Comfort Food

 

On Interstate 77

We woke up this morning in West Virginia.

We've ended the day in North Carolina.

So, if you've been keeping track, we've reached just outside of Fayetteville from Greenwich by driving through New York, Pennsylvania, West Virginia, and Virginia.

Hardly our standard path but it's made for a great adventure.

West Virginia turned out to be a gorgeous drive, including the majestic New River Gorge Bridge.

It was just one of those things that I feel lucky to have seen. Friends have spoken about it so many times and our path carried us to the bridge where we were able to view it from the visitors center.

More of the view near the New River Gorge Bridge

Virginia was always a nice drive with some beautiful views along Interstate 77 before we crossed into North Carolina.

We were in my niece's yard before 3 p.m.

I've said it before and it is worth repeating. We're here because we all get along and it's amazingly comfortable. It feels like home to us every time.

Plus we're comfortable in this area.

So this is where we'll be for a few days.

To avoid my going back out after driving all day -- something I don't mind doing -- my niece decided to make dinner.

And she too me on an emotional journey.

She made the combination of sauce and meatballs that were the combined effort of my mom and my aunt.

I'd say both are smiling tonight.

As am I.

We've driven over 1200 miles since Friday with more to come.

But we're taking tonight easy.

Steeling My Heart

 

Emerging from the Fort Pitt Tunnel

Greetings from Fairmont.

West Virginia.

Yes, mountain mama.

It's a delightful burg we've landed in for the night. We have dinner and a room and we're settling in.

An early start will send us toward North Carolina in the morning.

But this isn't the burg I've come to talk about tonight.

Oh, no. A day that began in Buffalo, NY, with a glance into Ontario, drove by a Great Lake, and passed into Pennsylvania, and turned at Erie, where images of The Wonders and That Thing You Do! flashed by.

And then we were in Pittsburgh.

The Burgh.

While the Pirates were home today, our timing wasn't quite right to join them for their tilt with the cross-state Phillies. We were tucked into traffic for the game as we worked through the streets of Steel City, but it was steel that we were going to see.

Where the standard is the standard.

Off Art Rooney Ave, we walked into the Pittsburgh Steelers Hall of Honor Museum at Acrisure Stadium.

Incidentally, I brought us into town via the Fort Pitt Tunnel and I defy you to find a more breathtaking entrance to a city. I warned Sean and he though I was biased. Then he saw it and gasped. Yeah, dad knows a thing or two.

A kind woman helped us check in at Acrisure Stadium as we didn't have an appointment and were soon walked into a small theater for an introductory video.

The chills were automatic.    

Terry Bradshaw's display in the Hall of Honor

I was ready to twirl a Terrible Towel (if I had brought one). I'd run through a brick wall for Coach Bill Cowher. The Terrible Towels were, of course, available for sale in the Pro Shop.

The history was on full display. The humble beginnings with Arthur J. Rooney in 1933, through years of awful football before Chuck Noll was named coach in 1969.

Shockingly, I didn't realize that Sean didn't know what the Immaculate Reception was as we were driving to find parking. He soon got a full education, including Curt Gowdy's call of the NFL's top play in 1972.

He understood as we walked through the museum.

But we didn't linger. I couldn't do that to him and there were other things to do.

I did get to step into a broadcast booth where I could pick a famous Steelers play to call. The Immaculate Reception, Troy Polamalu's pick-six dash against the Ravens in the AFC Championship game, and two plays from Super Bowl XLIII (James Harrison's 100-yard pick-six and Santonio Holmes' game-winning catch) were among the choices.

I decided to be different, choosing Rocky Bleier's leaping touchdown against the Cowboys in Super Bowl XIII. Why? Well, because it's one of the best games I've ever watched, it was an important game when I was young, and because it featured Terry Bradshaw.

Sean sat next to me as I called it. Supposedly, the Steelers are supposed to email it to me but I haven't received it yet.

