Friday Night ... Rosters!

 

That's one roster. There are two teams.

I'm the fill-in broadcaster tonight.

I'm the outsider.

As I mentioned previously, I'll be on the call of Monticello and Middletown tonight in New York on WALL Radio. We have a half-hour pregame show which, if you don't know, is different for me. In my experience at WGCH and elsewhere, I used the "pregame show" as a way to make sure the equipment was functioning and we were connected to the station. But, honestly, our pregames are 10 minutes at most.

On special occasions, we might do some more but we traditionally lean heavier on the in-game than either pre- or postgame.

So I'll hit the road soon just to start getting towards Middletown. I'll find something to do or somewhere to sit. 

I have a script for the pregame (!) and notes on sponsor reads and the commercial breaks and I'm bound to screw it all up.

I have a roster for Middletown.

And ... yeah.

A public service announcement for all of you.

So, yeah, rosters. I have spoken to people in schools. I have talked with coaches. I have talked with friends. I have moaned to fellow broadcasters.

What's. So. Difficult. About. Rosters?

Get list of names. Get uniform numbers. Type it all up. Sort -- NUMERICALLY.

The CIAC -- the home of Connecticut high school sports -- actually has a website for rosters. Sure, that's great and all but do you know how many schools just have a blank page for their team?

This isn't difficult, people! Be like Taylor Swift! Take that blank space, baby, and write some names!

And numbers. Height and weight and grade also come in handy.

Vince Lombardi forbid we actually get bios.

Or stats (a rarity).

So, you have to hunt for the rosters. You can go to MaxPreps but you do so with some trepidation. There are sometimes other sites to visit.

The school or the coach, of course, is the easiest. Call, text, email. Most of the time that works and, yet...

Not always. You'd be surprised at the number of times I've gotten a roster minutes before a game.

Yes. Minutes.

Sometimes, if you have friends in the right places, you can get the inside scoop. I have a few years in this business so I have a few friends.

Me? Friends? Yes! Not everyone hates me. Most just tolerate me.

I'm hoping they'll like me and WALL Radio in Middletown later. 

Big thanks to D.J. McPherson for loading me up with knowledge and for his efforts to track down those pesky rosters.

Norris Gipson and I will have the call. We have a team of people who will make this all happen.

Listen at 6:30 on wallradio.com or on another site that I hope to have it active so that I can record the broadcast. You probably know where to find that one.

Tomorrow is Greenwich (1 p.m.). Then Brunswick (5 p.m.).

Sunday, I'll be a chair potato. 

I don't have a couch.

FORE ... Again, One Day

 

Griffith E. Harris Golf Course ("The Griff") in Greenwich, CT
(Picture: greenwichct.gov)

I believe it has been seven years since I last played golf.

Chris Erway and I teed off at Putnam National in Mahopac in fall 2015, if my memory is working. It was the first time I had played the course, which I could see from my elementary school (shout out to Austin Road) when I went to school there.

Now, like literally every athletic endeavor of mine*, I'm terrible. I could, at one time, hit the ball a ton off the tee but then watch it turn left and get lost. Oh, I was a master of that. 

*We shall not speak of my basketball shooting display with my Hunt Scanlon friends in San Francisco. It screamed exhaustion and being old and, well, sucking. Bad.

Chris, to his credit, was patient, giving me some pointers that actually helped. Yet that was the last time I played.

The key to playing golf is having a friend who will put with how you play. Chris and I handled that well. He's a good player and once I began to fall apart on a hole, I'd step away and wait for him to finish. It seemed to work.

There was a point where WGCH would participate in the Greenwich Football golf outing every year. Bob Small, Tony Savino, me, and a fourth (I know it was Chris one year) would bring golf down to its knees as we worked our way around The Griff here in Greenwich. We'd get yelled at every year -- without fail -- for slow play.

Every year, we thought the marshall was being a bit unfair but that was an opinion for another time.

But we had fun and that was the point.

Still, my clubs sit in the attic, laughing as loudly as my baseball glove does. Both haven't been used in some time.

Of course, golf is a sport that isn't cheap. Sure, I have the clubs (thank you, Michael Breed) and a bag and I've replaced or added clubs over the years. But greens fees and cart fees can be bad. Some are affordable, for sure (looking at you, The Griff) but then there's also the thing of carving out time.

So, yeah, there can always be a convenient reason.

My favorite times to play are when we're laughing and sharing a cooler while playing. In the perfect version, we might not even keep score. "We" is relative because the playing partner needs to be someone who just wants to have a good time.

But, at this point, I fear I would just embarrass myself. That won't stop me, but I know what my expectations are.

I was truly spectacular at losing golf balls. If there was a water hazard nearby, you bet I would find it. Woods? Mine. Sand traps? Well, you don't usually lose a ball in there but, yeah, you know what I mean.

I'd hit it. Then keep flailing away to try to get out.

Now, of course, that can build frustration but if everyone is laughing and enjoying things then there's no concern. I've not broken a club out of anger.

I have, however, uttered a profanity or 100.

I'll get back out there eventually and, maybe, even with a little more consistency.

And I'll curse it when I do. 

Putnam National Golf Club (now Putnam County Golf Course), Mahopac
(Photo via Facebook)

61*

 

(Photo: New York Times)

You see it, I'm sure.

The asterisk.

But, the thing is, it's irrelevant tonight.

Unnecessary.

Aaron James Judge has hit his 61st home run of the 2022 season.

It ties the single-season record for the Yankees and the American League.

It does not tie the Major League Baseball record, which is held by Barry Bonds.

Still, this is sacred ground.

Since 1961, this has been an iconic number. While I've watched Mark McGwire, Sammy Sosa, and Barry Bonds all surpass 61, it just never felt like I'd see a Yankees player get there.

Sixty-one.

The number became iconic in 1961 - yes, 61 years ago. 

Babe Ruth had set the mark that felt untouchable in 1927. Hank Greenberg and Jimmie Foxx were among those to challenge the mighty Babe but only Maris was able to reach the "unreachable."

After that magical summer of '61, it felt like no one would threaten it.

Then came McGwire. Sosa. Bonds.

And we all know -- come on, be fair -- what the reality was with each of them.

So, to many, Aaron Judge tied the "clean" mark tonight.

Frankly, I don't care. I knew what those guys were doing in the late 90s. I was initially suspicious. Then it was confirmed.

Something was rotten in the town of Cooperstown.

But fans were complicit in their cheering for all of them.

For the record, I shook my head watching all of it. A lot.

Roger Maris was a man who didn't want that kind of spotlight. Yet, he got it. In the end, it meant something to him and, honestly, could you blame him? He tied and broke the single-season home run record set by Babe Ruth.

You know. The one with the asterisk.

Which, incidentally, Ruth reached in 154 games. Maris reached it in 161 games. Thus, the asterisk. For what it's worth, it took Judge 155 to get here but we no longer worry about that.

