The Serena Factor

 

(Photo: Getty/CBS Sports)

It was a New York event.

Oh, I'm not talking about Mets/Dodgers at Citi Field, though that was a dandy also.

No, let's face it, the Serena Williams Show at Arthur Ashe Stadium is the event in the event town.

You've probably heard that Serena is "evolving away from tennis," meaning that she will likely retire after the US Open at the USTA Billie Jean King National Tennis Center.

That's all New York needs to hear. The celebrities are out and the tickets are gone and the attention is intense.

Tonight, in the second round, she played Anett Kontaveit and Serena took care of her 7-6, 2-6, 6-2.

I felt for Kontaveit. 

Heck, I'll feel for any opponent now because they're not only playing Williams but they're playing an incredibly loud, supportive crowd. 

And, if I'm being fair, they're playing against the broadcast as well.

Oh, don't get me wrong, I have a ton of respect for Chris Fowler, Chris Evert, and John McEnroe. Not only that but I love listening to them.

But they're completely rooting for Serena and I suppose it's fair to ask if you can blame them.

Still, I find my brain spinning to how wonderful it would be to hear another voice calling this.

Sure, Dick Enberg or Pat Summerall would be wonderful but, oh, who am I kidding?

Vin Scully. Perfect.

Now it would be the right voice because he's Vin but there's more.

That roar of the crowd would be even more pronounced because Vin would let it sound out. He learned it while listening to college football in his family apartment in the 1930s and 40s in Manhattan.

I can just imagine how Vin would simply describe Serena as "The Queen of Queens" and then lay out and let the sound drown everything else out.

It would be magnificent.

That's not to say the ESPN crew of Fowler, Evert, and McEnroe were poor in this regard. No, they added to it but heaped praise on Williams and added to the majesty of what they had witnessed.

Serena moves into the third round but also has a doubles match with big sister Venus next.

If you are a contrarian or just don't like the attention in these spots, the Serena love-fest will quickly become overkill.

If you can simply enjoy greatness then settle in for a fun ride.

I've watched a fair share of tennis but I can't say I'm any kind of expert. So in determining who the "GOAT" is I simply don't know. I mentioned that on "Doubleheader" today and I mean no disrespect to Williams. I assume Serena is the best ever but I also remember the dominance of Steffi Graf and Martina Navratilova along with several others.

Obviously, no harm is intended. Serena is simply magnificent and this New York event will continue to play out.

If you're interested, join the ride. If not, just ignore it.

It's hard to not respect it.

Here Comes the Rain Again

 

Welp.

That's it. That's sort of all I've got.

When you work in sports -- especially baseball -- the weather inevitably plays a part and it was lingering around to dampen the evening at Dutchess Stadium.

Now, the thing to recognize is weather can have a multifaceted impact. It can rain and postpone a game while I'm in transit, thus turning me around or keeping me from going at all (this is the desired outcome).

Or you can get to the stadium/field and, well, anything goes from there.

Now the weather can affect the game with the wind moving the ball around or the air being heavy or there can be heat, sun glare, yada yada...

We gathered at Dutchess Stadium tonight to begin the last six games of the regular season. The Jersey Shore BlueClaws were in town.

And we all speculated.

"It might hit us around 6:45."

"There's a cell that might pass us."

"We're going to get delayed."

Joe Ausanio prepares to throw out the first pitch

Yet, despite some wind, the game began as normal. It was Joe Ausanio bobblehead doll night as the Hudson Valley product and one-time New York Yankee was honored.

Joe was my boss last year and was a proponent of my calling Renegades games back in 2019. I'll always be grateful for his support.

So it was a normal night in the ballpark. The ball was flying out as the air got heavier and the wind blew out.

Through four innings, the Renegades had a 4-3 lead.

The wind began to kick up as the crew in the PA booth -- me, Feldman, Davey, and R&D -- monitored the weather radar.

We needed to get through five innings for the game to be official since the BlueClaws threw four runs up in the top of the fifth.

Right before the bottom of the fifth, we noticed the umpires huddling with the grounds crew. That meant they were looking at the radar also.

Within seconds, the rain began.

They tried to play on.

No dice. The dirt portions of the field (the mound and the plate) needed to be covered and we went into a delay.

The crew tried -- pushing the water that had accumulated. They tried to get home plate and the pitcher's mound back into shape. Just one problem: the ran wouldn't let up.

By 9:20, the game was officially suspended. They'll continue tomorrow at 5pm and complete the game with the Claws leading the Gades, 7-4.

I, however, am not scheduled to work, so I won't be there. So it goes.

I climbed in the car and dragged myself back to Greenwich.

If you want to work in sports these are the kinds of things that will happen. We all have stories.

I recall once driving to Ridgefield for basketball, only to be told that the game had been postponed. Nobody bothered to announce it anywhere so it was a matter of bad communication.

It happens.

So, here I am, having gotten through 4.5 innings of baseball.

I didn't get a bobblehead but Joe Ausanio signed a Yankees mini helmet for me. It was great to see him for a few minutes and I enjoyed watching him interact with fans. He seemed to really enjoy himself and he deserved that.

But there's the empty feeling of nothing completed.

It will finish tomorrow night, and they'll go on and play the regular game as scheduled.

I'll be back there on Friday.

Willie Mays

 

So, "Say Hey?"

The New York Mets held their first Old Timer's Day in years on Saturday at Citi Field.

In the Mets' style, it was low-key and nobody knew about it.

Ha.

No, they promoted it relentlessly as they should and drummed up a fantastic interest in what appeared to be a great event.

Now -- being honest and all -- I saw none of it live. I saw things on social media. I saw some video and pictures and read a lot of stuff.

Those who made it brought a special day to the field and, being further honest, they blew the Yankees -- masters of Old Timer's Day, out of the water with a great lineup of former Mets as well as actually playing a fun game.

Plus they added a surprise: the retirement of uniform number 24, once worn by Willie Mays.

If you don't know, Willie only played two years with the Mets. He was traded to the "Amazin's" in 1972 and stayed until the end of the 1973 season. He retired after that.

It was a lovely reunion, bringing Mays back to where he started his career. Willie -- always "The Say Hey Kid" -- began with the New York Giants. He won Rookie of the Year in 1951, played part of '52 and missed all of '53 due to military duty. He won an MVP and a World Series ring in 1954 and was a superstar as the Giants left for San Francisco after 1957. Mays stayed a giant among Giants through the first half of the 60s and began to look a little more human as the decade wore on.

By the time he came to Shea Stadium in May, 1972, he was 41 years old.

