A Few Friday Words

 

What is there to say tonight?

Sometimes, simply staying quiet is best and tonight is another example of that.

As a result, I'm going to do that tonight.

I mean well. 

I took a walk into town to get a little exercise in and clear my mind.

Positive steps.

One step in front of the other.

Get my heart rate up but not in a stressful way.

Oh, I have enough at that at times.

Tonight, no. I needed to not have that kind of stress.

I just needed a little peace. 

A reset.

So that's what I did.

I'm back home now in a quiet apartment.

A peaceful night.

Hopefully, there will be sleep, as opposed to being up at 3:45 a.m.

Then again, I don't expect to sleep much. The humidity has been bothering me and, for whatever reason, my bedroom holds in heat. The rest of the apartment is cool. I've considered trying to sleep in another room but we'll see if I do that tonight.

Anyway, I'm babbling.

That's all.

Imperfectly Perfect

 

Domingo Germán and catcher Kyle Higashioka celebrate
the fourth perfect game in Yankees history
(Photo: USATSI)

For the second time, I missed an entire perfect game.

David Wells' masterpiece was thrown while I was at a convention in Las Vegas. In that pre-smartphone era, I didn't learn about it until I returned to my hotel room at the Riviera and turned on SportsCenter.

I figured it out during the opening tease and yelled.

The first perfect game by a Yankees pitcher since 1956 and I saw none of it.

I listened to a large chunk of David Cone's perfecto on the radio in 1999.

Last night, I fell asleep, waking up to deal with Mr. Rascal when I glanced at my phone. Sneaking a peak at Facebook, I saw Kathy Dempsey's (she's forever "The Queen of Yacht Rock") post.

"Yankee fans weren’t booing him tonight like they did last week," she wrote. "Glad I stayed up for this!"

Then I saw that Domingo Germán had pitched a perfect game.

And I knew the haters would be out in force.

The easy knock is that he shut down the Oakland Athletics, which are in the middle of a historically bad season. But, here's the thing: you can only play the schedule in front of you.

Sandy Koufax no-hit the Mets in 1962. It still counted. Matt Cain threw a perfect game against a Houston Astros team that would lose 107 games in 2012. It still counted. 

So, yeah, Germán's perfect game is real. 

Then there's the big problem: Germán was suspended for violating MLB's and Players Association's Joint Domestic Violence, Sexual Assault and Child Abuse Policy.

He slapped his then-girlfriend at a party hosted by CC Sabathia in 2019 before becoming violent later on per news reports at that time. His girlfriend hid from him and was removed from the scene. While the police were not called and thus no report was filed, MLB suspended Germán for 81 games.

The charges were disgusting and he got what he absolutely deserved. I, frankly, wanted him out of The Bronx and said so at the time.

I do, for what it's worth, believe in second chances and redemption but that is much easier said than done.

Still, Germán was not someone that I wanted on the Yankees, further intensified when he was suspended for 10 games for excess rosin on his hands.

So, there's that to process, but there's also the historian in me. That side of me sees only the 24th perfect game in history and, regardless of everything else, that's pretty remarkable.

But the woman Germán hit that night is now his wife and the mother of his three children. She has forgiven him and they seem to be blissful. 

Now, of course, we know there is a long history of women in bad situations who make it seem like everything is great. I can only take Mara Germán at her word.

So the takeaway for me is excitement at history while still being outraged at his behavior. Both can be true.

If, however, he's cleaned himself up then all the better. I don't live in their house. I don't know them.

I'm willing to bet you don't know them either.

So I'll separate the two items. The person might not be great. The achievement is.

One last item about the perfect game: the broadcast.

"Three times in his sensational career has Sandy Koufax walked out to the mound to pitch a fateful ninth where he turned in a no-hitter. But tonight, September the 9th, nineteen hundred and 65, he made the toughest walk of his career, I'm sure, because through eight innings he has pitched a perfect game." -- Vin Scully, Sep 9, 1965.

In a piece written by Brendan Kuty on The Athletic, Kuty writes: "But he (Ryan Ruocco) was avoiding one thing. Out of concern he might jinx Germán, he made sure all night not to use the word 'perfect."

In a quote to Kuty, Ruocco added that he used the word "forever" instead. 

What an absolute cop-out.

I'm seeing people fawn over the call today but, to me, if you're buying into jinxes and superstitions, you're not doing your job.

For the record, Scully (who called 23 no-hitters and perfect games combined) said the word "perfect" three times in the ninth inning before the last out of Koufax's masterpiece in 1965.

So, no. Don't tell me what an "epic" call it was when you can't bring yourself to actually report what's going on. Though I will say that Ruocco did the right thing by laying out after the last out. I think fellow Fordham grad Scully would at least approve of that.

Since I've gone this far, let me add that there have been four Yankees perfect games. Of the broadcasts I've heard:

Don Larsen's 1956 World Series masterpiece was called by Mel Allen and Vin Scully on NBC and Bob Wolff and Bob Neal on Mutual Radio. Scully and Wolff each called the final out.

David Wells' 1998 game was called by Jim Kaat and Ken Singleton on MSG and John Sterling and Michael Kay on WABC Radio. Kaat and Sterling each received the honor of calling the last out.

David Cone's 1999 perfect game was called by Bobby Murcer and Tim McCarver on WNYW (FOX 5) and Sterling and Kay on WABC. McCarver and Sterling called the final out.

Domingo Germán's perfect game was called by Ryan Ruocco and Jeff Nelson on YES. John Sterling didn't make this trip so Justin Shackil and Suzyn Waldman handled radio duties on WFAN, with Ruocco and Shackil handling the final out calls.

These notes are obviously incomplete as I haven't listed each pre and postgame crew and any stadium reporters, such as Meredith Marakovich on YES. I've also not included the opposing team broadcasts. There would likely be, for instance, a French call of Cone's game from the Montreal Expos broadcast. There are also Spanish broadcasts, such as Rickie Ricardo for the Yankees last night.

These voices will be attached to this forever. It's an extremely cool honor and not one taken lightly.

All part of a special moment.

Everything isn't a Dollar Value

 

Our lovely view for the evening

I went to a gathering tonight to discuss what we do right at WGCH and how we can do things better.

Short version: we have a lot of work to do.

Flashback to that 28-year-old walking through the door of 1490 Dayton Ave. in March 1997.

It's a station that seems to have good sales numbers. Sports run constantly. There are trips to places set up in the form of trade. It's all good.

Twenty-six years later we're trying to figure it all out.

All I can do is talk from my perspective.

In 1997 I was nothing more than a low-level board operator. In reality, I'm my son, who is now finding his way.

Oh, to be clear, Sean is receiving major good reviews from everyone. They love him.

In 1997, his father was just trying to make sure that the station stayed on the air.

By 1999, I'm running all board operations for sports and a bunch of talk shows. Eventually, I got asked to call the second game of a baseball doubleheader.

Damn. That's sort of fun.

Twenty-four years later, I'm begging for more games to call.

Will Greenwich football be back on WGCH? (Yes, I think it will) 

I don't always care about getting paid for the games. I mean, I do, but I want the games to air and I figure sponsorships will follow.

I don't care about the interviews. They'll happen also.

I just want sports on this radio station, where there used to be a complete flurry of activity.

Every Greenwich football game.

Every Greenwich basketball game.

Every Greenwich hockey game ("Voice of Greenwich Hockey" aside and, trust me, he came up tonight).

Every Greeenwich baseball game (and those ran on tape delay).

We made it work. Nearly 100 games.

As it should be.

Eventually, ownership changed and I was told that every show and game I did had been cut. It was horrific.