As for the Pro Shop, I walked out empty-handed. I hoped to find something somewhere else.

Besides, it was lunchtime, and we needed to hit one of the most famous of Pittsburgh's eateries. 

I've never been to Primanti Bros. until today.

I'd heard about it many times. You order a sandwich and, regardless of what you've ordered, it comes with tomato, french fries, and cole slaw on it. Those are the rules.

Sean got a "Pitts-burger" and I got a Rajun Cajun chicken sandwich.

Please note that I do not like cole slaw. But, when in Pittsburgh...

So I ate half of it with cole slaw and half without.

It was all great.

We walked the Strip district with the many shops, including quite a few dedicated to Steelers, Pirates, and Penguins merchandise. Alas, I bought nothing.

But, even with the Pirates playing on this warm Sunday, and the Penguins Stanley Cup success, do not be fooled.

This is a Steelers town.

It's also a University of Pittsburgh town, and we'd get there eventually, but first, we had a mountain to climb.

Or should I say, a funicular handled that for us?

We rode the famous Duquesne Incline to the top of Mt. Washington, where we took in the incredible view of Acrisure Stadium, PNC Park, and the Golden Triangle at the confluence of the Ohio, Allegheny, and Monongahela Rivers.

I battled my fear of heights for something I admit I'll never forget.

Thinking our day might be over, we had one more trick up our sleeves.

The morning began back in Buffalo with a visit to the site of the old Rockpile -- the remainder of War Memorial Stadium -- where the Buffalo Bills once played, along with myriad others. It was also the site of "Knights Field" in the movie The Natural. The stadium, in the middle of a neighborhood, once held 46,000 fans. 

Now it's a high school facility, much like Balboa Stadium in San Diego.

We also drove by Highmark Stadium, the current home of the Buffalo Bills (and they're getting a new stadium).

But, back in Pittsburgh, we drove out to Pitt to find the outfield wall of Forbes Field. Not only did Babe Ruth hit his last three home runs there but Bill Mazeroski broke hearts and became a Pittsburgh God with a Game 7 home run to win the 1960 World Series against the Yankees.

The outfield wall remains. So does a flagpole. Inside nearby Posvar Hall is home plate. Boldly, we walked right in, with Sean hoping to not bail me out of jail.

That would not be necessary.

All of this was extra special for me because this was the very site -- 122 years ago this week -- where Harold Arlin called the first broadcast in MLB history.

Hallowed ground to me for sure. I felt honored to stand in roughly the same area where Arlin called the Pirates and Phillies on Aug 5, 1921.

On that note, I was content to depart Steel City for West Virginia.

And here we are, in a room that we're hoping to will get cooler. Oh, and I destroyed a pair of shorts somehow.

The rigors of travel, I guess.

We're just happy to be off the road for today and we'll jump right back to it tomorrow.

We're in the birthplace of Mary Lou Retton, for what that's worth.

In the meantime, there's still a push to get me to Virginia for the Babe Ruth World Series.

Plus, writing this has kept me from the Giants/Ravens football game.

Oh, wait, I'm being told the Orioles lead the Yankees 7-0. In the second inning.

Sean thinks I should move to Pittsburgh today. In fact, he loved it there also.

We're not moving.

But it was a great time in Steel City with a plan to go back.

We drove away with no mementos. Honestly, who needs them?

We have memories of a great day.

Road Meetin'

 

Today is the actual reason we're in Buffalo.

It's the Buffalo, NY Road & Travel Enthusiasts Meeting. Sean and I will meet up with friends from near and far and tour some of what Buffalo has to see.

Buffalo was a big draw for me when I saw that this would be the site for the annual big get-together. Simply put: I've never been here. 

There are several road meets scheduled throughout the year and anyone can host one so long as they can organize a day that's good for all.

This is the third time I've attended a road meet, along with one based around Milford, PA, Port Jervis, NY, and along the Delaware River in 2009 and the Philadelphia meet last year (which also had much to do with the Delaware River). 

