Rob. Zombie.

 

Not actually a photo of me. But close.

Greetings, friends, readers, and denizens of "Exit 55" land.

I begin scrawling on our little island of misfit toys at 3:34 a.m. on this particular Friday morning.

Because I'm an idiot.

I haven't done much in the video deposition world recently. In fact, I've been broadcasting, teaching, and conference moderating, as well as hosting the vastly overlooked but brilliant Hunt Scanlon podcast, "Talent Talks" for over a month.

So when I was offered a deposition job earlier and told it was a night one, I thought I should jump in. My logic was sound.

I must admit my eyes raised when I saw the login time was 9:30 p.m., and the case wouldn't begin until 10:30 p.m.

I know how to handle these night jobs! I'm the master of them! I used to drive into Greenwich from Mahopac to do them, stumbling home around five in the morning. But those jobs tended to start around 7 p.m.

Still, I tried to be smart tonight. While I probably could use a trip to the grocery store, instead I took a walk into town (exercise!), grabbed pizza (forget said exercise!), and then put my head down for over three hours.

I actually rested. I slept. Some. The grocery store can wait.

Then I was reminded of what awaits me here on this Friday morning in the year of Babe Ruth 2023.

I said yes to appearing on "Melissa in the Morning" on WICC radio at 7:05. Yes, 7:05 a.m. Oh, and I'll be on WGCH with Tony Savino (as I've done on Fridays for 14 years) at 7:50 a.m.

Perhaps -- maybe -- I will sleep for a few hours around 8 a.m.

Like, what was I thinking?

I know, I know. I can already hear Chris Kaelin chiming in and saying, "Sleep is overrated."

He's not wrong, given what little restful sleep I get.

I keep telling myself to just fight through today. Then I can sleep tonight before going to lacrosse tomorrow. I'll be on the call as Deerfield plays Brunswick in a battle of two of the top 19 teams in the country.

I was also going to do baseball but, 1) it might get rained out, and 2) the lax game is huge. I loved the challenge of bouncing between the two but I respect what I am asked to do.

I've done OK staying away so far and monitoring what my body is saying. I've stayed hydrated and have had a small bite to eat.

Sean showed up around midnight after hanging out with his friends for the evening. I helped put some fresh sheets on the bed (I'm also domesticated!) and we were talking when he discovered it was 12:45 a.m.

"I'm going to bed," he announced. He was gone in a flash.

Still, I've been wide awake, having only had a cup of coffee around 11 p.m.

The court case took a lunch break (the witness is overseas) at 2:45 a.m. I was told we had 40 minutes off. So I asked my dear friend Alexa to set a 40-minute timer. 

I rested and, again, fell asleep. A brief catnap, if you will. Yes, The Cat was nearby. I sprung off the top of my bed when Alexa sounded her alarm. The Cat was not amused and scurried away.

And here I am. They're back on the record, blissfully taking testimony and I'm actually struggling for the first time tonight to stay awake. But that's the rhythm of these jobs. 

Earlier in the evening I bounced between baseball games on MLB.tv. I trolled the internet a bit to see what nonsense the interwebs is producing. Oh, there's news about a former president? You don't say? Someone should post some memes about it.

Blech.

If we're somehow done early enough, I have an alarm set for 6:45 a.m. before the WICC radio appearance. I will try to sleep again.

So if you want to hear a zombie make not one but two radio interview appearances, I highly recommend you tuning to WICC at 7:05 and WGCH and 7:50.

Ostensibly I'm supposed to talk about UConn men's basketball and Quinnipiac hockey and some baseball as well.

But who knows exactly what condition I will be in.

Tape it! Send it to me! 

And let it serve as a reminder to think before I say yes to these kinds of things!

Baseball, 2023

 

I wrote a post called "Baseball" on Apr 5, 2015. At the time, it was one of the most-praised things I'd ever written. I was asked to read it on the air on the HAN Network at that time.

In truth, I wrote it with my heart in my throat. Things at HAN were, oh, tenuous and I wrote to be in a happy place. Yet, fearing my every step at that time, I wondered if I should post it. But something wonderful happened and the reaction was overwhelming. I've referenced the post or even reprinted it every year since. I post it this year with a few updates on our game eight years later.

Happy Opening Day.

*****

From left: Lou Gehrig, Joe Cronin, Bill Dickey, Joe DiMaggio,
Charlie Gehringer, Jimmie Foxx, and Hank Greenberg. 

Check out that picture above. Look at them: Gehirg, Cronin, Dickey, DiMaggio, Gehringer, Foxx, Greenberg. Even non-baseball/sports fans know at least two of those names (Gehrig and Joe D., of course).

It was taken at the 1937 All-Star Game at Griffith Stadium in Washington. Look at that glorious NBC sign in the background. Incidentally, three radio networks broadcast that game (NBC, CBS, and Mutual).

You might not know that every one of those players is enshrined in the Baseball Hall of Fame. Yet they are. Those guys aren't scrubs. They're among the best to ever play the game of baseball. Naturally, I've written tons about The Iron Horse, and a few words about DiMaggio as well. Bill Dickey, by the way, is vastly overlooked.

For you non-fans, Jimmie Foxx was the loose model for Tom Hanks in A League of Their Own.

You probably know this, if you've read anything here, but I love this great game. My god, we've screwed it up incredibly over the years. The race issues were deplorable. The sport struggled with growth and competition from the NFL through the 70s (and it continues today). We've added playoff teams and dealt with drugs (steroids, greenies, cocaine, etc. Go on. Look it up.). We're worried about pace of play and bringing the inner-city back.

Well, here's my first interjection. Pace of play has become everything to baseball -- far more than concerning themselves with inner-city fans. Oh, they think shortening games will return the inner-city fans who specifically love football and basketball. Why? There's more action in the other sports. Baseball will always be for the thinking soul. That's why it's the hardest to broadcast. There's more down time. But, yes, put pitch clocks on the field and ban the shift and enlarge the bases.

We had Black Sox and a gambling Red (just put him in the Hall of Fame, please?).

Shoeless Joe and Pete Rose are no closer to getting into the Hall of Fame than Barry Bonds and Roger Clemens are. Yet, I think the PED users are going to eventually find a way to get in, and, let's be honest, there are several users who are already enshrined in Cooperstown. You're a smart audience. You figure out who the guilty parties are.

We have the Babe. The one and only. The single greatest, most important athlete in the history of sports. Yes, I know, Jim Thorpe, Bo Jackson, and others might have been better true athletes, but given everything involved, there's Babe Ruth and everyone else.

Nothing -- not even Shohei Otani -- is changing my mind. It's Ruth. Next case.

We've sold our souls too many times. Baseball shouldn't open at night, but ESPN's money is too much to overlook.

It's Opening DAY, people. Not Opening Night. Can't even blame ESPN anymore. It looks like every team will open on the same day (or night) for the time since 1968 today.

Yet tomorrow (today), in the day, with the stands full and the records 0-0, the lines will be painted fresh. The grass will be gloriously green. I wish a band would play, and we could recreate some of the openings of seasons past, but a voice will intone the starting lineups, and they will gather on those freshly-painted baselines. The anthem will be sung. A ceremonial first pitch will be thrown. There might be a flyover or some other special effect.

I miss Bob Sheppard, forever the "voice" of Yankee Stadium. His introductions of the starting lineups gave me chills. It just sounded right.

Then, as there has been since 1869 (the generally agreed upon "first year" of Major League Baseball), a batter will step up to home plate. A pitcher - 60 feet, six inches away - will author a first pitch.

And there will be baseball. To me, for its history, grandeur, strategy - everything - it is the greatest game of them all.

Football is the national passion. Baseball is the National Pastime.

Give me 714. Give me .406. Sixty-one. Fifty-six. I wish we could have 1918 back, but time marches on. A fan knows what these numbers are.

It does concern me that these numbers are becoming less sacred. We had a long discussion about 70, 61, and 62 last year. Yes, the record book says 70 home runs is the record but the court of public opinion overwhelmingly said 62 became the new benchmark. But baseball has always been a numbers game. We've muddied that water badly.

Give me the billy goat. The Bambino. Curses real or imagined.

Give me those uniform numbers that we all know: four. Three. Seven. Five. Forty-two.

#BlackIsNotAMetsColor

Give me The Mick. Jeet. Gabby. Dizzy. Daffy. Dazzy. Pudge. Yaz. Three-Finger. Blue Moon. Vida. Catfish. Bucky. Stan the Man.

