Resolved

We lost Vin Scully in 2022 but we'll always remember

 

Home can be the Pennsylvania Turnpike

Indiana's early morning dew

High up in the hills of California

Home is just another word for you

 -- Billy Joel, "You're My Home"

Two Thousand and Twenty-Two opened like many other years. It was dreary and I was, essentially, alone.

Oh, I think Sean might have been in the house but never kid yourself. We're a great duo but so often just doing our own thing. That's not a criticism at all. We'll have meals together and talk but I often work and he talks to his friends and it's all just fine.

Two Thousand and Twenty-Two will also be dreary as it ends, with rain and fog throughout the day.

In between, there were glimpses of doom with hints of promise and ecstasy. In other words, it was like any other year.

But I came into the year knowing it was time for some things to happen. The most noticeable one was handing over the keys to a new owner of Mom's house.

I had been a ship adrift for years in Mahopac. When I came back it was because I needed to. Then I stayed because Mom needed me. Then she died and those almost last two years were interesting. 

May 24: An empty living room. An era ends.

We made the best of it, keeping the house standing and the lawn manicured. Slowly, a few things would get cleaned out.

We knew that we would be moving out as 2021 ended. The new owner stopped a few times to look around and start making plans for what he intended to do with the house.

Then there no news. Then, suddenly, bam: the closing was set for May. We basically had a month to clean out. It was daunting and hellacious and mentally draining. We cleaned out nearly 60 years in six weeks and I found a new place to live.

A home. A real one.

With our eternal thanks to my landlords, Sean and I moved in with a huge assist from my cousin over two days in late May.

Home. While I love my hometown it was no longer my problem.

I tossed and turned on May 25, adjusting to the new sounds of my home in Greenwich, but it was mine.

Home. Resolved. For now.

There is still more to resolve and more situations to straighten out. As I've said many times, I'd like to get a work base. I don't want to shut down on anyone, especially from a broadcasting perspective. Heck, I still want to go to Ohio and grab the overflow of games that Mike Hirn often talks about. I'm weird but that's my kind of getaway.

Oh I'll get out of town in '23. Sean and I have an agreement to do so.

April 23: The Beatles' Rooftop Concert Site

I went to London and San Francisco. Both might happen again. Given I'm pretty fond of traveling, I'm happy about those thoughts.

Both of those trips -- to be sure, business trips -- still brought me great joy. I often think about climbing 528 steps to the very top of St. Paul's Cathedral. That wasn't easy for me. Of course, I think about visiting Abbey Road. But, perhaps most of all, I think of the quiet Saturday morning when I found myself standing below the site of The Beatles' rooftop concert on the roof of Apple Coprs' headquatrters.

Aug 20: Philadelphia

There were plenty of wonderful moments on this side of the Atlantic also. Besides San Francisco there was Cooperstown, North Carollina, Philadelphia, a drive all around Hartford, and myriad other fun moments.

The Greenwich Town Party, when Billy Joel rocked our town and Sean and I hosted on WGCH, was a wonderful time. Adding Susan, Lucy, and Annabelle for evening was a moment I'l always remember.

But it's time to move the ball down the field also and resolve other things. One way or another, I'm hoping we'll get there somehow in the next 365 days.

I can't thank you all enough for reading and commenting. It's humbling how many times I get told, "I read your blog." It is also, in some ways, embarrassing because, as I've often said, I bleed a bit here. 

Sean and I ended the day in a very "us" way: by going to Wawa for a great lunch (yes, great) and then hitting Wegmans (our grocery store) before coming home. 

We continue, as we have for years, to keep moving forward.

Lastly, we remember those we lost. For me, the passing of Vin Scully was like losing a family member.

We end 2022 with the same plea I make every year: be good to each other and let's find peace. Love one another.

See you tomorrow when we'll all feel ... precisely the same.

Dec 31: He's still here

Babbling about Broadcasting

 

Four years ago tonight, I sat down at the computer and said, "I need to write on the blog or it's over."

Boom. #Project365 was born. Encouraged by all of you, I've written on 1,462 consecutive days.

Yes, the topics have often been repetitive: sports, play-by-play, broadcasting, the cat, Sean, life, mental health, travel, sports, play-by-play, and sports.

You know, something like that.

So, today, I'll do more of the same.

No, this isn't a year in a review. But, maybe it sort of is.

A year (ending tomorrow) that is like every other year: good and bad.

I found myself reflecting as I sat in the lobby outside of the Hartong Rink at Brunswick this morning. The road had led me to more game broadcasts in a year than ever before. I felt so grateful to have one last call in 2022.

I did the math: 40 baseball games, 27 football, 29 basketball, 20 ice hockey, and so on. I felt a swelling of pride as I counted. I thought about the various places we worked and the experiences we had.

We'd been to Atlantic City and Easthampton and Fairfield and Middletown and Lagrangeville and Greenwich, of course.

Sadly, there were no Mahopac games, and it's possible that stretch is over but I'm smart enough to never say never. Places develop their own tastes whether we like it or not. It explains how a lot of things -- maybe everything -- that gets popular find an audience.

Today wasn't about that anyway. Today was pausing to remember that, after a day in which I felt I lacked energy (low caffeine). I was charged up and ready for one more broadcast. Ice hockey between Brunswick and Belmont Hill was coming up.

Of course, I think of my parents because I always think of them. I know they fretted over me getting into this business and they weren't wrong. To be sure, I'd like a bit of a steadier life and to settle some things down as we flip the calendar. I'm not a resolution type of gut but I'd definitely say a steadier life remains my goal.

That doesn't mean I'm saying I'm backing down from my game schedule. Oh, hardly. 

I still enjoy it so much. I'm able to hide under a headset and just describe while telling stories for a few hours.

But, what you might not remember is how I almost didn't want to come back to calling games about a year ago. I was crushed. My heart. My soul. My confidence.

Crushed.

But I climbed back on the horse with ice hockey and the sadness of the passing of Teddy Balkind. Out of that came normalcy and a sense of peace being back at the rink. 

Then came basketball and wrestling. And, for the first time, I called wrestling on my own. It terrified me and I knew that one of the teams wanted their broadcasters to call it so I was in a no-win. But I still called it and did it, ahem, my way. It was a video broadcast so the picture did the work and I filled the spaces.

It worked. I'm charged up to try it again.

Then baseball in late March. I remember telling friends that I wondered if I still had the ability (or, in my words: "I suck") and, to be honest, I still don't know, but I did it. I filled in on a couple of University of New Haven broadcasts. Sadly, nothing more came of working with them.

I also snagged a Manhattan College game. Again, just one.

So we take the wins and the losses. I regained my baseball spikes eventually, with Brunswick, Fairfield National Little League, and the Babe Ruth Regional standing me back up. Sadly, I called my last pitch in July.

Oh, and in the middle of all of this, I also handled public address duties for a bunch of Renegades games. That, of course, was a whole different story but I stand firm that it was still a happy place to be among friends and family. Those family members intend to return in 2023 and, with that, I guess I am also.

It's baseball and I still love it.

I'll put the headset back on in January with more hockey. Basketball will also return. Maybe some wrestling.

I wish the schedule was a little more firm but there's also the ability to shift around and grab other broadcasts. I'd still like to get some Greenwich High School games back on the air where they belong.

I gave each broadcast everything I had, sometimes to the point of exhaustion. I worked with great friends but I also frequently worked alone.

But I feel grateful that I can do something that brings people joy or at least the satisfaction of coverage.

It's not a universal thing and I do have my critics for sure. 

And, believe me, this is far more about me than I'd prefer.

But I did want to ease up on myself for one post and tell you the pride I feel in these broadcasts for 2022.

I felt slightly emotional as I got ready to open the broadcast this morning as if somewhere Mom and Dad were smiling.