I will long remember where I was when he hit it tonight. I was sitting at a high table with Mark Jeffers, Dave Torromeo, Bob Small, and Ed Manetta. We were sitting at the MTK Hotel inside The Hub, where we had just completed our first edition of "The Clubhouse" for the fall season.

It was nice to watch members of the Maris family supporting Judge throughout the runup to tonight. I have no reason to think they won't stick around until 62 happens.

I'll remember all of it.

And, just as importantly, just like when Roger Maris hit his 61st home run, the Yankees won.

It doesn't mean it will sit in the all-time baseball record book but many in the court of public opinion will say otherwise.

It doesn't matter to me. I never imagined watching a Yankees player reach this mark and I saw it with my own two eyes.

What an accomplishment.

What a season.

What an honor.

That's what I texted afterward.

"Holy (bleep). I just saw a Yankee hit 61 home runs."

That's the clean version.

Roger Maris was mythical to me.

Oh, he'll still be.

But Aaron Judge just joined him tonight. 

Wed, Sep 28, 2022.

Gridiron Radio This Week

 

Middletown High School

My first game broadcast this week won't be Greenwich.

It won't be Brunswick.

Not Fairfield Prep or anyone in Connecticut for that matter.

My friend Kevin Halpenny -- always looking to work with me -- asked me to fill in with the Neversink Media Group on Friday night's Monticello/Middletown football game in New York.

The broadcast will air at 6:30 p.m. from Middletown, NY on WALL Radio (1340 AM with FM options in the Hudson Valley and online at wall.com). 

I'm always excited to be on a different frequency or call letters. WALL went on the air on Aug 2, 1942. Among its multiple claims to fame is a radio oddity that reigns legendary among those of us who love the business.

In short, a late-night recording session at WALL brought about a satire of radio marketing with a faux radio station called WVWA, based in Pound Ridge, NY.

That, if you don't know, is in Westchester County on the Connecticut border with New Canaan.

After being a contemporary 1960s radio station, WVWA (AM 900) experimented with other formats before taking on a new concept: NINE.

Yup. NINE.

The tape still exists (I linked to a YouTube video above) and there's a whole write-up by radio pro and historian Scott Fybush on his Tower Site of the Week page (please note the date of the entry).

As for football, this isn't like me asking Chris Kaelin to jump in for me. Kato knows the format and, with a little assistance, knows the equipment. There's a bit of a learning curve for equipment and the format (I won't be shouting "NINE!") during this broadcast. Still, there's a 30-minute pregame show and other things to learn.

Then, of course, is simply learning about the two teams. Thanks to D.J. McPherson for sharing his knowledge of Middletown football. Additional thanks to Gavin Burt of Neversink Media for his help in getting the equipment to me and offering to train me Friday afternoon in a Middletown parking lot.

Eventually, a little after 7:00 on Friday night, Norris Gipson and I will get down to what I know how to do: call a game.

Then, on Saturday, I'll reconnect with Chris Erway to call Westhill/Greenwich at Cardinal Stadium at 1 p.m. Oh, but that's after I run over to Brunswick to set up that booth.

Why?

Because Chris and I will finish the Westhill/Greenwich call and run to our cars to get to Cosby Field to call Salisbury/Brunswick at 5 p.m!

These are the challenges I love and I'm grateful that Chris is a willing participant in my madness.

I'm sorry to miss Brunswick's homecoming soccer game on Friday night but the Middletown offer came before anything else and I'm always happy to help Kevin out.

Hopefully, it all goes well and when it's all said and done I'll reflect on it Saturday night.

Maybe I'll be home by NINE!

Sports Talk. Lots of it

Aaron Judge hitting his 60th home run last week (Photo: Getty Images)

 It was double play talk show day.

"Doubleheader" followed an hour later by "Poughkeepsie Nissan Monday Night Sports."

One on WGCH. One on Z 93.

One was hosted by me, talking to myself for an hour.

One was hosted by Rick Zolzer and me, and normally Fran Pomarico but he's in New Jersey at the Giants game.

At one point, Zolz asked me how long the drive is, as it has become a running gag to say I've come from an incredibly far-off place. I think my favorite so far has been Guam.

Anyway, per Google, the answer is approximately 70 miles one way, and that sounds right.

So, yeah, that's quite a commitment to make.

Why do it? Well, because I enjoy hanging out with Zolz, Fran, and Uncle Mike Hansen, who serves as operations guru for the show.

But, yeah, that drive is a beast, especially coming home. Doing what I do is taxing in its own way. Heavy lifting? No, of course not. Obviously, it's not rocket science. But, just as with play-by-play, it's a dance of coming up with things to talk about. So there's a certain mental aspect to it.

And, let's face it, we debate and mix it up a bit.

In that regard, it's nice to have other people to do a show with. On the other hand, a solo show means I can blaze my own trail.

I'll likely do it again this week, with "Doubleheader" followed a few hours later by the return of "The Clubhouse" on Wednesday. We've moved to a new location in Mount Kisco. Beyond that, it's Mark, Dave, Bob, and me doing what we do.

*****

OK, I'll admit it.

Aaron Judge is killing me.

Don't get me wrong. The Yankees are playing well and are close to wrapping up the AL East title.

But, man, he's working hard to get that 61st home run, tying him with Roger Maris for most in Yankees and American League history.

The pressure has increased with each at bat.

I heard him hit his 60th last Tuesday night on the radio and was thrilled. It was overwhelming as I never thought I'd see a Yankees player reach the mark set by Babe Ruth in 1927.

Thus, after 60, comes 61.

In 1961, of course.

I'm a Roger Maris fan. I always admired him as a player and person. No, he was not media friendly. You've read all of the stories and probably seen 61*, the movie directed by Billy Crystal.

By literally every account, Maris was a good and honorable man.

Maris confided that he ultimately did want to hit 61, passing the Ruth record. He did so on a 2-0 Tracy Stallard fastball on Oct 1, 1961.

Judge is easy to root for. He's got a California cool about him, has been good with the media, and is beloved by his teammates. He's also pushing for only the second triple crown in baseball since 1967 (Miguel Cabrera in 2012).

So it's a pretty historic thing.

But, even without hitting the 61st home run, the Yankees are still winning and Judge is still producing. It's been an honor to watch it happen.

(And, as I write, the Blue Jays just walked Judge intentionally in what might be his last plate appearance of the night. It's a baseball move. So it goes.)

I kept my phone nearby the entire time I was in San Francisco, monitoring every Judge at bat. I'd listen on my phone or find a TV and take it all in.

Of course, and I can't make this clear enough, Judge won't be setting the baseball record. That is held by Barry Bonds, who hit 73 home runs in 2001. Look, dirty, or otherwise, that's the record. The thing is that the overall court of public opinion is that Bonds owns the cheating record.

Maris is considered the clean record.

Judge is one away from tying that.

Please, for the love Ruth, just get it over with.

Along with winning the triple crown.

