Live From Muzzy Field ...

 

One of the nicest feelings in the world of sports broadcasting is to be able to walk into a facility and not have anyone look at you like you're from Mars.

Oh, I've had it happen.

So.

So.

So.

So many times.

"Did you call ahead of time?" 

"Who are you?"

"You're doing what?"

But I'm at Muzzy Field in Bristol. I readily admit I'm in my glory as I bask in its full early 20th-century splendor. And I'll be darned if I'm not in the stilted pressbox down the left field line but directly behind home plate.

I mean, I knew the baseball press box was now behind the playe but you just never know what will happen when you arrive for a game.

I walked through the gate and, sure, I was asked who I was. But as soon as I said I was the broadcaster, I was greeted with open arms and told to help myself to set up.

My view

Oh, I've got horror stories, including at game sites in the state playoffs. Palmer Field in Middletown for football where we weren't given the phone line we asked for and they made us sit in the second row of the press box, further back from the field.

Or West Haven, where we were told to set up. So I did. We went and got dinner and, when we returned, the equipment had all been pushed aside.

I was livid because I knew who did it.

But, at least for now, we have none of those problems here. I'm set up and typing away quickly before we start.

In fact, someone from Wolcott -- playing in the first game -- stopped in to help me with pronunciations.

So, yeah, so far, it's going great.

That's the press box we used to climb up to for baseball down the third base line.

*****

I'm back home after close to six hours of calling baseball. 

The games were interesting and, frankly, messy. Errors. Misplays. Clutch hits. Big catches.

Woolcott 6, New Fairfield 5 in 8 innings.

Nonnewaug 7, St. Joseph 5.

I was meh. I thought I was good at times. I thought I was bad -- and made mistakes I shouldn't make -- at times.

Mispronunciations that I thought I had correct and so on.

But I'm allowing myself the grace to not dwell on it.

The ride home (initially through rain) wasn't about rehashing the broadcasts. It was, instead, about simply moving on.

Lacrosse Friday. More baseball Saturday. All in New Jersey.

There's plenty of preparation for 12 teams -- eight baseball, four lacrosse -- along with a script read for the conference in London and packing for that trip to consider. I can't wallow in any mistakes. I can't revel in any triumphs.

I can only hope people in Connecticut listened and thought I was worth listening to. Beyond that, I can only hope they want to hear more. I immediately owned and corrected any mistakes.

I treated each team with the respect and care they deserved.

I was, in short, me.

I did my best.

That's all I can ask.

Onto the next one.

I'll give New Jersey all I have beginning Friday.

And I just saw an assistant coach mock another coach. On that note, goodnight everyone!