Yes, their concerns for this career were totally merited.

But, I've also done OK.

And I'll be back on the air soon.

I'm babbling. Like I do on the air.

Good night, everyone.

Four Years of "What Was I Thinking?"

 

Today is December 29.

A partly cloudy Thursday and there just always seems to be storms about, metaphorical or otherwise. But we persevere.

I thought I'd be at the Greenwich Skating Club today but when Brunswick announced they were adding two home broadcasts, I had a conundrum on my hands.

I had said I'd do the Greenwich Winter Classic at the Skating Club. There are three games being played -- boys JV, girls varsity and boys varsity -- and I thought I'd do at least the varsity games on WGCH.

But, nah, for some reasons. Frustrating for sure and something I'm hoping we can fix in 2023.

So I'll just do them on Robcasting. Getting the word out to build an audience can be tough but I try. The thing is that if the audience isn't robust live then maybe folks will listen to the archive.

Bottom line: the games would get covered. Professionally.

The games will be covered on LocalLive without me on the call so my going would be for fun.

With Brunswick back, that meant putting a voice on their broadcast today. They've been loyal and good to me and, while I hate backing out of a commitment (and, believe me, that gnaws at me) I knew going to Hartong Rink is the right call.

I asked a few people for an opinion and they confirmed what I thought.

I'm off to Brunswick as soon as I'm done typing and I'll try to give the Bruins and the Belmont Hill Sextants.

It will also be my 138th game of 2022, thus establishing a new high for me. Look, I talk about quality versus quantity but I work so hard to make every broadcast happen so forgive me for being proud of a number that I wished was even higher but am pleased to achieve it this year.

This was not a number I expected to hit. I felt like games were sort of dribbling to me but working with Babe Ruth Baseball, Neversink Media, Fairfield Prep, Fairfield National Little League, GYFL, and Boomslang Basketball, along with Brunswick, WGCH, and LocalLive opened the door to a nice bounty of broadcasts.

The year will end for me with one more Belmont Hill/Brunswick tilt tomorrow morning at 10.

We'll deal with 2023 in a few days. I'm trying to figure a few things out but I will say that the past few nights with Fairfield Prep were great. No, the games weren't nail-biters, but I like where they're going with the broadcasts and they seemed happy with me. So, maybe I'll be back on a few more broadcasts there.

Oh, and the December 29th reference at the top of the post? Well, this actually ends year four of Project 365. It started on Dec 30, 2018 when I made a last-gasp effort to revive the blog. I did as often do in late December/early January. I always write a few posts with the hope of it becoming a habit.

Well, that habit became an obsession. I've not missed a day since then. I do think about ending it and taking a day off but it hasn't happened yet so we'll just keep plugging along (quality be damned).

Year five of this insanity (Project Infinity, right John Nash?) begins tomorrow and I have no reason to think I won't be back.

But first, hockey. 

Watch it on LocalLive or listen to it on Robcasting.

Last note: the great Pelé has died at the age of 82. Before I knew anything about soccer, I knew his name. He's Babe Ruth to me in soccer. A profound talent.

Tournament Night One

 

I was on the call of the Fairfield Prep Holiday Classic basketball tournament last night in Fairfield.

Oh, the new Leo D. Mahoney Arena is absolutely beautiful. It has that "new arena smell" still. It's very intimate, as the crowd is so close to the action and there are nice little tributes to the building it replaced, Alumni Hall.

Even our broadcast perch was interactive, as we sat on a concourse level where fans could lean over our shoulders as we called the games.

I've often talked about chemistry in a broadcast. It's so crucial in the booth for the on-air team but it's also important for the entire crew. In this case, I was working with a crew that had a director, a producer, and a couple of camera operators. The producer is heading up Fairfield Prep's broadcasts moving forward while everyone else is a student.

It's a fancy dance, walking in as the hired voice (I was also described as "the pro."). I got talked up as being "kind of a big deal" which embarrasses me but, among friends I'll lean into it and have fun. As Shawn Sailer and I walked up to where I'd call the game, I joked about "the GOAT" approaching to him.

Blech. I'm hardly "the GOAT."

While maintaining a calm demeanor and approach and calling the game as I've all called the previous 1600-plus, I was honestly inwardly awkward and nervous. It's a new scene. It's a new group. I don't want to screw it up. I know there are people constantly gunning to do what I do (some who were in the building!). 

New regimes do things differently and, as I alluded to recently, you have to approach every broadcast with gratitude as it can be taken away in the blink of an eye. So I certainly wanted to help produce broadcasts that people admire.

I called the games and eventually established a rhythm. Oh, I made mistakes (damn you, rosters) and the games were ... well, they were games.

You see, what is expected of me is to recognize that I'm not going to heavily criticize high school athletes. Yes, there certainly can be criticism but these aren't professional athletes. So when the first game has a nearly 40 point difference, all I can do is still focus on the action, give the score and time, and joke about dinner plans or something else.

While I don't keep shooting percentages in basketball, I'd love to know what that number was in the second game. There were a lot of misses but the audience gets that without me having to add much more.

Still, this is especially awkward when the son of a close friend is not having a good game.

"The pictures said it all," I said after the game. "I couldn't sugarcoat it."

No, I could not. But the choice of words matters. So, by saying, "He's having trouble finding it," it's critical without being harsh. It's fair and honest.

Also, the pictures. As a play-by-play announcer so used to working with a more descriptive "radio" call, a broadcast like last night shifts into more of a hybrid. The camera people are very raw so I can't just do a TV call but I really shouldn't go all-in with details because there are supposed to be pictures.

It's a dance.

This was a good atmosphere for me as a broadcaster in that I know some of the coaches. I know some of the families. I know a few of the players. I also know others connected to the evening. It was my own crew that I knew none of and, in the long run, it didn't impact the broadcasts. 

We got along fine and found a groove as the night moved along. I was able to joke with them a bit, hoping to release any tension (especially within me). I've been told I can be intimidating and it's always my goal to alleviate that.

I think the games looked pretty good for a first go-round. 

Nobody knew what to expect from the guy who would serve as the broadcaster and I guess I did OK.

Crews change. It might not be the same bunch tonight.

But I'll be back.

Oh, you bet I will.

Games to Call

 

Leo T. Mahoney Arena (Photo: Fairfield University)

So begins the final week of 2022. 

Games. Yes, lots of games. There's a question of how many but that will be resolved.

Two tonight.

Two tomorrow.

Maybe two Thursday? Three? One?

One Friday.

As many as eight total. 

Love it.

Without question, I'll do the most games I've ever done in a calendar year by the end of Friday and I'm beyond grateful. Yet the thing I always have to remind myself is that it's the quality that matters.

Was every broadcast good? Most? A few?

I'd like to believe they all were with some better than others. Despite whatever demons are swirling I try to believe that I'm ready and can do a quality job on each game.

Oh, don't get me wrong. The four New Jersey girls soccer state championships? I felt like an awkward fish out of water but I did my prep, gathered my notes, collected my rosters, and made sure to have adequate internet for any additional information on the fly.

The four New Jersey girls lacrosse championships? Those were mighty challenging but I still gave it my best.

I'm diving into boys basketball tonight for the Prep Holiday Classic in Fairfield. I could look at how many times I've called it (probably five or six) but it doesn't matter. I was lucky that, when Fairfield had one public high school in the late 90s, they needed one more team to fill out the four-team tournament.

Enter the Greenwich Cardinals.

And, thus, I got the call on WGCH of the games Greenwich played in.

So it was that I fell for Alumni Hall at Fairfield University. The place had charm and screamed of old-school athletics.

But time marches on and modern amenities are a beautiful thing. Thus, I'm heading to the new Leo T. Mahoney Arena tonight for four games (two tonight, two tomorrow).