This time, it's all about Buffalo.

I'm here because I like the people and am happy to have found this community. I grew up loving roads as a kid, especially on our long drives to and from Florida where my parents would beg me to take a nap.

Instead, I'd be watching out the car window along U.S. 301, Interstate 95, and whatever else we traveled on. I'd have stacks of maps I'd be consuming in the process.

I still have many of those maps, tucked away in bins in the attic.

As the interwebs became a real thing in the late 90s I discovered that there were people like me. Heck, in 2023, does any of that sound familiar? Finding that you're not alone in something -- hobby, lifestyle, preference -- that might get you mocked and even bullied?

No, I never felt my interest in roads was a topic for bullies but, at the same time, I'm sure I downplayed it a bit. Yet, much like my brain for sports, I became a bit of a hit at parties with my deep knowledge of some road facts.

The people I'll be with today way surpass me. They know how to build them and get downright pedantic over little things like "control cities" (those are the cities listed on the big green overhead signs). 

Benson, NC, I see you. I get it. But wow. Buckle up on that stuff in the road community.

Benson is where Interstates 40 and 95 meet and, well, using that on big overhead signs bothers some. Incidentally, we'll be around Benson in a few days but I digress.

But I found that there were all kinds of websites dedicated to the history of roads. When I saw a breakdown of the backstory of the Taconic State Parkway, I knew I had found a home and it was a home I could contribute to.

Oh, and that's not only how we'll spend the day. There's also a baseball game tonight, which has become a standard post-meet gathering. The Buffalo Bisons are hosting the Scranton Wilkes Barre Railriders tonight not far from our hotel. We have a suite at Sahlen Field and Sean and I are looking forward to that.

Roads. Baseball. Even food.

Yes. This will do quite nicely (despite some questionable weather).

There's a place for all of us, friends. Always know that. Always know there are people with similar interests. You're really not alone.

Special thanks to Dan Murphy, who set this all up and even came up here a few weeks back to plot the whole day. He also diligently set up the baseball game and food at the ballpark, then patiently waited for deadbeats (like me, I say sheepishly) to Venmo him money.

He's a good guy. Looking forward to seeing him later.

But also thanks to the many knowledgable and good people we'll catch up later (too many to name but Steve Alpert will probably be bothered if I don't give him a shout-out -- kidding!). And Doug Kerr and myriad others, many of whom read "Exit 55."

Thanks to them for their knowledge and wisdom.

OK, time to get ready.

And, with this written, I don't have to worry about hustling back to the hotel to write a post or even writing it on my phone from the ballpark.

Let's Go, Buffalo

 

Live from downtown Buffalo, NY, USA!

Quite a day.

I was up before the alarm at 4:30 this morning. I was put together and ready to go just after five.

Unfortunately, Sean took my "between 5:30 and 6" departure literally in that he thought driving away at 5:57 would be OK.

I looked at him.

"Have we met? We always leave at 5:30."

The good news was that meant at least one local deli would be open for breakfast.

We got our sandwiches and were on the road at 6:15.

I was wearing parts of my egg and cheese along with my coffee by 6:30.

I knew these were bumps in the road.

Soon, 287 became 87 became 17 (and 86). 

We stopped around three-hour mark for the essentials -- gas in the car and a restroom break.

In a little over three hours, after 86 became 390 and 36 and 20A and 400 and 90, we turned onto 190 into downtown Buffalo.

Our first stop was simple.

He could be called "The King of Wings"

Buffalo.

Wings.

Sean called what he had at Anchor Bar (which calls itself "Home of the Original Buffalo Wing") among the best he's ever had, if not the best.

He wasn't wrong. They were pretty great.

"High fashion," we both said of our ponchos

We decided to go chasing waterfalls after that (and that might be the only Salt-N-Pepa reference on this blog -- ever), hitting the tourist trap of Niagara Falls next.

"But do the Canadian side," I've always heard.

