Between Games

 

I'm sitting in the lobby of NYA Sports & Fitness in Newtown. The first Boomslang game has come and gone. The girls play so hard, the families seem nice, and the coach is great.

But none of that plays a role in wins and losses and Boomslang fell this morning. They have one more game at 11 a.m. There's a championship of this tournament later this afternoon at 4.

One can't help but have respect for what the responsible sports parent deals with. Just for me to broadcast the game, I had to be up at 5:00 and on the road shortly after six to make sure I was in the parking lot in time to set up.

I beat everyone here and grabbed a parking spot.

I was in the gym before any of the players which gave me time to talk to the Boomslang coach. He's a great guy and we just talked about the team and broadcasting and whatever else.

So, my point is that if I'm up and on the road, that's nothing compared to the parent who is up and herding their family together to get to the game. I realize it's not a competition but I give these families and coaches and officials full credit and respect.

So long as they're not pushing their kids into basketball...and football...and soccer...and band...and theater...and civic activities in their effort to create the perfect "well-rounded" robot, I'm all in. Let the kids be kids. Encourage? Of course. But know that there really are limits before it becomes "about you" and not "about the kids."

I will make my way back to the basketball court(s) shortly for (at least) one more broadcast today because it's about the kids. Sure, I'd be happy to be back home and grab some more sleep but it makes the families happy to have these games on the air and it allows me to do the one thing in life I'm fair at. 

*****

As I sit here, I've popped my AirPods in and write as people float by.

Sunday mornings are, to me, special. Even (dare I say) sacred but not in a religious way. Sunday morning is sacred in a peaceful way.

There's simply something about it.

The coffee -- the breakfast -- just has different feeling to it.

The TV -- heck, Jane Pauley on CBS -- feels more eloquent before the idiocy of the political screaming matches commences.

I don't quite roll the same on Sunday mornings anymore I suppose. I used to get up and throw music on while some kind of food and drink was consumed.

Be it cliché or not, Sunday mornings scream for jazz. I'm not talking -- with all due respect -- about Kenny G. No "soft jazz." We're talking Miles Davis or Dave Brubeck or Duke Ellington.

We're talking Mingus and Coltrane and Goodman.

Some bebop and swing and big bang.

And let's not forget the great vocalists.

Especially Frank. Does he need a last name or shall we just refer to him by his last name?

That's right. Sinatra.

That's who is helping me bring the cool right now and, on cue, is perhaps one of the greatest songs ever created.

There are few more spectacular things than "I've Got You Under My Skin," specifically performed by Sinatra. 

I mean, if we're splitting hairs, Count Basie's orchestra should be playing behind Frank on Sinatra at the Sands but I'm pretty blasted groovy ring-a-ding content with the 1956 edition performed by Sinatra on Songs for Swinging Lovers. Nelson Riddle is conducting this fantastic studio version that is currently cruising through my AirPods.

My but that is utter perfection.

Honestly, what other more perfect musical creations are there?

Truly: Name me a perfect song. I'm not willing to debate over it as it's such a personal thing.

Even the simple premise -- the narrator can't get the idol of his affection out of mind -- is magnificent.

The whole crux -- written by Cole Porter in 1936 -- is here:

I'd sacrifice anything come what might
For the sake of havin' you near
In spite of a warning voice that comes in the night
And repeats, repeats in my ear
"Don't you know, little fool, you never can win?
Use your mentality, wake up to reality"
But each time that I do just the thought of you makes me stop
Before I begin 'cause I've got you under my skin

Yup. That.

Of course I realize there are other songs that are perfect -- thus, I ask that question -- but on a Sunday morning where a cool vibe is needed in the lobby of a basketball factory where strange kids are sitting at a table with me, I need to check out to another land.

For instance, "Wichita Lineman" is fairly perfect isn't it? And any one of a number of Beatles (as a band or solo) might qualify. "Maybe I'm Amazed," for instance, might be the perfect love song because, again, it's complex. It's as if our guy from "I've Got You Under My Skin" got the girl and has evolved from 1936 to 1970.

Maybe I'm a lonely man who's in the middle of something
That he doesn't really understand

Once more. Yup. That.

But that doesn't fit in the format of jazz and, as such, not quite the Sunday morning vibe here.

Oh yeah, back to that. Sunday just hits differently.

Road trips have a different feel. Even in the fog from Greenwich to Newtown.

And basketball will hit differently when I'm back on the air for the next game at 11 a.m.

Saturday Blah Blah Blah

 

Basketball (and tennis) everywhere

The first game was set for 10 a.m. and I had to get to Newtown.

Two hours should have been enough time since setup doesn't take that long.

For you "WHAT ABOUT PREPARATION??!" types, I assure you that I already had notes from Boomslang Basketball -- who hire me to call the games. Given these games are with girls younger than 10 years old, I typically don't get anything about the opposing team because, again, they are girls younger than 10 years old.

But it was also raining. A steady soaking was hitting the roads, meaning driving a car with a bad alignment and tires that are impacted by that would be difficult.

So, notes and scoresheet in hand, I climbed into the car. Given the chance to get on I-95, I passed on it, electing to use the back roads and U.S. 1 through Cos Cob to Riverside. 

Then I decided to give 95 a shot.

The puddling and the pace of the road felt dangerous so I elected to bail and go through Stamford into Darien before hitting Norwalk.

In truth, I considered firing off an ultra-rare text: "I don't think I can make it tonight." But, more to the point, I didn't think I was going to get to Newtown in time.

But, choosing to remain calm and keep moving, I decided to use CT Route 53 out of Norwalk. That, eventually, would connect me with other back roads toward Newtown. So, not only would I not be late for the game but I'd have enough time to get inside, survey the arena, and find a place to set up.

I went to a corner, sandwiched between two portable basketball hoops. I didn't need a power outlet since I had a full battery and a new power bank that can recharge my MacBook, so I was able to be ready in minutes.

Literally, because the game was starting.

Calling basketball at this level still gets treated like any game I call, except criticism is non-existent (or truly minimal), and making sure everything is fun under the circumstances is paramount.

With that in mind, I made fun of driving in the rain and how I hadn't had a cup of coffee yet.

I also gently chided the opposing coach who I described as "ebullient."

In truth, he was a bit more vociferous. Loud, even. 

You see, coaches to me will all have to live up to Lou D'Aliso, my forever baseball coach, as well as Dan Veglia, our beloved bowling coach at Mahopac. Neither were big on yelling, though I'd find a way to cut you off when you deserved it.

Disappointing Coach D was akin to letting my dad down.

First game one year -- the site was Mahopac Jr. High -- and I muffed a ball in right field. I ran back to the bench and spiked my glove, muttering a few unkind things about myself.

That earned me an arm around my shoulder and a quick set of words about shaking it off and being a leader. There was no need to react the way I did.

Bingo. I'd eventually become a captain.

Every coach has their style but when you're easily heard, well, it's obviously noticeable.

And fans. Look, fans are great when they're engaged and cheering. But leave the officiating to the officials and the coaching to the coaches.

Not to mention leaving the playing to the players.

I saw it all today at this basketball factory with three different games going on at once.

Much of it leaves me shaking my head.

Oh, and don't think I didn't see the people either laughing or shaking their heads at me. I saw it. Trust me.

Between games, I had enough time to go to a nearby breakfast/lunch place and scoop up some food as well as that much-needed coffee.

Then, back to the arena (sort of like a warehouse) for the second game. With time to spare and every place to sit taken, I sat on the floor and edited the first broadcast.

Eventually, we moved to a separate court for the second game and, again, I found a corner to set up. 

Again, that drew more looks. I'm sure some think it is bizarre that a grown man, one who has called games professionally for roughly a quarter of a century, is hanging out here on a Saturday morning, but I love doing games. That's it. The end.