The other pieces of "Willie, Mickey, and the Duke" of "Talkin' Baseball" fame had long since departed the game.

Mays with the Giants

Willie was a mortal as a member of the Mets, hitting .238 with the final 14 home runs of the 660 he amassed. He is also, sadly, is remembered for stumbling in the outfield in the 1973 World Series against Oakland. That's unfair because of a very rough sky in Game 2 of the '72 Classic but history isn't fair.

It was a far cry from the guy who made perhaps the most memorable catch in Fall Classic history, his breathtaking grab of Vic Wertz's long drive at the Polo Grounds off the bat of Vic Wertz of Cleveland in 1954.

So, with all of that said, why did the Mets retire Mays' number, which already hangs beloved in San Francisco?

A promise, apparently, made by former Mets (and one-time Giants part-owner) Joan Payson. Mrs. Payson -- the first majority owner of a pro sports franchise in the US -- was instrumental in bringing Mays back to New York and promised him that nobody would wear number 24 again.

Sadly, Mrs. Payson died in 1975 and the promise sat unfulfilled until Saturday. While 24 wasn't routinely handed out, a few did wear the treasured digits. 

The number is now out of commission.

There's been some outrage since Saturday. Those defending the move say it spoke to honoring Mrs. Payson's wishes. It is also to acknowledge what Mays meant to New York baseball during its golden years. It's hard to argue any of that.

It's also hard to argue with critics who say that Mays is a Giant (true) and his time as a Met wasn't stellar (true). Further, critics say that maybe the Braves should retire Babe Ruth's number three since The Bambino played for the Braves (then in Boston) in 1935.

That's not going to happen however the Mays retirement sits more parallel to the Brewers hanging up Hank Aaron's number 44. Hammerin' Hank played for the Brew Crew in 1975-76, returning to the city where he had glory as a member of, yep, the Braves.

You probably know I'm tough when it comes to retiring numbers and oh my was I ready to light the Mets up for this.

Yet, I simply don't have a big problem with it. If Mets owner Steve Cohen thinks honoring Mrs. Payson's wishes is the way to go then I will lose no sleep over it. The fan base seemed to love it and it added a poignant note to the events of Saturday at Citi Field.

Willie Mays is a top-five talent. Probably second behind a certain Mr. Ruth. 

I have a hard time criticizing the Mets for this move despite my own standards on number retirements.

So, "Say Hey?"

Say Hey indeed.

A Quarter of a Year

He bathes while I write

 How have three months flown by already?

Yes, three months. Rascal and I (and occasionally Sean) have lived in our Greenwich apartment for three months.

Like, how?

Oh, it hasn't all been peachy. We've had a few hiccups and will continue to. I mean, that's life, isn't it?

Because of my role in the process of moving forward, I still serve as point man for a lot of things. Also, because I still frequent the Hudson Valley, I wind up back in Mahopac occasionally.

Such as tonight.

I handled the public address announcing for the last game of the Renegades hosting the Hickory Crawdads and headed for the exit. I still roll to Mahopac to check any remaining mail issues at the old house (there were a few).

Mostly it's junk mail though I'm told the new owner found some pictures in the house that are of me and related to me. They weren't there when I dropped by tonight but it's fine. It was hardly an inconvenience to drive by. I continue to marvel at what's happening with the old house and what it will look like when it's all done.

I also needed dinner and, let's face it, I know my food options in that area pretty well. I knew I could grab pizza at Peppino's so that's what I opted for.

From there, I cruised down towards Greenwich, passing by Brunswick to glance towards the football field where I'll soon be back calling games.

Oh yeah, Greenwich High School also, but one thing at a time here.

Upon parking the car at home, I made my way upstairs and I could hear the piercing meow of Rascal. He greeted me at the door as he frequently does.

There's a reason his primary alternate name is "Squeaky."

He soon settled down -- he's at my feet right now -- as I'm trying to wrestle with how far things have come in these three months.

I moved in full of excitement and nerves. And, of course, boxes everywhere. When I finished the move after everyone was gone on May 24, I made sure that I could sleep in the place. My bed was clear. Beyond that and making sure the cat was OK, I cared about nothing else.

That first night -- May 25 -- was a night of little sleep and a lot of "What have I done?" That being said, I've never regretted this move. Far from it.

There are still decorations that aren't up yet and a few bins that I haven't put in the attic yet but when I'm asked if we're settled in, the answer is a firm "yes."

We're lucky to be here and I know that. This was a stroke of good fate for all of us. The area has been comfortable and the adjustment hasn't been bad. But I also see horror stories that people are dealing with in finding housing lately and it's very concerning. I'm so glad we ultimately didn't go through that.

I continue to get emails from the agents I worked with. I look at them for the fun of it. I want to see what's out there in the rental market. As it was a few months ago, it's still troubling how many places won't take pets.

We call Rascal "The Beast" but he's really not. He's sort of a clumsy goofball but his squeaking is either about food or attention. He gets plenty of both.

But I've enjoyed just sitting on the balcony listening to the rumble of life and sitting in the living room watching TV. I've relished kicking back in my bedroom as traffic and people move past. I've read and hosted talk shows and worked and created podcasts and written and written and written ... 

I've sat at our Ikea kitchen table and eaten bowls of cereal and slices of pizza and chicken parm that I've made* with some spaghetti.

* Let's be clear: I picked up the chicken parm at Wegmans. I don't apologize.

We now begin to look a new season in the eye. Next up, I'll start to go to Greenwich and Brunswick and anywhere else I'm needed with a whole new eye on the commute. Wick is maybe 15 minutes with traffic while Cardinal Stadium is five minutes away.

Hunt Scanlon is also probably five minutes away and I'll be needed there soon for a conference. I'll also need to commute with them to an airport to go San Francisco.

And I'll need to get to road games. The commute from Mahopac was much different than having to account for scuffles with Interstate 95 and the Merritt Parkway. 

In short: blech.

But this is my life now (or for now). I'm hoping the routine will continue to settle down and life will simply find its own rhythm.

The kids returning to school means things will change a bit and that I'll see a lot less of Sean. That's a bummer, of course, but I can see the positive in all of that also.

I'm ready for the cooler temperatures and interested to see what that will be like in our home.

Guests are welcome here but we really don't have a lot of seating! And you'll have to ignore some of the stuff still on the floor. It's our home and we're good with it.

We're happy.

We're content.

Listen Live at Your Own Peril

 

I'm listening to a broadcast of a sporting event right now.

You see, here's the thing about play-by-play: it's not brain surgery.

It's literally a job that involves reporting. It requires accuracy. It involves explaining and enlightening and even educating. It also involves a little entertaining.