Funny thing: I referred to Anthony Volpe as "AV" in the last broadcast of the 2021 season. That was apparently mocked behind my back because who was I to create such a moniker? Yet I said at the time that I knew it was tenuous and I was just having fun. And since last Sunday, more than ever, what have I seen Volpe referred to as? "AV." Vindication.

Give me Willie, Mickey, and The Duke. Tinker to Evers to Chance.

Give me The Called Shot. The Homer in The Gloamin'. The Shot Heard Round the World. The Miracle of Coogan's Bluff. Those last two are the same thing.

One note -- baseball or otherwise -- that scares me is how little many care about history anymore. I'm willing to bet a lot of you don't know a lot of these references. Baseball loves its history. I love history and baseball.

Give me Ebbets Field. Forbes Field. Crosley Field. Now give me Camden Yards and Fenway and Wrigley. The Big A. Chavez Ravine.

Give me the corner of E. 161st Street and River Ave. The most famous address in sports history.

Give me the Royal Rooters and the Bleacher Creatures.

Give me 27 rings.

I'd gladly accept 28. Or more.

Give me those great quotes, from music to movies to TV and beyond.

"Take Me Out to the Ball Game." "Luckiest Man."

“That's baseball, and it's my game. Y' know, you take your worries to the game, and you leave 'em there. You yell like crazy for your guys. It's good for your lungs, gives you a lift, and nobody calls the cops. Pretty girls, lots of 'em.”

―Humphrey Bogart

Give me Vincent Edward Scully. The man known as Vin. The man who learned at the side of Walter Lanier Barber, the Old Redhead himself sitting in the catbird seat, while the bases were FOB (full of Brooklyn).

Vin was still working when I wrote this. He's since died. Damn, I miss him a lot.

Give me a Ballantine Blast. Tell me "It's Miller Time" or "This Bud's for you."

Ah, Yankees broadcasts of the 70s and 80s. I can still see Reggie, Munson, Piniella, Nettles, etc, crossing home plate and listening to one of the Yankees' "voices" saying "Hey, Don Mattingly. This Bud's for you!"

Give me Cooperstown (maybe in a little over a week from now).

We did go to Cooperstown not long after I posted this in 2015 and had a good but crazy weekend. Calling a game at Doubleday Field is a career highlight and I'd love to do it again.

I love this game. It energizes me. Engulfs me. Fills my heart, yet breaks it. It enraptured me for sure when I saw my first pro game in 1972 and a guy named Murcer doubled off another guy named Palmer. One is a hall of famer. The other doesn't need to be.

It made me cry when in 1996, my boyhood team won their first title in 18 years, and I couldn't share it with the one person I wanted to share it with.

Most of all, selfishly, give me a microphone so that I can broadcast it.

Yeah, about that. I'm getting desperate here and I read people online moaning about opportunities when they have gigs I'd give a year of my life for.

This is the beginning of my year. This is when I feel refreshed.

This is when I know that this horrible winter is over.

It's Opening Day.

Play ball.

*****

I haven't been to an Opening Day game since 1998 (I think) and that's OK. So long as I can watch the lineup intros and ceremonies, and take in the game, I'm fine. I'll be happy here at home.

I've sat and shivered through many openers but I have wonderful memories that I carry from them. It's possible that I'll go back again one day.

But there's just nothing like today. No other sport does it this well. Will the new rules be good for baseball? That's all I can hope for. There comes a point that I can only state my disagreement but still have to move forward. The Yankees opening with the San Francisco Giants -- a National League team -- is silly but interleague play has been a thing for years. I still don't like it but I'm going to focus on enjoying the game.

The game. That's what it is, right?

Yes, I know. It's also a bu$ine$$. 

But it's still the game that first pulled me in as a little kid. I was probably two or three when my obsession began.

It continues today.

First pitch: 1:05 p.m.

It's time.

Jersey Boy

 

I packed a baseball jersey when I went to Florida.

No, I did not intend to get into a game.

Admittedly, it was different for me to do that as I don't normally consider a sports jersey part of my day-to-day ensemble. But still, with the hope of attending some kind of spring training activity, I hoped to break a jersey out. Plus I was in Florida and a jersey breathes nicely in the heat.

In truth, I went prepared with a t-shirt to wear underneath the jersey and, if spring training did not materialize then I'd just wear that.

But, in the end, there we were at LECOM Park in Bradenton for Yankees/Pirates. Now, admittedly, my cousin and I have some "rules" so had the Yankees not been playing, I would have been in violation.

These are things we talk about during a game. The rules slide a bit with a variety of circumstances to consider. However, I'm happy to say that I was not in violation.

Those wearing Mets' garb at said game? Yes, that's a violation (and we saw a couple). A big one but I digress.

Without digressing any further, the penalty for violation is simply being held in contempt and disdain by Judges Adams and Adams.

The bigger point is that, even at my age, I still love a sports jersey. I love the science of jerseys and the discussion of them.

As you probably know, I hated the Players Weekend atrocities and I've been completely underwhelmed with most of the City Connect jerseys in MLB. But I love the throwbacks, like the ones worn at the Field of Dreams games.

Jerseys often hang in my closet untouched. Like I said, I don't generally pop one on to go out. However, if a game is involved, well then sure. If I'm staying around the house it's possible.

Oh, and there are standards. From when I was a kid a level of authenticity was always important. A Yankees uniform with a name on the back? Former Renegades intern Spencer Pierce and I had long arguments about that topic. 

I mean, how can one justifiably buy a pinstriped jersey with "Mantle" or "Ruth" or "DiMaggio" or any other name on it?

My only exceptions have ever been the "shirsey" -- the t-shirt that wants to be a jersey -- and the batting practice tops that were de rigueur beginning in the late 1990s. To that end, I still own a Paul O'Neill from 1998.

But a pinstriped jersey? Good lord it ate at me to have my own child wearing one with a name on the back but we could find nothing else at that time. The failure I felt as a father!

And no to the Nike logo. I have other Nike items but don't have any jerseys.

I, personally, own three Yankees pinstriped beauties: the Bobby Murcer number two that I bought in one of the shops on River Ave. circa 2005 (yes, it's a Derek Jeter but it doesn't have Jeet's name on it), the number four Lou Gehrig from 1939 that is at least reminiscent of a Lou Gehrig 1939 jersey, and a faux Bobby Murcer number one from 1973 that includes the Yankee Stadium 50th anniversary patch.

I do not currently have a Yankees road jersey, though I had one back in the late 80s with 55 on it. Just because. Also, pinstripe jerseys were very difficult to find at that time.

For the record, it was the '73 Murcer jersey that I donned in Bradenton. Proudly.

That one -- even as measly as it is -- is basically a holy grail for me. Same with the Gehrig jersey. Obviously, Bobby Murcer means a lot to me and I've even had my eye on a 1975 Giants and a 1978 Cubs. But there's still the question of a name on the back so I've never pulled the trigger.

Lou Gehrig jerseys -- faithful reproductions -- have been available from Mitchell and Ness for $350 or so. Then there's eBay and the various knockoffs. As I've mentioned, I have one and it does the job.

But, sure, I'd love a true wool jersey. I often troll the pages of Ebbets Field Flannels and the wonderful things they create. They can dip back into the 1800s and the 20th century for all kinds of looks but nothing in the jersey world from the major leagues. They specialize in minor league and other fascinating items, including some colleges.

Don't think it hasn't crossed my mind to see if they could create a Fordham University baseball jersey with number 17 on the back. The red-headed center fielder wearing that found greater fame in the broadcast booth. But as much as a Vin Scully Fordham jersey would please me, the price feels a bit steep.

Oh and I marvel at the Roy Hobbs number nine jersey (from "The Natural") they make. Rick Zolzer has one and I drool every time I see it.

And if you want the Easton (PA) High School jersey that John Lennon wore on "The Mike Douglas Show" in 1972, then Ebbets Field Flannels is your place.

Yes, I realize many think people like me need to grow up. "Why do grown men wear sports jerseys?" comes the cry.

Well, why not? And who cares?

Honestly, it's nobody's business, thanks for asking. Like I said, I generally wear mine for games. I have several football jerseys that I pop on during the season to watch games. I also have a couple who have faded and they're mighty comfortable to sleep in.

That's a big factor: comfort. I have a black Renegades/Fenómenos Enmascarados del Valle de Hudson jersey that is incredibly comfortable to hang around the house in. Just one thing: no number on the back. But I've worn it to do PA announcing in for the Gades, especially on Copa nights when they break those jerseys out.