The games ended. Now it was time to create a route home without involving a highway.

I'll spare you the details (basically routes 25, 302, 53, 7, 35, 121, and 22 were involved). I sloshed around a few times but was soon home.

Telling Sean of the day he thrust his keys at me.

"Yeah. Take my car," he said.

We'll deal with that tomorrow.

Yes, tomorrow.

First game at 8. 

Yes, a.m.

Tune in for more hijinks and, more importantly, to give these girls an audience.

Friday Feels

 

Brunswick through the raindrops

It's later and, well, last night's post got a demoralizingly low number of visits.

I mean ... Who cares? And that's true. But when you've come home from a lacrosse game in the rain and it's cold and you're just not eating frozen pizza at 10 p.m. a blog post isn't exactly a top priority.

It's like turning on the Yankees game and not being happy with the play-by-play announcer. Oh, wait, that too.

So, I'm trying to throw a few thoughts here, let it marinate, and dive into a weekend of all girls basketball, all the time.

Two games tomorrow (10 a.m. and 1 p.m.) and possibly three Sunday (8 a.m., 11 a.m., 4 p.m.). I'll be looking for food (and maybe sleep) in between games. 

Oh, and coffee.

Also, it can all be heard on most of these Robcasting Radio stations! Considering there's only one, that's where you need to go: robcasting.mixlr.com.

I received a kind word at the end of tonight's broadcast and, like many (we all have egos) the compliments go a long way.

It was from a gentleman near my window. Now, as I've highlighted, I'm not a big fan of people being in proximity to where I call games because I just don't want to be heard. Yes, it's weird because all you have to do is go to the internet and you can listen but still. 

Anyway, the game wrapped up but, of course, I hadn't wrapped up yet. I was still on the air. So he turned around to talk to me. Instead of stopping him, I decided to mute the mics and see what he wanted.

In short, he asked if I just do Brunswick (I don't but, in this case, I am Brunswick's broadcaster), and do I travel (well, yes, but that's a more nuanced answer). Apparently he has heard me before -- or could hear me in the crowd (or both) and was impressed. He and his wife both were.

I always love hearing that listeners are astounded at the "nuggets" I produce because I never think I have enough stories of interest.

The compliment was much appreciated and, as I said, a nice boost.

The business is just such a punching bag day-to-day. Or, perhaps, I'm the punching bag.

Anyway, off to basketball tomorrow.

Maybe I'll check in from there.

Teaching Thursday

 

Patrick Ewing and Hakeem Olajuwon

Days like this hit a little differently. 

In this slog -- this grind -- to write a post per day there are going to be times where the juggling is necessary.

I'm teaching tonight at CSB, meaning I likely won't walk in the door before 11 p.m. I'll be tired and, honestly, the last thing I'll want to do is author words about whatever is on my mind.

So, thirteen hours earlier, I've at least begun a shell of a post that I can build on.

For the first time in weeks, I'll be on "Doubleheader" today and there's so much to catch up on.

Sure, there are sports -- Aaron Rodgers, the Knicks, the Rangers, and the NFL Draft. Plus two middling baseball teams as well as the high school and prep sports.

Oh, and there's what Giannis said last night after the Bucks were eliminated. He says there is no failure in sports. I mean, I love Giannis but come on.

But I can't let today go by and not pause to discuss our own Mary Anne from WGCH. I've been simply overwhelmed by the response to the post of a few days ago, including from members of her family. 

Then I will conjure up some lessons for a group of students.

And there is no game to call. I'll get back to that tomorrow when Trinity-Pawling visits Brunswick.

Ah, but the Knicks! Go, New York, go, New York, GO!

Oh, it's great and I'm all in. I love seeing the city excited for the current cast. Finally, I'm hearing less moaning about the Garden and the blue and orange.

No, I have no intention of tempering anyone's excitement. It's been a long time and fans should be pumped up for winning this round. Now, do it again, and beat the Heat.

I have my own doubts that the Knickerbockers are going to the NBA Finals but this certainly does remind me of those crazy days of the 90s. Let's dig out the Zubaz!

You think about the spring of 1994. The Rangers were scuffling through the playoffs after winning the President's Trophy. They'd have a dogfight with the Devils in the conference finals.

Huh. Rangers/Devils. Sounds familiar.

But we know how that film ends. Mark Messier gleefully raised in the Cup in the Garden and 54 years of frustration was over after a seven-game series of nailbiters. Come on -- Pavel Bure versus Mike Richter?

The Rangers won it all and, days later, following the chaos of OJ Simpson and the split screen, we thought we might see a second title at the Garden.

Well, I should say, the Garden's team would have to win it on the road.

Yet (don't read this part, loyal fans) the Knicks went to Houston and lost both games six and seven.

There was an unlikely run to the 1999 NBA Finals where the Spurs more or less ran the Knicks off the court.

Then the 21st century began and I'm guessing most Knicks fans are simply content to forget about it.

Until today.

It's a good day.

Somewhere, Patrick and Starks and Harper and Oakley and Smith and Mason and Anthony and Davis and Bonner and Williams are smiling. I'd like to think Pat Riley might have a grin at the Knicks and Heat meeting.

I don't see Riley as much as a villain anymore. I've moved on. Good grief, it was, what, 28 years ago?

It will be fun.

Maybe the Rangers can beat the Devils and the fun will only grow.

We can only hope.

* Anyway, "Doubleheader" didn't happen thanks to Connecticut traffic. So now I'll just be a bad teacher for the night.

Live a Life

 

Broadcasting a lacrosse game featuring a Canadian team.
Now I'm hated in two countries.

So it was a long day into night.

From the podcast to the lacrosse game to "The Clubhouse."

Well, to be clear, I recorded the podcast but only partially edited it.

And I called the Hill Academy/Brunswick lax game but haven't edited that or uploaded it to the archive yet.

Same with "The Clubhouse." I made it to Mount Kisco with time to spare but I was basically a tornado from the moment I walked in.

Then we had dinner and I came back home.

Tomorrow will be similar, including teaching a session at CSB.

So, let's address Brunswick. It's a pretty huge honor to say I'm the play-by-play announcer for the team that was number one and is now (as of today, and it will go back up) 13th in North America.

That fact is irrelevant but it does make me smile. It's just good fortune to be associated with that kind of success.

In truth, in the long run, I'm literally a conduit. There is no ring for me if they win a championship nor will I host their banquet or even be invited. 

I'm the broadcaster. The "commentator." I know my role.

I occasionally get offered a hamburger.

Thus is the glory of what we do. We're with the team until we're not and, overall, we're disposable and I get that.

I've been along for four Greenwich football state championships. I was invited to host their ring ceremony once. They had one for the 2022 team a few months back and I knew nothing about it until I saw pictures later on.

This is the nature of the beast.

I bask in trying to do my best at what I'm there to do.

*****

With spring here, it's once again time for sports such as youth baseball, softball, lacrosse, and so on to take their rightful place. Parents across the land push their children who "want" to play these sports to do their things.

"Want."

There's such a deep inner malevolence to this. That's not to say there aren't kids who want to play. Oh, gosh, more do than don't. I did and, guess what? I wasn't truly an athlete. I was a kid of heart and, in the end, I'm where I belong.

But there are those parents who think the only way for their child to survive is to load them up with every sport and activity possible.

As opposed to, you know, maybe letting them just be kids.

Sean played baseball for five years. Then he decided to stop. He never returned to sports other than filming them or attending them.

I mostly let Sean be Sean. Overall it has worked and he's figuring his own life out.

I literally beg those who enable parents who live their kids' lives through social media to stop. 

Please stop enabling the behavior.

It's not cute and you're not helping.

This is a post I wrote just over a year ago and I think it's worth repeating.