The best -- in my opinion -- combine those fundamentals with excellent storytelling and a pleasant personality.

But, again, it's a reporting job.

This broadcast lacks that.

You see, in our current world, there are many broadcasts that I would call a hybrid. It's on video, sure, but there's also an audio element. Much like I did with the Renegades last year and I'm always doing on Local Live (because there's usually a Robcasting simulcast).

So my goal is to report the details, If it's baseball -- which, not surprisingly, what I'm listening to -- then it's pitch location, defensive setup, where the ball is hit, etc. All of these details matter. You're creating an image in the mind of your listener. Yes, your TV/video stream viewer can likely see that but you've got to keep the audio listeners in mind.

And anything on the field or about the team isn't "we" to me. Or "us." The only "we" and "us" are things like if I've traveled with the team to a site: "We were on the bus today to start the trip just before noon."

But there's such a perverse desire to be edgy and viral and it hurts the details.

Anyone can handle the viral moments. They can handle the highlights. It's the mundane that I want to hear. Can you call the game, provide the details, be engaging, and not make it about yourself?

Then you might be of interest.

What I'm listening to is full of things I teach students to not do: fake voice, minimal details, "we" and "us," and not speaking clearly and concisely.

Everything screams "listen to me! I'm funny! I'm likable!"

A strike out should be simple: "Swung on and missed and he's down on strikes. One out in the ninth."

Instead, it's "Get 'em outta here, bay beee."

The analyst tried to eventually chime in but as that happened the next batter drove a ball to the outfield that was picked off. 

Don't ask me which outfielder. I couldn't tell you.

Be clear. Be concise.

Don't exaggerate.

Don't be too colloquial. These players aren't necessarily your friends. This is still, after all, your vocation. That's what a broadcaster is supposed to be, in theory. It's supposed to be a job.

The tying run is now at the plate after a wild pitch brought in a run. At least I think that's what happened. 

But, seconds later, a fly ball was lifted to end the game. Again, I think so.

"We win. We had the game's only error but it didn't come back to bite us."

"We" win.

Listeners lose.

Instead of blocking anyone who criticizes you (guess what? It's going to get blazing hot if you keep climbing that ladder) maybe accept the criticism of peers and be better as a result.

As an industry, we want to root for you. 

Make it easier for us to do that.

But, for now?

Get out of here bay beee.

38 Minutes

 

It was 11:22 p.m. when I walked into the apartment.

Another Renegades game was in the books. They won, though they held on to do so. I was, er, OK, but nothing special. I don't expect anyone to ever praise my public address announcing abilities and I get that.

But I had not sat down to write anything and, even driving home, topics escaped me.

What worries me is that I'm repeating things. I liked last night's post about the nerdy statistics but am fairly certain I've written something about that before.

Sure, a writer always wants to tell the stories even if that means telling them again but, especially in the digital age, isn't that what an archive is for?

All 3,684 posted essays (including this one) exist in their glory (or lack thereof) on both the Blogger and WordPress platforms. 

Yet, still, who am I really hurting if I repeat things? That means giving the stories new life sometimes and that's not so bad.

So, here I sit, babbling about this while licking my wounds at a sparsely read post about a topic that isn't going to interest a large group.

I get in a rhythm and hit certain things. Lately, it's all about travel. It will turn to something else with that something quite possibly being high school football or broadcasting as we're getting closer to hitting the air again.

Not soon enough for my taste.

So this is where my brain is with just 26 precious minutes remaining until a new day. If I want to keep this foolish post-per-day streak going then I better wrap up and press the publish button.

And with that, I feel just exhausted so I will close.

Not all posts are lined with gold.

The Travel Numbers

 

I wonder what formulas they'd come up with about my travel data

So I got my "nerd" on tonight.

Sean calls me a nerd -- lovingly, of course -- in regard to my faithful compiling of mileage and times in a little notebook that I keep with me on many road trips.

They contain chicken scratch handwriting of basic facts as we move along. Normally it's the mileage per the odometer followed by the time of day and then the site. So...

385.5/12:46 -- Richmond.

A certain level of understanding then climbs into play. That's 385.5 miles since we left Greenwich and it's 12:46 p.m. In terms of "where" in Richmond, it's almost always the City Limits sign on I-95 southbound just north of Exit 79.

Now, if it's coming northbound, well, that's generally the James River Bridge that I'll use but I'll add a note if necessary.

From there, those numbers are faithfully entered into a spreadsheet that I've dutifully created that dates back to the early 90s...when I used to go to Richmond.

I add in the data for each stop so that I can calculate how long the drive would be without stops.

Now, I understand this isn't rocket science. It's literally not possible to go from Greenwich to Fayetteville, NC in my car on one tank of gas so of course a stop is necessary. But it's still fun (for me) to calculate all of this.

For those asking, why? I'll tell you that I do actually look back at these numbers in part to occupy my mind but also to give me a bit of a benchmark. I'm not actively trying to beat these numbers but give my brain an idea of what is reasonable.

This year, without stops (yes, it's impossible) it would have taken us 9:11. That does not top 2018's 9:01 but it's still a pretty good time. Still, we were in the car for almost 12 hours total, meaning we took up a bit of time taking breaks. 

Yes. Necessary breaks, for those who think I don't stop.

The return trip numbers are really muddy thanks to us driving to Newark, DE and spending the weekend in and around Philadelphia. That, for one thing, added some 400 extra miles to the trip though I knew that was going to happen.

In fact, we drove 1,857 miles total from Greenwich to Hamer, SC and then to Florence, SC before turning to near Fayetteville, NC. Then around Fayetteville and up to Newark, DE. Then to Philadelphia and back to Newark. Then back to Philadelphia and bouncing into New Jersey before returning to Chester, PA. Then, finally, back to Greenwich.

So, yeah, I can see how it was nearly 2,000 miles round trip. 

They're miles and hours I'm not going to complain about. At all.

For me, it was a bit different. I haven't really uploaded many pictures yet (other than what you've seen so far on the blog or social media). In truth, I didn't take that many. I'm grateful to Mr. Roadway Wiz himself (Dan) and others for posting pictures from the big Philly gathering.

For once, I didn't live through the camera on my phone and I'm not judging anyone who did. Like I said, I'm grateful to those who did take a lot of pictures.

As I told Sean during the weekend, I'd reach a point where I'd want to be back on the road. I predicted by Wednesday.

I was ready on Tuesday.

Football will give me some driving. Fall always does.

No regrets. A great time was had and, once again, I honored the tradition of pulling these numbers together that I enjoy mining for such data.