It was March 1, 2021, when Shawn Sailer and I did the last high school game from Alumni Hall. Tonight, we'll both be back in the new place on the site of the old place.

Two games. Four teams.

6 p.m.: Notre Dame-Fairfield vs. Fairfield Ludlowe

8 p.m.: Fairfield Warde vs. Fairfield Prep

The winners play in the championship game tomorrow night at 8 p.m. while the consolation game is at 6 p.m.

I'm on the call and I'll share the link for the video feed when I get it. I'm also planning to air the audio on Robcasting.

Later in the week, I'm definitely calling at least one (and maybe two) Brunswick hockey games. It seems the Bruins were supposed to play in a tournament near Buffalo but, as you might know, they've been hit with awful snow and cold. 

Photo: NYSDOT Buffalo on Twitter

As a result, the Bruins are now hosting games on Thursday and Friday. 

The Friday game is at 10 a.m. and I'm all over that. I get a game to call and still get the rest of my day.

Oh, finding the energy to jump on a morning broadcast can be a trick but there's something about an early morning game that I like. I think my earliest game broadcast was 8 a.m. down near Philadelphia.

So I'll be in the Hartong Rink by 8:30 on Friday morning and on my way back home in the early afternoon. Perfect.

We'll head into 2023 not long after that.

No. Let's just focus on today.

Enjoy the journey.

New experience tonight.

First game at 6.

Customer Service

 

Facebook photo (and it looks pretty delicious)

He greeted me as soon as I walked in the door.

Hellos were exchanged and the order was placed.

"How are you?" he asked. "How was your Christmas?"

I awaited my pizza: one regular slice and, for the fun of it, one Sicilian. In the meantime, there was that hint of small talk, exchanging pleasantries about the holiday.

Maybe he really does recognize me and maybe he doesn't but I'll tell you this: I've been going to this pizza shop for over 35 years and he's been there all along.

Dom & Vinnie's Pizzeria opened in 1983. Their location was fortuitous, at the corners of New York routes 100, 100A, and 100C. The Sprain Brook Parkway entrance ramp is around the corner.

At least, it was fortuitous for me. It's the closest pizza place to Westchester Community College, and I ambled in its door for the first time in the fall of 1987.

In fact, as I recall, I went there on my first day of school. In some ways, it was to calm my nerves as much as to feed my face.

Such was the first time I experienced their tangy, tasty sauce, and pillowy crust. I think I've only had their pizza, rarely straying from two regular slices. I'm sure their other items are excellent as well but the pizza has always been the star for me.

It had the feel of a true pizza parlor. Nothing fancy. Behind the counter, they might have been gruff or, as this guy always is, super-friendly.

Incidentally, two slices and a beverage cost $3.05 in 1987. Today, my slices were over $7 in total. Ah, times change.

I would return frequently during my time at WCC. I'd also come back when I worked in nearby Hawthorne. Yet, it's still easy enough to stop by when the mood strikes and I'm in the area.

Not everyone behind the counter greets me like an old friend. I don't think twice either way. It's nice to have service with a smile but an experience worthy of a "Seinfeld" episode doesn't warrant a scathing review on social media.

Sure, I get it. You hope for basic customer service skills. You hope for professionalism. We don't need to be best friends.

While there can be no exception for rudeness there can be a certain level of compassion, especially at the holidays. People are busy. Stressed. They have bad days.

Yet compassion is not always the case.

Who knows the circumstances behind why things happen? I can tell you I don't.

Yes, the customer is (almost) always right. There are exceptions to that, to be honest.

But in an era where small businesses are under constant assault -- from COVID shutdowns to staffing issues to, yes, entitled and rude customers -- I think we need to be careful with the power of the online rebuke.

So I guess I'm a little more understanding if I'm not treated like a family member wherever I go.

That includes Dom & Vinnie's near Westchester Community College, where the pizza tastes literally the way I remember it since 1987.

The service has remained consistent as well.

And, even if they've had a bad day, I'll keep going back.

No Grinch

 

Florida, Dec 1970

I spent seven Christmas Days in Florida in my youth.

Santa would come to Mahopac roughly a week before Christmas and we'd proceed as if it was the real thing.

Then we'd go to Florida and have a Christmas Day with my paternal grandparents.

While I'm too young to have clear memories and my usual total recall, I still have cherished flashes of those days in the 1970s.

Christmas will always make me think of my parents, and their presence is felt on this day. My father loved Christmas and while I never thought my mom loved it as much I was still her chauffeur for many holiday gatherings.

It's still a bit weird to show up at family events either without her or not seeing her. Her absence is still palpable and yet, she's still present somehow.

Inside my nephew's house, where I visited with family today, is my mother's dining room table. I'd forgotten they moved it back in May so it was a quick shock to see it before I realized the happiness I felt.

In fact, I made sure to eat my plate of brunch deliciousness there, just as I'd eaten many a meal over many a year at that table.

Overall, it was a nice day. I texted with many and spoke with a few. I take no offense from those I didn't hear from and hopefully, nobody is offended if I missed them.

I was pleased to see my sister and members of her family, who fed my appetite and my soul. Plenty of laughs were had.

I need more of it.

George Harrison once sang:

Give me love. 

Give me love.

Give me peace on earth.

That's it. That's as simple of a wish as we can have.

Merry Christmas, everyone.

My grandparents' house, Holiday, FL

Traditions

 

I recently watched a really important social media post about holiday traditions from someone who once suffered an unthinkable loss.

Since then, the person posting has become an advocate for herself and others who have dealt with similar things.

The overall point was to not worry about the traditions of the holidays. Do what works for you. There are no rules.

Life has taught me that traditions move on and new traditions -- and new memories.

In our case, our tradition of seeing holiday lights in Norwalk along with dinner and ice cream ended several years ago. The family who did the lights decided to stop and, well, that was that.

Time marches on.

Sean and I had started a Christmas Eve tradition a few years ago where we'd have dinner and watch at least one movie together. The idea at first was for each of us to pick a movie we want the other to watch.

We've continued to watch a movie every year but it's normally me coming up with an idea.

We hadn't talked about it at all this year and, as of this morning, I had no intention of doing anything.

Our place is wonderful but our living room only has my Ikea chair (and a cat tower) for furniture. We could still use some kind of a couch or loveseat eventually but space remains an issue.

So, to be honest, I wasn't feeling it. I don't say that in a bad way. I was just sort of willing to be low-key about things. Oh, we'd still have dinner but I was content with football on TV and I know Sean likes doing his own thing.

I manage my own emotions during the holidays, as has been duly noted here. There's a certain level of loneliness and sadness that I battle. Admitting it isn't some great fault but I also have to just deal with it and carry on.

Anyway, somewhere along the line, an angel intervened today.

I mentioned something about what to do for dinner when Sean added a question.

"Have you decided what we're watching tonight? I can't think of anything."

Huh. Well, I guess we'll be watching a movie.

As I got ready to order dinner I began rifling through our streaming services. Honestly, very little jumped out at me.

I've wanted to watch The Godfather with Sean but that's also a big commitment.

Ultimately, we chose to go with Office Space. He'd never seen it and I figured it was light and, as he's a working man now, maybe he can understand some of the silliness.

Sure, it's filled with very dated late-1990s references but the overall theme works.

He rolled the chair in from my bedroom and we settled in.

We both laughed, ate our dinner, made fun of the cat, and resumed our pre-movie activities. He's now back in his room and I'm in the living room, awaiting Raiders/Steelers.

So tradition continued with minimal fuss.

Despite whatever emotional stuff I express, I can't stress enough that I feel gratitude. Yes, the other stuff exists and is real but I also feel gratitude for Sean and my loved ones. 