Some were restored but, needless to say, not everything. In fact, basically most of it was gone.

There's still a value to Adams and Erway and everyone else. But WGCH has to spread that to the world.

Never mind the SEVEN years that "Doubleheader" has been on the air for free.

I know, the Jarrod Wronski's of the sports world are falling over in a faint because, God forbid, some people do broadcasting for the good of a lot of things. The likes of Jarrod would never! They're all about the dollars,

No money? No shot!

Well, I have a method to my madness.

I'm trying to keep things alive and if you have a problem with a lack of interviews as a result well then you might want to dip into your pocketbook.

I do "Doubleheader" as I do it because 1) I love WGCH. 2) I try to keep WGCH live and local. 3) Because WGCH works within the boundaries of my schedule when I'm not available.

So, when I have a Brunswick game, that takes priority and, you know what, when I'm not up to it I skip it. It's that simple.

Tonight, I was able to make a little bit of a stand for being the sports director.

To try to get me to abide by some kind of standard likely means I'd walk away. It would be too "Nutmeg Sports-y" for me.

If you know, you know.

Radio is meant to be freeform. Not scripted.

For tonight, we've done what we can to keep the mighty 1490 flying high.

Tomorrow, of course, is another day.

I'd rather be sitting back there of course.

Then again, I haven't done a game in nearly three weeks.

We need to fix that.

Beep! Beep!

 

As I live not too far from an intersection, I hear it all the time.

Horns. 

They can happen at basically any hour but it's mostly a 9 a.m.-9 p.m. phenomenon.

Admittedly, even as a lifelong New Yorker who frequently drove into the city, I don't get it. It didn't matter which boro I was in (except Staten Island, they're too nice there).

Oh, I know. People are in a constant rush. Yes, so am I. There's always somewhere I have to get to.

But it takes a lot for me to honk my horn.

As I sit  -- be it on the deck, in my bedroom, living room, Sean's room, attic, front porch, wherever -- I hear it in all forms.

Squawking. Belching. Booming. Squeaking. 

Trucks. Cars. Motorcycles.

Heck, we've even had a good old-fashioned "ahooga" horn go by. It sounds phenomenal on a vintage car and I admit I marvel at that one.

The others? No.

Again, I don't get it.

You see if someone doesn't go as soon as a traffic light turns green, I will wait a beat and then I will actively count to 10. Literally, I'll count out loud before I'll even consider hitting my horn.

I've grumbled and growled as people who don't know they can make a right on red coming off Exit 3 of northbound I-95 just sit there. 

But I don't honk.

Every time I think I'm this impatient jerk I'm reminded of things like this.

So, yes, I'm a jerk. I'm just not as impatient as I thought I was.

It doesn't seem worth the effort and aggravation. I mean, one thing we should all realize is we simply don't know who is in the object of our angst, and why agitate anyone like that simply because they didn't go at a four-way stop?

Is that worth it?

Or is it simply the behavior of an overworked, spoiled, entitled world that expects the sea (and cars) to part for them?

I realize there are most certainly appropriate times to honk a horn. I mean, how else was I to celebrate Jason Giambi's 14th inning grand slam against the Twins on a rain-soaked night back in 2002?

As I listened on the radio, there in the middle of an empty Taconic Parkway, I let fly.

But, seriously. Of course, there are more rational times to hit that horn.

Getting mad at a too-slow-for-your-taste Honda Accord at a blinking light doesn't seem like one of them.

So, what's the recourse? No, I'm not asking if we're supposed to go for full anarchy of road rage.

I'm also not charging down to the Greenwich Police Department to get a cop stationed at the offending intersection.

But I am truly curious.

The more likely option is that I'm -- again -- a jerk and this is just bothering me. In other words, suck it up.

Moving here didn't mean we'd be listening to crickets at night. I hear cars on 95 roar by at literally every hour. I hear trains -- Metro North, Amtrak, and freight. I hear cars on the local streets as well as pedestrians strolling by.

Before you ask, no, "inside voices" are generally not used, regardless of time. As a society, we've sort of lost that common sense.

I hear bicycles and skateboards and everything else.

There are hours that are quieter than others but there's almost always some kind of a hum in the air. I can deal with it and have adjusted to all of it.

It's a symphony.

But the horns.

They're the ones who make me the foulest.

Mostly because it's pure obnoxious impatience.

And unnecessary.

And I'll have to get over it.

Love to Love Songs

 

Paul, Linda, and Martha the dog, taken in Scotland

For as much as we all know social media is a cesspool there are also items that produce harmless thoughts and conversations.

A good account that I follow asked, "What is the most romantic verse out of a song that you really like?"

There were myriad responses from songs that you'd expect and, to be honest, mine was no reach. My immediate response was:

Maybe I'm amazed at the way you love me all the time

Maybe I'm afraid of the way I love you

Maybe I'm amazed at the way you pulled me out of time

You hung me on a line

Maybe I'm amazed at the way I really need you

If you don't know, that's from "Maybe I'm Amazed" by Paul McCartney from his 1970 album McCartney. While it's not really a "slow dance" number, it's a groove that hits - especially live, where it became a hit on the Wings Over America album.

The exercise led me into the love songs department and one thing to know is that, just like "Maybe I'm Amazed," love songs don't have to be Sinatra standards.

A great love song can come from an unexpected place.

But, of course, there are simply the classics, such as "Your Song" by Elton John (and co-written, as if it needs to be said, with Bernie Taupin).

I always found the line about the subject's eyes to be just incredible and I know I'm not alone.

So excuse me forgetting

But these things I do

You see I've forgotten, if they're green or they're blue

Anyway the thing is, what I really mean

Yours are the sweetest eyes I've ever seen

Masterful.

Or the slow jam groove of Rev. Al Green's "Let's Stay Together." It gets right to the heart of things after an instrumental opening with horns and keys, to this:

I, I'm I'm so in love with you

Whatever you want to do

Is all right with me

'Cause you make me feel so brand new

And I want to spend my life with you

McCartney, George Harrison, and John Lennon could all appear on any list, with the brilliantly complex "Something" leading the charge from George.

You're asking me will my love grow

I don't know, I don't know

You stick around, now it may show

I don't know, I don't know

He's, er, devoted. Maybe. 

Paul was a master of the soupier songs, writing words of love that could have been about his then-girlfriend Jane Asher ("And I Love Her," "Here, There, and Everywhere," "I Will") and, of course, wife Linda later on ("Maybe I'm Amazed," "The Lovely Linda," "My Love,"). Lennon comes aboard with "If I Fell" and the deeply personal "In My Life."

Alas, we can break the lads down for hours and perhaps one day we will but there are myriad other songs that we can dive into.

Sinatra, of course, had standards that were complex as well ("I've Got You Under My Skin") as well as straight to the heart ("The Way You Look Tonight," "Fly Me to the Moon"). Elvis Presley checks in with "Can't Help Falling In Love" among others.

Then we hit the Beach Boys and few love songs are better than "God Only Knows."

I may not always love you

But long as there are stars above you

You never need to doubt it

I'll make you so sure about it

Billy Joel can say hello in with famous songs like "She's Always a Woman" or a hidden gem like "She's Right on Time." 

The Carpenters? Where to start. Simply the sound of Karen Carpenter's voice should be enough, right?

Chicago. The Eagles. Marvin Gaye and Tammi Terrell. Otis Redding. Sam Cooke. Smokey Robinson. Carole King. Diana Ross. Streisand. The Bee Gees. All have a case to make in this discussion.