I'll look back and be reminded of the slow traffic in northern Virginia or the Wawa we stopped at that really didn't like (I won't say which location). Or I'll be reminded of something else.

All good because we experienced it.

This is how I derive pleasure from a road trip.

To each their own. If that makes me a nerd then I gladly accept the title.

Proudly.

National Waffle Day

 

I know that I've become associated with waffles over the years.

So, why? 

Why waffles?

The obvious answer, of course, is my connection (and, some would say, obsession) with Waffle House. Yes, laugh all you want but it's become a father/son bond for us (even if we ever go without each other). 

Still, why?

Like anything else, I'm particular about my waffles. Oh, don't get me wrong, I appreciate a nice Belgian waffle. 

But what made Waffle House my go-to was that it had the waffle. Per Wikipedia, the "American Waffle" is "generally denser and thinner than the Belgian waffle." That, waffle friends, is a fairly accurate description. The Waffle House waffle felt lighter and, dare I say, more tender. Floppier.

So while I have an appreciation for all waffles, the Waffle House waffle was it, so much so that I'd nag my father to go to Waffle House for it. The location I often think of in regards to dragging my dad and family there (no wonder I'm so hated) has apparently closed permanently.

Google Street View, 2019

I recall it being 1975. I would have just turned seven. It was in Tarpon Springs, FL. Per google, it's permanently closed.

While I can pour some syrup out for the departed location, let me honestly say I haven't been there since 1975 and there are myriad locations that I've visited since. There are also 20 locations within an hour of Tarpon Springs.

Maybe my next chapter in life is to reopen that Waffle House at 40084 US 19 N and become the "voice" (blech) of the Tarpon Springs Spongers. I can relocate Robcasting there!

No, really, Tarpon Springs High School's mascot is the Sponger, reflecting the Sponge Docks and the culture surrounding the sponge trade.

And I'm sure they have a broadcaster so literally, none of this idea is real. I'm still a broadcaster for the Bruins, Cardinals, and ... 

OK, I'm getting sidetracked. Back to waffles.

To that end, to honor National Waffle Day, I didn't have a fluffy, delicious Waffle House waffle today. Nor did I make any. Nor did I go to a diner or establishment nearby.

No. 

I made frozen waffles. I put some excellent syrup on them and even a little powdered sugar. 

Then, I ate.

There were no covered hashbrowns or scrambled eggs with cheese or country ham or white toast or grits or anything else.

There were just these small, frozen waffles and they were quite sufficient.

Now, realizing this is waffle day, I'll still go ahead and tell you that I also like pancakes and lots of other breakfast delights (always cereal or an egg and cheese sandwich). But, I'm a waffles guy.

Happy National Waffle Day.

Eat up and enjoy!

A Belgian waffle. Compare that to the Waffle House one at the top of the page!

Be Done With It

 

I was back at Dutchess Stadium tonight as the Renegades hosted the Hickory Crawdads for the first time.

Have you ever had a night that wasn't bad but wasn't right either?

That was tonight.

A Tuesday night crowd saw a 3-2 Crawdads victory and, to be honest, it was kind of a snooze.

Things were just ... off.

That's not to say the games weren't fun or that we had a bad time in the booth.

Oh, we laughed and behaved in our normal manner.

But something was missing.

Things were flat. That's the only word I have for it.

Personally, I couldn't read the script tonight to save my life.

Don't get me wrong. This isn't an effort to get pity nor should there be any concern. It was just "one of those nights," I guess.

I still laughed and had some fun and was happy to see Sean but there was a feeling of needing to dust this one off and forget about it.

There are only a handful of games left in the 2022 home season so the Gades have to get things straight if they're going to be a playoff team.

As for the rest of us, meh. Just get them next time, I guess.

The next time for me is Friday. By my count, I have five more games left before the home season ends.

I've had fun with it and have seen where I can embrace my inner public address announcer. Still, I'm not ready to write a requiem for things just yet.

This one is in the books. I've put a ribbon on it.

Let's move on to the next one.

Turning the Dial

 

One of the most important parts of a car, especially on a road trip, is the entertainment system.

Sure, I can rely on my phone for streaming or to play my own library or even CDs (!), but I tend to lean most of all on an old friend: the radio.

It was also National Radio Day this past Saturday, for what it's worth.

Now, admittedly, I do have satellite radio and I'm not afraid to use it. I tend to go with The Beatles Channel, First Wave (classic alternative), and 80s on 8 as my go-to channels.

I have a few others as well though I'll also flip the dial a bit. As you've probably come to understand, I'm particular and not a big fan of repetition.

"If it's overplaying it's not stayin'" should be my motto.

But, while satellite can be reliable it's also 100% true that it's not local at all. As a result, I spin the dial quite a bit on both the FM and AM bands.

The one thing I didn't want was network stuff. I can get that basically anywhere. What I wanted to hear was trule local stuff. I wanted to hear the news and the commercials and the sports and topical talk.

As you can imagine, that's tough to find in 2022, but not impossible.

I also know what stations to lean on. There's a good 80s station near Fredericksburg, VA. There are a couple of good options in Richmond. There's a decent rock station out of Raleigh that I go to. And there are the news/traffic standbys: KYW in Philadelphia and WTOP (Vin Scully's first professional radio job) in Washington.

For a stretch as I rolled up I-95, I listened to "Good Morning Fayetteville" with New York-bred Goldy on WFNC (640 AM). I'd actually listened to Goldy during coverage of a couple of the big weather events down there. Given I have family that I'm close to right outside of Fayetteville, I like being able to keep tabs on the area and listening to that online is a good way to do so.

So Goldy, a radio vet who spent a lot of time in Washington, D.C. was a good way to go until I lost WFNC's signal. Sadly, there weren't more stations or shows like that as we drove.

Fortunately, Sean wears headphones almost exclusively as we drive, keeping things where he can hear me if I'm saying something to him. Otherwise, those headphones keep him from hearing the playlist of The Beatles and whatever New Wave bands were interesting me on satellite. He also doesn't hear my quick trigger style that moves off a station within a note or two of a song.

For us in radio, that personal touch is the answer to intriguing listeners. I love broadcasting sports. You know that. But it's also the thing that brings so many to the radio. 

Little of that could be found among the dreck political talk and screaming sports talk (present company not included in this case) and other stuff that had me rolling my eyes.

What I listen to -- or don't listen to  -- is one of the most important parts of road culture for me. It keeps me entertained as well as engaged. I'm generally not a fan of silence but, sometimes, it gets so bad that being quiet is the only option. 

Fortunately, we didn't need to do that.

I didn't get my fill of the local culture on the radio but I got a taste of it along with a reminder that we still have work to do in terms of engaging audiences.