Plus I've gotten some good bargains. Back in the glory days of the VF Factory Outlet in Reading, PA, I got a Rutgers football jersey for $3.99 (or something like that). At the old Soffe warehouse in Fayetteville, NC, I got a mockup football jersey in a bin that I think says "Bulldogs" on it for maybe $1.99 and I wore it on obscenely hot days to mow the lawn in.

I was once given a Lehigh Valley IronPigs baseball jersey. It was an alternate style from what they wore on the field but I appreciated it. Admittedly, jerseys without numbers aren't my favorite (I have two numberless New York Rangers sweaters). Eventually, Sean and I were at an IronPigs game and I asked the girl in the shop if they'd put something on it. She asked and was told it was fine.

"Adams. 55" Cost: $20. Happy customer.

I have my logic and rules for this stuff. What can I say?

Oh, and no. The Cat does not have a jersey. Nor will he. Ice cream helmets are one thing. 

Now I have to decide what to wear tomorrow as we get to the most glorious of days on the sports calendar: opening day.

I will be right here tomorrow, enjoying the pomp and circumstance from the comfort of my chair.

So, while I can be judgemental about jersey-wearing with the "rules" I ask that you don't look askance at the person walking around tomorrow with, say, a Pete Alonso number 20 Mets jersey.

So long as it's not black.

Then judge away. 

Courage

 

(Screenshot from Nashville Police Department)

Full disclosure: this post is pro-police. It is not meant to be political but I know how that goes.

I watched the body cam footage from the Nashville Police Department today in response to the shooting at The Covenant School. I watched the security camera footage that was released yesterday.

It's all absolutely stunning.

So, hold on, before we continue, let us make sure to honor those lost.

- Evelyn Dieckhaus

- Hallie Scruggs 

- William Kinney

Each was nine years old.

- Cynthia Peak, 61, substitute teacher

- Katherine Koonce, 60, head of school

- Michael Hill, 61, custodian.

Their names stand above anything else there is to say. Their names deserve the outrage that has once again exploded the discussion about gun control but should also further the conversation about mental illness.

I can't fathom any of it.

So without climbing to any high horse, I'd like to talk about the bodycam video.

Astounding. 

It involves a bravery that I can't comprehend.

It's all over social media tonight. I encourage you to watch it if you can think you can handle it.

Much has been made of the shooting at Robb Elementary School in Uvalde, TX. Nineteen students and two teachers lost their lives that day. Of greatest concern was the response of the Ulvalde Police Department who waited over an hour before engaging the shooter. 

To be very certain, that was clearly not the case in Nashville and the bodycam shows that. Their response, in complete chaos, is heroic. 

A piercing alarm is whaling as officers yell at each other to scan rooms for signs of anything, especially the shooter. 

Yet they're still amazingly calm despite the yelling. They're trained for this, sure, but this isn't a drill.

They encounter locked doors and, like some kind of mystery movie, it ticks me off.

They continue to walk through halls and rooms before climbing the stairs. Even though I sort of know how things turn out, there's that air of mystery and concern as they go around each corner.

Finally, in an upstairs lobby, they encounter the suspected shooter, Audrey Hale, 28, and kill her.

It's chilling.

Now, to be very clear, six lives were lost before police arrived. But no one else was physically injured. That matters.

Protect and serve. That's what police are supposed to do, right?

The mental impact will live with children, the staff, and the first responders for years.

All of this is so unnecessary. Who doesn't know that? Can we all agree on that?

This isn't a post to talk about the "bad apples." While I mentioned the Uvalde police, it's purely brought up to show the contrast with Nashville.

Over an hour in Uvalde. Fourteen minutes in Nashville.

Nashville police did what, in my opinion, is supposed to be done.

First responders -- especially police - have faced scrutiny like never before and deservedly so. But there will be no scrutiny here tonight for Nashville police.

Ask yourself this: could you do what they did?

No. I could not. 

In my world, police are friends and members of my family. I admire their bravery. I always have.

Tonight isn't about the bad cops.

Tonight is about remembering the six lives lost in The Covenant School in Nashville, TN.

Tonight is about applauding the officers of the Nashville Police Department who helped end the shooting.

Oh, we still have much work to do to keep our children safe. Drag queens aren't the problem. Nor are books.

I'd rather read To Kill a Mockingbird every day for the rest of my life than ever read about another school shooting.

How about we just focus on keeping kids safe?

Thank you, Nashville police.

Share It

The Volpe family -- including Jedi the dog -- had a suite at 
Dutchess Stadium in 2021.

 

The excitement of Anthony Volpe's promotion cruised from Sunday night into the Monday news cycle.

I gave it very little thought to be honest.

Then John Brophy -- who does an outstanding job covering the Tampa Tarpons, the FCL Yankees, and spring training as the Managing Editor for Pinstripe Pros -- tagged me in a tweet.

"@double5 with a couple calls here!"

I took a moment before opening the tweet. Then I watched and listened. Nestled among calls of Volpe's exploits from Somerset along with the voices of John Sterling, Suzyn Waldman, Michael Kay, and David Cone, among others, was me.

It was created and broadcast by MLB Network: the official TV channel of Major League Baseball.

Moments like that are so humbling. Without much fuss, I passed it to a few people.

Chris Erway was effusive, telling me I have to share it with the world.

Oh, the great self-promotion issue.

Obviously, I want people to see and hear these things. Of course, I'd love to have a hiring manager or influencer hear it and say, "We need that guy!"

But I'm also realistic.

Still, I reminded myself that MLB Network didn't just grab some audio of me for the fun of it. In fact, the first audio clip they used wasn't of the moment in the video. It should have matched up with Volpe's game-winning home run against the Brooklyn Cyclones. 

They had to edit my voice into that.

They selected that call.

So who am I to quarrel with that kind of editorial decision?

Perhaps -- maybe -- they liked me. Wouldn't it be great if they really liked me?

Plus, at a quick glance, I spotted a camera shot that was the work of Sean. That makes it even better. I texted him a few minutes ago and he confirmed it was definitely his shot.

I mean, that's pretty fantastic. Sean keeps building his resume and we both get this cool moment of having our work featured on the MLB Network.

But there's that nagging voice inside reminding me that it's not about me. It's about Anthony Volpe. It's about the Renegades. It's about the Somerset Patriots and Scranton-Wilkes Bare RailRiders and the New York Yankees.

But, I recognized I should share it with my world no matter how conflicted I was.

I tried to choose my words carefully as I did as I posted it. I put it on Facebook and Twitter and even my LinkedIn page. I saw MLB Network put it on their Instagram account also but I didn't share it there.

The lesson that I decided to use -- emphasized on LinkedIn and I'll say it here -- is that it's a reminder to keep grinding.

Moments like this are a result of almost 24 years since I called my first game but also of the efforts since 1989 when I started attending CSB (I'm teaching there tomorrow).

The Volpe news and these videos are bittersweet because while I'm profoundly humbled and grateful to be included, there's the downside of not calling minor league baseball this year.

A friend watched the video, texted me, and said, "You fit right in" among the professional voices in there. While those words don't pay the rent it is a great validation for me.

I belong.

The business is cruel, friends, but I guess the takeaway is to be proud. And, also, post it publicly with all humility. That matters. It doesn't happen without Volpe and his teammates of 2021. But it also doesn't happen without Joe Ausanio, Steve Gliner, and everyone at Z93 who trusted me with those broadcasts.

I'm bummed neither of my parents are here to watch it but I know how that works. Even if they have spiritually heard it or seen it I can't share it with them personally and get their reaction. It's just life but I'd be lying if I didn't say it occurred to me today.

I did share it with my sister and two of her sons. I mostly figured nobody else would care that much.

So I choose to tell this tale with the knowledge that it's a huge thrill for me. Honestly, it's a "pinch me" moment.

MLB Network chose my audio. Hell yeah, they did.

So I'm reminded to grab the headset and get back to work.

Keep grinding, friends.

The next broadcast is Saturday.

Proud in Pinstripes

 

Anthony Volpe is officially a member of the New York Yankees.

Volpe has been blessed with talent, ability, a mega-watt personality, charm, and that dreaded word: intangibles.

If you can't see what that adds up to, I'll just say it: it leads to comparisons to a certain Mr. D.S. Jeter of Kalamazoo, MI.