And, of course, when speaking of love and complications, there's her. Taylor Swift. She's the problem. It's her. But, seriously, she wears short skirts and T-shirts and so on (yes, I know I'm butchering the lyrics).

Can we also mention the late Donna Summer and "Love to Love You Baby?" Because I was seven when that came out and it sort of scarred me but I digress. Then again, that could lead me back to The Beatles and "Why Don't We Do it in the Road" so we'll just leave things as they are. You know, family blog and all.

I suppose if anything troubled me about this exercise it was how overwhelming it could be.

Now, I've tried to avoid schmaltz but, as always, this is always subjective. You may want or expect Whitney Houston, Mariah Carey, or Celine Dion, and justifiably so. I'm sure that some of you are thinking I'm leaving obvious choices out and that's OK. In fact, it's sort of what I want. In fact, Carey's "Vision of Love" was a favorite of mine to play on Majic 105 back in 1990-91. Things were still innocent then and we hadn't dealt with "Christmas Mariah" yet.

And these songs have all been basically messages of devotion, with a few complications thrown in. But even a breakup song is, at its heart, about love. Think of Carole King's "It's Too Late." It's heartbreaking because she still cares about her subject but "We just can't stay together, don't you feel it too?"

And let's not leave The Cure out ("Love Song") or even Led Zeppelin ("Thank You"). Love knows no musical boundaries -- be it hard rock, metal, goth, country, pop, or anything else.

Sometimes it's OK to express a feeling or two.

Oh, yeah, and there's one last love song that I will wrap up with. It's a, er, curious thing.

First time you feel it, it might make you sad

Next time you feel it, it might make you mad

But you'll be glad baby when you've found

That's the power makes the world go 'round

You knew I had to mention that one.

Feel the power of love.

Because love is all you need.

A Successful Failure

 

Before we get to anything else today, happy birthday to Susan, the leader of the very small Rob Fan Club. I don't even think my own son is in that so Susan is probably the lone member. OK, she and Shawn Sailer.

She hates overwrought birthday messages so I simply call her "the GOAT." That will have to suffice. Plus, like me, she has a difficult (at best) relationship with her birthday. 

But I can't ignore it. Nor will I.

So happy birthday you Crazy Lady. 

*****

Among Susan's various gifts (or curses) is dealing with me. As she is a master chef and honestly could have a business making any one of a number of food items, she's my go-to for questions and concerns.

She heard from me today as this morning, I decided to be like Donkey, the character voiced by Eddie Murphy in the Shrek movies.

I was makin' waffles.

(Emma Kumer, Redbubble)

Oh, I've had a waffle iron for years. It was a gift from a bygone time.

I haven't used it in years and decided it would be fun to try again. We bought a waffle mix a few weeks ago and had the necessary accoutrements.

So I whisked the mix with oil and water as instructed however, I lessened the recipe a hair because it would just be Sean and me eating this morning.

Well, that didn't quite work. OK, a couple of smallish waffles were produced and I elected to start over, following the recipe on the box.

The consistency was different from the first batch but I soldiered on. I loaded the batter onto the already-hot waffle maker and stepped away.

I stayed patient. Waiting for any signal from the waffle maker itself would be too long and likely burn the finished product.

I opened the lid and the waffle promptly split in two.

Worse, I couldn't extricate it from the iron. I scraped and worked and, if you haven't figured it out, there would be no waffles today.

The waffle maker sits on the kitchen table where I'll continue to try to clean it. Otherwise, well, it might be done.

Remaining calm and not letting the frustration boil over, I reached for a griddle and lit the stove. I had a mix and there would be a plan b.

That's right: waffle pancakes. Wafflecakes.

I poured the batter onto the griddle and, of course, smoke rose to the ceiling. Nothing dangerous and the apartment was fully ventilated but, as you may expect, the smoke detector begin to sound out.

Again, I stayed calm, silencing that and airing the kitchen out.

The wafflecakes weren't burnt, for what it's worth.

When the smoke cleared (ha!), Sean and I scarfed our wafflecakes down. I thought they were fine. Nothing spectacular. 

I told him to have low expectations and was sort of prepared to hear how bad they were. I respect that honesty.

Alas, he said they weren't bad at all.

As I worked my way through this fiasco I was reminded of what Apollo 13 was. Oh, I'm not comparing a mission to the moon with the cooking of crappy waffles. I'm just saying Apollo 13 was deemed a "successful failure."

I used the same term -- in jest -- about this morning.

Yet, I'm sure you can figure out the conclusion that we both had.

Just go to Waffle House next time.

My Microwave

 

I went to heat something up a few nights ago when I noticed an item shoot by me.

It was the door button off of the microwave oven.

Now, I could put it back on and still use it but it accelerated something that I knew: it was probably time for a new microwave.

Shockingly, I didn't go into panic mode or overthink it. Oh, sure, I asked for a word of advice, but I had an idea of what I was going to get. As I have portrayed, I don't need anything fancy. I simply need something that does the basics.

I glanced at a few options on Amazon but, ultimately, bit the bullet and went to Walmart.

On a Saturday.

What, exactly, was I thinking?

Our beloved I-95 was a mess for what should have been a short drive to Norwalk. Instead, we crawled out of Cos Cob into Stamford before I took the back roads of Darien.

That allowed me to show Sean "Turkey Turnpike" and the wonders of Old Kings Highway.

If I've never told the story, I was on Old Kings Highway one time when I came across a gaggle of turkeys. One, in particular, decided to peck at my front driver's side tire. While it was a chilly day and my window was closed, you could still hear him pecking away.

I drove away without damage to the car or the turkey.

I still laugh about that, just as I do at recognizing that I can get around downtown Darien via Old Kings Highway.

And then it was onto Walmart.

On a Saturday.

It's not exactly a Mensa meeting that gathers inside any Walmart, particularly on a Saturday. Sean and I worked our way around, grabbing a few items before settling on a truly budget microwave that should do exactly what we need.

It's small. Not exactly something we'll have for years but who knows?

We use our microwave to reheat stuff. Never anything big.

I decided to pick up some microwavable popcorn for us to test our new purchase.

We grabbed lunch at a place that is normally closed on Sunday regardless of politics (come on, you know what I'm talking about) and returned home to set the microwave up. It's small -- no question about that -- but it did a pretty good job on the popcorn.

These aren't insignificant purchases for me. I mean, it's a microwave so it's not that big of a deal, but it still matters because these are the things that take steps further along on the road. The microwave we had probably dates to the early 2000s and I remember buying it at a Best Buy.

In other words, it was time. 

And it's mine (and Sean's). I suppose that's what is significant about it. More ways of moving forward.

We could also probably use a new toaster oven but one step at a time.

Topics Limited

 

"The Overrated Shortstop"
(Photo by Jessica Rinaldi/The Boston Globe via Getty Images)

Inspiration can come from all kinds of places.

For last night's post, it was dinner, and I'm happy with the way that came together.

Tonight, however, I'm just sort of sitting in our living room.

I've currently got nothing.

Despite what some think, I don't just let it all hang out. I don't tell every story. I don't give every detail. You don't need to know all of the good or the bad. I try -- hard -- to be judicious.

So, yes, I do keep some things to myself.

And thus here I sit.

The Yankees are on TV but the sound is off. 

Sean is in his room. Dinner has been taken care of.

The cat is in his bed to my left. It's crazy how he'll follow me into my bedroom but, ultimately, will either sleep under my bed, under my desk, or somewhere else.

He's nuts. That's why he fits in here.

*****

I got myself into a little hot water on the interwebs today. Nothing major and it's all good but it was one of those things I probably should have let go.