Not every kid is going to be Aaron Rodgers. Not every kid will go in the NFL Draft. Some will watch it on TV. Everyone can have a purpose and still be a big part of this world.

And it's OK.

2.5 Hours

 

The last out had been recorded and the teams were huddled up.

The shadows were racing across the field as the sun was tired.

Brunswick 11, King 4.

On the air, I did a brief recap and tallied the final numbers. Baseball is still the biggest numbers game of them all.

Runs. Hits. Errors. Left on base. Time of game. Pitching lines: number, of pitches, innings pitched, runs, earned runs, hits, walks, strikeouts, hit batters, wild pitches.

I tore through most of it, ran the theme song, promoted the next broadcast (Hill Academy/Brunswick lacrosse tomorrow at 4 p.m.), and said goodnight.

Then packup began. Brunswick baseball is probably the most setting up and breaking down I do for any game. I make a couple of trips from my spot in right field to the third base dugout to drop off my audio equipment. But I also have to drag the case with the LocalLive camera out as well as the tripod. Then I have to come back for the lineups and talk to coaches.

Setup, call game, break it all down.

Then put it all back.

But as I prepared to walk back to the dugout after the game ended, I noticed I was, basically, alone.

Both teams were gone. Coaches, players, fans, families.

Just me.

Most of the parking lot had emptied out as well.

The only thing I could figure out was that this game had been a bit of a slog. Nine pitchers made their way to the mound this afternoon and there were a few pitching changes in the middle of the inning. Plus multiple walks and strikeouts and 15 runs all add up to a 2.5-hour game over six-and-a-half innings.

Thus, when it was over, nobody felt like hanging around. Very few were even in the parking lot by the time I made my way to my car.

And this was without a pitch clock.

But the game still moved along. I didn't long for time to tell stories but, then again, when a game keeps moving, it keeps me from feeling like I'm droning on. Thus everyone wins.

To be clear, I wasn't upset that I was the last at the field. Quite the opposite. I laughed at it and I'm kind of used to it. Beyond that, I love the peace of the empty or quiet arena. I've sat in press areas at a game after it has ended stay a bit longer and chill out. I've say and watched games after mine has ended to stay even longer.

I use the time to get the energy back to drive as most of the adrenaline has drained out of my body.

In this case, I needed to get home. Despite being 21 and taking care of himself, there's still a son who has all but moved in with me full-time (don't get me started about why) and we needed to deal with dinner.

Lacrosse tomorrow. Oh, and a podcast. And "The Clubhouse."

More Thursday and, well, basically every day.

It's a good and exhausting time of year so the peace of a quiet field was worth it.

April 24

 

It still feels like she's here.

I have to bring her to dialysis or to my nephew's house or to meet my sister for dinner or something.

She needs groceries or tech support on her cell phone.

Or she needs to know where the orange juice is that she got after she had a procedure done at the doctor's office.

But, of course, I know better.

Mom is gone and has been gone for over two and a half years.

I mean, yes, she's always here in spirit and I can visit her grave but you know what I mean.

It's not that it doesn't seem real and it's not that I'm in denial. It's just that when you're caring for someone and you are somewhat responsible for them every day it takes a bit of adjusting to when they're not around anymore.

It of course hits a little more when it's her birthday. She would have been 86 -- she didn't hide from her age -- today.

She was full of it when it came to her birthday. I specifically remember her telling me she didn't want anything for her 70th birthday and arguing with family members who insisted on a party. Said party happened and she was, of course, the belle of the ball.

So, yes, that was Mom. A conundrum for sure.

It's funny how I feel the difference when honoring each of my parents.

My dad -- gone at 59 (when I was 20) -- still produces profound sadness and occasionally intense grief.

Mom -- gone at 82 (when I wasn't 20) -- still hurts but I really still haven't grieved. I never truly will. It's a different kind of emotion.

Thus there's still this lingering feeling that she's waiting for me to take the garbage out or pick up her prescription. 

I guess part of it is that we had her for so much longer. I'm sure that's a big part of it.

Both produce a level of sadness.

Both are missed.

But processing all of the emotions with it will just take time I guess.

There was no chance to mourn when she passed. I was too much in shock but also I simply went about life. Straighten up the house, drive to go talk to Sean, go broadcast a baseball game, sleep on my sister's floor. That was all the day/night she passed. Then there was a weekend of papers and going to the funeral home and getting affairs in order and just ... existing. 

Eventually came the funeral and all of the nefarious nonsense that stripped any chance of being able to mourn. My god but if I ever do write a book what a tome it will be.

There was simply never that spot to let it go. I concerned myself with Sean and everything else.

And so, as I sit here pondering all of this on the 86th anniversary of her birth, I just wanted to acknowledge her. Both of my parents are never far from my thoughts.

I shared laughs and had dinner with Sean. She'd like that. I also called softball today. Not sure that would have impacted her.

But she would have loved the number of people who sent regards.

She's no doubt having a laugh and eating some cake tonight.

Mary Anne

 

Mary Anne in the WGCH studio (Facebook)

I got word last night via email that my WGCH colleague Mary Anne DeFelice -- no, wait -- Mary Anne DeLuca Melillo DeFelice, has passed away.

I had only recently heard that she had been ill in that way that often happens. People move on, lives get busy, and suddenly you realize you haven't heard much lately from them. Nothing on social media. No little snippets of seeing someone.

Then you hear they're sick.

Then you hear they've died.

To be honest, I kept waiting for her to burst back into the radio station, with a new show all ready to start.

I often described Mary Anne as being the crazy aunt and I mean that in literally the best way possible. You wanted Mary Anne to be your friend. You wanted Mary Anne to be your mother. You wanted Mary Anne to be your aunt.

She, in return, wanted laughter, love, and to feed you. Also, did I mention laughter?

I knew her for roughly 20 years. She blasted into WGCH right around the time Sean was born and began hosting a show that I affectionately described as "the Seinfeld of radio." It was about nothing and that's a compliment. It could ramble. It could go anywhere. 

Anything could happen. That's radio at it's best, especially at the community level.

You could walk in the studio door to drop off tomorrow's program log and find yourself on the air talking about your take on a TV episode.

But Mary Anne didn't have time for negativity. A sensitive soul, sadness could make her cry on the air. I remember she had me on to talk about a sports story and, well, she broke down. That's who she was.

Then there was that laugh. Oh, that laugh. Full of breath, as if every ounce of her being was happy to push sound out of it to respond to whatever was being said.

She dazzled everyone. She confounded everyone.

But she also loved everyone. 

Oh, don't get me wrong, she could confide in you and have a few things to say when needed to blow off steam. In the process, her Catholic upbringing would appear with a few "God forgive me's" as she spoke. It was all part of her.

(Facebook photo)

I remember she was at the Babe Ruth World Series in 2002. You see, that took place at Cubeta Stadium in Stamford and few loved Stamford, CT more than she did. If she had more of a national stage she could rival Bobby Valentine for Stamford prominence.

And everyone knew her. Or they wanted to.

But there she was, walking around the World Series in '02 and bringing food up to the booth to feed the boys from WGCH.

"Rob, Rob, Rob," she'd say like a hungry Road Runner. "What do you guys want to eat?"

I'd laugh and tell her some capicola (if only to say "gabagool" to an Italian and make her laugh) and then we'd place an order. And there would be far more than we ordered.

Then she'd come on the air for a moment and tell us all about Joe and John and Jim behind the counter where she got the food and that she ran into Father this and Sammy that from down on Atlantic Street and I'd just smile. Game? What game?

It was Mary Anne's show, in 2012, that I jumped on the day of the eventual Superstorm Sandy. Mary Anne, wisely, was happy to stay home and be safe. I subbed for her show a few times over the years and her audience was always kind.

And she loved her show. She loved playing her songs and talking about pop culture or whatever was on her mind.

