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.