We're Home

 

Getting head-butted for this insane cat.

I turned the car off at 7pm in the driveway.

With that, it was over. I haven't totaled the numbers yet and, to be honest, they don't really matter.

I drove a lot and ate a lot of food that I shouldn't have eaten and caught up with friends and loved ones and friends who have become loved ones and just lived. We paid for a lot of tolls and bought little in the way of souvenirs.

Sean and I spent essentially seven days and nights attached at the hip and didn't kill each other.

We stepped foot or drove in Connecticut, New York, New Jersey, Pennsylvania, Delaware, Maryland, District of Columbia, Virginia, North Carolina, and South Carolina.

We checked off most of what we wanted to check off. We missed only a few things.

I think it was a huge success.

Travel, simply put, is part of who I am. I love the planning and the strategizing and the organizing and the maintenance of it all.

Road trips are in my blood.

The repetition of what we did on this trip was great but there was also some stepping out of the comfort zone that was healthy as well.

As a pleased Rascal, the Squeaky Cat sleeps on my desk, I sit here wondering if this is it. Tonight, my answer is no. If the planets align, Sean will want to do this all over again in 2023.

He later confided to me that he enjoyed some aspects of the road meet in Philadelphia.

Part of being a "road enthusiast" is the study of roads and projects that have been abandoned and/or never completed. A highlight -- something I was looking forward to -- was New Jersey route 324. Only about a mile-and-a-half long, the roadbed once served as US 322 to and from the ferry that carried it across the Delaware River. When the Commodore Barry Bridge opened nearby in 1974, the ferry was closed and US 322 was moved to the bridge.

But, for some reason, New Jersey kept the road in their system, renumbering it as state route 324.

And it has gone mostly untouched since then. So we were able to drive it to the very end, and walk a short distance to the edge of the Delaware River.

Sean told me he enjoyed that also.

Following a return to Pennsylvania, we said our goodbyes and turned for home.

Eventually, the drive became a grind with Sunday afternoon traffic befuddling us, especially through New Jersey into New York.

But, finally, we pulled into the driveway, unloaded the car, and came into a cat that meowed his approval at us for returning as well as his scolding to not do it again.

Which I'll be doing again in September to go to San Francisco.

We'll deal with that soon enough.

Thanks to everyone who supported this journey -- from those who hosted us to that one special, crazy soul who kept an eye on Rascal to all of you who read these diatribes every night.

That encouragement got us to go and it was good for all of us. 

Now? Time to rest in my own bed and get ready for the week.

There was once a time when we'd basically live on Interstate 95 to go to and from Florida but almost not see it again for months after the trip was over. Oh, no. Not now.

It's in my back yard and I'll see it every time I step into the kitchen.

With that, this trip is over but the next adventure awaits.

Brotherly Love in Abundance

 

The Phillies lead the Mets, 4-1 in the bottom of the 8th as I sit down to write.

I was at that game roughly an hour ago but, with exhaustion taking over, deciding coming back to the hotel room was the right call.

So we're back in Newark, DE.

As guilty as I feel for leaving a game early it was the absolutely right move.

We hit the road early once again, visiting three states in the span of roughly 90 seconds.

We're staying in Delaware and, through the magic of Route 896 (right outside our front door), went from Delaware to Maryland to Pennsylvania in the snap of a finger. To understand it, read up on "The Wedge."

That was just one of several road-related items poor Sean got to hear all about today.

Wisely, he wore his ever-present headphones as I drove everything today.

As always, he was patient and polite throughout the wonderful first day of the National Road Meet, organized by Dan Muphy (aka Roadwaywiz). Putting such a thing together takes a lot of work and Dan did a remarkable job.

So we got a view of the Tacony-Palmyra Bridge and crossed into New Jersey (almost got into an accident there due to an irresponsible driver who decided she wanted to make a left from the far right lane*) and traversed all around the various parts of Philadelphia. We saw parts of the city I'd never seen before while learning all about urban planning.

*She just stopped. Somehow, I didn't hit her and was able to pass her.

To that end, Sean wasn't the youngest attendee as Ms. Rainee Pruitt won that title by a long shot, patiently tugging at her mom Laura as she divulged her knowledge of urban planning to us.

To me, it was incredibly fascinating.

So a day that included multiple trips to Wawa, with lots of roads and driving, couldn't get better, could it?

Of course, it could. How about a baseball game?

Yes, the aforementioned Mets/Phillies game. Plus, we got free Phillies hats.

And, leave it to my son, he had plenty of snark to add to the festivities. I've taught him well, perhaps.

Many would disagree I suppose.

It all comes to an end tomorrow. There is still more road fun to be had before Sean and I head a few hours to the north.

This furry, black beast named Rascal awaits, ready to treat us to some form of cat behavior and, admittedly, we both can't wait.

I don't relish that drive, to be honest, but as I said to Sean tonight, let's continue to enjoy every last minute.

And, with that, the Phillies have just wrapped up a 4-1 win back in Philadelphia.

Cherish all of it.

Every last minute.

Back to reality soon enough.

From Delaware, With Love

 

NEWARK, Del. -- Greetings from the Candlewood Suites hotel.

Sean is thrilled to be staying in a suite with actual silverware and plates to eat his chicken strips from Wawa.

He's a simple guy and I appreciate that. For him, this seems plush so perhaps I need to do a better job of broadening his horizons.

We cranked over 400 miles today to get here.

On a Friday.

In summer.

Yeah, not our best move.

In a normal world, the thought of lunch in Richmond to see Jon would have been perfect but I knew what we were getting into.

Sure enough, we didn't creep along 95. We just kind of ... slowed ... down ... basically from Ashland, Va to Elkton, Md.

I felt such relief to see Exit 109 to "shunpike" my way past the toll at the Delaware state line.

And here we are.

As I expected, emotionally, I'd love to be home tonight, petting Rascal and sitting in my own living room. But I'm looking forward to the weekend of exploring the roads and bridges of Philadelphia and the surrounding area with friends I've met and haven't met.

Plus, I get to see a baseball game in a stadium I've never been to (Citizens Bank Park for Phillies/Mets tomorrow night).

A splendid time is guaranteed for all.

And I'm trying to make sure I don't wear Yankees stuff but no guarantees.

Oh, John Nash asked about my reference to the last time Sean and I were in Philadelphia. I mentioned it in last night's post. As good luck has it, I wrote about it on April 23, 2014 in a post called "Catching Up."

