentioned the same to Fish, Feldman, and R and D, my booth mates. To be sure, I'm just "Rob" with no fancy nickname. Beyond that, there's a Vegas thing about the public address booth. What happens there, well, you know.

Still, I was right. The vibe -- the mojo -- was off. It was like there was a full moon.

We worked through it all and the Renegades rallied to tie in the ninth before winning in the tenth. Fireworks and laughs followed and a pleasant time was had by all.

The Gades showed their strength in customer service and mitigating situations. Such is life in the minors or, for that matter, any arena with large crowds (over 4,000 in this case).

I had a front-row seat for all of it. It's likely I wouldn't have known anything going on last year. But this year, I'm a more wide-open part of the scene as opposed to the almost closed-in solitude of the broadcast booth.

The guys in the booth and I all said we needed a beverage after that one. My last Iron City Beer awaited in the fridge and Rascal The Cat (as opposed to Rascal the Racoon) is at my feet as I write.

I toasted to unnamed people in untenable circumstances.

And to the fading residue of two stickers that signaled a driver from the Empire State.

More baseball tomorrow.

More driving in a car that is mine but seems strange.

Fans Behaving Badly. Again.

 

I don't care who started it.

Or who ended it.

Or who is really at fault though I suppose I care a bit about that.

I have no dog in the fight.

But I'll tell you this: youth sports are just that. 

Youth. 

Sports.

Little League, Babe Ruth, High School, American Legion, basketball, football, hockey, lacrosse, etc etc etc.

And that's who and what it's about. The kids.

I've heard two tales involving two different games over the past, yep, two days.

The participants aren't really important. I like the teams and towns involved.

But it makes my blood boil when I hear about youth sports -- especially good games -- being impacted by some knuckleheads.

Or "jackmuffin." I created that one today and I quite like it. 

I don't care if it's a kid, a teenager, a college student, or an adult. If they're not on the field of play, they're just a spectator.

The nonsense needs to stop.

Sadly, this is the ugly side of sports that often gets seen. More often, we hear stories from other parts of the country. Yet, last night, they were in our backyard.

And these are the kinds of things that columnists write about.

Or bloggers (not in their mothers' basement, thank you very much).

However, I'm keeping the details out of this one for a variety of reasons in the hope that someone will read this and be reminded to simply do better.

I will say that as much I enjoyed the atmosphere last night, I can't say I'm surprised that there were problems. I stood among fans from both teams and heard a fair share of profanity and smack talk. I guess so it goes but I wish we could be a little better on that. Still, I'm hardly a prude.

This is hardly a news flash but kids emulate things that they see. 

Like I said, I'm withholding from commenting on stuff I actually saw (and things I heard) but just felt it was a good opportunity to serve up a reminder.

Let the kids play.

Let the coaches coach.

Let the officials rule.

You watch. Laugh. Cheer. Support the players regardless of the outcome.

And just enjoy the game.

The ice cream will taste just as good.

More Baseball (Just as I like it)

 

The alarm went off at 3:45. 

In the morning.

Of course, knowing I had to get up for work meant that, mentally, I didn't sleep soundly. I slept at times but I worried about missing my alarm.

But, alas, I woke up.

I went to the computer to look for the link to log into the deposition that would begin at 5 a.m.

No email. Like it or not, Dan would have to get a call. He didn't sound tired despite my waking him up. Within a minute, he found the email and sent it to me. He also thanked me for calling him.

"Go back to bed," I said.

Could it be a short case? Oh good grief no.

Work would not be completed until 2:30 p.m.

I kept mumbling about how freaking spectacular my next paycheck better be.

I mean, it's all good at first, but after a while, I start losing my patience. In the process, lawyers argue, and so on. Obviously, I can't divulge much and have always been probably a little too careful.

I snuck in a couple of cat naps during the day. My body and my brain do a good job of staying in tune with what's being said in the deposition and snapping to at keywords.

I took a quick rest after the deposition ended, finally grabbed a shower, and headed out the door to go call baseball. 

It was 3:30. The game wasn't until 7. But I knew.

I told myself to relax. Don't panic.

I grabbed a wrap in Greenwich. Then I started the drive.

I worked the back roads, twisting into Stamford to connect with the Merritt Parkway because Waze recommended it and I was up for a laugh.

Sit. Roll. Steer. Go a little faster. Stop.

Repeat.

It would be 5 p.m. before I'd reach the Dunkin (DONUTS) in Trumbull to get coffee.

Keep in mind, Mahopac was a much longer trip to Trumbull in terms of mileage but had someone left there at the same time I left Greenwich, they absolutely would have beaten me. It wouldn't have been close.

The reception at Unity Field in Trumbull for the Babe Ruth final was great, especially once the representatives from Babe Ruth Baseball realized I was a good thing.

Oh, the Trumbull people knew I'd be there and our audience was fantastic. But, you know how leaders get, especially when "nobody told me" is the card being played.

But all good. They now know.

But I also offered to just go home at one point.

No need. The game got called, Trumbull won, and it was over before I even had a chance to make an exciting championship-winning call.

Trumbull 11, Waterford 1.

Done in four innings.

So, with the night in front of us, noted party animals Adams and Sailer (Shawn) didn't do anything other than walk to the adjacent Little League field to watch the 12U championship between Fairfield American and Trumbull.