I feel gratitude for this place that I call home. It will be seven months tomorrow when I opened the door and could officially say I lived here. 

So, yes, I feel gratitude for the continuation of the tradition of the Christmas Eve movie. 

But, at the same time, it would have been OK if we hadn't done it this year. We could just start over next year. Or not.

I'm happy that we did it.

May your Christmas Eve -- and your Christmas -- be filled with low-key non-stressful events that bring you joy.

There are no rules so do what is best for you.

Powering Down

 

Broadcasting from my car, 2020

Well, Old Man Winter (or whatever this thing is called*) is attacking Greenwich this morning.

However, it's not feet of snow. It's rain -- lots of rain (and maybe ice) -- along with wind. The wind, of course, could bring on power outages.

Thus, I'm writing early while we still have power.

*I refuse to use those Weather Channel-approved winter storm names. Look, I love the Weather Channel and watch it far more than I watch any news channel, but the names are silly, no matter how much they try to convince me of them. They are, to me, hokum (simply because hokum is a great word).

As for the power scenario, well, much like my broadcasts (and, literally, my life) I do have the ability to fake it to make it. "What-ifs" roll around my skull all the time.

"What if we lose power and I need internet?" 

So long as cell towers aren't down I can relocate somewhere and work off my phone's hotspot. Or go somewhere that has power and internet and use theirs, of course. 

Never rule out the idea of, say, being out at home and me relocating to WGCH (assuming they have power). It wouldn't be the first time I've slept there!

But, yeah, I'm always thinking about a workaround and am happy that, as of now, I don't have to use it.

It will always remind me of that crazy tropical storm (Isaias) that walloped up in Aug 2020. We lost power around 2 p.m. that day and I was certain I'd not do "Doubleheader" but an exchange with Bob Small at WGCH convinced me to do the show if possible.

Look, radio is meant to be live and local. Now, there was no way I was getting to Greenwich that day, but if I could go live from somewhere, that's what is best for our audience, and I'm connected enough that I could make the content local. 

However, cell signals were bad and the internet was out at home. So I needed to figure something out.

If you don't remember, I loaded up my car with equipment and drove to nearby Baldwin Place (Somers) to see if I could find a good place to connect. Initially, I was going to try to sit in the parking lot of the Somers Commons Shopping Center but the cell signal was just not acceptable. Turned out, of course, that the local cell towers had paid a toll in the storm.

I drove up the hill on US 6, back in Mahopac where a McDonald's is. If they had power, they might have free Wi-fi.

Oh, you might also recall that we were in the middle of a pandemic in Aug 2020 so strolling into a McDonald's, buying a cup of coffee and some French fries to make sure you're a customer, and plopping down at a table wasn't realistic to say the least. Nor would it be allowed.

I pulled into the parking lot and hoped to ping from my car. It didn't work but what did work was just enough cell service to survive.

So I did the show from my car.

At that point, content isn't the most important thing. Oh, I could try to report about power outages and things that I've seen and heard but, in this case, it's being on the air in case something happens that needs to be reported.

I did the show, packed up, and went back home. 

Oh, but I also had to get us dinner. 

And, for the love of this silly Project 365 streak, I went back out and wrote a quick post.

We were often quite fortunate in that we got power back reasonably during an outage since a substation was just up the hill from the house. Power came back on not long after and we got on with our lives. We were out for roughly eight hours.

A power outage, actually, can be good for the soul. Not that I want one. But it can force us to read, converse, and get creative even in ways to simply be active.

Again: I don't want to lose power. I suppose I'm just trying to find a silver lining.

So, to play it safe, I'm composing nice and early.

Written and posted by 9:45 a.m.

Let's call that a win.

Surviving the Season

Every December -- in fact, every fall -- I have this urge to just disappear.

As I've written before, "'tis the season" isn't my bag. I'm content to go away from roughly Thanksgiving until January 2 or 3.

While not a beach bum I often thought an island mostly cut off from the world would be the way to go. Given I find that completely unrealistic for me, I've often thought I'd go hang with my North Carolina family or something else. They've also said the door is always open for me to do so.

'Tis not happening this year and, honestly, it's OK. I'm pretty content at home. Sean is here and we'll hang out until Christmas morning when he heads back to New York.

Christmas Eve used to mean a bit more with an annual family get-together but that eventually came to an end. Sean and I normally watch a movie and have dinner at home. We haven't discussed movie options for this year but we'll figure something out.

It's gotten easier but those days of dropping Sean off early on Christmas morning and doing whatever the day had in store for me were sad. There were years when I'd actually do something fun on Christmas but I'd be missing him. But, like everything else, I made the best of it, though I'll acknowledge spending Christmas totally alone a few times wasn't the most fun I've ever had.

I've said it before: the holidays are a difficult time for many for a variety of reasons. Thus my desire to be anywhere but here. Yet, this year doesn't quite have that feeling of awfulness.

And still, I wouldn't mind being in a car off to somewhere on Sunday.

That's not going to happen this year and, as I said, I'm OK with it. While Sean won't be with me, I'll still get to see my sister and members of her family. There will be food and drinks and laughs.

But, when it comes right down to it, I'm the single uncle. But, no point in wallowing.

Still, I write it often at this time of year, just make sure people are OK. Check on them. We miss lost loved ones or have financial hardships or are just lonely or something else. There are often people who think this stuff is made up but, having dealt with some of these emotions, it's quite real.

So cut them some slack if they want to hide.

I'm not trying to do that this year.

We're all just trying to make the best of it.

Franco and the Playground

 

We lost Franco Harris today.

The big back, number 32 of the Steelers, was 72.

Franco helped turn a moribund franchise from a joke into a machine. With Mean Joe Greene (1969), Terry Bradshaw (1970) and Harris (1972), the Pittsburgh Steelers had the nucleus of a dynasty. Jack Lambert, Jack Ham, Lynn Swann, John Stallworth, Mike Webster, L.C. Greenwood, Donnie Shell, and others would solidify that dynasty with four Super Bowl wins in six years.

Pittsburgh went from nothing to nirvana, especially with Harris running into the end zone with the "Immaculate Reception" to pick up their first playoff win in franchise history in 1972. The play capped a defensive battle as the Steelers led just 6-0 before Ken Stabler broke off a 30-yard run to give the Raiders a 7-6 lead late in the fourth quarter. That led to Harris sprinting from his assignment as a blocker on "60 circle option" to grab the rebounded ball and run to history.

The Steelers would win their first title two years later but the love affair between the team and the city had been solidified. Harris was to have his number retired on Saturday night as the team honored the 50th anniversary of the play.

How popular is Franco Harris in Pittsburgh? Glimpses of the "Immaculate Reception" are everywhere, including a statue of Franco catching the loose ball at Pittsburgh International Airport. You can also visit the site where the famous play was made -- where Three Rivers Stadium once stood -- and literally be in Franco's footprint.

Franco was an ambassador and always came back to the city to wave the Terrible Towel in support of "the Stillers."

With Franco's passing, I was transported to youth as we always do when our heroes and those we admired die. We emulated those players on the field.

We tried to pitch with the motion of Juan Marichal or Tom Seaver or Luis Tiant. We used the batting stance of Willie Stargell or Ken Griffey Jr (or Bobby Murcer, of course).

We'd shoot free throws underhand like Rick Barry.

And, on the football field, we'd try to run like Franco Harris (though the Cowboys fans had to be Tony Dorsett). We'd recreate the plays that fascinated us. We'd try to make the big catches, dancing for touchdowns like Billy "White Shoes" Johnson or the Fun Bunch of the (sorry) Washington Redskins. Or the "sack dance" of Mark Gastineau.