The topic -- silly, of course -- was that among four hall-of-fame baseball players, which one would you throw out? Again, it's completely ridiculous, but the choices were Nolan Ryan, Tony Gwynn, Rickey Henderson, and D.S. Jeter.

I knew where this was going and decided I wasn't having it. The idea was for Jeter-bashing to begin and oh boy did it!  Most people, in fact, picked Derek Jeter to be tossed in this scenario.

I picked Nolan Ryan.

My reasoning was that while Ryan was a great pitcher -- and he was -- he wouldn't be my first choice for a pitcher. Or second, etc. Even in his era, I would have selected another contemporary if I was filling out a staff and needed a pitcher to get me a win.

Give me Jim Palmer or Steve Carlton or Vida Blue or Tom Seaver. Heck, even prime Ron Guidry.

On the other hand, if reaching for a shortstop, and I needed a win, Jeter would be in the conversation. He made every big play and got every big hit.

Gwynn was simply a hitting machine. If it's my decision, he stays.

And does anyone need to define or defend keeping Rickey? Rickey would agree with keeping Rickey for sure. Rickey knew how to get on base by any means necessary and Rickey knew he'd eventually score. That's what Rickey did.

But I realize this was a Derek Jeter issue for me. The funny thing is that Jeets was never my favorite on those Yankees. It was always Paul O'Neill or someone else. Jeter was always there -- solid as a rock, keeping his nose out of trouble, and saying as little as he could.

It almost felt too easy to be a Jeter fan.

But he was a winner. He found a way every time.

I've come to appreciate him more over the years.

I suppose part of it was the Jeter backlash that I read all too often, with my favorite being the #OverratedShortstop nonsense.

Yes, indeed. The sixth most hits in history, coupled with five world championships, the "flip play" and the myriad other big moments that he simply excelled at just make him a bum.

You look back and realize that we were lucky to watch him when we did. You realize you can tell your kids, grandkids, etc that you saw Derek Jeter play.

He also debuts as a studio analyst tomorrow for FOX Sports' coverage of the London Series between the Cubs and Cardinals. If the series "The Captain" showed us anything, I think he'll be good on TV. 

It was silly of me to weigh in on such internet idiocy but, then again, it's a hill I'm willing to die on. So long as the responses are respectful and all in good fun, I'll hardly lose any sleep over it.

I find enough other ways to do that.

There. I found a topic.

A Plate of Pasta

 

It's dinner time around here.

Lunch today was, actually, one of my favorite things. Susan makes insanely good rice balls and she's always kind to keep a few for me.

Well, today, that was my lunch. Rice balls. That is all.

Incredible.

With pickings slim come dinner time, Sean and I decided to head over to our local Italian restaurant, Bella Nonna. We first tried them when they were at the Greenwich Town Party a few years ago and they're close enough that it's maybe a 5-minute drive. It's just a little too long to walk to, though I suppose we could do that also.

Sean was interested in trying one of the sandwiches that they have listed as a special. As for me, well I'd just had chicken parm from them and, frankly, I was in the mood for pasta.

Spaghetti and meatballs it was.

It was wonderful and I don't even know that this is the point of the post.

Instead, I suppose it's about the simplicity of pasta and sauce.

Oh, meatballs are a great bonus and you have to know who makes a good one to add to the dish.

As this was all rolling around in my brain, not unlike my fork twirling among the spaghetti, I thought of my mom and the recipe that hangs on my kitchen wall.

Yes. That recipe. Printed by one of my nieces and framed. It was in my mom's kitchen until we moved out.

It is my mother's sauce combined with my beloved Aunt Fay's meatballs.

This is probably the longest I've ever gone in my life without having that meal, given it's been probably three to four years. I haven't braved trying to make it, so it's on me.

But, oh, the memories it will bring back if I ever do.

Of being "the official taste tester" because, well, I was addicted to its charms. Somehow, I'd not only sample the sauce but it was quite likely a meatball would disappear in the process.

Of how my house -- the least Italian of them all -- had a feeling of being just right, especially with some bread and maybe some Sinatra on the stereo.

Of the feeling of family because we all couldn't wait for it. Then we'd gather around the dining room table as our family expanded and adjusted over the years.

Contrast that with tonight as I sat at a small kitchen table while Sean ate his wrap in his room.

My family would make the food last with the leftovers for days to the point that I'd almost -- no, not really -- be sick of eating sauce and meatballs.

But, to be clear, I haven't brought myself to make the recipe. For certain, partially because I'm no chef. At all.

Yet the bigger reason is the emotional attachment. We lost my Aunt Fay too many years ago and I adored her. For whatever reason, she adored me and, as a little kid, I could do no wrong with her. My parents marveled at it.

And, of course, we're heading towards three years without Mom. She always seemed to love making her spaghetti and meatballs, especially in her later years for her grandchildren as well as for me.

I realize the easy response to this post will be that I should suck it up and just make the damn recipe and I understand it. However, that really wasn't the point.

It was more about sweet memories brought on by a good meal. 

Tasty memories, I suppose.

For tonight, I'll simply enjoy what was a good dinner of pasta, meatballs, and bread from Bella Nonna here in Greenwich.

And have the nostalgia for dessert.

Season's Over

 

Tonight was the last edition of "The Clubhouse" for now.

It's a dance.

There are two, yet three, yet four main characters on the show. First, there's Mark Jeffers, who has been there since day one. I came along later and have been with the show for well over a decade now.

Then there is Dave Torromeo, the third host of the program, followed by Bob Small, who engineers and oversees the operation.

Now, if you don't know, I'm a stickler for making us sound "like a radio show." This is who I've been for basically 30 years in anything I've done. Go back to my days on the old softball videos in the 90s and it was me battling for us to look "right."

The same goes with radio. Now, that doesn't mean I'm hung up on some "back in my day" type of nonsense. It's more of a sense of knowing what an audience wants to hear.

Anyway, tonight's show started with two guests  -- one is an entrepreneur who runs a collectibles store in the Jefferson Valley Mall, while the other was former Yankees legend Roy White -- and popped up to three with the addition of fitness guru Denise Austin.

Oh, then the decision was made to fit into the format of a distribution group that will put our show on SiriusXM this weekend.  This means we can't afford technical issues and interviews need to be tight. We need to hit all breaks within time restraints.

I'm thrilled to say that it all worked out but, as I said, it's a dance. It means I have to put on my hat to keep us on time.

The Roy White interview was in part for me. Those early 70s Yankees weren't necessarily good but they were the teams I first fell in love with. You all know what Bobby Murcer means to me but White, Mel Stottlemyre, and Thurman Munson all helped foster my passion for the Bombers.

It's in the home movies of the early 70s that I can be spotted running around my parents' front yard wearing a plastic batting helmet and a mustache drawn onto a piece of Scotch tape. Yep. I was being Roy White.

So to have just a precious few minutes tonight with him was such a delight. I can only imagine how much it would have made my mom smile. That little boy of the home movies in 1972 was brought to life.

There was so much to ask and yet it was OK. He has a book and you should read it. Heck, I still need to read it.

But Denise Austin was also a joy. She is arguably the most positive person you've ever met and it takes me back to hearing her on Imus in the Morning years ago. She's now 66 and is very much the same person she's always been. She had us working out as we talked via phone.

That energy comes with a price as we did nearly miss a commercial break but we rallied to hit the mark in time.

Dinner followed, including being joined by station owner Gideon Fountain. Laughs and food were consumed by all, including Sean, who was there to help set up and break down since Bob Small recently had surgery.