Sure, do that if you're in it for the tourism stuff. Which, cool, Niagara Falls, sponsored by Disney!

We parked, strolled past the cheap sweatshirts, and got on the Maid of the Mist.

"Go left," Sean told me.

He was going in. All in. He told me he overheard someone say that was where to go for the maximum soaking.

It was worth it. We laughed in our ponchos as the spray of American and Horseshoe Falls doused us. It was enough that I stepped back from the railing at one point -- under the overhang -- to simply drink in the majesty of it all. Sean said he was going back in and I caught the moment on my phone.

"Canadian side," we both scoffed.

Plus, getting so close to Horseshoe Falls meant that, by definition, we were in Canada, even if we weren't on land. 

We opted to stay in the US otherwise but were grateful for our brief glimpses into our neighbor to the North.

Satisfied, and laughing all the way, we were soon back in the car, driving around Niagara Falls a little more before heading back.

The razor wire was a deterrent.

Our next stop was a nod to Canada: Tim Horton's. Sean got a muffin and I grabbed a coffee as I explained to him that Horton was a real person, playing 24 seasons in the NHL.

I also told him to Google "Love Canal" as we left Tim Horton's, since we were only a mile from the famed enormous environmental disaster and Superfund operation.

It's now just a collection of rutted roads and a lot of empty land.

We both shook our heads.

Just as we did when a biker flipped us off for supposedly cutting him off on Interstate 190.

I did not cut him off but I hope he enjoys his anger.

Oh, I might have flipped him off also.

A good eye-roll and nothing to ruin this day.

We've made it to our hotel, both tired and happy for a day I think we'll both remember.

This is only the first piece of our adventure but we're off to a heck of a start.

Book It!

 

The Book is next to me.

No, not that book. Or likely any other one that you're thinking of.

Not my copy of The Baseball Encyclopedia or To Kill a Mockingbird or Susan's poetry book (Skipping Rocks) or The Natural.

This book, in fact, is a small notebook. It has a white cover, with a purple plastic pocket over it that says Empire City Casino. The pocket is there, no doubt, to carry some kind of documents related to betting on horse racing and anything else.

There's an elastic pen loop included and I utilize that as well.

To me, it's a notebook. And, yet, more.

It's become a driving log.

The first page dates back to 2015. It says so in red marker in my handwriting. It was Aug 18, 2015, when we drove away from Mahopac (at 5:42 a.m. I might add) en route to North Carolina.

Oh, but first came breakfast and we left the deli at 5:54. No doubt I was grumbling about it being so close to 6 a.m. and not being on the road but at least I had a trusty egg and cheese in my hand and a hot cup of coffee -- yes, even on a mid-August morning.

By 8:36 that morning, we were crossing the Delaware Memorial Bridge.

The book tells me that we stopped at Wawa in Delaware and that I took U.S. 13 down the Delmarva Peninsula to cross the Chesapeake Bay Bridge-Tunnel.

We arrived there at 12:48, seven hours and six minutes after beginning our journey. We had traveled 373.2 miles.

We'd reach Fayetteville, NC at 7:07 that night -- late, by my standards. It took 643.6 miles.

The handwriting is often scribbled, as best as I can as the miles go by. It's where I have a moment to take the time to write that my penmanship isn't quite so horrid.

I make notes of things like tolls at that time and, as the years go by, start noting the time we leave the main road (OFF) and depart whatever break we have taken (ON).

That allows me to compute the "True Driving Time" in which I add up the break times, subtract them from the total time on the road, and figure out what I think would have been our length of travel minus breaks. A perfect system? Hardly. One has to stop for restrooms and fuel eventually at the very least but this occupies my mind.

Later on, I discovered that I must have written the details of our 2014 trip to North Carolina somewhere else. Ever the completist, I wrote those notes into the book, following our second drive to NC in 2017.