I'm transported back to my front yard on Longview Drive. The Viggiano's backyard on Agor Lane. The football field at Mahopac High School. The front lawn of Austin Road Elementary School. Heck, myriad streets became pseudo-football fields (preferably no tackling there).

It didn't matter. We'd play any game on any surface. Throw a football from the dock on Lake MacGregor so we could make diving catches into the water? Bring it on!

We didn't worry about the money the players made. We generally didn't worry about anything but the game. We talked crap about each other's teams, especially the Cowboys. 

We were all Yankees fans so there was nothing to talk about there. Just play ball.

Sure, it was a simpler time and I realize I'm lingering in "back in my day" territory and so it goes. These are happy memories that helped mold me. Even the bad memories served their purpose (with differing results).

Sadly, our heroes are leaving us. The people that we watched every Sunday or on Monday Night Football. Franco Harris bursting up the gut in Super Bowl XIII to (hopefully) put the game out of reach. The Steelers still won but there was a need to bite fingernails.

Oh, Franco had his critics. Jim Brown (who I still think is the NFL GOAT) threatened to come out of retirement in 1984 because Harris was threatening his yardage record and Brown didn't like Franco's running style. Franco didn't avoid contact but if there was a chance to get out of bounds, he did. 

I tend to think the NFL prefers Franco's style, given what we've learned about CTE, but that's just me.

But to us -- the members of Steelers Nation, who smiled at the joy of Franco's Italian Army -- Franco was our guy. He was our big running back, along with the talent of Rocky Belier (Vietnam Vet, if you don't know) out of the backfield.

Yes. Franco was adopted by the Italians of Pittsburgh with the creation of "Franco's Italian Army." Another "Frank" sipped a beverage with him once.

Harris and Sinatra, wearing a "Franco's Italian Army" helmet

Glory years. That's what comes to mind. 

It's not living in the past.

It's just remembering to mute the sadness at the breaking news of the passing of Franco Harris.

The MVP of Super Bowl IX.

Forever "Immaculate."

"Argentina, Campeón del Mundo"

Andrés Cantor

 

It goes against everything I believe. At least it usually does.

Sunday, many in the sports world were transfixed by the World Cup finale between France and Argentina. The French were the defending champions while the Argentines last won with an assist from "The Hand of God Goal" of Diego Maradona in 1986.

Andrés Cantor, the "GOOOOOOAAAAAAALLLLLLLLLLLLLL" blaring play-by-play announcer for Telemundo, was on the call of his ninth World Cup final.

Cantor moved to Southern California when he was a teenager. He was born in Buenos Aires. Which, of course, is in Argentina.

Nationalistic pride can be difficult to keep at bay, especially when the most important, most coveted trophy in your sports -- arguably any sport -- is there to be won. But the country you feel such pride for.

When I got into calling soccer, many asked if I would have a "Cantor-esque" goal call and, of course, you know that's just not my style. But it's his thing and it's indeed won him a large share of notoriety for it.

Until the 76th minute on Sunday, this was a fairly ho-hum affair. The Argentines built up a 2-0 lead and, as one knows, that can be a large deficit to overcome.

Can be.

In fact, by the time I turned on the match following basketball, I assumed I was there to watch Argentina and their legendary player Lionel Messi win the long-desired chalice. It felt like it would be a coronation.

Then, as you might know, France got a penalty kick. Kylian Mbappé, the French star, converted.

2-1.

I nodded. I figured we had a game. Yet, no panic. I went into the kitchen.

Seconds later, I couldn't hear any description from the TV. Just noise. Yelling, via the English language broadcast on FOX.

Mbappé again.

2-2.

Extra time coming.

You probably know the story from there. Messi scored. 3-2. Mbappé answered. 3-3.

Penalty kicks (not my desired way to resolve such things) would resolve this thing.

In the stadium, Cantor continued to ride the wave of the match. In fact, in a quote to The Athletic, he said: "Argentina was playing so well and we were just 14 minutes away (from winning)."

"We."

If you know me, that's fingernails on a play-by-play headset to me.

But, again, national pride.

Still: "We."

To his credit, Cantor still knew he had the responsibility to call the match fairly, including "GOOOOOOOOOOOAAAALLLLLLL" ing it up when France scored.

And so, on to the PKs. Gonzalo Montiel had a chance to wrap up that long-sought-after World Cup title 36 years later.

In the booth, Cantor let loose after Montiel moved the back of the net. This is a translation of the call courtesy of Roberto Rojas on Twitter.

Roberto Rojas on Twitter

Now, I look at it this way: I keep coming back to national pride and, while that normally wouldn't settle me down, there's just something so different about this. Is the call my style? Oh, come on. I think we've already established that's not me. When you're from "The School of Scully," you believe in saying nothing. You make the call and get out of the way after the glorious crowd noise.

That, of course, was not how Cantor was going to do it. Instead, it was visceral, coming from his heart. He cried. Openly. That also would be considered a "no-no". but this is different from calling a World Series or even a Super Bowl.

This is like calling a World Series walk-off as if your own child did it and even that's not an apt comparison.

Even the "gatekeepers" of play-by-play (which I tend to act like at times) need to chill on this one and, overall, they (we) have because the praise for the call has been universal.

Look, I'll never knock passion. I've been telling students that for years. Always be passionate. 

It struck me so much that I finally got to play it on "Doubleheader" today after figuring out a way to produce it so my audience could hear it.

Not long after, the live video feed that I sent to Facebook went dead. I thought maybe I'd lost internet service.

Nope. Facebook's algorithm picked up that I had played Cantor's call and the underlings at FIFA ended the broadcast. I was still on the air on WGCH (and Robcasting) but scrambled to see if I could start another Facebook live session.

Nope. I was temporarily blocked.

I have since pulled the broadcast down completely from Facebook, hopefully getting me out of jail so that I may resume broadcasting tomorrow while passing "GO" and collecting $200.

But that's what Cantor's goal call meant to me. I wanted WGCH's listeners to hear it.

We can debate the frivolity of FIFA's copyrights some other time.

Or simply the frivolity of FIFA.

No, I would never advise a student to call this moment the way Andrés Cantor did. But here's the difference. He's Andrés Cantor. A legendary soccer play-by-play announcer from Argentina, calling a World Cup title for Argentina.

This was real. This was raw. His son and daughter were both in the stadium. This wasn't making it all about himself with some hyperbolic call. This was everything. This was the stuff you walk away on. This will be iconic.

There are exceptions to be made.

A Wonderful Gift

 

"Let me tell you how it will be..."

I asked for nothing this season and, generally, I'm not really exchanging much.

It's sort of been that way for a few years. Is that desirable? No, but I'm also not a material person.

So it was that I was handed a bag today.

Sheepishly I opened it to find a copy of the newly remasted Revolver by The Beatles.

On vinyl.

Oh my.

If you've read this little pile of nonsense on the internet for even a little while you know that album is sacred to me.

Like, there's Sports by Huey Lewis and the News and Revolver. Then everything else.

Yes, I realize there's a super duper incredible edition that also exists and I can hear those other outtakes and so on at another time. I've heard some already. When all is said and done, it's the album -- those precious 12 tracks -- that is what matters.

I'll put it this way: I have the Anthology CDs from the 1990s. I don't have, for what it's worth, any of the other remastered albums that have come out in recent years. The Anthology CDs are cool for what they are but, to tell you the truth, I don't play them that much. Outtakes and rarities are awesome for sure but, when you get right down to it, isn't it the original work that we're after? 

I don't need the alternate take. I need the produced take that we all know.

This gift means so much for a few reasons:

- The first Beatles CD I bought after they became available in 1987 was, of course, Revolver. A mere look at the tracklist can explain why. It's a brilliant record.