This was the end of our run for the spring of 2023. The reality is that we'll probably be back in the fall but the reality is also that you just never know. Nothing is certain, such as being able to get sponsors or anything else.

I've learned you always have to be prepared.

While I don't think it was our last show ever, I'd say it was a pretty good way to go out if that was the case.

But it wasn't the end.

We'll be back.

Not The Road Trip I Had In Mind

 

It was late Sunday night, on the way home, when Sean looked at me with concern.

He couldn't find a trusted hoodie of his. He quickly figured out that he had left it in the visitor's radio booth at Heritage Financial Park after the Renegades/Braves game that afternoon.

We figured a quick text might resolve things but, alas, it brought silence.

Now, understand that Sunday games are tough, at least in my opinion, in that they're the end of the homestand often and, as such, everyone is just done.

Weird things tend to happen. Everyone is tired and, often, a little grumpy. Gremlins abound.

And stuff gets left behind.

Still, I took a shot and drove over to the stadium on our route home. The place was empty and dark.

We'd need to come back or Sean would have to wait until he worked again.

We took a ride up today. The contacts we both reached out to were in a meeting and couldn't be disturbed. Fortunately, I explained the situation to the person at the front desk, and she ushered us to the booth to retrieve the hoodie. 

We did some grocery shopping in Fishkill and grabbed lunch near Mahopac after that before returning home.

So it was a productive day, even if it could be viewed as a waste of gas. Sometimes an adventure is needed. It sort of breaks up the monotony of the day. Sure, I could have made him wait but why? So we took the ride, even if it was a ride we know too well.

But, at the same time, the drive had me thinking about our next adventure, which will be here before we know it. I won't give everything away except to say this will be a road trip and probably one unlike Sean has ever been a part of. I'll also add that it will include our annual visit to North Carolina.

I'm going to hold off until I book a few things but it will take us to some different places. Or, places that we've never been to and I've never been to and he's never been to and places I haven't been to in years. 

That makes no sense.

I'll dig deeper once the plans are firmer.

It reminds me of another travel idea I've had. You know those ads that would have flights at some really low price? I used to see them back in the days of reading a newspaper. I always thought it would be fun to sort of randomly pick a low-priced flight and go somewhere I've never been.

Maybe it would be St. Louis and I could go to a Cardinals game. Or a Royals game in Kansas City.

Or maybe somewhere without sports where I could just walk around and get the flavor of a place, spend a night, and head back home.

It was nothing I ever really pursued but I always thought it would be a fun way to see different places.

That's all part of what a road trip can do for me. Sometimes I'm content to buzz through on the interstate but, admittedly, I sometimes want to ride the side roads.

Of course, some of that joy has been taken away as roads are dotted with the same brands. I mean, every town seems to have a Dollar General and maybe a McDonald's. One thing I've always loved about traveling is seeing the things that are different. 

Stores and brands and local chains and other things that are unique to an area.

That's where a lot of the Waffle House and Wawa stuff comes from. What makes it great -- for me -- is that we have to take the step to go get these things. They're not 20 minutes away.

Or even back into the Hudson Valley.

Just wait. A longer drive will happen.

I just need to finalize it.

Chasing the Attention

 

(Found online, Designed by: Alexia Teo)

I really want to go off about people who suck up and are clout chasers.

But I'm trying not to.

You know the type. Perhaps you've even been the type. I'm sure I've had my moments.

Those who do it habitually are simply the worst. They're not always the same thing but they tend to run together.

Maybe a big-name person made a mistake and you write some kind of pandering comment to grovel for attention. You're hoping that big name will see what you wrote and pat you on the head or even give you a job or some such far-fetched idea.

Or, simply, you like the same thing on social media.

One chased clout. The other did the brown-nosing.

And, perhaps just as nefariously, is the clout chaser of social issues.

Just because I firmly believe that love is love doesn't mean everyone shares that belief. It also doesn't mean everyone buys into, say, sports teams having Pride events or honoring Juneteenth.

I saw a high school student post on Twitter his disappointment in the Dodgers for acknowledging Juneteenth. Keep in mind, of course, that Jackie Robinson broke the color barrier with the Dodgers in 1947.

Yet the only reason I saw it was that some stranger (Mets fan) retweet it with a critical comment of her own about the high school student. 

Still, how did I see it? Someone I know -- clout chasing as always -- retweeted it.

So, if you're scoring at home, instead of asking the high school student what they had against the Dodgers honoring Juneteenth, instead shame and point scoring (especially in the Mets world) was the rule of the day.

And, sometimes, we're simply allowed to have a different opinion. Further, when it comes to sports, some simply want the game to go on without anything other than balls, strikes, and the score.

Yet, let's be honest, that cat is long out of the bag.

I work for an organization in the Renegades that has a Pride Night. It also has various COPA nights, honoring different Hispanic/Latino countries. Those games are harmless and the crowd seems to enjoy it. 

The Dodgers had further issues when they recently held a Pride ceremony that involved bringing in a charitable group that has been seen as mocking Catholics.

Los Angeles has a large Catholic population. Thus the Pride ceremony got far more attention.

Regardless of what side you were on it was a clout chasers delight!

In the end, Catholics and other Christians protested outside of Dodger Stadium while the ceremony went on. The offending group -- the Sisters of Perpetual Indulgence -- received an award from the Dodgers on the field in front of a mostly empty stadium. Eventually, over 49,000 spectators made their way into the building on Vin Scully Ave and life went on.

Imagine that?

Oh, the question of "What would Vin Do?" was brought up. How would our Mr. Scully handle the situation as a faithful Catholic, which he most certainly was?

Of course, we'll never know, but it says here that Vinny would have shown up and broadcast the game. He would have done his job. Perhaps, if asked about it, he might have expressed disdain, but he was also a man of great faith and charity. Further, he was a man who didn't like attention beyond being that of a great sports broadcaster.

So, again, much ado about nothing.

The game went on. So does life.

In the end, when I addressed this with a friend and why nobody goes after the clout chaser and suck-up, my friend said the following: "Nobody cares enough about (them) to do it."

Indeed.

And thus I've addressed suck-ups and clout chasing in a manner that I can sleep well.

On Father's Day

 

Father (left), son (right)

We have the conundrum that is the day to honor the dads.

The same thing happens on Mother's Day but, as I'm a father, the emotions hit a bit differently.

Oh, it will be a good day. Sean and I are together and, while we'll be working, we'll be spending it at a baseball game. Yes, we work in different rooms but, still, it's hard to dispute it's pretty cool.

We'll probably have some time with family after the game also.

So, yeah, it's pretty good.

Still, I can't argue that I miss Robert Sr. 

It just doesn't matter how many years. Time eases all wounds? Puh-leeze. It's 34 years and still hurts badly.

Father's Day. His birthday. Holidays. St. Patrick's Day (the night he died) all amplifies that pain. 

The grief is still rather profound.

But we keep the stiff upper lip as best as possible as we move forward.

For those experiencing that Father's Day pain for the first time, I've got you. There is a sympathetic ear waiting for you. You see all of the celebrating -- justifiably -- of the fathers still with us and you feel a little left out. I get it. I'm glad you have yours.

For those experiencing Father's Day joy, well, I've got you also. It can vary in so many ways and sometimes we just want a nice meal and a quiet day. The gifts aren't necessary. I expect nothing from Sean today but our usual hijinks.

But, think about it. There are many other children of all ages whose fathers are still living but aren't around to join in the Hallmark-sponsored joy. That's also sad.

That's the confounding part of these days. There are people experiencing all kinds of feelings and, honestly, is it really that difficult to empathize?

Given what I see on a daily basis, yes. Yes, it is.