And she loved her family. She adored her children and was wonderful to her mother. I highlighted her last names at the top of the post and that's simply who she was. She had a good relationship with her first husband and was proud of her maiden name so, even after marrying her second husband Steve, she simply added to her surname.

She'd even laugh about that.

And boy did she love Steve. He'd come on her show to talk about selling cars and offer recipes. His greeting of "HonEEEEEEEEE!" became a staple around the station. Tony Savino and I still say it to each other.

Sadly, she lost Steve in 2019 and her mom passed earlier this year.

Today, we remember Mary Anne. Sadly, with the passing of Jim Thompson a short time back, WGCH has had some losses of people that we have to remind ourselves to be grateful for.

So it's the laughter and chaos I choose to think about. How she was always struggling to do things in the studio that would cause Bob Small to lose more hair and, in the process, simply more laughter. How, despite being on the radio, she wasn't a "radio person."

She was a personality.

At times, you could find her at the front desk of the old Dayton Ave building. Then you could find her in the current building where the desk was overloaded with trinkets, family pictures, and stacks of Jerry Vale CDs.

Every night, as the calamity that was her show came to a close, she'd turn serious and say something that was spot on.

"Never waste an opportunity to tell someone you love them."

Seems pretty simple, right?

Thanks, Mary Anne.

Some Days ...

 

It was back to baseball in the right field corner today at Brunswick.

Avon Old Farms -- the Winged Beavers! -- were coming to town.

I arrived in plenty of time to set up before the game.

So the routine is to put my equipment down in "my booth."

Then I walk back to the dugout where I can say hello to head coach Johnny Montanez and anyone else hanging around. I can then get the LocalLive camera and roll the case out to right field.

The case isn't light so rolling it along the grass isn't exactly easy but it's not arduous either.

I put my audio equipment and computer in place and set up the tripod before loading the camera on it.

The last piece is the power cord, followed by the audio cable from my mixer to the camera so that I can be heard on LocalLive.

Except I know the audio input isn't working so nobody would actually hear me on LocalLive. Still, you go through the motions.

That's supposed to be getting fixed.

In the meantime there were a couple of realities:

1) I didn't have a lineup yet for either team and, more importantly ...

2) We didn't have a visiting team as Avon Old Farms had not arrived.

Plus 3) was that we were supposed to get rain so getting the game in was a priority.

But panic was not necessary. I stood out in right field and reviewed some information before a bus turned into the campus.

Game on.

That can often mean things will happen quickly and I need to strike to get lineups.

Coach Montanez walked one over to me. I approached the Avon coaches and they didn't have one ready yet but I had no reason to be concerned.

I had an (accurate) roster that I found online. See how easy that is?

So while it wasn't a smooth broadcast at first it was still effective.

But it wasn't a smooth game either. The Winged Beavers came off the bus hot, taking a brief warmup session and scoring four runs in the top of the first.

The Bruins wouldn't get blasted though, chipping away with two in the third inning.

Down 4-2 in the fourth, Boston Flannery came up with a two-rbi single that tied the game.

It felt like the tide had turned the Bruins were on their way.

But, no.

Funny thing about momentum: it's often meaningless.

The Beavers answered with two baserunners to start the fifth before a three-run home run to left cleared the bases.

Avon 7, Brunswick 4.

They'd add two more in the sixth and coast into the bottom of the seventh. The Bruins strung a few things together and put one more run on the board to end the day at 9-5.

Not only was it just one of those days but it was one of those weeks. I've covered Brunswick since I was a board operator and studio host on WGCH back in 1999.

I've consistently called their games since 2016.

I've never seen a week like this in which both lacrosse and baseball lost at home -- with the baseball squad losing twice on home turf. They also dropped a contest on Friday at St. Luke's.

I mean, what's going on here?

In truth, not much.

Look, it's simply a question of execution and both teams are talented. Things happen and they have talented coaches who will fix things. Also, lacrosse beat Hotchkiss today, so all is well.

You shake today off, burn the tapes, and get back to it tomorrow.

I'll see the Bruins again on Tuesday at home against King.

Among Friends

 

It was great to be back at Greenwich again for baseball.

To be quite honest, covering GHS baseball was meant to be a reintroduction for WGCH and WGCH Sports to show that we can do more than football. I wanted us to have a presence in town and we still can. I felt strongly that we could do baseball and softball in a small package.

Well, wait. Check that. I also thought we could do a package of basketball and ice hockey -- boys and girls in each case.

For whatever reason, it didn't come together for the winter sports but I was encouraged to create a list for the spring.

It also did not come together to be on terrestrial radio. Instead, I put it on Robcasting with no ads.

Yes. I'm doing them for fun.

That also meant that I didn't have to get to Greenwich High this afternoon. But, if you know me and how I feel about commitments, you knew I'd try.

So, with minimal fuss, I went to the high school to set up and call baseball today as the Cardinals hosted the Norwalk Bears.

I was there in plenty of time and, as I had done before, I put the equipment down the right field line near the bleachers.

The visiting bleachers.

As such, Norwalk fans gathered nearby.

I've mentioned before that I prefer to broadcast in a vacuum. I like to just call the game on my own. I get the audience can hear me -- of course, that's how it's supposed to be -- but I would rather not have people around me involved.

Of course, everyone always means well, be it a nudge in terms of pronunciation or some other correction.

And let's be clear: the Norwalk fans today were great. One person interacted with me slightly but nothing that broke my rhythm. I didn't get the usual questions about what I was doing while I was on the air or anything like that. Further, one mother was particularly complimentary after the game was over. She was fascinated by what I was doing.

I appreciated her kind words.

Of course, this also highlights my comfort with who I work. You know by now that, in general, Chris Erway tends to be my right-hand when it comes to joining me in the booth. We have the best chemistry and it's clear we enjoy working together. We understand each other.

But it's important to say that the people who are on the air with me are the ones who I'm comfortable with. Whether it's Shawn Sailer or Sean Adams or Sean Kilkelly, Chris Erway or Chris Kaelin, or someone else, it's someone who is a friend (or family) and I trust.

When I do put someone new on the air, I do so because I have a feeling they have something to offer. When you do what I do you become a bit of a talent scout.

Otherwise, I'm frankly content to work alone. I was sort of terrified to do that initially but now it's second nature. I felt I had no business trying to be my own analyst, especially for sports like lacrosse and soccer, but I have acquainted myself just fine.

Think about it. I have called, at various times, lacrosse, basketball, ice hockey, soccer, baseball, softball, football, water polo (!) and even wrestling alone. 

And I'm quite comfortable.

Sometimes, I'm forced to have a partner. That's happened a few times with Brunswick, such as the FAA baseball championship where Hopkins placed a gentleman in the booth with me so that it would be a "shared" broadcast with one person representing each team.

I've also influenced things on my own, such as the suggestion of Dan Arestia joining me for lacrosse. My instinct said he'd be good on the air and I was right.

Oh, and let me add that I don't care if my partner in the booth is male, female, etc. If I'm comfortable and having fun, it's all good.

The booth is best when it sounds like two (or more) people who enjoy being together. 

Today, I was best on my own.

The same goes for tomorrow (weather permitting) at Brunswick.

We didn't have the POWER!

The setup at the Otesaga Hotel...sans power strips

The first thing to know is that Sean wasn't there but he'll never forget it.

The story begins on a stormy Monday morning in April 2015 in Herkimer, NY. Nine years ago today, in fact.

We were completing a long weekend in the stretch as we transitioned from HAN Radio to the HAN Network. Video was becoming our thing but we weren't on our own platform yet. We were still -- GASP! -- on NFHS but I digress.

But we still did audio-only as an internet radio station.

So why was a group of coworkers based out of Shelton, CT all the way up at a motel off Exit 30 of the New York State Thruway?