- This is the first of the "modern" records that I've picked up since the album has become such a thing again over the past decade or so. Tempted as I've been, I've not bought anything. So it's been a while since my crate of vinyl has increased at all.

Today, my crate picked up one that I don't own. Oh, I have Revolver in that precious CD bought circa 1988 at Lechmere in Poughkeepsie, NY. But a vinyl version? Oh my no.

So, when I got home, given it was the middle of the day and the apartment (and, for that matter, the house) was empty, it was time to give the platter that matters a spin.

Oh my sweet Lord it sounded glorious.

That count-in into "Taxman" leading to the guitar and bass thumping out of my speakers could no doubt be heard in the street. The Cat was not amused.

He was less amused when the lonely people of "Eleanor Rigby" showed up. Then John Lennon's dreamy (pardon the pun) "I'm Only Sleeping" woke up.

Sometimes, George Harrison's Indian music could be greeted with derision but "Love You To" is pretty fantastic.

The classics rolled on. "Here There and Everywhere" (one of McCartney's best) led to a joyous sing-along on "Yellow Submarine" before side one ended with the criminally underappreciated, "She Said She Said."

Side two continues the glory with "Good Day Sunshine" and "And Your Bird Can Sing" before halting with the deep and emotive "For No One" featuring the work of Alan Civil on French horn.

That line, "And in her eyes, you see nothing No sign of love behind the tears," is simply gut-wrenching. 

"Dr. Robert" (thank you) takes us to another Harrison song (his third), "I Want to Tell You" which seems to lift the album off to new territory. Indeed, "Got to Get You Into My Life," Macca's ode to pot (and not about a girl he can't live without) does just that before the album finishes with the song that blew the doors off of Abbey Road's tape machines: "Tomorrow Never Knows."

It's a lot to consider, given we were only "Yeah yeah yeah ing" a few years earlier. The game had been changed.

Shockingly, nobody complained about the ruckus emerging from my flat here in Greenwich.

The 12 songs produced immeasurable joy in its vinyl capacity; exactly how many feel it should be heard. 

I just sat in my chair and took it all in as each groove rotated by, mindful of the cat looking at it.

The artwork by Klaus Voormann, the Lads' old friend from Hamburg who went on to play bass on several Beatles' solo albums, only adds to the intrigue of the record. He sketched each member before cutting out the individual pictures that make up the sleeve.

To me, this is timeless. While Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Heart's Club Band reset music forever, this is an album -- the album -- that many Beatles fans point to as being the perfect example of their excellence.

That's exactly what it is for me, a stellar stretch from their early work that seemed to reach a new level with A Hard Day's Night into Help and Rubber Soul (taking nothing away from Beatles For Sale because all Beatles' music is pretty brilliant).

I'm not the best gift receiver. I'm awkward for sure.

But if this post doesn't express how much I'm overjoyed then I have some serious work to do.

Clearly, by the time it was over, I had turned off my mind so that I could "relax and float downstream."

"Thank you" will never be enough but I'm enormously grateful.

I hope this post serves as its own thank-you card.

Yes, the album is leaning on Rascal

Sunday Sports

 

All things being equal, I like to get up and get going.

That being said, an early start on Sunday morning wasn't desirable.

So the day began in the car and on the road to Hartsdale, NY for basketball.

For now, the simplicity of girl's hoops for Boomslang Basketball is my last call for 2022. However, I have six more games on the docket that I just have to get confirmed. So I'm not too nostalgic at the moment.

I've written about the ease that youth sports can be to broadcast. There's such innocent (to an extent of course). In my previous Boomslang broadcast, I settled into a set of bleachers at the Leffell School. Today, we were at the same school but we were in their second gymnasium.

No bleachers. In fact, little to no sideline.

As I told both Mike Hirn and Shawn Sailer, I don't want to ever hear another broadcaster complain, given my foot literally touched the sideline of the basketball game.

In the end, I had exactly one ball come to my makeshift broadcast table. Fortunately, there were no flying players to bust into me.

No souls were damaged in the making of the broadcast.

The beauty of the Sunday morning 10 a.m. start means that traffic from Greenwich to Hartsdale (and vice-versa) was light and I cruised without issue.

That meant I was home in time for the conclusion of the World Cup. I felt that Argentina, with legendary Lionel Messi, was the frontrunner before the tournament. Indeed that turned out to be the case and we do love ourselves an image of the hero riding off into the sunset. Messi had never claimed the World Cup and the fates seemed to be setting up for some kind of a "Raymond Borque" type of finish to his career.

Except, after the phenomenal victory for Argentina over France, Messi walked back his initial plans to retire from international competition.

Regardless, the match was one for the ages. I've watched a few but I've never watched one like that. It had everything that soccer is supposed to be. Admittedly, I'll never be in favor of things like penalty kicks resolving a championship but we can't have everything. Watching Messi and Mbappé of France was the very reason why soccer is "The Beautiful Game."

While I've seen people dumping on soccer this evening, the best advice is to simply ignore them. Those are the people who don't get it and never will.

I tuned in late but what I watched was absolutely thrilling.

To say otherwise means you're 1) a hater or 2) you didn't watch it.

Around the time I was preparing to switch from fútbol to football, I fulfilled a commitment to be a guest on a play-by-play podcast. Hosted by fellow veteran PBPer Ken Keller, "B 4 The Crowds Play by Play Podcast" is a loose, enjoyable conversation. Ken and I had never spoken before today save for exchanging messages and we hit it off like old friends and colleagues.

The podcast is largely about seeing top talent before they reach the big time. As someone who has called so many high school, college, and minor league sporting events, I've seen a few famous faces in their nascent stage.

But what makes this podcast so good is more than the stories of those I've seen. It's the stories -- many of which I've told here -- of what we do on a daily basis to bring games to our audience. It's hoping to help you understand that we simply don't just "show up and talk."

It's actually -- GASP! -- work.

Ken has broken our conversation into two parts and he told me that he'd have part one up not long after we hung up. Indeed, the first segment is online and ready for downloading.

Give it a listen and enjoy. Ken also has a podcast with our good friend Mike Hirn among others and is looking for more guests that fit the parameters.

The day finished with more football and Sean coming home from work as we begin the final week before Santa arrives. It's nice to know that the holiday plans are secure, with me set to go to my nephew's house for brunch on Christmas morning.

Still, while out yesterday, Sean and I were talking about the holidays and my usual belief that I'd like to simply disappear until roughly Jan 2nd.

The biggest reason, for me, is that the holidays just tend to be lonely. I'll leave my nephew's in the early afternoon of Christmas and will head back to my chair to probably watch football. 

It wouldn't surprise me if I take a lengthy detour first to visit my parent's grave.

I don't think he had ever considered the loneliness angle until we talked about it.

"Oh, I can definitely see that," he said.

From there, we Adams boys talked about our potential travel plans. We have a few ideas to try to step away and be good to ourselves. Yes, they almost all involve Waffle House.

But, if I may, this has not been the miserable holiday season that other years have been. Oh, it's hardly been a laugh-a-minute but it really hasn't been that bad. Wrapping things up in Mahopac really became a turning point in many ways for me to move forward.

Fortunately, the holiday season is also almost over and Mariah Carey -- somehow, now the "Queen of Christmas" (who comes up with this stuff?) -- can climb back under her rock.

I'll just continue to watch football in the meantime.

Erotica with a Sense of Humor

 

Alice Levine, Jamie Morton, James Cooper

The following podcast contains adult themes, sexual content, and strong language. Basically, all the good stuff. -- My Dad Wrote a Porno disclaimer

My niece and I were on the train into New York City one Sunday a few years ago when we got to talking about podcasts.

I had developed a slight interest in podcasts and was beginning to establish what I liked to listen to.

The train came to a stop and we sat for a while in Valhalla, NY waiting for the delay to subside. 