We'll always have our Philadelphia story to tell, where Sean discovered that, after a fun time in the Franklin Institute, our car was being towed away. Thanks to the help of the Philadelphia police department, a cab ride, and roughly $275, we got the car back unscathed. I worried on several levels: I could tell Sean was afraid that stuff had been stolen (it hadn't). I worried that the rental car was damaged (nope). I worried about the obscene amount of money that Philly jacked me for (legitimate).

At the end of the day, it's a story to tell. I still don't completely believe that we were parked in a two-away zone, but I wasn't going to be able to convince the cop. So it goes.

Thankfully Sean saw the car being towed. Otherwise, I would have thought it had been stolen.

Honestly, Sean was the hero. He saw a car on a flatbed and said how it looked like our car. I laughed.

He was right.

I was sick. We went to a nearby police station and they were very sympathetic, telling us to go catch a cab and tell them where to take us. Even the impound lot was nice. Not that any of this made things better. It just meant we got the car back. I still had to pay for the tow and the other delightful charges (plus a ticket).

It was awesome. Awful and awesome.

To assuage Sean, I found a playground that had a huge castle that he had climbed once before. He had been strangely quiet after our car escapade so I wanted to see if I could pull that laughter back out of him. It worked and all was well.

Still, I will endeavor to not repeat that this weekend.

Maybe I should have gone straight home.

One last thing. For those asking why we didn't just stay closer to Philadelphia, I will explain it as simply as possible.

Elkton, Md is 13 minutes away.

That is the location of the nearest Waffle House. It is, also, the last Waffle House we will encounter before we're home.

I like keeping that 20-year-old son of mine smiling.

Priorities, people. 

Almost Time To Start Towards Home

 

Time flies. How else to describe it?

My hope was that three days of us was enough before anyone got sick of us.

Well, nobody gets sick of Sean, so I guess the expectation is that people get sick of me.

We arrived at Kristy and Hector's around noon on Tuesday and we've just returned from dinner for Thursday night. We're off to Delaware tomorrow morning.

I didn't know if we'd be here this summer but I'm glad we did. I'm grateful, in fact.

I was reminded without a doubt how comfortable the Fayetteville, NC area is for me.

Yes, I know. Read the headlines and there's crime here but where isn't crime an issue?

Once again this has been a place where we feel welcomed and loved. 

So we'll feel some sadness when we get on 95 north tomorrow morning.

But, for now, we have a few more hours as well as one more sleep.

Also lingering in the background is Mom, whose presence is still felt. We've all done our fair share of laughing at remembering the stories that she produced.

These trips to North Carolina became some of our last memories, though COVID cost us a final visit in 2020.

But we've hit each of the things that we wanted to do here in our brief hello.

I think -- not talking for Sean -- that we'll drive away satisfied and maybe ready to visit again.

There are still three more days of this adventure, beginning with tomorrow's drive back to Delaware before we meet up with road friends for the weekend's festivities in Philadelphia.

Sean and I didn't enjoy our last visit to the City of Brotherly Love, which included a rental car getting towed, a trip to a police station, a cab ride to an impound lot, and a lot of money to get out of the jam.

Hoping for a more pleasant visit this time.

Clearly.

Happy National Black Cat Appreciation Day

 

Eleanor spreads treats to the cats

This post isn't about black cats.

There are really no stories to tell from today.

We ate breakfast (you can guess where).

We went to a stadium to walk around their store and bought nothing. Their team is out of town so we won't be going to a game this week.

We sat at the house. Sean did computer stuff. I chilled.

We went out to dinner (you might be able to guess where).

We're back home.

More of the same tomorrow.

That's a lot of what life is like when we come to Fayetteville. As I've said before, it's comfort food. We're content and have fun even if we do the same stuff every year.

In fact, we were asked about South of the Border but we've already been for this trip.

But we just do our thing. We go to the stores we like and eat the food we like at the restaurants that we like and we laugh and we drive around and then we leave. 

It works. That's just us.

Do I miss New York or Connecticut? A little. Sure, we miss Rascal but we have plenty of cats to keep us company here. And, sure, we miss some people back at home. But my desire to get home will intensify on the final drive. 

Normally, that means when we hit New Jersey.

See, being here means people can randomly call you "darlin'" or other terms of affection. And by "random" I mean the waitress at Waffle House.

Southern hospitality is a real thing.

Yes, so are the politics of the south. That being said, I haven't encountered the "'Murica" that you would expect. The radio isn't boring for what it's worth.

But, for now, things are just fine in The Tar Heel State.

We're here for the right reasons and our last full day here is tomorrow.

Time flies.

Cats make things better

End of the Sweet Sixteenth

 

Yes, that's a cat. Why do you ask?

So, for those looking to impart snark about South of the Border, your words will be heard and ignored.

We slept great and had a good night. That's the purpose of lodging, correct?

The pool was warm and pleasant. It was also the first time I've been swimming in...well...a while. The bed was comfy and the lights were out in our room before 10 p.m. We reemerged from room 102 around nine this morning.

We checked out and that was that.

So, the question was what to do for breakfast. South of the Border has a few dining options to start the day but, oh who am I kidding, we all know where the car was going.

Waffle House. It might have taken three minutes because there was construction on US 301/501.

But, my goodness, it was wonderful. The eggs were right and the toast was crunchy and ham was hot and the hashbrowns were covered and the waffle was perfect.

Then we headed to a new roadside experience: Buc-ee's.

The gas station/country store with a beaver for a mascot has been around since 1982 and is known for having multiple gas pumps (such as 120 at their New Braunfels, TX location), super clean restrooms, and tasty BBQ.

They've opened a location in Florence, SC. Just a half-hour south of South of the Border, that was reason enough for us to investigate.

We both walked away impressed. We also walked away intrigued because we didn't spend a dime. We'll have to try the food another time.

We didn't walk every corner but we saw enough. The restrooms certainly deserve their praise because they were large and clean. In fact, everything was clean in the store. There was nice energy and friendly staff along with lots of things to consider.

Clothing? Yup. Camping supplies? Sure. Home goods? You bet. Candy, snacks, drinks, sandwiches, coffee, nuts, beer, souvenirs...

Yes. All of it.

Alas, nothing tempted us enough to buy, and we walked out empty-handed.

We drove back towards South of the Border and, eventually, into North Carolina. It was on to Fayetteville and, specifically, Stedman for the next three days.

Kristy, Hector, Evelyn, Eleanor, Isabel, Crow, Stache, Pancho, Chico, Muppett, and Speedy all awaited. Some of those are cats' names.

Our Rascal sits back in Connecticut, of course, so this is our own personal cat sanctuary.

I say that as the hyper-affectionate Pancho sits to my right (yes, that's him on the pizza box above).