And winning a World Series.

It's not a lot to ask, right?

The Big Day Trip

 

I did that!

I made a promise but I wondered if it was too aggressive.

It wouldn't have been wrong to just watch football and rest today. However, Sean and I had talked about a day trip and this was the day we had circled.

At one point, it was tradition to go to The Big E -- The Eastern States Exposition -- as I had been attending the fair since the early 90s.

But by the 2010s, with life being life, the tradition stopped. The last time I went, it was just father and son and we had a pretty good time.

Every year since then we'd passively say that we should go back.

This year, we got a bit more serious about it but we knew it would have to be a Sunday since our schedules are both too crazy.

Sean informed me earlier in the week that he didn't have to work this Sunday. So, we said we'd tentatively plan on going.

We said we'd leave around 7:30 this morning.

I dragged my tired body -- sore from the physicality of the San Francisco trip -- and got ready for the drive to West Springfield, MA.

We were in the car and up there a little after 10.

And slammed among traffic crawling on Memorial Ave. After finding a place to park ($10 in a private lot) we made a short walk to the gate where we bought our tickets and entered.

We were back. We both noted that.

We're traditionalists. We both like adhering to things we've done before. So, we walked clear across the park to the Avenue of the States and set about visiting each New England state, beginning with Rhode Island.

Then Massachusetts.

Eventually, as we went to walk into Connecticut, a thought ran through my mind. For the past 30 years or so, every trip to The Big E was as a true outsider. I was a New Yorker. I didn't live in New England. I was (and am) a Yankees fan.

But now, I visited the house representing Connecticut. My home state.

"Maybe that's why we needed to go this year," Sean said.

We went through Maine and Vermont and New Hampshire to round out the states. Overall, things hadn't changed too much, save for one thing. We were both looking forward to the same wood-fired pizza that we enjoyed in the Vermont building for years.

In fact, quick side story. I'm going to guess it was 2010 when I was at the fair.  I was in the Vermont building, buying pizza when I locked eyes with my former sister-in-law. Sitting nearby was Sean along with his mother and grandparents.

Sean was excited to see me but given where life was at that moment, it was also awkward and a little sad. I had to get my pizza, hug my child, and walk away.

Today, we went to the Connecticut building and got an overpriced slice of pizza there.

More importantly, I didn't have to walk away from Sean this time.

The park is huge and the crowd was as large as I've ever seen it. We indulged in plenty of other food goodies like apple cider and donuts and maple cones (from Vermont and they are fantastic) but, to be honest, we didn't overdo it.

But we walked all over. We walked the midway at looked at the rides, remembering things that Sean went on. Eventually, we got to the Great Slide, a Big E tradition since 1969.

Yeah. We both did it.

We also stepped into the Coliseum, at one time a hockey rink. The Springfield Indians moved out in 1972 and now it hosts things like horse competitions for the fair.

Of course, I stood there pondering which booth I'd be allowed to use as a broadcaster. No, I never stop thinking about such things.

Sean and I watched two classes of trotter competitions with gorgeous horses and drivers that were intriguing. 

We're both sarcastic and crack jokes to each other and did that very thing as we watched.

"What are we watching?" Sean said with a level of amazement.

Eventually, we made our way back to the car, deciding that we were satisfied and not wanting to overstay our welcome.

With sore feet and chafing legs, I was satisfied with the decision.

Traditions were honored. 

New traditions were established if we want to continue them.

It was great to go back and I think we both left hoping to do it again in 2023.

But, if not, I was happy for one more visit with him.

Oh, and Connecticut traffic blows. Yes, that's my thought. It's not original, but it's the mark of frustration at a ride that shouldn't have taken nearly three hours to get home.

It would have been easy to stay home but getting out was the best way to fight the jet lag off.

Saturday's Kickoff

 

Heading to the airport last night.
So, do you know the way to San Jose?

Jet lag is no joke.

Neither are red-eye flights.

Our flight from San Francisco touched down at 5:10 this morning at JFK in New York.

By the time we made our way off the plane and back to Greenwich, I walked into the apartment before 7 a.m.

Considering I got -- at best -- two hours of sleep (and I'm being generous with that number) on the plane, I quickly fed Rascal, unpacked a little, and climbed into bed.

I had to find some energy and strength to be a functioning member of society.

That meant I had to get my butt in gear to broadcast the Southington/Greenwich football game at Cardinal Stadium.

Sleep came easy and, to be fair, I probably could have slept a lot longer. 

Around nine, a voice softly spoke to me. It was Sean, who needed me to move my car so that he could drive to work.

Eventually, I stumbled out of the apartment around noon to stop at WGCH before making my way to the stadium.

I made it with little issue and was on the air at 2:50.

OK, that's not entirely true. Cell service isn't great at Cardinal Stadium and the phone that I use for WGCH had dicey service. So we broadcast this game using my cell phone. So, yay.

Over the next three hours, I was responsible for describing a fascinating football game that aired not only on WGCH. but on Robcasting and LocalLive.

Not only was it probably one of the games of the day but it was a big tilt between two top ten teams.

Oh, and it was Homecoming for Greenwich.

And I called the game alone.

And I was losing steam at times. As in falling asleep.

But it all went just fine.

OK, maybe not fine for Greenwich, as the Cardinals lost 29-28.

But I can hold my head high that I survived an uncomfortable plane ride and did my job on limited sleep as my body adjusts to being back on the east coast.

I haven't found any good formula for jet lag. Either I adjust well or I'm constantly tired.

Oh, did I mention that I also had to do laundry after the football game?

So, yeah, once that is finished, the odds of me getting some serious sleep are strong.

Maybe more coherent posts will follow.

The Streets of San Francisco

 

It's 1:34 p.m. in Connecticut as I begin writing.

That means 10:34 a.m. in San Francisco.

I'm not one for hanging around when I'm away.

So when my eyes opened at 5 a.m. here, I ... decided to rest a little longer.

Eventually, I was out the door into the sunlight of the Bay Area.

The first order of business for Erik and me was coffee. You'd be fairly surprised that we weren't having much luck as we walked.

So, we grabbed an Uber and made our way to our goal: seeing Oracle Park, home of the San Francisco Giants.

Address, 24 Willie Mays Plaza, of course.

There was a good coffee place a few blocks from the stadium, so we jumped out there, and walked the rest of the way to the home of the Giants.

Of course, this is the third stadium they've played in since coming to San Francisco before the 1958 season. They played at Seals Stadium before moving to Candlestick Park and, finally, to Oracle Park (as it's now known) in 2000.

Bobby Murcer was a Giant but he played at Candlestick and cursed it every day.

And Oracle Park was the site of Vin Scully's last broadcast. So, let's call this slightly sacred ground.

*****

It's now 5:50 p.m. here and I'm waiting to head to the airport.

With the conference out of the way, I was able to bounce around the city, seeing things I saw last time I was here and seeing some new things as well.