One word: Cooperstown.

In an effort that began with Paul Silverfarb and moved to me, we were flexing our broadcasting muscle by driving to upstate NY to call the Norwalk/Brien McMahon baseball game played at Doubleday Field. We bounced the idea off of Marty Hersam and he was all in.

To Marty, any idea was "just crazy enough to work" as he'd say. He shot very little down.

So, in typical exhausting HAN style, we would call a baseball game in Bridgeport, CT late Friday night, then slog to Cooperstown the next day. We'd check the setup and head to our rooms before the game on Sunday. Then sleep again and head home on Monday.

Bridgeport went as planned. We packed up Marty's vehicle with the video equipment while I loaded the audio with me. For once I had an advantage in that I drove back to Mahopac that night so I'd have a head start. I actually thought we'd caravan but that wouldn't be the case.

I left early Saturday, stopped in Kingston for a quick breakfast, and moved along to Cooperstown, arriving by late morning. I went straight to Doubleday Field to check cell service where I thought we'd have a place to setup and walked the entire ballpark. Everything was in order and I could breathe a little easier. I was even able to visit the Chamber of Commerce to see if they had any interesting facts or notes to present about the town. Shockingly they did not but maybe they didn't know what I was asking for.

Paul arrived not long after and we walked around.

Marty would be next to arrive and others would follow. Let me add that Marty was also sick and probably shouldn't have driven but I know I wouldn't have been talked out of going either. 

I caught everyone up on my due diligence before we went to the Hall of Fame for a few minutes. We had tickets thanks to having interviewed people from there on the air.

Lunch and conversations took place before we drove to Herkimer, with me leading the way. I'm not going to lie. It was a proud moment as I watched the headlights trailing behind me up Route 28. Not that I necessarily knew where I was going either. Yet everyone knew I'd get us there.

Me, heading into my room (Paul Silverfarb photo)

So, why Herkimer? That's all Marty could find for us. We'd drive 45 minutes each way for three days. At first glance, the Red Roof Inn near the Thruway wasn't necessarily the style I'd stay in but, truthfully, I liked it a lot. A Denny's next door allowed for a bigger meal if so desired and I ate breakfast there on Sunday morning.

But we wanted dinner, a beverage, and a place to watch some sports on Saturday night. The only option, we were told, was Applebee's in Herkimer.

Piling into my car we made a five-minute drive to Applebee's on Route 5.

It's also where we went on Sunday night after the baseball game. The broadcast went off mostly without a hitch (McMahon 7, Norwalk 3). We found a hard line jack to plug into for the internet and called the game from behind home plate.

The experience was truly one of my favorite things ever and I'd very much like to go back to do another game (Brunswick? Greenwich?). I was so overjoyed that I closed the broadcast by reading a passage from Walt Whitman:

I see great things in baseball. It's our game - the American game. It will take our people out-of-doors, fill them with oxygen, give them a larger physical stoicism. Tend to relieve us from being a nervous, dyspeptic set. Repair these losses, and be a blessing to us.

Considering the various tensions of the day, I floated back to Herkimer for dinner. In fact, as I look back, this might have been our last stand where the entire HAN crew got along and laughed. That's not to say there weren't good times ahead but things would change and tensions would grow.

The first change was following the end of the baseball broadcast.

Our traveling party would get smaller as that broadcast would mark Paul's departure. He left us to get back home and wasn't staying with us that night. He also would resign not long after.

The rest of us headed back to Herkimer. We had dinner, laughed, and called it a night. 

The storm clouds would do their thing.

By Monday morning, in the small continental breakfast area of the Red Roof Inn, we'd face new realities.

I had hoped we'd have the day to ourselves but Marty wanted us to remain consistent and do our morning news show, "Coffee Break." He also wanted "Nutmeg Sports," the show I hosted to air as well.

And he wanted them from Cooperstown. Or Herkimer.

But.

We lost power in Herkimer. The hotel and town went dark.

We called around Cooperstown. Who would want us? We tried a few places. I remember calling the library. It was as if I'd called Mars.

Not liking where we were, I took a stand and said I was heading to Cooperstown and I'd figure something out. I was going to look into doing the shows back at Doubleday Field.

One thing I'll add: it was April 20 and it was raw. Cold and rainy.

Still, I sped back down 28 toward Cooperstown before I got a call from Tracey Iaizzi. She told me to go to Ommegang Brewery just outside of the village. We'd do "Coffee Break" from there. They would get free advertising and an interview, we'd get to try some of their beer, and we'd get to air the show. It was a win for all.

We did all of that and then drove back to Doubleday Field. We'd do "Nutmeg Sports" from there.

Or not. Marty told us to wait.

He went over to the nearby Otesaga Resort Hotel. This beautiful place was where the Hall of Famers stayed when they came to town. Now, they'd host a radio program on their back patio.

We moved over there.

Setup began. We went about putting the cables down and setting up the cameras. I worked on setting up the audio. All seemed to be going well. Sticking with the theme of the weekend we were in a talkative, jovial mood, considering we had taken some lemons and hit them out of the park (mixing metaphors but, hey).

Then, finally, Marty had heard enough. He'd been rummaging through bags and equipment cases. He'd been looking at the floor. He was a man on a mission.

Finally, he spoke.

"OK (soooo), EVERYBODY STOP. WHERE ARE THE POWER STRIPS?"

Seriously, we didn't have that many. It was as if they'd dissolved. We, sadly, had a way of misplacing some things and having such equipment hiccups. Let's not get started on the adapter we needed for the Thanksgiving football game later on in 2015.

I almost sprinted out to my car to check any bags out there. Nothing.

Then we discovered that we were having other technical issues. In the end, we did "Nutmeg Sports" as an audio-only program on the patio, with John Kovach and me sitting in a couple of Adirondack Chairs looking like two country gents talking about farm equipment.

After the brief explosion of the "POWER STRIPS" moment, we seemed to take it all in stride.

It was an extremely enjoyable conversation about sports and the weekend. My kind of radio.

We packed up, returned to town for an early dinner, and everyone began to drive home.

I took one last moment after John drove away, to just walk around town once more. I think I hoped some spirit would grab me (or maybe a souvenir). Alas, nothing did as the town began to shut down.

Still, it's a baseball town. Heaven. Americana. My kind of place.

Then I made the 3+ hour drive back home.

But, as I said at the top of this, Sean wasn't there. He was 13 at the time and had school. The shame is he probably would have loved it but there would be other trips for him. 

Eventually, I told him the story of the power strips and he thought it was hysterical.

In the ensuing nine years, I've heard randomly about power strips whenever he feels like it. When we went to Cooperstown last August, we drove over to the Otesaga. The parking lot was crowded and he asked me what we were doing there. Though we couldn't walk inside, I told him where we were.

"The scene of the crime!" we both laughed.

No power strips were to be found, though we both glanced around.

We, too, drove home afterward.

The memories of baseball, laughter, and power strips jangled the brains toward the aforementioned Catskills.

Debate of The Century

 

OK, you poked the bear.

Or the Babe.

So, Sean, Kris, and I were at the Yankees/Angels game last night in New York.

In a building called Yankee Stadium that opened in 2009.

The previous Yankee Stadium was on a plot of land across E. 161st St. But we'll come back to that.

But since the New York Yankees have long-lived rent-free in the minds of every knucklehead on the planet, somehow it became "a thing" to dump on them noting that the anniversary of the first game in the original stadium took place 100 years ago yesterday.

Personally, when I bought the tickets, I was thrilled that we were going on this date. It felt just nice.

So, since so many are so outraged/befuddled/whatever the click baiters of the world are writing, allow me to detail exactly what the "celebration" of 100 years of Yankee Stadium entailed.

- A logo.

- Fans were given a "commemorative ticket" when they walked into The Stadium.