Look, sports has a long history of creating "the next." Lou Gehrig was the next Ruth. Mickey Mantle was supposed to be the next Ruth, Gehrig, and DiMaggio rolled into one (and he wasn't far off). Bobby Murcer was supposed to be the next Mantle (and, while he was wonderful, he couldn't achieve that).

Now it's Volpe. I'm content to let him be himself. I certainly don't expect him to have the sixth-most hits ever when his career is over.

Trust me, if you haven't seen him yourself, it's worth it.

He was dynamite in Hudson Valley. He remained terrific at Somerset in AA ball.

But there was the concern that he only played just a handful of games at AAA.

No way he'd make the big team!

He needs more seasoning, right? The Yankees hold their young players back.

Except, Volpe made it difficult. He came into spring training and displayed what many of us already knew.

He can play shortstop though he can move around the infield. 

He can hit for power and average. 

He can run.

He has that ability. That ability to get the big hit or make the big play or be in the right place at the right time. He will say all the right things and do it with a small-town New Jersey way about him.

He's the new "overrated shortstop" that Yankees fans will love and Yankees haters will detest.

He can be big. The sky is the limit for him now.

He was just a kid getting promoted to Hudson Valley when I covered him in 2021. Because the Yankees were ultra-protective, I never got to interview him on "Rob's Roundup." I did, however, meet his parents and they just added to the allure of this young man.

Yes, I broadcast his games at Dutchess Stadium (now Heritage Financial Park). I'm guilty of feeling enormous pride over that. It makes me take a personal interest in his success as it did with John Sullivan, Cornelius Johnson, and any other player who has made it to national prominence.

This video contains a number of highlights from Volpe's 2021 campaign and I'm honored to have my voice all over it. It's a nice reminder of what I hope was good work that I did with HV in the '21 season.

But the time is now for Anthony Volpe.

Watch him starting Thursday.

At Yankee Stadium.

Anthony Volpe is a New York Yankee.

Look on the Bright Side

 

So remember how I was prepared to be disappointed?

I was excited to call baseball for the first time in eight months but the forecast didn't look promising.

Still, as of this morning, the only communication I'd had was whether I was awake or not.

At that moment, it was game on!

But a little after 9 a.m. everything changed.

The game -- both games, since it was a doubleheader -- was canceled. To be clear, this was not a postponement. It was a full cancellation. They won't be made up. No games at all.

It's two lost games for the athletes. Selfishly, it's two lost games for me.

But the cancelation came with a blessing and that's the only way to see it.

As I was being told the baseball games were off I was also being asked to call Brunswick's season-opening lacrosse game against St. Sebastian's.

One thing the school had said is that generally speaking if I'm not calling the game then nobody will.  It's a wonderful compliment to receive and I deeply appreciate that confidence in my ability.

I was supposed to be on the baseball game because, in reality, a broadcaster is really needed on that as opposed to lacrosse. All things being equal, a good videographer will project pictures of lacrosse. The game is easier to follow on the video. 

In the case of baseball, it's a different canvas and a broadcaster is really needed to color things in. That applies to any sport but all things being equal, I was better suited for baseball today.

But it was not to be and I was grateful for the lacrosse call. Yet, how was I to prepare? I didn't have 20 hours to create charts and graphs and find out where the third-string goalie for St. Sebastian's would go for a meal and who his favorite teacher is. 

There was no need to panic about any of this.

Instead, I asked Wayne McGillicuddy for rosters. 

Within seconds, I glanced at my email and saw that Bruins coach David Bruce sent me the Brunswick roster. I also soon had the St. Seb's roster via their website. 

All I needed was a scoresheet and I quickly made one up.

I knew I could make it work from there.

The other blessing was that, regardless of rain, it was cold today. I can assure you that while I feel joy anytime I'm calling baseball, losing feeling in extremities is still not fun.

It was 41 degrees with a real feel temperature of 34 when the lacrosse game began.

We even froze in the booth at Cosby Field for lacrosse today but it would have been that much more miserable had I been at the baseball diamond.

Small victories. Blessings.

But I was still in a booth and, despite the lack of heat, equipment and notes all stayed dry. So did I, for that matter.

When the game was over, I was able to pack up, get in my car, and turn the heat on.

Brunswick won the game after being down 3-2 in the first quarter. They then exploded and cruised to a 14-6 victory.

We'll be back with them again next Saturday. Oh, and the baseball team will also be in action. 

Baseball will begin at 1:30. Lacrosse will face off at 3:00.

Do you see where this is going?

Yes, I'll set up equipment at Cosby Field for lacrosse. Then I'll go to the baseball diamond and set up a second broadcast there.

I'll call the baseball game. With a quick postgame, I'll then jump in my car and head back to Cosby Field. While the lacrosse game will start with a camera and crowd mic, it will go without play-by-play until I arrive.

But I'll get there and pick up the call.

You have to be a little crazy to do what we do and I love it.

Bring it on!

Baseball Eve

 

Brunswick, 2022

I say this in preparation.

I'm ready to be disappointed.

Tomorrow is my first scheduled baseball broadcast of 2023 as Brunswick hosts Winchendon for a doubleheader. I expect it to be rained out and thus the disappointment.

It's my first scheduled baseball call since *checks notes* July 27, 2022.

That's so sad and shameful but that's out of my control so we move forward.

Let me try to explain this if you don't know it already.

I've wanted to broadcast baseball since I was maybe 10 or 11. Maybe earlier but I can tell you that I was probably 11 when I lugged a small tape recorder and a lousy microphone to Sycamore Park in Mahopac for an all-star game. I tried to dabble in play-by-play that June afternoon.

I can assure you I was bad because, among many things, I didn't have lineups or rosters. While I've improved in surviving there's still only so much you can do if you don't know who the participants are. Oh, I knew some of the players but not everyone.

I eventually became a huge fan of the "major" pro sports of that time. So I thought broadcasting football would also be great but baseball was my focus.

I also studied so many different broadcasting styles to understand what I wanted to be.

Baseball is the storytellers' game. I wanted to leisurely tell tales from some ballpark while sipping lemonade on a hot summer night.

But I never thought I'd just do baseball. Like I said, I definitely wanted to do football and had practiced a few basketball games as well off TV. In fact, the first time I ever had to do play-by-play with an audience was in school at CSB. In front of a group of strangers, I called a Celtics/Knicks game off a TV in the classroom. 

Apparently, I scared a few of the students somehow. So began over 30 years of doing that.

I did OK -- enough so that I floated home that night. I survived.

Eventually, it was men's softball while working at Kraft General Foods in 1995 when I actually led a broadcast. It was taped and replayed on the in-house TVs at our building in White Plains. I didn't embarrass myself and had a blast doing it.

Then, finally, I called my first game for WGCH on Apr 10, 1999, when Greenwich hosted Port Chester. I've never looked back despite every glimpse of doubt that I've had.

I joined the Renegades in 2001 and, suddenly, I found that maybe I really could do this. That, I suppose, is still a point of debate but it brought me joy to do the number of games I did over the years with the Gades, no matter how sporadically. It culminated in the fun ride of 2021 and I'd be lying if I didn't say I miss it a lot.

I've had broadcasters over the years tell me that by the final game of a season they are just done. They're burned out and can't wait for it to be over. I can tell you that after all of these years and all of these games I've never experienced that feeling.

Especially not with baseball. Oh, sure, it's a grind. Each Babe Ruth tournament that I've called has me worn out by the end of each night, let alone the entire tournament. Still, come the next morning, I'm ready to do it again.

I often feel bad when I drone on about my love of broadcasting baseball. I don't want any other sport to misunderstand that I love calling your teams also. But I'm here because of baseball.

I'm very proud of the work I've done in each sport. I still love calling football for instance, especially when there's a big crowd and there's a different energy. But despite any misgivings mostly due to nerves, I've come to appreciate the nuances of soccer, field hockey, water polo, track and field, volleyball, cheerleading, wrestling, lacrosse, and of course hockey and basketball.

Oh, I've also done golf but that was just phone-in reports from the Greenwich town tournament years ago. Sadly, we haven't covered it since.

Let me repeat: sadly.

Have I missed any sports that I've covered? I'll apologize in advance but I don't think I have.

That's where what we did on HAN was so wonderful. Selfishly, it made me do things that I probably would never get a chance to do, like field hockey and soccer but even unified basketball which was among the most rewarding events I've ever participated in. It was more interview-based than play-by-play but there were still elements of "calling" games and it made a lot of people happy.