I saw sea lions and that was just great.

I saw the Golden Gate Bridge again and I simply can't get tired of that.

I enjoyed a great day in a great city but it's time to come home.

I can't thank my colleagues -- my friends -- enough. They don't mind hanging out with this old guy who's pretty lame.

It will be a long night getting home and I truly hope I sleep.

I'll talk to you tomorrow from Greenwich as I'll be on the call of GHS and Southington at 3:00.

Sean and Rascal are holding down the house and I look forward to seeing them.

For now, good night from San Francisco.

The Conference

A session includes a speaker via Zoom and it worked flawlessly

"Nice job today," I was told.

I laughed, thanked him, talked for a bit, then stepped away.

It's lunchtime at the latest Hunt Scanlon conference and I've grabbed a moment of solitude.

The ballroom is mostly empty. Attendees are upstairs enjoying excellent food, with a pasta station, a beef station, salads, desserts, and beverages. All are expertly prepared by the staff at the JW Marriott Union Square in San Francisco.

I've returned to review my script, confer with my colleagues, and prepare for the afternoon.

They're the ones who make it happen. I adjust as necessary.

We were all down here before 7 this morning to make the room look good. It looks great, to be precise.

For those who have asked, moderating a conference is about staying on time. Oh, there's more than that, but that's the main thing. But it's also making those who are speaking comfortable, working with the facility staff to make sure everyone is on the same page, conferring with the AV crew for all of the needs from a technical standpoint, and being ready with my colleagues.

I'm a facilitator. In basketball parlance, I'm a point guard.

The rewards come when the day is done but, as I take everything in, I feel like this is going exceptionally well. I'm able to answer any questions or get them to my colleagues because they're the ones who can most likely give them a better answer than I can.

In mingling with attendees there have been some complimentary words (not necessary but I'll take it). But, overall, there's a good tone in what I'm hearing. People are happy. They're having a good day.

That's what I want to hear.

As a moderator, I want to hear that I keep things moving and on time. I never want to hear that I drag things down. The worst feeling is when I have to break up a presentation because it has run too long. I'm happy when it moves well and in a timely manner.

Every conference is a bit of a physical and mental marathon. Physically, whether in London or San Francisco, I've likely walked the city and my feet are in pain. Or muscles are screaming. In the case of any conference (New York included), I'm exhausted because it's an early start and I feel the weight or the time restraints.

But there will be a raise of the glass later to toast the day. It's Mike and Erik and, of course, Chris and Scott, as well as everyone else in the Hunt Scanlon family who make this happen.

I stand out of the way, for the most part, read what I'm supposed to read and try to drop in a quick quip here and there.

It works and they keep asking me to come back. I've already gotten a look at some of what the next year will be like. I'll be with them for all of it!

Besides, I'm not sure anyone else wants the job and I'm not looking to give it up!

My view away from the podium

In the Air

 

Getting on the plane

Maybe I've written this before (I'm pretty sure I have), so hang in there with me. I'm also writing this in advance of flying to San Francisco in case I don't have time for anything more in-depth.

I don't love flying.

It's not a matter of fear. I don't mind it.

I just hate being sardined on a plane. It's more of a space thing.

Infamously, I suffered from claustrophobia coming back from Los Angeles one time and nearly had a panic attack. In fact, I was struggling to breathe at one point, so yeah.

In the case of going to and returning from London, I used my noise-canceling headphones and just listened to stuff to entertain me. Still, I felt constantly restless in my seat but at least I had an aisle seat and could adjust as needed. I'd rather have my shoulder bumped into as opposed to being trapped.

The thing is, I'm a car person. I want to see the road. I want to see where I'm going and where I've been.

That doesn't mean I haven't had excellent flying experiences. The best have been the trips that allowed me to see out the window and identify things. Spotting Lake Mahopac and my home from the air was exhilarating as was looking down and knowing random places I was seeing without any hints.

Allentown, PA. I saw it with no problem. A Waffle House nearby, of course.

I saw Ireland from the air back in April and that was breathtaking. It truly is as green as advertised.

So I appreciate the experience. I appreciate the people who do the work and keep us safe and, somehow, keep smiling.

In truth, I'll probably always fly because it's fast and it's safe. 

Yet, Sean and I have talked seriously about going to Florida in a few months. I'd love to drive.

Love. Love. Love to drive to Florida. The nostalgia of that would be off the charts.

Yet I know flying is probably best for time.

So, don't get me wrong. I don't hate flying.

I just don't love flying either.

With that, I have a flight to catch.

*****

Thankfully we're off the plane and on the road to the hotel

And now, I'm off the flight. 

It was cramped and exhausting and everything that goes into a flight.

It was also well-run and safe.

Security wasn't a problem.

OK, I couldn't watch movies at my seat but I'm not going to complain about that.

However, I had wifi and texted and messaged with loved ones.

I'm here. That's what matters.

Lots to do for a great conference and a successful trip now.

Calm ... for Now

I'd rather be asleep. Like him

After a deposition that went until a little past 1 a.m. I'm into a Tuesday that includes final preparations for the conference in San Francisco.

This trip will be different for me than the last I went to the Bay Area, in 2019. As that was my first time there, I asked if I could fly out earlier than everyone else to have a few hours to see some things. I was on a 7 a.m. flight from JFK that got me to San Francisco in the late morning. I took a BART train into the city and walked into my hotel.

I had all but talked myself out of keeping the rental car I had reserved and chilling at the hotel. Then I was going to walk around the area where I was staying. 

Then I found out I couldn't have my room.

I thanked the man at the desk and walked out with my luggage, proceeding to the rental car agency two blocks away.

I kept waiting for something to talk me out of it. Maybe a pushy rental car agent would send me over the edge.

Nope. No pressure about insurance or anything else. A minimal wait on line. 

Then? A choice between a Tesla and a convertible.

And away I went. In a convertible.

It was only a few hours as I had to regroup and join my Hunt Scanlon colleagues but I was able to have a beer where the album cover for Huey Lewis and the News's "Sports" was taken, and walk on the Golden Gate Bridge, and drive Lombard Street, and have lunch at In-N-Out Burger, and just be me.

It was a time in which I had to hyper-watch my budget but I still did it and count the experience as something I treasure.

It's one of my favorite days ever.

This time won't be like that because, well, it's the second trip to San Francisco.

We're all booked on a flight together and I'll hit the road with the team. They'll need me to help set things up and settle in at the conference.

We'll work hard and every bit of the great time we did back in 2019 or earlier this year in London (and we're going back there in 2023).

I might -- might -- have some time on the last day there and, sure, I've thought about renting a car again. But I've also thought about Alcatraz or just hanging around Fisherman's Wharf or whatever else grabs me. I'll be open and it will depend on who I'm hanging out with.

I'm just grateful for the experience and further grateful to use my voice in a way that helps. In this case, that way is moderating the conference. 

So I have some stuff to do. Of course, what else do I worry about?