- I vaguely recall someone was introduced to thank them for sponsoring the "commemorative ticket" before the game.

- The scoreboard ran an in-between innings video on the first game, a 4-1 victory over the Red Sox.

Basically, that's it. There was no pageantry. No special bases or balls. No throwback uniforms, unlike those worn at the 100th anniversary of Fenway Park in 2012.

Souvenir ticket from last night. Suitable for framing.

I stood with four people for most of the night and not once did the 100th anniversary come up.

I came home and hung the ticket up because it was meaningful to me.

So, why the outrage? Why do people care? Why are people so focused on trying to ruin something that was a huge nothingburger (cost: $35 at Yankee Stadium)?

Why is there such a thing over honoring something so historic? 

The grounds are across the street and you bet your curveball that I went there before the game. And, further, as a historian of this stuff, it boiled my blood towards a series of people for the shameless destruction of an iconic building as well as the disgusting upkeep of the parkland that was so "desperately" needed.

The site of the original Yankee Stadium is out there.
Supposedly, the 1923 home plate is around second base.

Giuliani, Bloomberg, Steiner, Steinbrenner. Don't get me started. They left virtually nothing of the old place. The location of home plate isn't marked. The ground is rutted and the grass is bad. Keep in mind these are three fields used for baseball and softball.

It's infuriating.

It does please me to see games being played there but it could have been so much better. Look at what Detroit did with the site of old Tiger Stadium. Seriously, go look at it sometime. They've built what they've called The Corner Ballpark at the location and I admire that. Cleveland's old League Park has also been honored. Stadiums in Pittsburgh, Cincinnati, Bloomington, MN, Atlanta, and elsewhere have somehow acknowledged their history with monuments and notations of certain elements such as the site of home plate.

Even Hilltop Park -- the home of the Highlanders (Yankees) -- is recognized with a plaque at the site of home plate. The Brush Staircase is the remainder of an acknowledgment of the Polo Grounds in Manhattan.

But New York City has completely dropped the ball on Yankee Stadium.

I honestly thought last night was otherwise about as harmless as possible. You've never seen the Los Angeles Dodgers honor things that happened in Brooklyn? And, believe me, anything that ever happened at Ebbets Field is noted.

As it is, I recall a building in Queens that is a model of Ebbets Field. You know, the stadium that was in Brooklyn. The stadium in Queens that celebrated the team that played in Brooklyn. They've since mostly rectified that. I will add may there be mercy if the Mets make any mention of the 60th anniversary of Shea Stadium in 2024.

The idea is that Yankee Stadium and others are brands in their own right. It's marketing. You can buy items with the words Yankee Stadium on them. They might not have registrations or trademarks or whatever but they are their own entity. 

When the old Stadium closed in 2008, the scoreboard contained a nightly countdown to the closing of the building. I was at the closing game when the "1" should have been moved to "0." Instead, it was announced that it would be "Yankee Stadium Forever."

It's with that in mind that the Yankees chose to acknowledge the opening of their original place.

I enjoyed it.

Nobody was harmed.

I'm content to die on this hill.

Or pitcher's mound.

*****

The funny thing is that this whole kerfuffle highlighted something I've seen lately. There were spirited comments on this topic today on my Facebook page and while it rankled me I certainly didn't delete any of the comments. Recently, I noticed someone writing that what he posts on his page is, in essence, open to debate based on his rules.

"My page. My rules," he wrote, and he said how it was well within his right to delete comments as he sees fit. Yes, that is true.

But.

There's something sort of, what's the word I'm looking for here ... well, I'll just go with "wrong" about that.

Look, people debate with me. That's their business. It's then my business to decide how to respond. Sometimes I fire back. Often, I ignore them. I pick my battles. I stress that all the time.

But to just delete comments because they don't fit an agenda? No, I generally have a pretty big problem with that.

I find it rather gutless, to be honest. Or maybe disingenuous.

Chris Kaelin and I were known to wage wars over certain things but, at the end of the day, no matter how wrong I thought he was I still respected him enough as a person and a friend to not just eliminate his comments because they didn't suit me.

But to engage in such editing is, otherwise, just trolling and curling up when it doesn't go your way.

Thus I have the right to make these statements here because, heh ...

My page.

My rules.

The Stadium at 100

 

You never forgot the first visit.

Walking up the ramp and emerging to colors that were so vibrant. The view exploded in front of the eyes. The smells popped. The sound reverberated.

Yankee Stadium opened its doors for the first time on April 18, 1923. One-hundred years ago today.

I first saw it in 1972.

It can't be overstated just what a palace it was. It was truly, as writer Fred Lieb wrote, "The House that Ruth Built."

Opening Day, Apr 18, 1923

Yes, of course. G.H. "Babe" Ruth. Who better than George to hit the first wallop in the new place. It was The Babe who looked around Yankee Stadium 100 years ago and reportedly said, "Some ballyard."

That it was.

Ruth also added: “I'd give a year of my life if I could hit a home run on opening day of this great new park.”

Yankee Stadium went from "an overrated right fielder" in Ruth to "an overrated shortstop" in one D.S. Jeter. In between went a who's who of faces who played for and against the Yankees.

You name it, they all basically played there. It took Hank Aaron getting to the World Series but he got to play in Yankee Stadium. Others took the All-Star Game route as the building hosted the midsummer classic in 1939, 1960, 1977, and 2008.

Think about the historic moments: Gehrig's speech. DiMaggio's streak. Larsen's perfect game. Maris's 61st. Mantle's 500th. 

All of the World Series. Whitey, Yogi, Ellie Howard, Bill Dickey. They just keep rolling. Names aplenty.

So far, we're only talking about the years from 1923-1973 before the old girl closed for two years to remodel. In essence, the building was gutted and rebuilt.

The latter version of the stadium was the one I came to know down to the details.

Then from the reopening in 1976 until the final out in 2008 came more World Series and Reggie's three home runs and Nettles' defense and Billy getting ejected and Guidry's 18 strikeouts and Righetti's no-hitter and, after the drought, Donnie Baseball's playoff home run and perfect games from Wells and Cone and 125 wins and Tino's grand slam and Mr. November and Boone's pennant winner.

We're simply touching the surface of the things that happened over 85 years.

We saw the most profound first pitch in history when President G.W. Bush stepped to the mound in 2001.

We saw the saddest collection of days after Thurman Munson died in 1979 capped by a heroic five RBI performance from a certain Mr. Bobby Ray Murcer on the night of his friend's funeral.

The Stadium also served as the site for Babe Ruth's public wake in 1948 as thousands passed by his casket.

But there's more. So much more.

Think of the Stadium and you might think of the football Giants and that "Greatest Game Ever Played." 

Pope Paul VI held a Mass at the Stadium in 1965. In fact, three Papal Masses were celebrated in old Yankee Stadium. Billy Graham is said to have preached to 100,000 people there in 1957. Over 91,000 Jehovah's Witnesses filed in for a convention in 1953.

Notre Dame and Army played there for years with the 1946 matchup being pegged as "The Game of the Century."

"Win one for the Gipper" happened where? Yankee Stadium, of course.

The New York Cosmos -- with Pelé -- played there.

When New York needed a place for a prayer service following Sep 11, 2001, people flocked to Yankee Stadium.

And the Joe Louis/ Max Schmelling fights of 1936 and 1938 were there also. The sporting significance was large but the social importance was larger. The German Schmelling was used as propaganda by Hitler while the American Louis was a hero to many, especially African Americans. Schmelling's 1936 upset shocked fans. In fact, only 45,000 turned out for that fight as Louis was a 10-to-1 favorite. Over 70,000 returned for the rematch with the now heightened political background as war tensions grew. 

It was no contest this time, as Lewis unleashed a barrage of haymakers. The fight was over in two minutes and four seconds.

