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:
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.
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.
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