This. Damn. Blog.

This dumb streak almost collapsed the last time I was out there but I threw a post online late in California (or after midnight in New York). So, the streak is still alive, I guess!

We Are Back On the Record

 

All I hear is "Law and Order's" CLANG! CLANG!

It's heading towards 10 p.m. as I being to write and I'm working.

It's another deposition night for me.

It was two years ago this week when my friend Craig asked me to meet with him and his friend Dan about an opportunity.

Craig and I had hit it off a few years earlier as refugees from a former job. I also did some radio stuff with him. With the fallout of the former job, Craig was one to look out for me.

Keep in mind that I was in a very strange time two years ago. Oh, let's be clear, we were basically all in a strange time two years ago.

But, with Mom having passed a little over two weeks earlier, it was time for me to ramp back up in the world. My duties as her caretaker had obviously come to an end.

So I met Craig at a small office here in Greenwich. Dan came in not long after. Following some small talk, we got down to having an informal interview. No resumes were necessary as Craig could speak to what he knew about me.

In fact, Craig thought I was fairly perfect for the job. I remember a selling point as far as he was concerned was that I could multitask, as he'd watched me do in the WGCH studio.

However, the job wasn't full-time.

Yet it was time. It was an opportunity. It was money but not benefits.

It was the ground floor of this basically new business and I liked that.

I jumped in.

I came back a day later and trained with Dan, watching as he did the job that I would soon try my hand at. Dan is like me -- loves tech but he loves tech on steroids. So I've reviewed many a new tech item that he's picked up. Beyond that, he was more than willing to let me try equipment as we both have a background with audio.

While I've not spoken a lot about the details of a deposition, it's basically a court proceeding on Zoom. It's my responsibility to monitor it and keep the video elements under control.

From what I gathered, I picked things up quickly even if Dan said I spoke too loud (something I've heard many times). I actively tried to soften it.

I worked a collection of depositions through September, October, and November.

In fact, I was in the office one afternoon in October when a case came along that started at 7 p.m. We have two times that concern us: 1) when do we need to log on, and 2) when does the case start?

So, yes, I'll elaborate that the case in question had a log-in time of 7 p.m.

I said I was curious to give it a shot.

Dan -- always looking to support me -- made sure I had dinner waiting when I arrived in the office at 6 p.m. that fateful night. As always, I had other devices with me, in part to use as a backup if needed for work. But, also, as a device to watch. With it being October, I watched the baseball postseason for the first few hours of the case.

Then I walked around and tried to stay awake for the rest of it.

According to my notes, I left the office at 3:30 in the morning. As I still lived in Mahopac, that meant my head wouldn't hit my pillow until around 4:30.

At that point, I became the person to ask for the cases at strange hours. Weekends? Overnights? Sure, so long as I can juggle everything.

At one point, I was probably doing too much of it and paid the price. I was home after another all-nighter and took a nap in the afternoon. I also neglected to turn my phone ringer on.

I was due to get back to Greenwich for another nighttime case.

Dan and Craig tried to reach me for hours and were almost ready to start calling hospitals when I finally answered.

I was so embarrassed but appreciated their concern.

I had to hustle but I did get to the office for the case.

Eventually, as November began, we recognized that it would be best if I could work from home, so the guys hooked me up with the tools to make all of that happen. To call Dan and Craig accommodating would be understating it. I know my schedule can drive them crazy (yeah, the balancing and juggling are exhausting) but until I can settle things down, this is how it's going to be.

So I picked up a computer and monitors along with a stand and drove home where I reassembled everything. As with anything there, Dan or Craig is always a phone call away. If they can't (that's super rare) one of my colleagues (or me, for that matter) will help out. It's a great collaborative situation to be in.

Once I was set at home, taking on the crazy hours became easier. It was just last week where I got out of bed at 2:30 a.m. to get ready for a case. There have been plenty of other examples.

Yet, given this is a court proceeding, like I said, I've remained firmly "off the record" in talking about this gig. I've said some here and some there but have offered few details.

But I'll say this: this opportunity hit me when I was in a horrible moment of transition. Think about it. It was Sep 2020. COVID was still raging. There was no football to broadcast. There wasn't a lot to broadcast at all. There were no conferences to moderate. There were only a few podcasts to produce.

My mother had just died. There were all of the things to do to go along with that, such as preparing to sell her house and find a new place to live.

Then along came this job. It was almost like Mom had a hand in it if you believe such things. 

That, of course, isn't really my style, but I do kind of smile when I think of it.

It's been a fascinating thing to do. I've talked to more lawyers than ever and have learned about the world of court reporting. 

My own technical skills have improved and I've strengthened my ability to problem-solve because when things go bad in this gig, it's bad.

But, also ...

I've heard about my voice (and not the volume of it) a lot.

I've laughed with a lot of people in this.

I've listened to a lot of arguing.

And I get paid to do all of this and, once things are flowing smoothly, I can do my laundry or make a meal or watch TV or ...

Or?

Or write a blog post.

It's been a blessing and I feel like it saved me, as it was there when I probably needed it most.

And we keep growing.

Thanks, guys.

The case I'm on is in a break. Thankfully, they're talking about wrapping up around midnight.

That's good. This is not the week to be keeping crazy hours.

Shadow Dancing at the Laundromat

 

I went to a laundromat for the first time in probably 16 years today.

There wasn't a laundry facility in the apartment I lived in when I was in Mahopac so the laundromat was, basically, a weekly thing.

You knew you were committing to roughly a three-hour endeavor, from driving over, to the washing machine to the dryers to folding and going home.

I needed to get a few things done in preparation to go to San Francisco so I found a nearby place to do some washing.

Honestly, I thought I'd come out of the experience with a full post but, in reality, no. It was a small laundromat with a healthy selection of machines. There were people chatting in there but there was nothing significant about what they were saying to tell. 

It was so small in there that I sat in the car or leaned on the trunk and played Solitaire on my phone.

In fact, I washed what I needed to wash and opted to come home to my own dryer.

I was gone an hour. Maybe.

So I don't really have a post for you. At least not an interesting one. 

Back in the laundromat in Mahopac, I felt like every visit was its own blog post (pre-blog, to be clear). There just always seemed to be a character or something that would catch my eye. My inner monologue would concoct stories and, in some ways, that was part of building the foundation to be where we are today.

Three-thousand, seven hundred seven posts later.

*****

5:45 a.m.

As you're all quite aware, I have a cat.

Appropriately his formal name is Rascal, even though we literally never call him that.

Yet it fits because he knows how to do things that are interesting enough to make him interesting.

For one thing, he loves hunting shadows.

Oh, I'm completely serious. It's something I noticed back in our old home, where he'd try to jump things on the wall. Things that only he could see because I clearly can't.

He's been fascinated with the space behind the computer on my desk since we moved in here. I have to frequently chase him and it's reached that point where he'll hear me stir in bed and he'll run.