I want the fathers and their children to make the best of this day. However possible.

I want those who struggle with today to do the same to find a way to have peace.

But realize this: "Life is very short and there's no time for fussing and fighting, my friend."

(Paul McCartney wrote that -- well, actually Lennon and McCartney did -- and today is Sir Paul's birthday. The GOAT is 81)

The quote is so true. Life is short. Very.

So do whatever you can to treasure each other.

And, if you can, have a catch with your dad.

I wish I could.

Jetlagged

 

A delay was not what we wanted

Tuesday: Travel from New York to London.

Wednesday: Walk around London.

Thursday: Conference in London.

Friday: Up early. Fly from London to New York.

That's a crazy schedule to begin with. Shockingly, I slept like a champ last night, falling asleep as I was writing the blog post.

The cat couldn't even wake me up. Even when I did rise from my slumber, I quickly drifted back off.

Eventually, I headed out to my deck chair only to sleep more.

Yet, duty called and I was back on the microphone for the Renegades tonight.

Overall, the baseball gods were kind as they gave us a 1-0 game within two-and-a-half hours.

So we're back home with one more game tomorrow.

Jet lag is fascinating. It's so interesting to watch as bodies adjust to the time.

Somehow I bounced back quickly as I went from the US to the UK. But the exhaustion was much higher upon returning to the US.

I remember the same thing happening last year. I hit the ground running in London only to feel like I was weighed down by anchors back in New York.

I was into the game tonight and didn't miss any cues but I was still yawning and simply exhausted. I can only hope tonight was the worst of it.

I can also only hope this was the worst of the sinus issues I'm fighting. Apparently, I'm not meant to travel because I also had sinus issues when I went to Florida back in March.

So I was quite happy to have the game be a reasonable amount of time and to get home at a decent hour. Reasonable despite a one-hour rain delay at the start. But, as I said, we're right back at it tomorrow.

Oh, and that's the Gades' mascot Rascal and his new mate Rosie in the picture with me. Ah, love.

And that other face? That's only my fellow Mahopac classmate Steve Feldman. He's sort of a mascot also.

Enough talking.

I need sleep.

Cheers, London

 

Being "funny" on Wednesday. Photo by Walker Manning

Greetings from Connecticut.

It was a day that began at 4:30 a.m. in London. To be clear, that was 11:30 p.m. last night in Greenwich.

I dozed off a few times today on the plane but I'm otherwise holding on so that I can sleep at my normal time here in the States.

Doing whatever I can to help my body adjust.

Travel days are just brutal. Especially the last day.

Your patience has whittled down to almost nothing so you simply don't have time for crowded airport terminals and the like.

You're trying to hustle to your gate and there's ... somebody ... slowing things up.

But I made it and that's that. I also got a chicken parm wrap (that wasn't called that) from Prep-a-Manger at Heathrow Airport.

Plus I was able to hit the duty-free shop and no I did not buy sushi at Boots like I did last year.

It was a shame to leave London, especially with such a small amount of time on this visit. But, still, I'm beyond grateful to visit the U.K. again and enjoy its people, food, transportation, and culture.

I'll try to do it better next time.

Walker and Erik headed out early this morning and, as of now, they're in Paris. Oh, what I would give.

Chris, Scott, Cody, and Drew are likely winding down after another day in London.

Mike and I raced across the pond back to Greenwich in a whirlwind.

Our flight was delayed and Mike's phone is gone and I was their lifeline and this is all when travel is at its most testing.

All of that made the idea of having to return to the US more tolerable. That, and loved ones that I look forward to seeing.

Now, for reasons that aren't entirely sound, I'll be on public address duties tomorrow for the Renegades. 

I'm doing the same on Sunday.

The good news is that I can sleep a bit tomorrow.

By late Sunday afternoon, it will be over.

Plus, Sunday is Father's Day and Sean is mindful of it. We both have to work but Sean actually suggested that a trip to Cooperstown would have otherwise been perfect for Father's Day.

All good and, believe me, once this day has ended I'll be ready for the next travel adventure.

One is in the pipeline for late July/early August. I just have to book some stuff.

For tonight, my thoughts are fading as my energy is dipping.

The Old Man and the boys before dinner last night
(Drew, Mike, Walker, Eric, and Cody)

Thank you, Hunt Scanlon colleagues, for four too-quick days that won't be forgotten. For the meals and the drinks and the laughs and the stunning view from the London Eye.

Special shoutout to Erik for Wednesday when we just strolled the city, went up on the Eye, and took it all in. It was a favorite day.

Thank you, London.

Let's do it again.

Off to the Side

The audience watches the presentation at IoD

 

Lunch has been consumed and networking has been networked.

The next presenter is at the podium and I'm sitting off to the side.

Welcome inside the Hunt Scanlon conference that I'm moderating at the IoD (Institute of Directors) in London.

The building -- at 116 Pall Mall -- opened in 1828 and is adorned with many fascinating works of art. It screams history and grace.

That's where we are once again.

Things, I'm glad to say, have run like clockwork. While it's a team effort of all of us (Chris, Scott, Mike, Erik, Walker, Cody, and Drew) I've worked closest with Mike all day as conferences are his baby.

Or one of his babies, as he recently became a father of a beautiful baby girl. I actually got to meet the baby virtually yesterday, via FaceTime.

But, yes, the conference. That's what we're here for, despite all of the fun of strolling London yesterday. It's safe to say that I was falling asleep as I wrote last night.

I know I've written previously about what goes into the conferences from my perspective. I'm often sitting at the front of the room near the speaker which means everyone is looking my way, though they're actually focusing on the speaker and the presentation.

Today, I'm tucked away to the side of the stage, maybe 20 feet to the right from the audience's view. In fact, I'm actually sitting near some of the audience.

But the audience here is, frankly, phenomenal. They're beyond polite and respectful. They laugh at silly jokes, including a weak attempt by me to fill time before we confirmed that lunch was ready.

And, for those wondering, I did work a small Beatles reference in at the beginning of the day when I called the conference a "Magical Mystery Tour." I'm sure nobody picked up on it but it made me happy to say it.

Speaking of all things Fab, Sir J. Paul McCartney has a new photo book out and the National Portrait Gallery here in London is having an exhibition featuring photos from the book.

It opens in just under two weeks. Bad timing for me but so it goes.

Well, I probably shouldn't write for long today, as the conference is the top priority. There are just a few hours left before we celebrate a (hopefully) successful completion of the event.

Unless I get the muse to write again from London, my next post will likely originate from Greenwich, CT, USA.

Or maybe I'll do both. 

There's no way to predict.

A Great Day

 

How the day ended

It's heading towards 11 p.m. here in London and we're in the hotel bar stuffing badges for the conference tomorrow.

It's the back end of a day in London that was completely happy and has nothing to do with being a tourist.

Oh, Erik and I were briefly tourists, walking over to Big Ben and Parliament and taking pictures.

And then we went to the London Eye.

Now, here's the thing. I have a fear of heights. It's fear of heights in the way that I hate ladders and other things that don't feel secure. 

On the London Eye

That being said, the London Eye felt secure. I decided that, if looking down freaked me out, I could simply go to the middle of my and sit down.

But the views were stunning. We enjoyed seeing Big Ben, Parlament, Buckingham Palace, and other delights from our view towering over the Thames. 

Still, the highlights of the day involved my colleagues. My friends. Especially my roommate, Erik Boender, who joined me after I grabbed a solo table from them.

Then we walked. We went to the south side of the Thames and took in the day. We enjoyed just watching life go back.

Walker and Mike both joined us eventually and we eventually made our way to Shakespeare's Globe Theater.