Yes, second drive. The first one was to help my niece and her family move in late March (long drive, terrible rain and traffic). The second drive was to help around her house when she had surgery a few weeks later.

As the trips and numbers mounted, I began to wonder about which was best. Were there any ways to improve things? Look, sometimes it can't be helped. Driving down the Delmarva in 2015 was a decision and was out of the way of the better route. We did that for fun, including showing Sean what it was like to drive over -- and then under -- Chesapeake Bay.

It is a sublime experience, capped by the (now closed) pier where fisherman did their thing and tourists stretched and bought goodies from the snack bar and gift shop.

Sean and I will likely wind up on the CBBT at the back end of our upcoming trip but without the shop, it simply won't be the same. The reason for the closure is logical, as the CBBT is building the parallel Thimble Shoal tunnel. That's progress, I suppose.

The nearly-perfect drive to North Carolina was in 2018. It was, shockingly, right before Labor Day, and we crushed the roads.

Out at 5:16 a.m. and leaving the deli at 5:30 (that's better!) we hit the road and did not stop until we were almost in Baltimore. At 3:25, we took a break in Joppa, MD at Wawa.

Baltimore, in my mind, has always been a four-hour drive. To be near there in 3:25 was great.

We wouldn't stop again until just south of Petersburg, VA. 

We were in my niece's front yard at 3:29 p.m. Minus breaks, just a hair over nine hours.

Love it.

Other trips aren't so kind. We would get tired and need multiple breaks and, of course, construction near Washington, D.C. is constant and there are all kinds of other congestion that just grind a summer drive to a halt.

Try coming through Virginia on a summer Sunday. I've made that mistake and, as a result, either run for my life or get creative. Like jumping off 95 near Fredericksburg (you might know that's the home of the Babe Ruth 14U World Series) and using U.S. 17 to some other combination.

I've veered towards Gettysburg, PA a few times along U.S. 15.

And then there's U.S. 301 through Maryland. Ah, but traffic lights. And too many of them.

You can probably see how I view all of this like a sport. There's strategy involved.

No wonder I love it.

The struggle for me is to make sure I enjoy it all. Too many times I've been so focused on miles down the road and have literally said to myself, "Stay in the moment. Relax!"

The Book grew out of my love of noting my drives to and from Richmond, VA when I started visiting there in the 90s. Again, I'd write notes or even record notes into a micro cassette recorder.

There are notes in The Book from our 2020 (COVID!) trip to Albany for my niece's wedding. That, sadly, was Mom's last trip.

Tomorrow, The Book will be next to me in the driver's seat, prepared to take whatever dictation I have to add.

I'll probably note crossing the Hudson River and arriving in Binghamton and things like that.

But, as we prepare to leave for our adventure, I'm again astounded as I try to find a deli open before 6 a.m. to make us a couple of egg and cheese sandwiches. The only places I can think of would mean going out of the way.

Or Dunkin Donuts.

Let's face it, I'm mostly about making time.

And The Book shall guide me.

On to the Next One

 

I-95 South near Fredericksburg, VA (2009).
Not sure if I'll be making this drive but the
Babe Ruth World Series will be played in part off this exit.

Wednesday morning.

Three days since the end of the last trip. Less than forty-eight hours from the next one.

I'll bring the radio equipment -- at least, a small case of stuff -- because you never know. The probability of me doing a show from somewhere exists.

And there's that lingering Babe Ruth World Series itch to be scratched.

We're not packed yet. Surprised, right? 

I could start, having done laundry following my return to Rhode Island. Most of what I had with me there is heading out with me again. 

But this trip is longer. There are more pieces to the puzzle.

Buffalo. Pittsburgh. West Virginia. Fayetteville. Maryland.

Virginia?

Friends. Family. Miles. Food. Good times.

I see the nights in Buffalo are cool so a sweatshirt isn't the worst idea to pack. I didn't have one of those with me in Providence so I'll need to add that.

So, yes, laundry. It will get done. 

