Ice is Nice

Christine McVie, 1943-2022

I'm heading back to the hockey rink tomorrow but hold that thought.

So, Spotify Wrapped is all the rage right now.

You see, I need to know what everyone is streaming. Oh, wait. No, I don't. For me, the process would be simple. First, I don't use Spotify a lot. I have it on my phone and I might use it occasionally but not that much.

So that kind of takes me out of this whole thing, doesn't it? But, let's play along and assume I did. Here's what it would say in all likelihood (and would basically be the same answers since, roughly, 1984 or so):

- The Beatles

- Huey Lewis and the News

- Billy Joel

- A mish-mosh of other stuff.

The end.

For instance, tonight I might be playing some Fleetwood Mac in honor of Christine McVie, who died earlier today at the age of 79. The first thing is how the heck is Christine McVie 79 years old? But, beyond that, as much as people loved Stevie Nicks in the Big Mac Attack of the 70s, I loved the soulful voice of McVie. 

Whether she was singing "You Make Loving Fun," "World Turning," "Songbird," "Little Lies," "Everywhere," "Over My Head" or backup on one of the myriad other Fleetwood Mac songs, McVie brought the sound of a smoky piano bar to records, cassettes, CDs, and 8-tracks of the era.

Maybe it was created via cigarettes and whisky or perhaps that's just an image of that time.

She was, frankly, among my favorite voices in music. I got the fuss over Nicks and Lindsey Buckingham but it McVie who brought brilliant sensibility to the creation of their sound.

Her voice wasn't flashy. It relayed a lot without theatrics or gymnastics. It could melt a heart.

She also seemed to rise above the soap opera of Fleetwood Mac, even though she was smack in the middle of it, as the former Christine Perfect married bassist John McVie -- the "Mac" of the band. They divorced in 1976.

What a wonderful vocalist, writer, and keyboardist. Her passing definitely brought sadness to the music world today.

Oh, hockey. Yeah, I got way off base here.

Tomorrow, I'll call Brunswick and Loomis Chaffee from the Balkind Balcony inside the Hartong Rink. The balcony where I work and others watch the game has been renamed in honor of the late Teddy Balkind, the St. Luke's hockey player who suffered a fatal injury inside the rink last January. It's an extraordinary move by Brunswick to honor Teddy and it will be my profound honor to speak of it moving forward.

"From the Balkind Balcony in the Hartong Rink" will be my approach. 

Starting tomorrow.

When I'm asked about sports that are the toughest to broadcast, hockey is inevitably what people say. 

The correct answer -- many agree -- is baseball. 

Hockey has action right in front of your eyes. So long as you understand the sport it's simply a matter of explaining.

"Smith swoops down into the far corner, feeds Jones behind the net, takes a check and deals into the left corner. Out to the left boards and into the circle, Shot on net -- SAVE! -- rebound..."

And so on. Just describe it. Once you find that rhythm it becomes second nature.

Baseball? Let's face it, there's no secret of my love of calling baseball, but you have to be ready with stories and other things to talk about between pitches. It's a different kind of animal and if you lack the ability to work at that leisurely pace the game will eat you up.

Hockey? Just talk.

The same goes for other sports, such as basketball, which I'll do on Saturday.

I suppose it's the challenge of calling hockey -- perceived or otherwise -- that still fires me up. I still remember getting that first request to do a game.

I didn't want to do it.

John Connelly -- my predecessor as WGCH sports director -- called me to say he was ill. He asked me to step in for him, essentially trading with me as he said he'd handle the board operator duties.

I wasn't ready. I didn't have rosters. I had no time to prepare. Didn't I need 20 hours to study ... something?

He begged. Firmly.

He said Bob Small would be at the site to set up and break down. John Spang would be my analyst and he'd help make me comfortable.

I capitulated.

It was Jan 24, 2000.

Ridgefield played Greenwich at the Dorothy Hamill Rink (yes, really, that Dorothy Hamill).

Was I good? No. Anything but. Yet, as I recall, the game wasn't particularly high leverage so it was a good night to be raw and, frankly, bad.

John Spang made me better. That is absolutely true. If I said anything that was off he'd just shoot me a look that said, "What is he talking about?"

The message was received. Within time I took on more hockey and got adjusted.

I taught myself that when all else failed, I could just say the score. That's always the answer: say the score.

I got better. I got more comfortable. For a time, I'd defer to others to call hockey. Then, eventually, I began to push for the call.

Now I've called conference championships and state championships and even youth world championships.

That doesn't mean I'll go to the Balkind Balcony tomorrow and immediately feel confident. I haven't called a hockey game in nearly nine months. There will be rust. There will be an adjustment.

I just called football. I'll do more football on Sunday.

I'll do basketball on Saturday.

I'm out of practice but I'm ready. I'm not afraid.

And, to be clear, I love doing it despite my distaste for the winter. I have to remember to dress appropriately for the rink.

Brunswick has great hockey and the fans seem to appreciate my call.

I'll be ready.

Drop the puck.

Live.

From the Balkind Balcony.