Stephanie and I have similar senses of humor so as our podcast discussion carried on, she enlightened me about a favorite of hers.

She told me the title and I sat there, sort of stunned.

So, imagine your father has retired from his career but, instead of living a mundane life, elects to sit quietly and write a book. Then you discover your father's genre is, er, erotic literature. You're horrified but, for entertainment, you sit down with your mates and read a new chapter of your father's erotic novel.

Well, then, welcome to My Dad Wrote a Porno. The podcast debuted in Oct 2015 with Jamie Morton serving as the host of the show. It's Jamie's dad, writing under the pen name Rocky Flintstone, who is the author in question.

The books that Rocky wrote are part of a series that began with Belinda Blinked and evolved to Belinda Blinked 6.

Joining Jamie as hosts are his friends James Cooper and Alice Levine. The format of the show was always pretty simple. During each episode, Jamie would generally open and close the show as well as serve as the reader of his father's creation. Alice and James reacted with shock and hysterics as each chapter was dispersed.

Their hysterics were normally enough to reduce me to the same.

The creation of the podcast -- at least in theory -- seemed easy enough. There was a great theme song that literally every fan knows by heart and certainly, some editing was needed but, beyond that, there were never any "bells and whistles" to MDWAP.

Jamie would conjure up different voices for each character with varying results, especially when it came to accents. Alice and James would mock Rocky's writing skills, grammar, and punctuation and go down whatever rabbit hole they saw to add to the laughs. Also, Alice and James were known for making up little songs at times.

Now, here's the thing. As I've written, I'm hardly a prude (listening to this podcast should solidify that) but I tend to not write that kind of stuff on the blog. So I'll likely not be quoting much of the podcast here due to language and content. I also don't want to give away any spoilers.

Besides, if you're going to listen, you need to hear it fresh.

Normally, as each season reached its conclusion, Jamie would note that he'd open the next book and when the next podcast season would begin. As Belinda Blinked 6 came to a close, nothing was said about a new book.

Oh, there will be a new book but it will proceed without a podcast. Each host announced via social media that the end had arrived for the podcast.

The series, in fact, concluded a week ago. Jame, James, and Alice announced that the podcast had reached a point that, they felt, was a natural stopping point.

The show that I had come to call "The Porno Podcast" was over. The three hosts said that there is a future for My Dad Wrote a Porno but they can't announce what that next step is yet.

Indeed, what had started as an audio podcast had certainly evolved with over 430 million downloads. The books actually generated physical copies and merchandise before a stage show was created and even an HBO Special, which aired in 2019.

Fans had become known as "Belinkers" in honor of Belinda Blumenthal, the heroine of the books.

In fact, the stage show was on tour in London and had its first night there when I was in town in April 2022. I considered getting a ticket for myself but, considering I was in London with my Hunt Scanlon family, I didn't think it was appropriate. I settled for walking by the theater and smiling at the knowledge that the show was there.

Emma Thompson keeps the hosts honest

Along with the new chapters, the podcast included episodes called "Footnotes" which often had the hosts reading fan emails and chatting with some celebrities as well. Dan Levy and Emma Thompson were just two of the celebs to talk with Jamie, Alice, and James.

Following the final chapter reading, the trio released one last "Footnotes" episode with the author and legend himself, Rocky Flintstone. It was an enjoyable coda to listen to the creator of all of the ridiculousness discuss how it all came together.

In the end, the books and the podcast helped make father and son even closer and I'll always applaud that.

When you invest in listening to such a thing, the people involved become a part of your life. Alice was a BBC Radio DJ when I started listening to MDWAP so, of course, we have a certain kinship, though Levine has since moved on to TV.

But you get to know these people to an extent and they help you through long drives to and from work or while mowing the lawn or doing something else.

The laughs they generated won't be forgotten and, of course, the podcast itself will live on in archive form wherever you get your podcasts. It's not too late to start listening.

Prudes need not apply though. The language is salty and sharp though the content isn't quite as filthy as "erotic literature" might imply. There's a whole story to each book and, if anything, the "eroticism" is more comical than anything else.

Still, I can assure you that if you blush easily then you need to be prepared. I'm positive I blushed and uttered my fair share of groans at the more painful passages in each book.

I was grateful for each season of MDWAP and I'm sorry that they've stopped the podcast. Still, time moves on.

I look forward to whatever they do next.

Friday Night! Fun?

All that is missing is my can of lime seltzer

 

Hi there and happy Friday. 

It's me.

Hi.

Your friendly neighborhood party animal.

(Insert laugh track)

OK, now, to be fair, I did attend the 2022 Greenwich Football banquet last night at the Hyatt Regency Greenwich. 

I have always wanted to spend a night there just because I've been to so many events at the Hyatt over nearly 25 years. Still, that's not very likely since I live basically 10 minutes away (and that's driving extra slow).

Although, I will offer that Chris Erway and I wanted to grab a post-game beverage to officially wrap up the season and their grill/pub in the atrium was quite closed.

So, like a couple of tired old dudes (well, one old dude) we said goodnight, and I went home.

Thus it's Friday night and here I am. 

OK, so there was the banquet and there was "The Clubhouse" on Wednesday.

Yes, I'm a busy man. But, why am I busy?

When it involves work basically.

Allow this to serve as a reminder of why I've done so many broadcasts simply for fun. Besides the important contact-making, I also do a lot of stuff to get out of the house and, well, what's better for me than calling a game?

That's how I got through the raw early days of being single again. I'd go join Sean Ford at Dutchess Stadium and call baseball.

So, yeah, my social life is work.

London? Out every night! (with coworkers/friends)

San Francisco! Same! (same)

OK, hold on. Some of the guys would actually go and have a blast and I'd think about being tired and needing to get up early and oh my I just sound lame so I should really stop talking now.

Greenwich? Ha! I'm stretched out on my bed. My new iPad (jeez, it shouldn't be a three-hour process to buy the blasted thing) is updating. Sean is chatting with friends. The Cat (since I'm basically mocked about him on a daily basis) is chilling in his tower.

I mean, who has a more active social life than us?

The shame -- the awful shame -- is that there was a place within walking distance of my front door and it has not reopened since COVID. Pizza! Beer! PIZZA! 

There are constant rumors of them reopening but, so far, nothing.

There are other places that are a bit of a longer walk but, well, I'm alone and it's not that much fun.

Oh, have you ever walked into a bar alone? Like, a neighborhood place? Now, I've done that with friends and it still felt like the record scratched when I opened the door. But alone? You might as well just wreck the whole jukebox.

Now, let me be clear. I'm no party animal at all. I think I'm lame. I'm not much for loud bars anyway. I'm more of a nurse-the-beverage and have a nice chat type of soul.

Then again, I think I'm awful at small talk and not much of a great conversationalist. Plus most people figure I talk only about sports and broadcasting. 

So, yeah, I'm a bit of a stiff, which is exactly why I'm sitting on my bed as my iPad updates writing a blog post.

Oh, and I'm listing to a program of jazz music played on the Hammond B3 organ on my Amazon Echo.

Yeah. I suck.

But what about my friends? Well, yes, I have a wonderful and varied group of amazing friends. Most have lives. Kids. Their own stuff to do. Everyone is busy and that's great.

And then we try to make plans and they fall apart. Usually, there's a conflict because guess who has a game to broadcast or a class to teach or a conference to moderate, or a show to host?

I'm not exactly brooding over this fact. I'm, factually, not a big party guy. I never have been. I tend to hide in the corner.

But I found myself sitting here on a gloomy Friday night pondering what to scribble down in this dark little corner of my world and, well, here we are.

I'm sure there's a podcast or something else I can do.