And I love covering any age. I've committed to being with Boomslang basketball again, beginning Sunday afternoon, and will make whatever games I can.

But my first love will always be at a baseball field. It's where I can still hear the echoes of Frank Messer on Yankees broadcasts and, of course, Vin. 

Not Vin Diesel or Vince Lombardi, to be clear.

But both Vin (Scully) and Dick Enberg both helped me know that I should do more sports, as they each did football. Enberg was a wonderful basketball announcer while Vin apparently did Fordham hoops back in the 40s. No proof of it exists, sadly. 

Let's not forget Al Michaels, of course, who has called the four major sports, including that little hockey game in Lake Placid in 1980.

No miracles will be necessary to make baseball happen tomorrow. Just crossing of a few fingers I suppose.

I'll go with my Pelican hard-sided case (a gift a few years back from Hector) and maybe my pop-up pod tent in an effort to keep things dry if they play in the rain.

I'll bundle up for the doubleheader. A heavier jacket since the temperature is supposed to be in the 40s.

It's just part of the preparation.

To some of you, this sounds insane and not very appealing. I get it. 

To me, it's part of the story. The weather becomes a chapter in the book.

I'll be learning the 2023 Bruins on the fly tomorrow but I have a good relationship with the coaches so they'll bring me up to speed. I'll also try to ramp up some on Winchendon.

Then -- if they play -- it will be the same as ever. Balls, strikes, infield positions, pitch movement, base-running, and stories.

Somewhere, down in my soul, I still think this is something I was born to do. Somewhere I still think I'm fair at it. So many think they can do it. But there is so much that goes into being a broadcaster. It's more than just balls and strikes. It's opening, closing, transitioning, engineering, describing, analyzing, organizing, engaging, explaining, elaborating, troubleshooting, juggling, and, yes, entertaining.

It's making the broadcast happen until everything else fails and it's literally out of your control. You exhaust all options.

In the case of the weather, I can't fool Mother Nature. She (and the teams) get the final say.

Then, if allowed, I become the conduit by describing the action.

If it happens, I'll talk to you at noon tomorrow on LocalLive and Robcasting.

A Mulligan

 

mul·li·gan

/ˈmələɡ(ə)n/

noun INFORMAL•NORTH AMERICAN

1. a stew made from odds and ends of food.

2. (in informal golf) an extra stroke allowed after a poor shot, not counted on the scorecard.

Call it a mulligan. Call it a night off. Or call it nothing because 1) this isn't golf and 2) I'm here writing anyway.

Whatever you want to call it, I'm taking it.

On occasion, I will allow myself a break by writing a post without really writing anything.

Call it good old "Rule 55," in which I'd post a video in lieu of saying what was on my mind. But there's no video here tonight.

Tonight, it's not that I'm biting my tongue. It's just that I sort of have nothing to say.

That is not really a bad thing in my opinion.

I suppose I feel a swirl of negativity cycling right now so maybe a quiet night isn't such a bad thing.

I can watch basketball and just stretch out.

Who knows? Maybe I can even sleep. What a bizarre idea!

And, sure, there are times when I'm too brash and too opinionated and just say too much, so a night off keeps me out of trouble.

Such a novel idea, I know.

"Silence is a true friend who never betrays."  - Confucius

So let us regroup and come together again tomorrow night.

Baseball and Music: Let's Make Spring Rock

 

Photo: Greenwich Diamond Club on Facebook

I'm flailing.

I watch what's going on and it concerns me. Saddens me.

I read the following quote regarding the Japanese play-by-play of last night's World Baseball Classic final out: 

"The best baseball announcing in the world right now is being done in Japan.

"As American announcers, we need to revitalize the art with the passion on full display here. Let’s get away from the corporate board room model and embrace a purer expressionism."

Look, the Japanese call was fun in that it was passionate and I'm all for that. I'm cautious about the yelling and screaming part but, hey, that was huge. I get it. You've certainly heard me go over the top in certain spots (and I admit it kind of embarrasses me).

But there are plenty of American announcers who have passion and energy (Joe Davis on FOX also did a passionate call last night). The person who authored this quote wants narcissism. Viral narcissism.

Otherwise, he's utterly clueless about what goes into play-by-play broadcasting.

OK, so yeah, I'm flailing here.

I'm taking a shot at putting some Greenwich High softball and baseball on WGCH and/or Robcasting. Maybe other things if I have time.

I should say I'm doing this when I don't have a conflict with Brunswick. I'm committed to a schedule of Wick baseball and lacrosse but I do firmly believe that WGCH should be carrying more than just the football games we do every fall. I wanted more hockey and basketball and that didn't happen.

Once again, it takes advertising to make this happen. WGCH isn't going to do it for fun. This is part of my ability to pay my bills.

So, yes, I want more WGCH. I want more Brunswick. I want more Local Live. I want more state-level games. I want more college games.

If there was minor or (dare I say) a pro team that wanted me around then I'd want that too.

You've seen this movie before. Kevin Halpenny used to think I was nuts to be willing to drive to Milford, PA or Poughkeepsie or Port Jervis, NY or Scranton or whatever else. I think I've convinced him otherwise. He knows my love of this and, if anything, he now encourages it.

Well, here I am, flailing away for these games. Flailing to get the coverage they deserve and the games that I enjoy.

We have a few days in March and then April and May with a touch of June. I'd like to be exhausted by then with a slate of American Legion, Little League, and Babe Ruth in the summer.

But it starts with the town wanting to support these broadcasts on WGCH.

This is the town's own radio station. The Greenwich St. Patrick's Day Parade was last Sunday and we should have broadcast it. Sean and I were both home and could have easily hosted the coverage like we used to do. OK, so that's been addressed and, maybe it returns to the radio for 2024.

The Greenwich Town Party is also supposed to be back on our air this May. It will be different.

The lineup was announced today and it's not the standard "headliner" at the end of the night. Remember, it was Billy Joel last year who lit up Roger Sherman Baldwin Park with a hit-filled show. I will long remember it as one of my absolute favorite concert experiences because I could walk home, I had loved ones around, and the music was unreal.

It was truly special.

This year will still have great music, led by Town Party stalwarts Preservation Hall Jazz Band. They have blown the stars out of the sky each time they've played the GTP. This time, they'll star in what's being themed as a "New Orleans Music Festival."

The GTP is truly about music and family. They turned on the stage lights and the microphones and Billy Joel, Eric Clapton, Steely Dan, Lynyrd Skynyrd, and each prior great act rocked the night away. It's not an "extravaganza" so the Taylor Swift's of the world likely aren't coming here unless they tame their act a bit.

Believe me, a set of just her music would probably be dynamite.

Of course, there's that McCartney guy that I would prefer.

I know there's some grumbling among people today about the show. Have faith in the music because it will move you. As a jazz fan, I'm into it. Sean and I both plan to be there again, hosting the radio portion of the day. You'll likely spot us lugging an equipment case to and from the park.

You know what they say in N'awlins, right? 

"Laissez les bons temps rouler."

"Let the good times roll."

Oh, and we will.

Hopefully with beignets.

Noise Canceling

 

It was a little over a year ago when I decided to buy a proper pair of noise-canceling headphones.

At that time, we still lived in the delightful burgh of Mahopac, NY. The bedroom I used for our final few years was just a couple of doors away from Sean's room.

Sean likes to stay up later than I do and chat online with his friends. Sometimes the volume gets slightly elevated but nothing too bad. He's never disrespectful and, overall, I don't mute him.

More so, I knew I had an upcoming trip to London with a seven-hour flight in April 2022. A good pair of headphones would be advantageous.

I had previously bought a pair of "noise canceling" headphones on a whim a few years earlier. They were Beats. Really.

No, they weren't. They were knockoffs. I think they were $20 and I still have them. I knew it was a risk but nothing terrible.

Let's be clear: they had zero noise cancelation.

So as 2022 started I did my usual research. I studied. I analyzed. I tried some wherever I could but, remember, COVID was still a thing so sampling things wasn't always possible.

Ultimately, I ordered a pair of Sony over-the-ear headphones that apparently have a little extra bass to them. I didn't think ordering the top-of-the-line Sony headphones was financially wise so I stepped down slightly. The model I bought was probably a year or two old and, as such, was a lower price.

Immediately, I was dazzled. I wore them to London and back. Same with San Francisco. I also had them on my way to Tampa a few weeks ago. They're pretty comfortable for a long flight. They can also be connected with an auxiliary cable to the in-flight system. As for the noise canceling it was exactly what I was looking for.

