A Very Pleasant Thursday To You Wherever You May Be

 

NY Times photo

The next day.

I'm sitting on my balcony, sipping coffee, and enjoying a cool breeze before the hot temperature takes over.

The heat index has 100 marked for later.

But, for now, Metro-North strolls by on a 9:32 train bound for New Haven.

Traffic on I-95 whizzes past, heading towards New York, Philadelphia, DC, and beyond.

It's looking likely I'll soon do that drive also. I didn't think North Carolina was in the plan this year but life throws you curves.

Most of all, thoughts still flash to Mr. Scully. I know, of course, "Vin."

I didn't watch that much of the coverage. I saw a few things, like Michael Kay paraphrasing Vin to open the Yankees/Mariners game and the wonderful thoughts of Gary Cohen and Keith Hernandez on the Mets broadcast.

I've read some things but then I also wind up being a fact checker, such as the story that said Vin was 23 when he called his first World Series (he was 25) or that he lived in Brooklyn growing up (it was Washington Heights, in Manhattan).

To some, it's "get over it" but I don't mind telling you yesterday was a profoundly sad day. To be clear, I was a fully functional, but sad, individual. Sean and I went out and grabbed lunch and life very much went on.

I know someone who would always say, "Why do people get upset over celebrities? They put their pants on the same way I do." Then again, there are myriad jealousy issues there.

He could never understand the outpouring of grief over John Lennon or Elvis. He certainly wouldn't understand it for "some broadcaster."

I'm sure many a colleague and student wanted me to shut up about Vin as well at one time or another. But I didn't and here we are.

On a personal note, I was touched by those who reached out and said to keep Vin's name aloft. To keep telling the stories, play the audio, and be a disciple of his school of broadcasting. I will do all of that.

I tried hard yesterday to not yell and scream about those who are an embarrassment to his memory. Instead, I took a road so high it gave me a bloody nose and leaned on a few people when I needed to vent.

I'll tell you this: Chris Erway should have to do a podcast episode soon with me. Tell him that yourself. It would be therapeutic for both of us.

But also thanks to Susan and Shawn and Mike and Marc and Harold and AJ and Jake and Eric and JK and Paul and others who propped me up, let me vent, and helped make something of the day.

And to Sean, who found out without me telling him (I couldn't bring myself to do so) and made sure to come check on me. That gives me hope.

Los Angeles City Hall lit up in Dodger Blue to honor Vin Scully
(Ted Sqoui Photo on Twitter)

Yesterday's "Doubleheader" went mostly as I had hoped, except for one thing: I had too much audio. 

Too many memories.

Too many thoughts.

I went to the WGCH studio with the hope of taking phone calls but, quickly, I knew I wouldn't have time.

Susan suggested a second part and, while I liked it, I might not get back on the radio again before Monday. I have an eye appointment today and a possible plan for tomorrow.

Then it hit me. This was the opportunity to do a podcast. One that I so needed.

So, if you'd be so kind as to listen, I took the audio of "Doubleheader" and dropped it into a file. I edited just a few things, such as a hiccup when I played something from the 1981 World Series and cleaned out the commercials. Heck, if I had it my way, yesterday's radio show would have been commercial-free.

But I also didn't say to Bob Small why I was in the studio or how the show was so important to me. If I'm being honest, I got a little embarrassed at times. I was grateful for Tony Savino asking me to come on WGCH yesterday morning but I also knew how raw I was. Tony later called it "powerful and heartfelt."

So I did a small cleaning on the radio audio. Then I pressed record and just started. I stopped at moments where I thought I could record better but, overall, what is heard in that show is as-is. Raw. Unrehearsed. Mostly unedited.

I didn't worry about quality or perfection, which seems counterintuitive from everything I learned from Vin and just how I am.

But I wanted it to be unpolished.

And it is.

And, overall, I'm not embarrassed about my emotions though I'm sure a few are mocking me.

Like you, I've known loss. Both parents. Friends. Relationships. Divorce. Family members. Loved ones. Some losses were deaths. They were physical losses. Others weren't.

Yesterday was a loss. Of a mentor. An icon. 

A good broadcaster makes you feel like you're part of the conversation. I've tried to do that in every booth I've ever been in. I want you to feel engaged in the game but I also want you to laugh and think and feel the action.

Maybe, sometimes, even strike a tear.

Vin Scully did that and, often in the loneliness of youth or adulthood, while sitting in my bedroom in Mahopac or driving through the dark roads of Somers, he'd keep me company with a story about Pearl Harbor or Babe Ruth or Jackie Robinson or The Beatles.

Then he'd slide back to talking about Andre Ethier or Fernando or Steve Finley or Yasmani Grandal.

I had Sirius XM just so I could have those precious three innings when he was simulcast. Paul Silverfarb gave me access to the MLB package so I could listen and watch games and I added a Google Chromecast so I could project them off my iPad and onto my TV.

Yeah. He put his pants on the same as me. But, like Bruce Dickinson in the famous "More Cowbell" sketch, Vin made gold.

And we all enjoyed it.

If you're here and you enjoy it, well, more memories and stories will flow. If not, I get it.

I wish you all a very pleasant good afternoon.