I'll probably watch Mary McCartney's documentary on Disney about Abbey Road Studios. 

Her father -- you know, the guy from the overrated Beatles -- made a few songs there.

It's called If These Walls Could Sing and I'll be here if you need me.

Laugh. Laugh a Lot

 

Conway and Korman

Tim Conway is trending.

If you know who Tim Conway is then you're in good shape.

The guy could make people laugh.

Hard.

I just watched a skit he and Harvey Korman did on The Carol Burnett Show with Korman as a dental patient and Conway haplessly trying to administer Novocaine.

This was brilliant comedy of the era. What made it even funnier, of course, was that Korman could never keep a straight face at the antics of Conway.

Of course, there was also a skit years later with Dick Van Dyke in for Korman and Conway doing what he always did. The backstory, from what I've read, was that in rehearsals Conway would hold some of his mayhem back. Then, with the audience in place, he'd go all in.

In the case of the "Mama's Family" skit with Van Dyke, Burnett, and Vicki Lawrence, Conway goes way off to improvise a story about an elephant that is breaking everyone up.

Then Lawrence, out of nowhere, drops a bomb of an ad-lib (to be clear, it didn't make air) and the place fell apart.

The reason I went down this rabbit hole was Conway was born on this day in 1933 and, as I said he's trending.

The bigger reason I'm here is where would we be without laughter?

Seriously, it's how I've survived everything in life.

I'm the person you'll be saying, "How can you laugh at a time like this?" to.

Oh, don't get me wrong. There's always a line that shouldn't be crossed and there are those who think they are far funnier than they truly are. So it's not like I'm laughing at or yukking it up at anything.

But that was also that "back in my day" mentality of making fun of anyone and anything. We've evolved from that and gotten a bit more sensitive I suppose. 

Yet when the bottom drops out it's a sense of humor that keeps me going. I'm normally the first one to get to the joke at my own expense.

I'll certainly wax poetic about Tim Conway and The Carol Burnett Show and the things I watched as a kid. I'll more than happily tell you how brilliant Jackie Gleason was or All in the Family or any one of a number of classic comedies.

But this doesn't have to be a generational thing. Whatever and whoever makes you laugh is what is important here. I can watch Blazing Saddles and be a lost cause in a puddle of tears and unable to breathe just as easily as Robin Williams and Nathan Lane get my howling in The Birdcage.

Generally speaking, there is no right or wrong answer here. It's wonderfully subjective.

So as you're battling those winter blues or the holiday shopping lines or any one of a number of serious matters (again, all subjective), remember to laugh. There are plenty of ways to do so via entertainment or tour own anecdotes. Sometimes, simply looking at the ridiculousness of life is enough for a chuckle.

It truly is the best medicine.

Remembering Sandy Hook Ten Years Later

 

Sandy Hook Elementary School Memorial (NBC Connecticut)

It was a Friday.

Cold and sunny, as I recall, but my memory might be off.

I was getting ready to go out. There was holiday shopping to be done at Target and other places in Kingston, NY.

My phone buzzed.

Back then, my fellow "Press Box Playmakers" (Ryan Demaria, Chris Erway, and Chris Kaelin) had what we called "The World's Greatest Facebook Thread." On Messenger, we ripped on each other and on sports and life.

We argued. We yelled. We screamed. We ridiculed.

Yet, on this morning, I can still see the first message, and I'm pretty sure it was Ryan who posted it.

"Are you guys seeing what's going on in Newtown?"

Newtown, CT. We all knew the place. Nice town.

The early reports weren't truly heinous but they were concerning. A gun. Something bad.

My mind didn't think anything along the lines of Columbine in 1999. At least not at first.

Though troubled by what I was initially hearing, I still went along with the shopping trip. Yet there was something ominous in my brain, even as I bought a new iPad that I still have to this day.

I don't know why, but I felt guilty. Why was I out having a day like this?

Yet, really, what could I do?

By the time, honestly, I was in Kingston, NY at the Target location, the awfulness in Newtown was over. Only the reality was to be revealed.

I walked around a Marshall's store a few blocks from Target and leaned on a rack as I began to scroll Twitter. 

For me, Twitter wasn't anything near what it is today (and somehow it still exists. I thought evil Elon was supposed to have destroyed it by now). Yet, in my memory, that's a day that made it essential.

As I learned on the rack in Marshall's in Kingston, I bounced between the conversation with the Playmakers and looking at Twitter for info. Yes, that's a difficult balance since there can be so much wrong information. Indeed, I specifically remember a tweet mentioning a second shooter. 

But, eventually, the horrid news began to emerge. Twenty-six people dead. Six adults and 20 beautiful children.

Plus the mother of the killer and killer himself, who took his own life at Sandy Hook Elementary School.

Oh, some other details are out there as well. On the other hand, there is a lot that people are apparently never going to discuss out of respect for the families.

To this day, it doesn't make sense. Yes, mental health played a role. That seems obvious. Yes, guns should have never been in that family. 

This was a tragedy and that seems like too small of a word. It was a national story. It was a worldwide story.

It was also a hyper-local story. Newtown is a place I'm frequently driving through, especially in the days when I lived in Mahopac. I would pass through Sandy Hook on my way to my sister's or teaching at CSB along with games at Trumbull High School. 

Heck, going to Hartford or even Boston would send me along Interstate 84 and Exit 10 is seconds from the small downtown of Sandy Hook. Indeed, right near Sandy Hook Elementary School.

The sadness of that day remains so tangible. As a father of a then-10-year-old, I was certainly horrified. As a father who only got to see my son every other weekend, I hurt a little bit more. I wanted nothing more than a hug and to know he was OK.

He was, to be quite clear, fine. Still, it was a mental thing for me. Sean didn't have any of the communication he has with me now so calling him wasn't an easy option.

I'll always remember driving down the Taconic Parkway later in the day on Friday, Dec 14, 2012. I had to drive past the exit where Sean lived with his mother, as well as his elementary school. I knew I couldn't go to see him. 

I kept driving.

I remember just sitting at home that night feeling empty.

I remember watching TV as that's what I do during breaking news.

I remember yelling at "tough guy" journalist Anderson Cooper.

I remember just letting the iPad sit in its box, not caring about opening it.

It just didn't feel like the time. It could wait.

I remember that high school sports in Connecticut were starting the winter season that week and while much of the state postponed that night, a game or two (or more) actually did get played. I admit that didn't make much sense to me.

And I remember that, a few nights later, "The Press Box" would air on WGCH, giving the four of us the chance to just talk.

That's what we did. At the time, only Kato and I were fathers. Now all four of us are. Yet the sadness poured out for the unimaginable horror of that terrible Friday.

Twenty children.

Six adults.

First responders who saw things that nobody should ever have to see.

Are we better today? Slightly better? 

The disgusting people who actually thought the whole thing was some conspiracy? How did THAT help?

And, of course, Alex Jones. Say no more.

Ten years and all I feel is that same pit in my stomach. I'm reliving it as I write.

The names and faces are forever etched.

The playgrounds and memorials are built. The school has been rebuilt.

But, obviously, so much more was lost.

We've all moved on of course, though never forgetting. It's virtually impossible to do in Connecticut and even in New York, though we should never forget.

I watched a segment on a Sandy Hook survivor this morning courtesy of CBS. The young man, now 18, spoke eloquently of losing his sister that morning. He spoke of his love of hockey and how he plays at an elite boarding school.

That sent me into my own records. Turns out, I've covered Isaiah Márquez-Greene when Taft played at Brunswick, though he didn't play in that game.

Like anyone who survived, being a survivor does not define them and, if you watch and hear Isaiah speak, he has more grace than most of us will ever know.

Ten years.

I can only hope the families of all involved get through today with peace and the abundant love that they deserve.

(CNN)