Keep in mind that this behavior isn't happening during daylight hours. Oh, no. They're happening after I go to bed. They're often waking me up.

Now a new wrinkle has been thrown in. Not satisfied with potentially destroying my desk (he hasn't), he has begun to review the wall behind my bed. So, if you're still with me, that means right ... behind ... my ... head.

I'll be sleeping or trying to sleep when, suddenly, I'll hear a THUMP as he attempts to attack whatever it is he sees, likely caused by a car driving by.

So, the next time you read some tribute to our crazy beast, please remember this story.

I have a busy week coming up. Teaching and radio and San Francisco (I'm packed already) and a conference and a red-eye flight and, eventually, football. And, of course, work, with a late Monday deposition that will keep me from joining Zolz and Fran in Poughkeepsie.

Oh, and Aaron Judge closing in on 61 home runs.

I'm Partial to the Fugue

 

The second football weekend for us is over.

I'm home. Sean is home from work also and we're just doing what we do.

For me, it's the blog, college football, baseball, and catching up on updating the Robcasting archives on Mixcloud and archive.org.

Of course, earlier it was The Hun School and Brunswick. Chris Erway and I gave it our all once again, trying to do what we always do but, still, it's worth noting that today was only the second Wick broadcast for Chris. Subtle as it is, he's still getting used to the differences between covering football in the FCIAC/CIAC and the NEPSAC.

Another thing for us is player access. Oh, sure, we can talk to coaches but I've always wanted to hand a basic questionnaire to players to fill out. I've done that with Babe Ruth and Little League baseball players to learn little nuggets about them.

In a perfect world, we'd get time with the captains to learn some more stuff about them and the team. 

Right now, we have none of that. It's a work in progress. Every year, Chris and I ask about having a meeting with the captain's parents also.

That does not happen.

This is not only about Brunswick but Greenwich and, literally, anything else we cover.

Again, this is a selling point of ours. We're both comfortable going into things with literally only limited (at best) research from the internet and still making a broadcast work. I think back to what we did with the wrestling championships we did in New Jersey and I smile.

Those who think this stuff is easy would be shocked.

I don't know how Chris's night is (he's at a Mets game) but I usually feel drained of adrenaline after every game. Literally.

Oh, about the Mets game. I was initially invited to go -- one of Chris's daughters performed with a dance group before the game -- but the ticket ultimately was picked up by someone else. Laugh all you want, and I get why you would. Yes, the thought of me at a Mets game is funny but, if you know me, then you know baseball is baseball to me.

I'm happy watching the game at any level. 

And no, I would not have worn any Yankees stuff. Now, I can't say I wouldn't wear Renegades stuff -- thus, Yankees -- but I don't look for trouble. I intended to be sports neutral had I gone but, ultimately, I didn't.

So, yes, I'd go to Mets games. I like baseball. That's it.

*****

From Twitter

The brilliant TV show "M*A*S*H" debuted on this day in 1972. While there was a good book and a very good movie, it's the TV show that seemed to surpass all of it. The writing, directing, and acting of a great ensemble cast helped place in among the greatest TV shows ever.

Its last episode -- the 2.5-hour "Goodbye, Farewell, Amen" -- is still among the most-watched TV landmarks ever. Yes, I was among the 121 million who watched it on Feb 28, 1983. By that point, the show had evolved from a "dark comedy" to a "dramedy."

In its earlier seasons, the show had a heavy amount of comedy to go along with the nature of trying to base a TV show around the Korean War. It would change, especially as characters came and went.

But we still loved it, even as Trapper John departed and BJ arrived. Or Frank Burns became Charles Emerson Winchester III.

And, of course, Lt. Col. Henry Blake -- shot down over the Sea of Japan -- was replaced by Col. Sherman T. Potter.

But we stayed. It was a staple in my house -- first in the original episodes, then as it shifted into syndication. The standard was "M*A*S*H" and "All in the Family" back-to-back on channel 5 in New York.

It remains so strong in my brain that we nostalgically talk about the show quite frequently among my friends on "The Clubhouse."

Dave Torromeo, Mark Jeffers, and I are quite likely to say "Ah, Bach!" to each other. The quick line is a reference to the first season episode "Love Story" in which Radar falls head over heels for a new nurse. Somehow, that's been stuck in our minds ever since.

Tonight's post title is another quote from that same episode.

The whole series is currently available on Hulu and I'm going to watch the Pilot episode now, given it aired 50 years ago tonight.

Cardinals and Tigers Under The Lights

 

I'm home from football.

This is an oft-repeated fact that we (and most broadcasters) put everything we have into our broadcasts.

Ridgefield High School's Tiger Hollow is a beautiful facility but it's also one that has confounded me a bit.

Cell service is everything to us. It's either how we connect with other facets of our world to stay in touch or it's how we actually broadcast.

Tiger Hollow is well-known for not having great service. However, in recent times, a tower has been erected nearby. That gave us hope.

Yet, the last time Chris Erway and I worked there, we dealt with terrible service in pouring rain. It was miserable.

Tonight? Flawless.

Ridgefield athletic director Dane Street did everything to make us comfortable, including hooking us up with wifi that wouldn't get interrupted.

For whatever reason, the "press box" is a true misnomer in that there's simply no room for the press (ahem, including broadcasters) up there. So Chris and I were again among the patrons. Thankfully that was not a problem.

When Chris and I are feeling it, we're pretty dangerous. Tonight, I think we were sort of feeling it. That also means might get better.

The game, of course, helps.

Ridgefield, coming off a 41-point loss, came out on fire. They scored on their opening drive and built up a 21-0 lead by the second quarter.

Greenwich rallied and cut it to 21-13 by halftime. The Cardinals' defense got more confident by the minute and they shut down the Tigers enough that the offense could answer to get to 21-20

But Ridgefield responded and made it 28-20.

Well, eventually, Greenwich took over. They'd build a 14-point lead before the Tigers scored a late touchdown.

Final: Greenwich 49, Ridgefield 42.

The atmosphere was electric. 

The game might be memorable but it's hard to say.

That's just it. We try so hard to make things "instant classics" and don't let them breathe. No question tonight was a lot of fun but will we always remember it? I feel like only time will tell.

Memorable to me right now is that we went to Ridgefield and had pretty flawless broadcast.

We need to do it again tomorrow when Brunswick hosts The Hun School.

I'll see Greenwich next Saturday after I step off the plane from San Francisco.

Thursday Night (Before) Football

 

5:39 a.m.: trying to work this morning. The Cat elected to sleep.

Sean is on his way here tonight. It's the second weekend in a row in which he has texted me to ask if he can come back to Greenwich.

As I've said before, this is his home. He's welcome here. I'm not one to turn away my son. He'll likely be here all weekend though we haven't set that in stone.

He's my son and I'm glad he can come here. Overall I make it comfortable for him. He's able to stay in his room, talk to his friends online and just do his thing. He can come and go as he pleases, though I feel bad that he has to trudge back up to the Hudson Valley for his new job now that baseball season is over for both of us.