Some ballyard indeed.

Musically, Shea Stadium got The Beatles. Yankee Stadium hosted a few shows as well. Just not The Beatles. But Paul McCartney rooted for the Yankees in The Bronx.

The Stadium appeared in myriad TV shows, movies, and commercials.

Yet when the palace opened in 1923, radio was still in its infancy so there were only the words of the writers and the reported attendance that stretched from 60,000 to 74,200 or more. Yet radio was there in October 1923 when the Yankees beat the Giants for their first championship.

It was a place of myth and legend.

Mystique and aura, of course.

Tonight -- 100 years after opening those glorious gates for the first time -- I'll be across E. 161st St at the new Stadium that opened in 2009. The building is supposed to recall the 1923 place and, in some ways, it does.

It's not the same. It will never be the same. But it's nowhere near as bland or bad as many make it out to be.

Family movie screenshot, 1972

I'll be proud to spend the 100th anniversary of sports' most famous address near the site where all of the magic happened.

I'll glance at that land that was once a lumberyard and owned by William Waldorf Astor with a perfect view across the Harlem River to the Polo Grounds, then home of the New York Giants. The Giants -- the baseball team -- were the landlord to Jacob Ruppert and Tillinghast L'Hommedieu Huston's former New York Highlanders.

The Yankees, of course.

The Giants wanted the Yankees out by the early 1920s so Ruppert and Huston moved across the river and the Giants spent the next 34 years watching the Yankees win and fans head to the turnstiles.

A place that cost $2.5 million and took 284 days to build. The first triple-deck sports arena in the U.S. The first place to be called "Stadium" and thus became "The Stadium."

John Philip Sousa led a band on its grand opening day.

Bob Shawkey threw the first pitch and was the winning pitcher as the Yankees -- now, the Bronx Bombers -- beat the Red Sox 4-1.

Of course, as I said, Babe Ruth hit the first home run. It was a three-run shot in the third inning off Howard Ehmke. Of no shock is that Ruth was the first to take advantage of the "short porch" in right field.

Right field, which became known as "Ruthville."

While my memories aren't perfect I'm deeply proud to have visited the "original" stadium pre-renovation, first visiting in 1972. I saw that magnificent façade (the frieze) and it became an obsession.

My picture after the final Friday night game, 2008

It became a home.

A House.

I mourned it when it closed. So did many others.

Today, we celebrate its 100th birthday.

Happy birthday, Yankee Stadium.

Struck Them Out

 

Reggie Jackson knew how to strike out. A lot.

I got home a short time ago from calling Brunswick's home baseball game against Citius Prep, an academy with what they describe as "one of the top travel baseball programs in the country."

They were pretty good, making the most of their opportunities en route to a 6-2 victory over the Bruins.

Cirius Prep's pitchers struck out a lot of Bruins.

Too many for my taste but that has more to do with my disdain for strikeouts than it does the Bruins themselves. Trust me, I'm not sitting here ripping high school kids.

But the strikeout. Oh, how I hated the strikeout as a player.

I literally refused to strike out looking. If you were going to get me, it was going to be on some godawful swing and a miss.

Because I had plenty of godawful swings and misses that still haunt me.

Sure, you love the strikeout -- the big K on the scorecard -- when your team struck the other one out. But when it's your hitters doing the striking out? It's infuriating to me.

I realize we've almost reached some kind of strange acceptance with the strikeout in modern baseball but it's still a struggle for me.

My eyes generally do a tour of my eyelids every time I see Aaron Judge rack up a K.

I'm reminded of the Kevin Costner line about strikeouts to Tim Robbins in Bull Durham.

"Strikeouts are boring! Besides that, they're fascist. Throw some ground balls – it's more democratic.”

According to Baseball Reference, the top 35 single-season strikeout leaders are all from the 21st century. The number skew differently for careers as Reggie Jackson is still the king of K's with 2,597. Reggie last played in 1987. Numbers two through nine on that list are more contemporary, before getting to the great Willie Stargell in 10th place. "Pops" retired in 1982.

Indeed, while wonderful to some, strikeouts drive up pitch counts in modern baseball. Thus more strikeouts (and walks) means more pitches means less complete games. I mean, do I need to tell you how rare complete games are now?

Pitch counts, sadly, rule the day.

Last year, Sandy Alcantra pitched six complete games for the Miami Marlins. In 1975, Catfish Hunter threw 30 for the Yankees. 

Who cares, right?

Oh, trust me, I can see you glazing toward sleeping as you read this one. I get it.

Maybe I just struck out too many times -- in baseball and life. But the strikeout has never sat well with me.

To reiterate, this has nothing to do with the K's I kept writing on my scorecard today. Each one was treated with its own level of gusto as necessary. 

But each one also screamed "blog post" to me as I watched them rack up.

I'm just always going to be of the belief that the ball should be put in play.

I also can't stress enough that a called third strike makes me craziest because I'd rather at least go down swinging.

Anyway, I'm babbling about a bunch of nothing.

I suppose this post can be considered a strikeout.

I'll write another K in the book.

Get Away at the Game

 

This is a baseball field.

It's also a stadium.

But it's a sanctuary as well.

It's a place of dreams.

Hopes. 

It means different things to different people.

It also means some find success at one baseball field but don't find it at another.

Thus hopes can die on this field. A stark but sad reality.

To those in the stands, it's fun and activities. It's games on the field and off.

Baseball happens on that turf. But the mental game -- pitcher/batter, manager/manager/ fielder/runner -- also takes place. 

But there are the activities. The food and the drinks and laughs at the trivia games and videos and mascots and more.

It's rooting hard for the game on the turf.

Oh yeah, the turf. I suppose to some that's a point of discussion.

Baseball, in theory, was made to be played on grass. But what good does that grass do if it doesn't absorb rain?

A turf field will drain but it's not natural to many.

To each their own. Turf works for this field.

It works for others as well.

The game plays quicker thanks to recent rules that have been put in place. Older folks might call foul but the truth is that the time investment is different.

The Yankees beat the Twins today 2-0. Gerrit Cole spun a two-hit complete shutout on 109 pitches with 10 strikeouts.

Time of game: 2:07.

Hudson Valley -- obviously, in the stadium pictured above -- lost to Aberdeen 5-4.

Time of game: 2:15.

In fact, of the five games played in the South Atlantic League of Minor League Baseball, not one game took more than two hours and fifty-one minutes. Make what you want of that.

Oh sure things have to be more expeditiously between innings and pitches, but the world still seems to be rotating.

There were plenty of smiles today. Kids laughed and enjoyed everything, even getting autographs from the public address announcer. 

No matter the issue -- on the field or off -- it's easy to forget any troubles at the old ballgame.

Go to a game soon and be reminded why baseball is still pretty great.

Hip to be Saturday

 

So here's the tale of today.

Brunswick had a neutral site game up past Hartford against a team from Massachusetts. It's safe to say it went well for the Bruins, as they built up a 16-2 lead and cruised to a 17-10 victory.

The game, played at Loomis Chaffee School in Windsor, was initially daunting since it wasn't played on the traditional football/lacrosse field. Loomis has a field with bleachers and a crazy "booth" that includes climbing a ladder and a slotted floor that opens to the ground below. I once climbed up there (2006) for a football playoff game. 

I climbed it while carrying a heavy suitcase of equipment for four of us to broadcast. Ah, memories.

The booth we climbed into for a Brunswick football bowl game in 2006.

Alas, we were not on that field. There's a separate field on a different part of the campus that is lacrosse-specific. Fields like that normally feature few amenities. There are, at best, small stands, a port-a-potty, and no press box.

Triple check.

However, Loomis had a mobile scorer's cart set up and scaffolding next to that. Ace videographer Gus was set up on the scaffold when I walked over. He figured I could sit at the scorer's table and run my audio to him.