The purchase was worth it.

Of course, over-the-ear headphones aren't the best when you're a side sleeper. I tried that a few times and it's just not good.

Eventually, Sean and I moved to Greenwich and our rooms are closer now, with a sliding door separating us. And he still talks to his friends.

Oh yeah, and we have a cat. In fact, in case you're wondering why I didn't close my bedroom door, well, there you go. We have a cat.

All along, as I went through the shopping process for the Sony's, I pondered earbuds. Specifically, I thought about AirPods.

With a successful year of broadcasts, I felt I could afford a pair around the holidays. My logic was solid. I could wear them in bed to help drown out some noise. I'd also have them for other activities where the over-the-ear Sony's might be too big.

Yes, I put a lot of thought into these things.

Once again, I did all of my due diligence. I watched the holiday sales. 

I should also mention I did buy a pair of AirPods via Woot during the summer. I did it when I saw a good deal. I took a chance. They were refurbished.

In fact, I bought them while we were away in North Carolina and they were waiting when we got home.

And they didn't work. 

Woot didn't have a replacement so I got my money back.

This time, I'd buy the real thing. I found a good deal and bought them via Amazon. 

These worked. Even though they're earbuds the noise cancelation is still pretty good. In fact, it's overall excellent.

I've used them quite a bit for a variety of things, including phone calls. I listen to podcasts and music and I can even sleep a bit with them. I carry them in my pocket and can listen to, say, a ballgame while I'm in the grocery store. 

So, yeah, they've been a good investment. They also went to Florida with me and I had them for the flight home.

Both will be available for London and San Francisco and any other adventure in 2023.

I don't use them every night to fight my sleeping woes and I don't wear them for hours at a time. When working in broadcasting and being a music lover, you realize the damage that headphones can do to hearing. So, yes, I'm mindful.

That said, after giving a can of food to Rascal this morning, I climbed back into bed to see if I could get a few hours of sleep. I opted for the AirPods to see if I could curl up and doze off. 

My listening options stretch from the oldies of Arctic Outpost Radio to different channels on SiriusXM. Sometimes it's a super-mellow "sleep" radio station and sometimes it's a classic rock hits station of the 60s and 70s.

My plan wasn't quite working this morning. Oh, the noise canceling had eliminated the buzz of trains and cars rolling by for the most part. As it was around 5:30 a.m. Sean and his friends had long since called it a night so they weren't an issue. I couldn't hear the backup beeps of trucks looking to make deliveries either.

My brain just couldn't settle down.

Then I picked my head up and looked at the floor.

I heard something as clearly as I could.

I smiled. No noise canceling could stop it.

"Meow."

I laughed and returned to an otherwise outside noise-free zone.

Few Answers. Not Tonight

 

(Photo: News 12 Westchester)

Five kids.

Five lives.

All gone.

The names: Malik Smith, 16, Anthony Billips Jr., 17, Zahnyiah Cross, 12, Shawnell Cross, 11, and Andrew Billips, 8. 

Dead in a car crash early Sunday morning.

We're taught that in journalism. We're instructed to not dance around the term "dead." It's cold and crass and, sadly, correct. 

They died on the Hutchinson River Parkway in Scarsdale, NY. As of tonight, there is no sign of foul play or speed or anything nefarious.

We're also taught to ask questions. Why? Why were these kids from Derby, CT in Scarsdale at that hour?

If you've driven "The Hutch" you know it's not for the faint of heart. I'll offer it might be the most dangerous of New York's parkways but that's a point we can quarrel with elsewhere. Even with improvements over the years and the removal of a tollbooth at the Westchester County line with New York City, it remains a tightly-compacted racetrack.

Yet, speed wasn't a factor on the bend where the accident is reported to have occurred.

The only good news -- sincerely -- is that a nine-year-old survived. Given the number of questions about this awful story, one inquiry is exactly why was Abraham Billips sitting in the hatch of the rented 2021 Nissan Rogue SUV?

It might have saved his life, as dangerous and inexcusable as it might sound.

Abraham went to the hospital with non-life-threatening injuries. 

A small victory, I suppose, when there is no winner.

Sadly, the 16-year-old Malik Smith was the one driving. According to police Malik wasn't licensed and it was past midnight when the crash occurred.

Again, there are questions, and, at least here, I'll let the police answer them.

Now is for mourning these lives ended unnecessarily. Lives that had relocated from New York to Derby that are taken away. Police are speculating the cause of the crash was a distraction or sleep.

Those answers will happen. 

Each child needs to be remembered. Malik Smith's father spoke with WCBS (CBS2).

"Playing basketball. Active athlete. He was a kid. Just wanted to play the game and just be outside," his father Malik Smith, Sr. said. "Good grades, everything."

We try to write about such serious topics occasionally. Ultimately we're always left just shaking our collective heads.

"Why?" will be the overwhelming question and I already see it from the well-meaning but, honestly, judgemental geniuses on social media.

At this time there are few answers other than the basics.

Five dead. None older than 17. A crash on the northbound Hutch after midnight Sunday morning.

Beyond that, nothing.

We need nothing more at this time.

Let their loved ones mourn.

Allow them peace.

The hum of I-95 roars outside my window.

The names: Malik Smith, 16, Anthony Billips Jr., 17, Zahnyiah Cross, 12, Shawnell Cross, 11, and Andrew Billips, 8. 

It's all sad.

Hug your kids.

Spouting Online

 

I saw two prime examples of frustration in the play-by-play business this week.

One was deep and dark and personal and no, it was not me who wrote it.

The other wasn't quite as dark.

But in each case, the simple answer comes down to how business and/or life isn't fair.

In the first case, the writer spoke of being mentally shot with the business. It was concerning and spoke, obviously, of mental health concerns.

I get it. I truly do.

The other one was a snarky comment on a potential job opening about nepotism.

I get that also.

Broadcasting, like almost any desired job, is about politics and who you know, and being in the right place a the right time. I'd be lying if I didn't acknowledge my own frustration at how the business has kicked me in the tuchus.

I've long said that quality doesn't necessarily matter and I believe that. There are too many outstanding broadcasters who don't get the opportunities they deserve because they didn't kick the right, again, tuchus. Or they don't look a certain way. Or they somehow are the square peg that simply won't fit in the round hole.

It's tough to not get down about this stuff. I speak from experience and dealt with a horrible case of that a few weeks ago. I do often remain baffled at a lot of stuff that goes on and it's very difficult to not take it personally.

But, on the other hand, reasons aren't always clear or even truthful. I flashback to a job I looked into in Allentown, PA back in my corporate days. They even brought me out for an interview. In the end, the pieces didn't come together. I wondered where I screwed up -- even if I did screw up -- but I never got an answer.

In truth, no answer would have been sufficient but I wanted to know how I could improve.

I do often wonder how that job could have changed my life but instead, I stayed in New York and here we are. I've been back to Allentown many times since.

But there are other situations that sit in the back of my head. Still, I'd literally go crazy if I thought about it too much.

I've long said that I wish I could back to talk to 14-year-old me when I talked with people from WPUT radio at a job fair at my middle school. They told me to call the station to find out how I could help them out.

I was on my way...

Except the person on other end of the phone said they had no idea what I was talking about.

The point is I have stressed networking, remembering how that kid should have been more diligent about calling again and building the list of names.

That's why I stress not burning bridges either but, alas, that's also dicey because people are fickle. You can burn a bridge or turn people off in the smallest and silliest of ways.

But it's still easy to get down about it. Trust me, I understand all too well. I keep getting overlooked and/or ignored and that's where I look in the mirror. 

Sometimes I'm not getting myself in front of the right people (again, back to that 14-year-old).

Sometimes it's simply people don't like my talent.

But the bottom line is there are reasons and that doesn't mean they're acceptable. Or personal.

Then there's the nepotism issue. Look, there are many -- many -- who get a door open thanks to their name. Yes, I will acknowledge my own child in this as I advocated for him to get a look. In each case my approach was that my son could be interested. From there, I'm out. If you don't want to hire him there's nothing I can do.

There was a logic to each situation for Sean and each one worked out.

Still, I can understand the frustration that builds with the number of broadcasters who get gigs because their name was Albert or Brennaman or Caray or Collinsworth or Eagle or Golic.

Or Buck.

But.

In most of the cases they have the chops. I mean, you can debate me all you want about Joe Buck, for instance, but you won't change my mind.