Me and a new friend.

That will have to stay on the agenda for 2024, if we come back.

No, today was about hanging out and, of course, laughing.

The conference is tomorrow, so the bases need to get resolved.

Lines Across the Pond

 

Noise-canceling headphones on as the flight roars toward the UK

I'm thinking they didn't want me to go to England today.

The first problem was at JFK. Oh, I was at the Hunt Scanlon offices on time. I was waiting when the van to take us to the airport showed up.

Up at 3 a.m. At the office at 4:05. 

We had a 7:55 a.m. flight and we were there really early.

Chris, Scott, Mike, Walker, and Erik each went to the check-in kiosk. I also went to one.

The difference was the machine didn't accept my passport. A staff member came over and helped me and we moved to another kiosk.

Nope. It didn't work.

"Go stand in line and get checked in at the desk," came the reply.

In the meantime, Chris, Scott, Mike, Walker, and Erik were all gone.

I mean, gone.

Soon, the phone rang. It was Erik and they were already past security.

Thankfully the passport drama was minimal and I buzzed through security.

We grabbed breakfast and wasted time before boarding the plane.

The seats were comfortable and I had more legroom. It was worth it.

Plus, I had a little Tom Hanks film festival, watching A Beautiful Day in the Neighborhood and Elvis.

But we soon landed and were off the plane. 

Upon arriving at passport control at Heathrow, I again approached a kiosk to officially cross into the UK.

The machine read my passport. Then it took a picture of me.

Then it told me to see an agent.

Again, onto a line, and this one was longer than the one back at JFK.

Oh, I had the same issue with my passport at Heathrow last year.

But, again, my issue was literally just with being stuck on what felt like an endless line while holding everyone else up.

Again, Erik called me. I'm sure my frustration was evident.

But the agent looked at my passport, confirmed the picture was indeed me, asked where I was coming from and why I was there, and sent me on my way.

The M4 expressway at 9:35 p.m.

We collected any checked bags, eventually got a ride, and made our way into London.

Tonight is just about settling in. A late dinner and a visit to a nearby pub as well as a stroll over to check in on King Charles.

That just sounds weird.

The King is home but you'd think he'd put a few 
more lights on for us.

There's some business to tend to tomorrow morning and then we'll be free.

The conference is Thursday.

And then, before you know it, I'll be back home.

It's great to be here. It's a favorite place of mine.

I'm going to turn in, though it's only around 8 p.m. in Connecticut.

But it was a long day and another one awaits.

Monday

 

The Boomtown Rats

"The silicon chip inside her head got switched to overload..."

I guess we don't need to truly analyze what it is about Mondays that are so ... huh ... what's the word?

Is it "manic?"

Is it that you simply "don't like Mondays?"

Or is it simply "Monday Monday?"

Whatever the case, these are the things rolling around my brain this morning.

I meant to start it early, given my alarm is now set for 3 a.m. tomorrow.

Yet, sleep wasn't good last night at all, probably because I actually wanted to sleep. Being tired didn't help things. I was up a few times, including around four thanks to Mr. Furry-you-know-who.

I stayed awake a short while later after feeding him.

I know you're all waiting on this news but there will be no "Doubleheader" today, at least as of now. Bob Small, operations manager, WGCH guru, and all-around good egg is off for a few days and so he has the station has a fill-in for him.

Guy by the name of Sean Adams.

To take any further pressure off the newbie, I've pulled myself out of doing a show today. Now, to dig a little deeper, I could do a show if I just went into the station. But to do it remotely isn't possible so we'll let it go.

He also encouraged me to take today off. Given there's nothing really pressing in the sports world I don't think it's a bad plan.

Oh, sure, if today were a normal show day, I'd go destroy both the Mets and Yankees for continued heartless play. I'm not losing any sleep over the Bombers losing two of three to the guys from Boston but they looked pathetic doing so, especially a mindless defensive lapse that cost them the game last night.

And my guy Anthony Volpe looks lost right now.

But none of this is breaking news.

I might pop into the station to see the hardworking operations guy at work but we'll see.

Then I'd like some kind of dinner and an evening of taking it easy before settling down for a few hours. It's only a four-day trip to the UK but there's still jet lag to deal with. I adjusted well last year but struggled upon returning to the States.

For those of you attending Renegades games on Saturday and Sunday, be prepared for one overtired and possibly wired public address announcer. Get your tickets now!

So, yeah, back to Mondays. It's the start of a new work week or school week or whatever week. Sometimes, we're riding the high of a good weekend but that also means crashing back to the reality of the "real world."

And, as with the first few lines of this post, it led me down a rabbit hole of songs about Monday.

I didn't even get to "Rainy Days and Mondays" since it always gets me down. Or Monday Morning, because it sure looks fine. Or Blue Monday (either New Order or Fats Domino).

Same title. Two totally different songs. Both are great actually.

And, in case it needs clearing up, "I Don't Like Mondays" is actually about a profoundly disturbing incident. That doesn't mean it didn't result in a great song.

But this is this Monday.

As for tomorrow, well, as always, I'll try. I'll do my best to post each day from London which, in truth, only needs to be for three days. I can post on Friday night from the US.

And, further dirty truth, I can post tomorrow morning from the States. So, yeah.

Anyway, it's hours since I first started this post. I'm done with this day.

See you tomorrow from here or JFK or somewhere in England.

Packing and Thinking

 

The bags are packed. The cat is not going.

I don't perform brain surgery.

I'm not an airline pilot.

I talk.

Oh, I do other stuff too but so much of my career(s) involve speaking. It's a specialized skill set and, while I'm proud of it, I also know its place in the world.

But, let's put a pin in that for a moment.

Today was also packing day.

But, I'll tell you straight out, despite my not flying airplanes yesterday, I was exhausted today.

I called a lot of baseball yesterday and then packed up, got in the car, and drove straight home.

So, yes, I was quite tired.

My old friend Mr. Rascal Squeaky was happy to be up and ready for a 4:30 a.m. feeding. Yet I still got some sleep after that.

It took some effort to get moving but I did head in the right direction, doing the needed pre-travel load of laundry.

As it rolled through the dryer, Sean and I took a walk into town with the intention of seeing the "Parade of Champions" that had been organized to honor the Greenwich High School winners of the 22-23 school year.

The parade was talked about back in 2018 but nothing came of it.

Given I sort of talk about Greenwich sports a lot I figured I'd should see this event.

A few weeks back, I was asked about it by Tony Savino live on WGCH. Just one problem: I had no idea it was happening.

It's something WGCH should have been a part of.

So Sean and I ambled over, hoping to see an atmosphere equal to that of the Greenwich Town Party parade a few weeks ago. We were discussing which food truck we'd go to when we arrived to find that the parade had packed up and everyone had basically left.

I wanted Dough Girls, a food truck that makes outstanding pizza but, alas, today wasn't the day. We grabbed pizza elsewhere and came back home.

So, yeah, I finished up the laundry and set about packing.

The suit. The shoes (they have to be comfortable and, preferably, slip on for the airport). The toiletries. Of course, the clothes.

And yes, I overpack.

The weather says the temperature will be in the 80s all week in the day. So, I'm adding a windbreaker that packs well just in case of any chillier temps. I have to decide on a hat. 

The headphones have been charged. So has the camera. Yes, I still have a point-and-shoot in addition to my phone.

Yes, there's a script that needs to travel as well. The draft is printed and in my binder. I expect to have another copy sometime tomorrow.

I just try to be ready when I travel. Much like when I call games.

Ready. 

Ready?

Oh, what's another word for being ready? What's that term?