That's exactly what I did. A good group of kids from each school sat there also to run the scoreboard, shot clock, and keep score. There were six of us sitting there in total. They were all great and we had a good time.

That was a theme of the day. As it was an out-of-league game for both teams, there wasn't a sense of tension in the contest. In fact, it was mostly fun but still competitive. To a man, it was clear that Brunswick was a different level for the Eagles of St. John's Prep.

The Bruins scored just over a minute in and ran away.

As the game ended, I watched both teams head to their respective huddles. Gus and I each packed up our equipment and I climbed out of the scorer's table.

One of the kids who had been sitting there with me stepped away as the St. John's Prep huddle broke up and came over to thank me for being there. He said he enjoyed meeting me and I found myself dazzled that he would say such a thing. It was a classy and wonderful thing to hear.

I almost left a few items at the field but quickly noticed that I felt empty-handed and picked them up. 

It was probably around 1:45 p.m when I drove away.

I did a quick tour of the Loomis Chaffee campus before making my way back toward Interstate 91. I decided to do a small side drive on I-291 (I am a road person, after all) and made my way to 91 via I-84 and CT 15.

There was still food to address but, ultimately, I decided to eat at home. 

As I approached New Haven, I saw the overhead sign advising of delays on 95 south towards Milford.

It wasn't too bad and I hoped that would be it.

Oh, was I wrong! Way wrong.

A latter sign, closer to Bridgeport, broke the news that it was going to take nearly an hour to get to Norwalk.

An hour. On a Saturday. 

The problem began at the Fairfield/Westport line. That's where I exited.

I'm not good at just ... sitting. I'd rather enjoy the view with a slight rain falling through the back roads of Westport, passing Staples High School towards the Merritt Parkway.

And, on cue, the Parkway also looked backed up. Pass.

So I made my way into downtown Westport -- unintentionally -- and began the slog along U.S. 1.

You know it as "The Post Road." Or "Connecticut Ave." Or "Putnam Ave." And other names.

I know it as slow with a hundred traffic lights and I hit every blasted one red.

The grind continued past Stew Leonards and Chick-fil-A into Dairen. I glanced towards 95 as it paralleled and it was still backlogged.

In Darien, I escaped more nonsense and worked the back roads until the entrance to 95 appeared. Finally, it was moving.

Oh, it still slowed through Stamford and across the Mianus River Bridge, but Exit 4 inevitably appeared and I departed to come home to The Cat.

A nearly three-hour tour of Connecticut from Hartford to Greenwich is fairly unacceptable and leads me to be snarky (thus ticking off a few Quinnipiac supporters with a tweet a short time back).

So be it. It was meant to be harmless. To the victor always goes the spoils.

Of most importance to me -- and I hadn't discussed it in a few days -- was the status of my hip. The pain didn't disappear as Tuesday morning began the way I hoped it would.

Instead, it intensified.

Thursday was by far the worst. I worked at the Renegades game that night and made sure I had a chair to sit on and keep the pressure off my right hip.

I must have sat in a bad position or something because things hit rock bottom that night. I walked very gingerly out of the stadium with Sean to his car before stepping over to my own.

Then I sat down in the car. Driving was pure misery for the next hour plus as I struggled to find a position that I could deal with. It was depressing and alarming to be honest because I felt helpless.

I struggled to walk up the stairs into the apartment and sleep that night was basically zero. I nearly fell the few times I did climb out of the bed during the overnight.

In the morning, I reached into my closet and pulled out my mother's cane. Putting any pressure on my leg was painful.

Given my mental and physical feelings at that moment, I elected to rest for a stretch. I probably should have gone out and feel a little bad about that but it might have been in the best interest that I took it easy.

I was seriously pondering how I could 1) broadcast baseball at Greenwich that day, 2) drive to Windsor and do lacrosse on Saturday, and 3) go back to Renegades on Sunday.

I felt bleak in myriad ways beyond the pure physical.

Somehow, the fog passed and things began to heal. I began to feel good enough walking around the apartment and even stepped outside with Sean to grab lunch. I also did baseball and felt an improvement.

Today went off without a hitch.

Thanks to those who were concerned. Looks like you're not done with me yet.

I'll be on the public address tomorrow in Wappingers Falls for Gades/Ironbirds.

Sean will be there as well before he probably comes back to Greenwich with me and that was at the heart of Thursday's post for those wondering. Not his fault. He's frustrated also. 

He's on his way back here now in fact.

Anything else I need to clear up?

I'm going back to watching the Knicks.

Back to the Yard

 

Photo: Greenwich Diamond Club on Facebook

It was April 10, 1999, and I was nervous. 

That should not shock you.

I had been asked to handle the studio at WGCH for the first game of a baseball doubleheader. If I recall correctly, it was a split doubleheader with Greenwich playing Norwalk in the first game (I think). I know for a fact that the Cardinals were hosting Port Chester, NY in the second game.

And I was calling play-by-play for the first time on terrestrial radio. I finished the studio duties for the first game and raced to GHS in time for game two.

Twenty-four years ago this week I return to the scene of that crime.

Today, Greenwich plays Brien McMahon High School at 4:30. The proud Cardinals baseball program has stumbled to begin the season so it's in their best interest to see if they can get in the win column today. Greenwich is 0-4 while the Senators are 1-3.

Much has changed in the 24 years since I called that Port Chester/Greenwich tilt. First of all, I hope I'm a bit better as a broadcaster. I was 30 and should have been calling games sooner but I didn't have the connections or pedigree (or the money). Times were different and internet opportunities were limited in broadcasting at that point.

I focused more on working a "real" job and doing radio as a side gig. My times calling softball at Kraft and Philip Morris made me happy but now was the chance to do it "professionally" on WGCH.

Nearly 1700 games later here we are.

But oh I was raw. We had the wrong mascot for the Rams of Port Chester but otherwise, I thought it went OK.

We called the games from the old grandstand on the third base side. There was no fence between the stands and the field so you had to pay extra attention.

But we also got games on the air. Baseball, football, basketball, hockey. All of them on WGCH.

And we were the only "voice" in town.

So, yeah, times change.

I did try -- with a nudge -- to put a small slate of games on WGCH, including today. We weren't able to work that out so, since I had committed to GHS, I'm going to put it on Robcasting.

On my dime.

I can be paid in dinner or swag. Or not.

I remain firm that Greenwich sports belong on the air as they used to be. Now, to be clear, they are also on LocalLive but in many cases, there aren't (quality) broadcasters to describe the action.

I'd like to think I'll do a quality call at 4:30 this afternoon.

Rest assured I already have rosters for both teams. Since there's no booth I was advised to set up down the right field line. I've done that before so it works.

Oh, I also have a roster for tomorrow's Brunswick lacrosse game. See how easy that is?

It always feels like a bit of a homecoming to go back to the place that I started calling "Cardinal Yard" years ago. To me the name was "Yankee Stadium" but with a late-20th-century flavor to it.

And memories will flood of the partners I've called games with there as well as the games themselves. From Russ McCarroll in 1999 to Shawn Sailer the last time I was there (June 5, 2021). 

And "flood" is a good word as the smallest amount of rain can make the old ballyard unplayable. I've called a few games at Julian Curtiss School, which serves as the backup site when needed.

By the way, none of these fields have power so I'm at the mercy of my computer battery (fully charged) today. If anyone knows of a reasonably-priced power bank let me know. I might be willing to get one.

But, as always, we'll go with the memories of the past and our feet firmly planted in the present. We'll get the lineups and see if we can produce a professional-sounding broadcast for listeners. 

Hopefully, it will go well. Hopefully, WGCH will eventually come on board also. The town deserves it.

So let's play ball.

Talk to you at 4:30 at Cardinal Yard.