And there are a bunch of other examples. I think where it's frustrating is when you know the nepotism happens for publicity purposes or out of laziness by a hiring manager.

But still, especially in the case of PR, it's logical. Teams crave that kind of attention.

From there, the person has to earn their keep.

That's not going to change the frustration -- or minds -- of the critics.

There's a third frustration that doesn't get discussed as much but is rampant in the broadcasting business. Much like nepotism, it's an advantage.

It's money.

Why can you go to the sports broadcasting camp? Why can you go to the college with the sports broadcasting program? Connect the dots.

I see stuff in the business literally every day. Some of it makes me nuts. I discuss these things with friends.

Honestly, growling privately to friends is probably the best thing to do and I say this as a person who has made public comments before. I try to be more judicious with those comments now.

We have long said that there is a quality issue in the broadcasting business and there are varying reasons for it -- not the least of which is, frankly, low salaries.

I've seen some of this stuff. I've lived some of this stuff.

But I also live to call games and it's a struggle when I don't. In truth, I probably could have done some this weekend but I had to decide if I was willing to do so on my own dime. I have done games in the past for no money and will likely do so again. I have my reasons why. Sometimes I see it as a donation. Sometimes it's because that's the closest I have to a social life (yes, that is sad) so it gets me out of the house.

But, personally, I'd like to think I still have the talent to do what I do.

These are all things that my fellow voices have to struggle with.

Realistically.

Baseball is next Saturday for me. The temperature will be in the mid-50s.

I can't wait.

The Power Adaptor

This is the best I have to represent today.

 

I often yell at people for being "too nice."

Of course, I often get yelled at for being too nice as well.

So, today, I did what I felt was right. 

Sean went back to his mother's on Wednesday, giving me some time in an empty apartment. It's a double-edged sword that swings between loneliness and freedom.

He waited until this morning to come back because he now serves as a studio operator for a Saturday show on WGCH. He also has some production duties.

Well, he left Dutchess County nice and early and made his way down the Taconic Parkway to Greenwich. The show begins at 9 a.m.

Except, he got there and found out that the show was pre-recorded. He wasn't needed for it. He could have waited and come down a little later to do the production work. Instead, he got that done and texted me to say he was on his way.

He was slightly miffed, just as I was for thinking I'd be doing "Doubleheader" on Friday until I discovered that the station would be running the UConn NCAA tourney basketball game.

Now, we'll ignore that I've been the sports director for almost 23 years and it would sort of be on my watch to discuss that. So it goes.

But now Sean was back with me and we'd do our thing. We needed stuff in the apartment so a Wegmans run was on the agenda.

You might know that for Sean, just as with me, computers are pretty important.

So he grumbled to me that he rushed out of his mother's house this morning without the power adaptor for his laptop.

Full disclosure: I did the same Wednesday night for "The Clubhouse" but I had enough battery power to survive. No harm.

We looked up how much buying him an adaptor would be. It was obnoxious but we thought maybe Best Buy might have a solution.

So, following a grocery store run, we headed to Best Buy in Norwalk.

And the prices were as feared.

At this point, a parent has the decision to make. It can be...

1) Have fun driving the hour back to your mother's.

2) Hop in and I'll drive you.

3) Tough luck. Figure it out. Which, admittedly, is kind of part of 1) so I guess this is a stretch.

Friends, you can see where this is going. I went with 2).

Away we went. Up US 7 out of Norwalk, through the delightful little burgh of Wilton, and onto Danbury, where our duo stopped for a lunch of sandwiches at the mall. Then onward into New York.

At his mother's, a strange car sat in the driveway. Sean's power adaptor waited on the front porch. 

We departed as quickly as we arrived.

We moved on, to coffee near our beloved Mahopac and another grocery store stop for water. Then straight onto home.

Yes, I'm the nice guy dad in this case. But it also kept us from sitting at home all day.

Considering I had no work lined up, this felt like the right thing to do. 

Oh, and Sean bought me a cookie at lunch to thank me. 

All good. 

I had no desire to do this today. I wanted to get my calendar aligned finally to see what spring is bringing. I decided that could wait until we returned.

So, to that end, I've lined up Brunswick baseball and lacrosse. I've pondered if there are Greenwich baseball and softball games that I can add in. I've also slotted some Renegades games where I'll do public address announcing again.

But never doubt that I'm a play-by-play guy and that's going to get priority.

Baseball: next Saturday. 

Finally.

Honor the Past. Live in the Present.

 

1978

Happy St. Patrick's Day, friends. 

If the "wearin' o' the green" is your thing then may your blessings outnumber the shamrocks that grow.

Everyone has a different definition of the day.

For me, it will always be a reminder of the death of a parent. Look, no matter how I try to spend the day, I'll always remember St. Patrick's Day as the day my father passed while watching The Quiet Man.

He was 59.

I was 20.

The impact was immeasurable.

The simple fact is that life must go on and so it shall.

But there's not a day that I don't think of him or my mom for that matter.

I miss him because, well, I guess I was just getting interesting. I could use his advice on a variety of topics. There was so much more living to be done.

And it was all gone in a flash.

When that day started -- Mar 17, 1989 -- I was heading to my job in the General Foods mailroom in Rye Brook. I had looked into a promotion to the accounting department though I was told that it was rare to get moved up that quickly.

It was otherwise a normal Friday. I had to do some shopping and then I thought about just staying home that night. Instead, I got pulled to go to dinner before being greeted in a driveway.

I was told to get home.

My mind swirled.

My dad's car was in the driveway but nobody was in the house. That was completely strange.

An ashtray was on the floor, the ashes scattered.

I was still calm but befuddled.

Then a phone call.

Then those words.

Life changed on a dime.

Thirty-four years have passed. I can hear his voice (it's basically my voice). I can see his smile (given I look like him). And I still hear stories.

St. Patrick's Day, 2023 will feature basketball. It's March Madness, just as it was that Friday night in 1989 when I watched a North Carolina replay at some godawful hour when I couldn't sleep.

But life will go on and I feel like I'm droning on by even writing this post today.

I got that promotion. I never got to tell him that or have him hear my radio work or introduce him to Sean and so many other things.

You can say "he knows" but that simply is sufficient for me.

I miss him. Today and every day.

There are those who think it gets easier over time. I would dispute that.

Hug your loved ones.

An Irish proverb: You’ve got to do your own growing, no matter how tall your father was.

Fitting for today.

Sláinte.

The Conference: Mission Accomplished

 

There's no other way to say this: conference days are long.

They're long in London and San Francisco when we're staying just minutes from the venue or in the same building as the site of the conference.

They're longer at home when we have to be up at 4 a.m. and on a 5:17 a.m. train out of Greenwich.

But the payoff is getting to work in places like the Plaza Hotel. I mean, so many famous faces have made their way there but I smile wider because The Beatles stayed at the Plaza before the Ed Sullivan Show in 1964.

I've written about the Hunt Scanlon conferences before. It's a day of clock management and massaging personalities and putting the best face (and sore feet) forward.

Today's conference was on the important topic of workplace culture. I will repeat that: the important topic of workplace culture. The idea of making sure every employee is valued and diversity and equity are a way of life. The speakers were a wide-ranging collection of experts that dazzled the audience.

To that end, attendees were wonderfully engaged which is a blessing. As a moderator, it's a juggling act because I have to keep things on time, and "one more question" isn't always viable. Yet, somehow, one more question kept happening today.

Believe me, nobody was more aware of the conference agenda than the guy that stood at the mic off and on between 8:30 a.m. and 4:30 p.m. Oh, I knew when the presentation needed to finish and when the luncheon began, and when the networking break was to happen. I'll further add that few people felt more pressure on hitting those times than I did, though I know Chris Hunt and Mike Hawkins both felt it.

So I had to be what I don't like to be. The last thing I want to be is the guy with the hook in the old Vaudeville shows but, sometimes, I have to play the villain.

I keep things on schedule.

And I think that's the compliment I hear the most: I keep things on time.

Of course, I also pride myself on getting names right but, yes, mistakes happen. One attendee corrected me today and when I apologized to her she could not have been more gracious. 

I'll sleep tonight but it still bothers me. At this point, after 15 (!) Hunt Scanlon conferences, I have a reputation to uphold. My integrity matters on this so of course, I beat myself up. You know this. I have standards I try to live up to.

After being in the venue since 6:30 a.m. and doing the juggling involved, that last paragraph of the script -- the one that ends the conference -- is a welcome sign.