PREPARATION!

Yeah, I'm quite prepared.

One can prepare only so much but can't possibly prepare for everything.

And you're bound to forget something.

I'm hoping I didn't.

It's four days and I've reminded myself there are stores in London. I can adjust as needed.

It's a routine that I often go through on road trips. As I begin to drive, I do a mental checklist and make sure that things are (I think) with me. From there, I decide what I can live without, what I can buy down the road, and what I need to turn around for. Lastly, where's that final spot before I won't turn around?'

It's a lot of mental gymnastics and I get that many won't understand it but it's all part of what I do and I like it.

Come Tuesday, basically, there's no turning back when I leave the apartment around, gulp, 3:50 a.m.

Once I meet with the Hunt Scanlon team, that's it. Anything I've forgotten will have to wait until London.

I admired my coworker last year, who actually bought a suit (or two, if I recall correctly) overseas last year. I mean, I remember thinking that was the coolest thing. Of course, he was completely low-key about it where I'd probably be in a fetal position.

Then again, I can surprise by appearing outwardly calm. It's what's going on inside.

Like yesterday, when I was getting wound up waiting for a videographer to show up.

But, hey, what stress?

I'll leave the flying to the pilot on Tuesday out of JFK.

28 Innings

 

I was there at 8 a.m.

That is, after waking up a little before 6 a.m.

No cat helps that situation.

Then, following breakfast, it was all about baseball.

Four state championship games in Hamilton Township, New Jersey. If you know anything about me you know how seriously I take that assignment.

Yet, as early as I was, I had little guidance.

I also didn't have a videographer.

It would all come together, though the coffee seething through me heightened any anxiety.

But I remained patient.

I was allowed to go into the booth and set up my audio position.

I ran cables to where the videographer would be.

They showed up around ten minutes before the first game and we set up like a tornado.

I'm not sure when we got on the air but I still called every pitch.

In fact, I called every pitch of every game.

All 28 innings.

It included:

- Pascack Valley's gorgeous 1-0 win over Rumson-Fair Haven. It was wonderfully pitched with both starts throwing complete games.

- Mainland's 3-0 lead in the first inning over Morris Knolls. The runs were all unearned on three errors. Then Morris Knolls got their stuff together and won 9-3.

- Ridgewood's shutout win over Old Bridge.

- Pequannock's 5-4 win over Buena (pronounced "Buh-you-nuh").

The job done, the outsider that is me quickly packed up and left.

And I drove.

I did not stop until I reached Greenwich.

You know what? I'd be happy to make this an annual thing. Just give me all six baseball championship games and consider it done.

I'll give them my best.

It's exhausting and a challenge and involves so much more than just showing up and talking. In fact, it can be an endurance test.

Congratulations to the winners.

And, hopefully, it was a job well done.

Leaving the booth as I found it.

Wow Wawa

 

They'll be here any minute now.

Room 302.

Last door on the right.

I'm currently having dinner and, well, I suck.

I'm having Wawa. I didn't want that.

Two lacrosse games are in the can and we congratulate Summit and Shawnee for their state championship wins in Groups 2 and 3 respectively here in New Jersey.

So here I am at the Candlewood Suites while Sean holds down the fort back in the Presidential Suite.

He was initially interested in making the trip with me.

At least he was until he learned that there would be six broadcasts in a little over 24 hours.

So I'm all alone which is fine. 

I got to enjoy the drive here today which was thankfully without much drama. Oh, it's still a Friday in June in New Jersey so you're always aware of the traffic.

Still, I was able to check in here without any issues and was soon in my room.

Wawa sandwich and a cup of coffee in my hand.

I sat here, watched a little TV, ate, and was "nudged" towards getting to the game site nice and early to scout.

It's a sound idea, and one that I endorse, because I want to know what I'm working with. Not only for me but for the videographer as well.

I pulled into Hopewell Valley Regional High School around 2:00 for a 4 p.m. game. It's not uncommon for me to be two hours early to a game.

Or three.

I didn't rush, stopping at ... you guessed it ... Wawa for a big bottle of water. 

But once I found the field and a place to park (school was still in session), I walked into the facility to check on the booth.

I could see the lights were on in the booth but, well, nobody was home. Plus the door was locked.

Of more concern to me was that I was literally the only person there. I've been to other state championships and there's normally someone on site. But, often, that's on a Saturday. This was a Friday as school was letting out.

I began to get nervous that I was at the wrong site.

I double-checked and tripled-checked, just as I did when I learned where the games would be.

That's preparation, isn't it? I mean, it didn't take me 35 hours or whatever the formula is. 

Soon, my anxiety was calmed as a bus from Wall Township pulled into the parking lot. Lacrosse players decked out in red jerseys made their way to the field.

I was at the right place.

But I still needed an open booth or I'd be doing the game from the roof, which could be accessed from the outside.

Oh, and I still needed a videographer.

So I sat.

And I waited.

I watched as people set up the field.

I watched as Wall Township warmed up.

I watched as Summit arrived and soon they were warming up.

I played Solitaire on my phone.

I messaged with friends, sort of stunned by this.

Yet, I would have been a panicked mess at one time but I actually don't do that anymore.

I knew that I could set up quickly. I hoped the videographer could do the same.

He and his significant other showed up around 3:15.

The Hopewell Valley athletic director opened the booth around the same time for me.

It was under 45 minutes before game time.

The booth. The view.

I had my choice of where to set up and I chose the first window inside the door because it was right below where Michael (the videographer) set up on the roof.

I was set up within about 10 minutes. That's all it takes with a small mixer, a headset, a crowd mic, and cables to send the audio to Michael's camera, and to my computer.

Wall and Summit faced off and, after initial sound issues, we were on the air. Despite everything we missed none of the action.

You might know that I run literally every broadcast of mine into my computer so that I can have a recording. I love having my archive which is rather voluminous at this point.

I called the game and it became standard stuff. Summit won and there was much rejoicing in the crowd.

Except I forgot to record my audio.

I snarled at that fact, furious only with myself because I was so focused on everything else that I neglected to make sure the recording was working.

I was so annoyed but there was still another game to call.

So I ramped up and got ready for Shawnee and Chatham.

The roster on my phone

Except, despite all of the preparation that I did to satisfy the gatekeepers, the rosters for the second game were sketchy. To that end, I had to take pictures of copies that the athletic director had to get them on my phone. I'd have to balance between the versions I had (from the state) and my phone.

Not ideal, especially as I tried to be comfortable with schools that I'd never heard of. Yet I'd be damned if some out-of-state clown was going to ruin their championship broadcast.

The second broadcast happened and Shawnee -- the Renegades, of course -- won the crown.

Shawnee fans celebrate

The pack up in the booth was quick and I was soon on my way to get dinner.

Dammit, I wanted something different.

Yet, as I scrolled my phone, another jumped out at me.

Also, the skies opened. Fortunately for everyone at lacrosse, the games went off without rain. 

The ride back to the hotel wasn't as simple.

Thus, as I reached my exit, I knew I could get something at Wawa, like it or not.

I did have something different from earlier in the day and I got back to my room.

And, let's face it, it was still good.

Now I get to turn my attention to baseball tomorrow.

I'll head out in the morning and grab breakfast and I'll hopefully pick up an extra sandwich as well.

There are four baseball games so pacing is important.

The first game is at 10 a.m. Then 1 p.m., 4 p.m., and 7 p.m. before (probably) driving back to Connecticut.

Oh, and the first lacrosse game is archived so I'm recording the audio off of it for my personal archive.

It's not ideal but it reminds me to be diligent.