As you probably know, I'm familiar with that drive.

*****

I stepped away from the computer for probably an hour as Sean showed up while I was typing. We said our hellos, shared some laughs, dealt with The Cat, and laughed some more. 

Then he disappeared into his room.

I've moved into my room and am going to slowly settle down.

These past two days have been standard insanity for me. I was asked to do a deposition that meant getting online at 3 a.m. on Wednesday. This morning, I worked one that started at 4 a.m. So, yeah, I'm a bit tired. I napped basically every chance I could because I didn't really sleep well at night. I set an alarm each night to get me up 15 minutes before I was due to be online.

Each night, I gave up on trying to sleep 15 minutes before the alarm. So, if you're scoring at home, that meant my Wednesday began at 2:30 a.m. because I finally stopped tossing and turning.

Oh, I expect no pity. This is standard operating procedure for me.

I marvel at the early risers (think Tony Savino on WGCH). In my case, sure, I was up in the dead of night but my commute was no more than six feet.

Unless you count the kitchen to make coffee. That's a longer walk.

So I don't think I'm making much sense as I type tonight.

Maybe I should just watch some football tonight but, oh yeah, that's on Amazon Prime and I don't have that. I've debated that cost and if I would be happy with it but have yet to cave in. I'm pretty good at listening to games via satellite radio so it's no great loss otherwise.

But, hopefully after a good night of sleep (ha) I will pull everything together for some Friday Night Lights. Chris and I head to Lancaster Field at Tiger Hollow in Ridgefield for the Cardinals and the Tigers.

I expect technical issues. Yes, I'm saying that up front. Some places just aren't good for cell service, which we rely on to get online.

As I've written, I've evolved into more of a "what can you do" approach to these situations. Flipping out doesn't work so I just stay low-key if I can.

Game time tomorrow is 7 p.m. The pregame show starts at 6:50 p.m. All of it on WGCH and Robcasting.

Then we shift over to Brunswick on Saturday for the Bruins and The Hun School. They kick off at 2 p.m. and any kind of pregame show will happen around 1:55 p.m.

Next week, the blog will move to San Francisco for a few days. And I'll step off a red eye in New York and be calling football a few hours later. 

Honestly, do you expect anything else from me?

Thuuuuuh Pitch

 

My fall won't just be about football.

It will have fútbol also.

I went back to the pitch for my first soccer call of 2022 today, handling duties for Choate Rosemary Hall and Brunswick.

Scoreless at halftime, the Wild Boars of Choate won 3-0.

I don't have what I would consider extensive soccer play-by-play bona fides, but I've learned I can hold my own. I don't think I know soccer remotely well enough to think I could do this at a higher level. But, being fair, with a little work, maybe.

At the end of the day, I have to believe I can call anything. That's a selling point for me.

I've called several championship matches and I guess I've earned a certain level of respect.

Still, no sport probably confounds me more as a broadcaster. I take a very hands-off approach when calling it, letting the picture drive things. Thus, I use a largely TV style.

The basics still function for me. Describe what I see, tell stories, fill in gaps where necessary, and make it about the game.

There were moments where I just let things breathe and there's nothing wrong with that also.

But that first broadcast always feels like getting back on a bicycle again. Oh sure, I can ride a bicycle but I might still be a little wobbly at first. I might have been wobbly today.

It was my first look at not only Choate but Brunswick. So there was a get-acquainted with a team that I'll call a few times this season.

In the Facebook Play-by-Play group, there was a recent comment about CBS broadcaster Ian Eagle. The observation was that Mr. Eagle made a couple of mistakes in the recent Steelers/Bengals game, jumping the gun on an official and being wrong. The poster's point was that Eagle made the mistake -- twice, in fact -- and that he probably beat himself up about it.

The Ian Eagle fan club protested against the poster and, as a group admin, I had to monitor the self-righteousness and hand-wringing to make sure nothing got out of hand.

One response said, in part: "...the very best announcers shrug their shoulders, realize that it is going to happen sometimes, and they move on." 

Oh...really?

Thus, I'm not one of the "very best announcers," since I ponder every call of every game and am, of course, brutally harsh on myself.

Now, I'm not saying that Ian Eagle is that hard on himself, but I'm sure the broadcast rolls in his brain after it's over. It's human nature. I certainly don't think it makes him any less of a broadcaster.

I don't think everyone listens back or rewatches every game that they call. I don't, for the record. I might listen to key moments sometimes but that's it. I'm pretty aware of the things I like and don't like.

To that end, I considered my own hiccups today and simply reminded myself to do better.

Isn't that the bottom line: to simply strive to be the best version of a broadcaster that I can be?

And I'll be better at soccer next time out.

Which will likely be at the end of September.

He's All Ours

 

Sitting on the stove as I eat breakfast. Sep 13, 2022

Tonight's post is about our beloved Rascal #TheCat marking his second anniversary of living with me (and Sean). However, my good friend Dave Torromeo and his family announced they lost their dog, Shea. We send our love and condolences to Dave and his family. As a pet owner, I know the sadness of losing a pet too well. It hurts terribly. 

I've told the story of the arrival of our four-legged friend before. I didn't expect to be a pet owner again after we lose Chico in July, 2020.

Yet pets seem to find us.

If you don't know the story, the short version is I met Rascal -- then called "Binx" -- the night my mother passed. He belonged to my niece Meaghan and her husband Eric and their son Carson.

The black cat nuzzled against me as I ate dinner following a baseball broadcast in Bridgeport. Eric quickly offered to let him come live with me and assured me he was serious. Everyone I told this to said bringing a cat home was the perfect thing.

It was exactly what I needed.

Sep 2020

So I drove him home a little over a week later -- Sept 13, 2020. It took a few days but we quickly became pals.

He was in my face the morning that I was preparing to leave for London and accompanies me to the door almost every day when I try to leave. In fact, he parlays that into a game to get me to give him treats, even darting out of the apartment into the hallway.

A quick shake of the treat package brings him back.

He got treats today in honor of his second anniversary with us.

It's never a boring life with our Rascal/Squeaky/Walter/Crash/Beast/etc. Just last night he woke me up as he tried to attack shadows on the wall behind my bed.

Yes, he's in the sink

It leads Sean and me to ask each other why we got the dysfunctional one. But we say it in a loving, humorous way. He makes us laugh with his yelling at us and flopping on the floor and just general wacky behavior that I can't even explain.

You have to see it to understand it.

While I could do without the yelling at me at 4:30 in the morning to feed him (or the shadow attacks) I don't think I'd have it any other way. He's basically been the perfect addition to our home and those who thought I needed him after Mom died were correct.

He just meowed at me, looking for attention. 

"You squeak," I told him.

"Meow," he squeaked back.

"You're a cat!" I exclaimed.

Such are the exchanges between us.

It's been a pleasure to have him here.