This place has always been my comfort food and today was no different. Within minutes of arriving, we were right back in the car and driving onto the post at Fort Bragg as Hector needed to return something. We did a walk of the PX (the on-base shopping center) and didn't buy anything there either.

We hit Walmart (come on!), grabbed coffee (I was struggling to stay awake), and headed back to the house where we had dinner and are hanging out.

My tally for today was new windshield wipers and toothpaste. and I ordered something for when I get home. So, yay.

But now, the kids are all on devices and, honestly, so are the adults (hi!). The cats are being cats.

Once again, I look forward to sleep.

*****

While it's self-serving to mention this, it's still worth noting that we can mark the anniversary of opening this corner of my world. Post number one rolled off the computer on Aug 17, 2006 -- 16 years ago tomorrow. 

That computer was my old Dell monster. It went in the dump after years of service back in May. It was time. It was done.

I was nervous about starting a blog because I didn't want to do it and quickly flame out like I did with a podcast. However, "Exit 55" continues to be a blessing to me as I embraced a part of my soul that I always wondered about. I was told that I had the ability to write. But I had to actually try it. 

I did and here we are, for better or worse. It has created and enhanced relationships and probably hurt a few as well.

Aug 16 marks the day that both Elvis and Babe Ruth died. "The King of Rock and Roll" departed on this day in 1977 while the GOAT -- George Herman -- died in 1948.

Each had a large collection of hits and a few misses as well.

So, as we turn the page on beginning the 17th year of this madness, I once again thank all of you who have read, commented, and encouraged me. 

Pedro SEZ "Relax"

 

South Carolina welcomes us through the raindrops

Greetings from Hamer, South Carolina.

That is the census-designated place (CDP) where South of the Border is located.

Sean and I have parked our trusty car in the carport and we are in our motel room at the South of the Border Motor Inn.

Room 102, thank you very much.

The accommodations are literally exactly what I expected. It's basic and comfortable. There are two beds in our room and there's a front and back door, with the back door leading to a small sitting area on a patio. 

The TV gets lousy service*. There's a mini fridge and a functioning bathroom. Creature comforts, friends!

Given that it is currently storming here, there's no need for the outdoor pool. Instead, Sean and I jumped into the indoor pool inside what's known as "Pedro's Pleasure Dome."

It wasn't as creepy as that sounds.

*The storms have stopped so service is better. Minimal but sufficient.

In fact, everything has been comfortable. The bed is firm -- a reward for 650 miles over 12 hours since we left Greenwich this morning.

The thing about South of the Border is the same as it's been for a few years. It's fairly quiet here and, in the days leading up to this, people would tell me that they didn't know it was still open. But, yes, it's quite open and has been since 1949.

You have to come here with a sense of humor as well as a bit of a sense of adventure. 

This is the Super Bowl of tourist traps.

For me, it's years of memories stretching across generations.

A good place to end this first day.

Traffic was, in fact, as I predicted. The problems were in Virginia where we slowed up just south of Lorton (not far from Washington, D.C.). Overall, though, things were minimized. Rain peppered us most of the day, beginning with drops in New Jersey until we found a full thunderstorm here in SC.

We stopped frequently, mostly due to my struggling to stay awake at times. That being said, I only had two cups of coffee.

I'd have to say things went OK, even if the stops lengthened the day. But so be it. We made it and we're safe.

Sean was under his headphones most of the day while I listened to plenty of music and a few podcasts. 

And, while not in view, we're basically a long walk from a Waffle House on the NC/SC state line.

Basically, a two-minute car ride if I go slow.

There is much joy here. The All-Star Special awaits.

Primed for Pedro

The destination for Day 1

My bag is packed.

The car is ready.

I know the route.

The adventure will begin.

Sean and I are off to the Carolinas once again.

This has been an annual rite since 2014 (save for 2020 thanks to COVID, of course). 

We'll start with a night at South of the Border, the famed tourist trap at the South Carolina border. Then it will be a couple of nights with Kristy and company near Fayetteville, NC before we finish things up for a few nights outside of Philadelphia.

The greatest battle to me is just allowing myself to enjoy the journey.

The route is pretty clear in my mind. Hang on for a moment and I'll list it.

Ready?

I-95.

That's it.

OK, that's not really it but it's mighty close.

Things will begin by driving under 95 and working a few back roads until I make the left onto I-95 south. But, a few minutes later, we'll head onto I-287 and go from there, reconnecting with 95 once in New Jersey and once again in Delaware.

But, of course, I'm agonizing over where the problems will be. 

I'm skipping New York City and the George Washington Bridge for this reason alone. But there will be other delays.

Near Philadelphia is possible. Same with Washington, DC. North Virginia will likely be a headache. Perhaps Richmond. I've also spied construction projects in Maryland and North Carolina.

So, yeah.

I've written many times that a road trip is like sports to me. I can strategize and make adjustments. 

It will feel different to hit the road leaving from Greenwich versus leaving from Mahopac. But within minutes, it will just be driving.

Breakfast will be the first topic. 

The mind games will begin after that.

Will I take the Garden State Parkway to the New Jersey Turnpike and will I tun the Turnpike the rest of the way? 

If I'm being honest, I tend to be a "shunpiker" in that I like avoiding tolls, such as the one in Delaware on 95 near the Maryland state line.

I can always use 295 to dance around some of the New Jersey Turnpike tolls also.

But these are decisions I'll make on the fly. If I'm rolling, I'll pay the dang toll. It's also part of the experience.

The idea of this is to continue to enjoy special times with Sean as well as family and friends. It doesn't last forever.

So I have to try to stay in the moment. I have to enjoy crossing the Delaware River and tunneling under Baltimore. I have to savor passing the clock tower in Richmond and the crossing of each state border.

While it's fine to be aware of what I might want to do miles ahead, there's nothing wrong with chilling out and simply enjoy the experience.

So I did laundry and packed it in my suitcase (OK, duffle bag). 

Tomorrow will begin with getting dressed and packing up the car.

Then it's making sure Sean is ready and hitting the road.

Then we hope we can keep a good pace.

I have no illusions that we'll make great time. I'm just hoping we make decent time so we can enjoy a little time in South Carolina.

So, I would guess we'll be talking to you from South Carolina tomorrow night.

Veteran of the Game

 

That's Ron's picture on the videoboard

I was handed a ticket tonight.

Me. At a Hudson Valley Renegades game. As a fan.

My cousin Ron was honored as Veteran of the Game tonight at Dutchess Stadium. It was an honor that he very much deserved.

So it was my pleasure to be there for his moment.