With that, it's time to head for a train or grab a beverage. I opted for the latter tonight. The guys I work with are also my friends and I don't get to spend enough time with them so a few minutes to blow off steam was enjoyable.

Then came the train ride home. While roughly an hour, it feels like we're traversing cross-country because I just can't wait to be home. That hour is endless. Or it just feels like that.

Then the walk. It's an uphill battle literally to get back home but it finishes with a downhill stroll as the lights of our humble abode come into view.

Upon stepping inside, I feel the pride of the job well done combined with the relief of a successful day.

The next conference is in May in New York.

Then London in June.

Long days, especially for my colleagues who make it all happen.

I read the words and keep us on schedule.

That's my job.

TL;DR

A deranged cat is next to me as I prepare to sleep

 

I'll keep this short since time isn't on my side.

"The Clubhouse" returned for its 20th year tonight and I know those of us involved are proud of it.

OK, the truth is that I haven't been involved for all 20 years. If I recall correctly I was asked to be a "presence" in 2005 but didn't really become a full part of the show until probably 2012. Still, I'm proud to be a small part of what has been accomplished.

Tonight's show featured some unknown factors and, being honest, I'm not good with unknowns. That is until it all goes well as it did tonight.

So I'm home and feel ready for next week's show.

But I also have to pull myself together for tomorrow's Hunt Scanlon conference in New York.

You see, I have to be up at 4.

Yes, a.m.

I'm truly lucky that I can get ready and walk to the train station.

And further lucky that despite Tuesday's snow, the ground here is dry.

I took Sean back to his mother's today and there's snow everywhere.

But there's a shirt to iron and a suit to put on and a train to catch.

Then I can zone out.

Then the trip to the Plaza Hotel.

And then?

Showtime!

I have to keep everything on schedule.

In essence, I have to be "the face" and "the voice" of the event though I don't feel that pressure. My pressure is about time.

Tick.

Tick.

Tick.

By 4:30 tomorrow afternoon, I'll be ready for one of the following:

- a drink.

- a black-and-white cookie

- a train home.

Or all of the above.

I'll do my best. I always try. I know no other way.

The script is printed and ready. I'll review it on the train and probably in the moments before I step to the podium.

Then again, I'll step to the podium before showtime as well. In fact, I always step up, even if a mic check isn't necessary. I want to get a feel for the view of the room.

There will be a few pronunciations to review and a quick chat with the audio/visual crew and then I'll dive in.

But first I need some sleep. 

And I'm going to do that now.

Chaos

Resume juggling (picture found online)

 

Generally, we rush back into real life when returning from vacation.

That normally means heading back to work.

In my case, it meant jumping back into "Doubleheader" and the general insanity of my world.

For the most part, I was able to avoid it last week. I actually didn't jump at every text and message I received. I assessed the need to deal with some things and decided it could wait until I was back in Greenwich.

So, like I said, I did "Doubleheader" today. But I also drilled deep into my calendar to ensure I'm set for Brunswick's upcoming spring season.  My goal is to call every moment that I can, even jumping from baseball to lacrosse if needed.

That also means I'm lined up to call the second annual Prep National Championship, as well as the semifinals. That pleases me a lot.

Of course, that also means it's time for baseball. I've made my thoughts clear on that topic. I'll get the Brunswick calls and I should also be handling more Babe Ruth baseball this year as a state tournament will go through Trumbull.

Oh, and I'm returning to the Renegades as a public address announcer for a select number of games. Would I rather spend the next six months in a booth? What do you think? Of course, I would but it's not meant to be.

I've tried to stop analyzing and wondering and just take the gigs I can get. My frustration nearly boiled over a few weeks back in a dangerous way and I simply have to keep moving forward. Other things are out of my control.

I'll call each game the same regardless of level.

The truth is I don't want to juggle this stuff. Depositions will also float around and there is a Hunt Scanlon conference on Thursday (I have the final script printed and ready to go). Plus other things. 

I want a home. My god, I've said that so many times. I want a base. Then other stuff can slot in, just as I've done forever.

The multitasker.

Somewhere in there, I'd also like to find another getaway and there are a few ideas for that.

Plus I'm moderating another London conference for Hunt Scanlon.

Yes, a base would be quite nice to get this to settle down. 

Tomorrow is the 2023 debut of "The Clubhouse."

And thus begins my own March madness.

Florida Men

 

Sarasota Bradenton International Airport

The Cat was waiting when we opened the door. 

We got home a little over a half hour ago and Rascal greeted us at the door. Myriad squeaking meows and lots of petting later he has settled back down. Sort of.

In the meantime, the laundry is already rolling around in the machine and things are put away.

But, yes, we're back in Connecticut. Our flight from Sarasota to Westchester came with zero drama though it was raining steadily when we got back. An Uber ride later and we are home.

And, as a side note, how else can I say this? Westchester County, your airport is just substandard. It has limited amenities and, basically, limited everything.

OK, I'm glad to get that out of the way.

I could blather on about my profound gratitude to Kris and Lori for hosting us and to Stacy and her daughters for laughing with us and to everyone we encountered for helping make our time in the Sunshine State so wonderful.

Instead, I'd rather talk about Florida.

Yes, just Florida. You know, the state that gets routinely mocked?

Oh, I know, blah blah blah DeSantis, Mar-a-Lago, "Florida Man," etc.

Oh, I certainly know the stereotypes exist all over the state.

But I also know that it's a state that has been close to my heart since I first visited as a little boy.

It dazzled me as a teenager.

From Jacksonville to Ocala to Tampa and St. Pete. From West Palm Beach to Miami to Key West.

From Pensacola to Naples and from Orlando to Daytona.

I've seen a lot of Florida. Not all -- not even close -- but I've seen plenty.

I've been back a few times as an adult and, frankly, shame on me for not going more.

The Tampa Bay region has always been my area. Yes, traffic stinks and that's a fact but there were so many moments when I just had the pleasant scent or feeling of times past.

If that's a way to keep me connected to some kind of ideal upbringing, well, sure. Then I'm guilty. I certainly liked connecting the dots between Sean and his grandparents.

I also know the downsides. Not the least of which is no matter how much I enjoyed the weather this week it can get obnoxiously hot also.

And reptiles. Say no more.

But there were those happy moments when there wasn't heavy rain or congestion on I-75. There were moments of moving freely with less traffic along state highway 54, which served as a potential lifeline between where we stayed and its western end at US 19 near my grandparents' former house. FL 54 even goes right past the cemetery where they lie.

On the beach (photo by Lori)
We were just talking.

There was the feeling of strolling Dodecanese Blvd and the beach at Fred Howard Park in Tarpon Springs.

The joy of sitting outside at Ricky T's in Treasure Island and, even though we couldn't see or hear the Gulf, it was still there, a short walk away.

There was the lake house and the warm temperatures and the laughter of the children.

There was a moment on US 41 or Pasco County route 595 where there were glimpses of even older Florida. That's the less-glamorous side but still harkened back to the scrappier and simpler past.

But there was, perhaps, the ultimate blissful moment for me on Saturday.

We had just left the Yankees/Pirates game in Bradenton and, sure, the Bombers had lost, but who cared? It was spring training, the game didn't count, and we had fun in a beautiful old ballpark.

Traffic had let up and we were beginning to move along US 19 north of Palmetto. We'd soon connect with I-275 to go across the Sunshine Skyway Bridge.

Q105 played softly on the radio. The station has been my go-to around Tampa Bay ever since the 80s when I first discovered it. While it was a Top 40 powerhouse at the time (and where Scott Shannon came to prominence before heading to Z100 in New York) it has since shifted to a classic oldies format.

In other words: heavy on the 80s.

See where this is going?

Me behind the wheel, on my beloved US 19, heading towards my favorite bridge, and...while we weren't doing 88 miles per hour, it was still Huey Lewis and the News and "The Power of Love" on the radio.

Bliss.

My focus, mostly, was on Sean and making sure he loved this experience. That seems to have happened.

His focus, at times, was making sure that I was getting what I wanted out of the trip. We both agreed we'll aim for more next time. 

I'm just babbling tonight. In some ways, it's like it never happened. I literally had breakfast at Waffle House this morning.

In Florida.

But now I'm back to reality on a cold, rainy night in Connecticut.

But that's travel. That happens. There's so much that goes into it and then it's over.

And I'll be back there again.

But now I have to fold laundry and settle a cat down before I sleep in my own bed.

Sean is back in his own bedroom.

There will be another adventure.

Let's make sure of that.