Eric -- the impetus behind Binx coming to New York and being renamed Rascal -- left us only a few months later. Mom's passing, of course, started the whole wheel. 

Out of sadness comes a cat.

A troublemaker.

A Destructocat.

A Beast.

Our pal.

It's CAR-Mull

 

The Sybil Ludington statue in Carmel, NY

I was minding my business having lunch recently when a local regular walked in.

In my mind, he auditioned for "The Sopranos" somewhere along the line and I'm shocked he didn't get the part. What I'm saying is, you know the type.

He's not the silent type and speaks in a "Bada Bing" type of cadence. You certainly expect a "fuhgeddaboutit" to emanate from him at least once a day.

In this case, he was telling a staff member about his day and how he had an appointment at a place that was straight out of "Deliverance."

He continued.

"Car-Mel or Caramel or something," he says.

I -- proud son of Mahopac, located in the Town of Carmel -- am sitting a few feet away. I also lived in Carmel for four years.

To hear him tell it those of us in Putnam County lack teeth and, given we're like "Deliverance," well, I'll just let that sit there.

In my brain, I'm having an inner debate as this continues. Do I try to handle this with humor? Do I interject at all? Do I just stay out of it?

Given this sort of an "everybody knows your name" type of atmosphere and fun is being had, I step out of my comfort zone to protect my former 'hood.

"Hold on, hold on, hold on," I begin. My soliloquy is short but effective. The first thing is to make sure that Bada Bing knows that it's pronounced "CAR-mull" and that it's nothing like the affairs of "Deliverance."

After jokes about hunting, Bada Bing goes on to tell me how beautiful it is but that the roads were narrow and windy.

"Well," I countered. "People do fish and, sure, there's some hunting up there as well."

He asked about the road -- specifically Stoneleigh Ave. To be sure, if coming from Connecticut off 684, that portion of Stoneleigh Ave winds towards the Croton Falls Reservoir and even traverses it via a causeway before reaching "civilization" with complexes including Putnam Hosptial Center.

Making fun of where I'm from was often sort of low-hanging fruit for my coworkers back when I first started working in lower Westchester County. 

The thing was that I wasn't mad. It bothered me in that it amused me and, generally, it wasn't accurate.

OK, maybe a little accurate.

The bottom line was that, while perhaps he wasn't totally wrong in what he was saying, I still wasn't going to let him dump on my homeland. It's like family. I can knock it but you can't unless you know better.

So, sure, I recognize the faults of where I'm from but I also know the good and there is plenty of that.

In the end, Bada Bing and I laughed. It was "all good" and "no worries."

We wished each other well.

"Enjoy your Carmels," he said, noting caramel candy in his humor but pronouncing it as if the New York town has a twin.

I'm sure he left to go listen to some Dean Martin records on his ol' Victrola.

We each went about our day, likely no more enlightened than when it began.

The Sybil Ludington statue, with Sean and his stuffed Kitty and Elmo
back when we lived in Carmel.

Never Forget

 

Football will be on later. 

I'll listen to the Steelers play the Bengals though I have low expectations for the Black and Gold. 

I still shudder to think that the Bengals are the defending AFC Champions.

But we all know what today is. We'll be reminded of it in myriad ways.

It's September 11.

They say "Never Forget." I capitalized it because it's become a slogan; a hashtag.

#NeverForget

I don't forget. I haven't forgotten. 

September 11, 2001, is etched in my brain.

Beautiful day. Crystal clear skies. Warm. I needed to prep for football before going to an interview at an agency for a temp-to-perm job in White Plains.

A job that I'd do from home because the office was in lower Manhattan.

I was a mere five months away from becoming a father.

I remember where I was when I heard about the first plane and what I was listening to. 

I remember the same about the second plane.

I remember the whirlwind of activity at WGCH that morning. 

I remember canceling the appointment with the agency.

I remember being asked to go to the Greenwich train station to interview people. I also remember eventually declining that and opting to leave.

I remember the empty roads.

How can anyone ever forget?

And, yet, I'm sure plenty do.

Certainly, plenty have forgotten because we're nowhere near as united as we were by lunchtime that day.

But I haven't. 

I took inventory of my family and friends. I was blessed that all were fine.

My losses were minimal.

Yet this day still hurts. No matter what I watch -- or if I don't watch anything -- the hurt still feels fresh and just unreal.

I mean, did that really happen?

It did and, for a short time, it bonded us.

Shanksville, PA

So, once again we relive the horror. The memorial events took place and the names were read. Bells rang out.

By the afternoon, as I write, we wipe our eyes, brush ourselves off, and steady ourselves for the rest of our Sunday.

Football is coming up.

We move along, hoping that we never forget.

The Bruins Are Back

 

Sean is still here, having driven all the way to his job in Fishkill this morning only to have to come back tonight. 

I mean, he lives here part-time but it's a bit of a commute for him.

But he's here, we had dinner, and I'm happy when he's around.

On the other hand, it's one of those nights in which I get tired of taking the blasted high road and being "nice."

But, of course, being nice means not writing what I'm thinking and keeping such things in the ol' vault.

Turning this to the happier, I got back to Brunswick for the first time today since the spring season ended.

Bruins coach Wayne McGillicuddy asked for a broadcast of today's scrimmage between the Bruins and Loomis Chaffee. his belief was that it would be a good dress rehearsal and that's something I'm in complete favor of.

It gave Chris Erway and me a chance to work in the booth and for him to get his first look at Brunswick.

Look, is it necessary? No, but I see more positives than negatives to broadcasting it.

It allowed me to see if I have the equipment I need for each week. There are subtle differences between the setup for Greenwich, Brunswick, and others. In the case of Wick, I have to run audio to a camera. 

The Brunswick booth is also a different setup than many others that Chris and I work in. For one thing, we stand in two different rooms and, while that doesn't seem like a big deal, there can be visual cues that we'll often use. In this case, that's not as easy to do.

So, the larger point here is that broadcasting a scrimmage isn't a necessity.

But it did come in handy.

Today was the day that we get the luxury of using the Brunswick roster and learning names. For Chris, it was a chance to learn names that I already know.

It was a chance to watch Loomis Chaffee and know that they are, indeed, the Pelicans.

The thing is that you're used to certain things if you cover certain places. In the case of Chris, he's always covered the FCIAC and CIAC. Now he'll get to cover the NEPSAC, where the football is still great. He'll see Williston-Northampton and Avon Old Farms and Cheshire Academy and Trinity-Pawling.

We'll travel to some of those and we'll have some of those teams visiting Cosby Field.

He learned today about the Robert L. Cosby statue and the tradition of shaking his hand. 

To me, there was enormous value in this to be able to paint the picture week after week.

I'm glad we did it. When The Hun School visits Brunswick next week, we'll be ever more prepared than we would have been.

Oh, by the way, the Bruins look quite good. The Pelicans do also.

And Sean is still here.

He's happy here.