Many of us were whisked down to the field for his special moment. Rick Zolzer read a nice summary of Ron's military service as a couple of pictures of him flashed on the scoreboard.

Eventually, those of us on the field gathered for a group photo as the whole thing played on the big videoboard.

Ron received a wonderful standing overation.

It was a special moment.

Beyond that we had a nice night of family and laughs. Laura and Jake joined me for the ride to the stadium where we met with Sean in the parking lot for our own "pregame." Then Sean went off to work and we eventually worked our way in.

With me, holding a ticket.

If you don't know, I'km not good at being at an event at I think I should be broadcasting. Still, I felt useful and happy to be there.

Now, I'm back home, ready to head back to the ballpark tomorrow morning.

Then comes vacation.

O Captain! "The Captain!"

 

I'm going to take a leap here.

A huge one.

No, not really.

While maligned by many, I loved "The Captain."

I know. The critics said it's a Derek Jeter puff piece. A vanity project. Boring. Bland. Not very interesting.

I don't agree but, then again, I lived all of it.

"The Captain" tells Jeter's story from his youth in Michigan to walking away from the Miami Marlins in early 2022.

I found it to be anything but bland.

I felt like I learned some stuff. I learned about Hannah Jeter's health scare. I learned that Jeter loves being a father and how he was too self-involved regarding his career to become a father.

I learned about his battles with Alex Rodriguez and Brian Cashman.

I learned how he didn't really pause and enjoy the ride of his career while it was going on.

I felt like it dealt with everything.

The gift baskets.

The issues with his defense.

And everything else.

I enjoyed the insight from everyone, like A-Rod and Cashman and Mariano Rivera and Reggie Jackson and Joe Torre and Michael Jordan and so many others. 

But, for someone like me, it was a joyous ride remembering those halcyon nights of the late 90s all the way until Jeter's retirement in 2014.

It was back to "The Flip Play" and the Jeffrey Maier home run and the dive into the stands against the Red Sox and the home run to lead off Game 4 of the 2000 World Series.

But it was the joy of the detail of all of it. It was also the blunt honesty of Jeter himself, including language that we'd never heard from him.

Jeter loved being the underdog. He loved the doubters and proving them wrong. He'd take any opportunity for being slighted and use it to the advantage of the Yankees.

Some of the painful details were those awful, brutal nights in 2001 and 2004. The documentary -- directed by Randy Wilkins -- broke all of it down.

Oh, the agony of it all.

Ah, but the glory.

Of 1996 and 1998 and 1999 and 2000 and 2009.

Of 3,465 hits -- still sixth all-time.

Of the 200 postseason hits.

Of the winning.

Of the last game at Yankee Stadium, the clutch hits, the winning, the leadership, and (sorry, haters) the intangibles.

He's an all-time great, no matter how many ways you slice it.

Now, you'd like to see Jeter embrace his post-baseball life and get back to being part of the Yankees family somehow.

The critics thought seven parts were too many.

Whatever.

I loved it.

I Can See Clearly Now

 

I have new glasses tonight.

Well, three actually.

I picked up a pair I'll use basically every day, a backup pair that I'll likely wear at home, and a pair of sunglasses (they just came in and I'll go get them tomorrow).

Like everything with me, I was overdue to get them. I got my last pair of glasses in 2015 after my previous pair snapped on me.

I had to call three state championship hockey games taped up.

I knew it was time for new glasses but the Babe Ruth regional tourney a few weeks ago convinced me when the scoreboard in left center field became blurry. It was officially time.

But, as I watch the Field of Dreams Game from Iowa tonight, I'm reminded of a few things.

1) I suck at baseball.

2) I sucked only a little slightly less thanks to a pair of glasses and, eventually, contact lenses. But now, I'm back to glasses.

I was in my second year playing in the Mahopac Sports Association. I had acclimated well in my first year and all was well.

Year two didn't go well.

Like, awful.

I walked a bit. Sure, I had a good batting eye. Then again, it's easy to have a good batting eye when you're facing kids who are still trying to develop any accuracy.

But if a kid had good location combined with speed? I was a dead man, especially in that 1978 season on the Hudson Valley Beverage team. I wore uniform number four.

I don't even remember our record. Oh, I was a team player but this wasn't a playoff team.

I just remember, sadly, my batting average.

.000

Ouch.

Looking back, I feel sorry for those stuck with me. I was that kid.

Eventually, my parents took me to the eye doctor. I think it was in the Baldwin Place Mall.

"You know why you can't hit?" the doctor said.

"Why?"

"You can't see the ball."

But, I could see. I'd never had any vision issues.

Except, I did. My right eye was weaker than my left. I'm a left-handed batter and the right eye is the dominant one.

I had a little hope for 1979. My father also offered me a gift for the first hit.

Getting a jersey wasn't the easiest thing in the world at the time (that would change a few years later) but he was willing to take me to Tom Kat in Mahopac and I could have a "jersey" created from a t-shirt with iron on letters.

Game one, 1979 season. Mahopac Falls School. 

The field is now gone. I'd say, roughly, it was located in what is now center field of the Mahopac varsity baseball field.

I got a straight fastball and I sent it right back up the middle. A line shot in the book. 

Most likely, it was a dribbler.

Either way, base hit. One-for-one wearing glasses. I actually could see the ball better now. It didn't make me a big star but it made me more serviceable.

Don't get me wrong. I had the heart for the sport. I was a leader. I liked you off the field and I liked you when you might be just chatting with me but I likely wanted to carve your heart out otherwise during the game. I wanted nothing other than the win. I'd have to say I was a decent teammate.

Oh, so the base hit.

Dad made good on the t-shirt a few days later.

NEW YORK on the front. Number 55 on the back. Of course.

And so, as I watch the Field of Dreams Game, I think that baseball has its own Winter Classic of the NHL on its hands. And, yet, somehow, they will screw it up with likely no game in 2023 due to construction at the Iowa site.

Baseball. Screwing up since, well, it's a baseball tradition.

But, let's dispose of that. More importantly, as I watch this game, I'm reminded of the movie.

I'm reminded of fathers and sons.

I'm reminded of my dad.

I'm reminded of how I'd like to take my own son to Iowa so we could have a catch on that now iconic field.

I have new glasses tonight. I can see the ball a lot better this evening.

And, just now, former Hall of Famer, Braves pitcher, and FOX broadcaster John Smoltz announced that his father died this morning.

He's calling the game tonight with Joe Davis. 

That certainly evokes a few memories of calling a game and honoring a commitment.

So.

Hey dad...

You wanna have a catch?

Taken as I was trying the glasses on today. Not a mugshot.