It was wild. A wonderful game. Of course, there were examples of adults not knowing how to behave and be role models for their kids but I digress. 

In the end, Trumbull won, and the two teams have to play again tomorrow night.

That nasty little voice in me wanted to take out my phone and start calling right there. Still, I enjoyed just visiting with a few people before leaning back on a fence and taking it all in.

And while I could easily be talked into going and calling tomorrow's game (there are no exclusive rights) I doubt I will.

But...I know both teams would love to have us.

Anyway, again, I'm babbling.

It's after 11. This insane day needs to end.

Four Baseball Games

 

Rehabbing Yankee Ben Rortvedt waits for a pitch

10:49 p.m. -- I've finally sat down and have to get to bed quickly. Why? I'll explain...but let's go back in time.

8:00 a.m. -- I need to leave because I have an 11 a.m. "camp game" at Dutchess Stadium. 

8:23 a.m. -- I left late and I've just witnessed a two-car accident near my apartment. All parties seem OK and help is there so I can continue on.

9:40 a.m. -- After grabbing breakfast and a much-needed coffee, I've finally strolled into the ballpark. I have to get to the booth for the 9:45 pregame meeting.

11:07 a.m. -- first pitch of the first game of the day.

2:25 p.m. -- It didn't quite go well for the hometown team as the Renegades lost 9-4 to the Greenville Drive. It's always nice to see everyone, especially Sean, but I'm slightly bugged with my own performance. Yes, I'm always critical of myself. I was looking forward to the camp day experience with all of the kids in the stadium. Plus members of my own family and loved ones (Coach D'Aliso, Mrs. D, Ralph, and his child were all there but I didn't get to talk to them). Oh yeah, it was also hot in the stands.

3:15 p.m. (ish) -- I stop in Danbury for food and a break. Stew Leonard's will do quite nicely though the buffet offerings aren't great today. Still, their sushi is always good if I can find one without avocado in it. Their spicy tuna used to rock the world. Now it has avocado in it.

Blech.

So, spicy crab it is.

4:15 p.m. -- Making my way down the usually-slow CT route 25. Have I mentioned how awful Connecticut traffic is?

5:09 p.m. -- Stopping at a CVS in Trumbull, CT before the next game. I can grab beverages to keep my voice in good shape and stay hydrated.

5:30 p.m. -- Game two of the day as I watch a Little League matchup in the 10U division between Trumbull and Westport. While Trumbull wins 7-3, the game was tied at 3 entering the top of the 6th. Pretty enjoyable.

And, yes, I watched. I even watched after setting up my "booth." Then five young girls decided to stand in said booth, so I just found a wall and let them do their thing.

7:20 p.m. -- Shawn Sailer says he's on his way over from an American Legion game in Fairfield. I tell him not to rush since the game won't start on time anyway.

(Note: it was his mother's birthday and he still joined me. So he might be sleeping in a dog house if they have one.)

(Second note: Happy birthday, Ivy!)

The booth. Sans visitors.

7:57 p.m. -- First pitch of the game Shawn and I are calling: Fairfield National and Trumbull. National hangs in there but a bad second inning spells doom and ends the season. The boys fall to Trumbull, 7-3. Good kids, good families, good coaches. They fought until the end.

Credit to Trumbull, who will play Fairfield American tomorrow for the district championship in 12U. With Fairfield National losing, I'll shift over the Babe Ruth Baseball, as Waterford and Trumbull play for the 14U title tomorrow.

9:52 p.m. -- Shawn and I commiserate in the parking lot before recognizing the Trumbull park ranger will likely be locking the gate in a few minutes. I'm able to grumble to him about entitled broadcasters, god complexes on adults in youth sports, and whatever else we need to catch up on. More to say there but I'll stop (though I sort of mentioned it on the air).

9:53 p.m. -- On the road back to Greenwich as I get an alert the Yankees are losing to the Reds. I don't hate the Reds with the venom that I used to but, wow, there was a time in the 70s when I definitely saw red about Cincinnati.

9:54 p.m. -- The fourth game of the day, as I join our Yankees companions, John Sterling and Suzyn Waldman. They keep me company on the drive down I-95. "Big G" (Giancarlo Stanton) makes the ride a little happier with a home run.

Just a few minutes ago -- The Yankees won on back-to-back errant pitches (whether they were wild pitches or passed balls, the winning run scored). You can't explain baseball, Suzyn.

Oh, and I said yes to a job tomorrow that begins at 4 a.m. I almost neglected that. I said yes so that I could get some sleep (as soon as I'm done typing), work, then maybe rest a little more before returning to Trumbull for more baseball.

Sean (my son, not Shawn Sailer or Sean Kilkelly for that matter*) yelled at me earlier about taking care of myself. For sure, the sushi didn't hold me. But I do burn the candle wherever I can for a bunch of reasons that are probably too deep to discuss tonight. A short version is to say that I want to make sure Sean sees how hard I work so that he will also develop that work ethic.

But then again he also thinks I'm nuts.

Which I am.

That's enough babbling for tonight.

* Oh, the Sean Kilkelly reference. I guess I was tired and my brain wasn't functioning as I opened the broadcast. I also must have had football season on my mind because I called Shawn Sailer "Sean Kilkelly" as we began the Fairfield National/Trumbull game.