An oil change for my car as well. I don't have to go to Mahopac to do that but it does give me an excuse to go there. In fact, I'll do that after getting my car washed in Mount Kisco.

Plus we have to take Sean's car back to his mother's up in Dutchess County.

See, it's an old family tradition. Back in the days of yore (circa, 60s-70s) my father would insist on having the car washed and vacuumed before leaving for Florida. He wanted a clean car, including the windows. 

Especially the windows.

I'm his son. I might not be blue-collar like he was but I'm most definitely his son.

Clean windows. Clean car. I absolutely agree.

So, yeah, that will happen. Clean windows for road pictures and the like.

Then there's the Virginia question. Yes, we will most definitely pass through Virginia, whether I'm driving straight home or taking Sean to meet his friends in Ocean City, MD.

But Virginia is also the home of the 14U Babe Ruth World Series. I'm so honored that the families and the team want me there to call the games but I think the sad reality is that I won't be allowed to -- even if I was available.

Yes, I've mapped it out. See, I have to be back in Connecticut to teach at CSB. So I have it in my mind to drop Sean off in Marlyand, drive home to the cat, sleep in Connecticut for a few nights, go teach Monday morning in Stratford, and leave for Fredericksburg as soon as it's over.

But, still, I've done my homework, and the Babe Ruth World Series in Fredericksburg has an official streaming provider. They charge for the games. Do you think they'll be cool if some little ol' audio broadcaster from Connecticut plops down to call some of the action ... for free?

Sadly, I expect no to be the answer. They probably have some kind of exclusive agreement. Plus, let's face it. As much as families might enjoy my call they want video. In the eyes of most, they'd like the video and the audio call.

Also, I'd need a place to stay.

I think there are too many variables to get me to do those games in Virginia, so I'm not very high on the odds. That doesn't mean I'm giving up.

Yet, the idea of calling a few games from Virginia Credit Union Stadium -- the home of the minor league Fredericksburg Nationals -- is completely delicious to me. It's even better because that was the home of one Mr. Joey Zanaboni, regional president of the Rob Adams Can Drop Dead Fan Club!

I keep adding new members all the time, sadly.

My broadcasts would be hotter than a Waffle House customer after pouring a bottle of Frank's Red Hot on my smothered, covered, and scattered hash browns!

The more likely scenario is perhaps I go visit everyone and watch a game before my journey comes to an end.

Sadly, such agreements with broadcasters do exist, even at this age. Think of ESPN with Little League, at the high end of the insanity scale. We even had an exclusive agreement with the FCIAC when I was at HAN and had the right to veto other broadcasters. In fact, we did one time. 

So, assuming that doesn't happen, I'm still incredibly proud of the work we did in both Trumbull and North Providence, producing 29 game broadcasts from July 8th until the 23rd. And not a soul is questioning my preparation on or off the air.

Or how I was dressed.

Or if I could adjust from covering just one team to covering six other teams that I haven't seen.

Yeah. We need some hobbies.

And I need to really get away.

So, back to the point.

Laundry.

Car wash.

Oil change.

Drop Sean's car off.

Pack.

We'll be ready.

On Great Sports Photos

 

I saw a tweet (or whatever we're calling it now) asking for the most iconic sports photo.

I saw all kinds of responses. Some were (attempts at being) funny while others were nonsensical.

The tweet's author chose the incredible shot taken by Neil Leifer of Sports Illustrated in Lewiston, ME on May 25, 1965.

There's Ali taunting the fallen Liston, though some believe Liston took a dive off a "phantom punch."

John Rooney took a black and white photo of the same moment, but it's the Leifer photo that so many of us remember, mostly since we knew it from Sports Illustrated.

It's an incredible photo. A great photo can say so much and this does that very thing. 

Ali was heading towards becoming an icon as an athlete and a human being. Liston, sadly, was dead by the beginning of 1971, passing under mysterious circumstances.

For me, there are two photos that stand out to me. The first one dates to Sep 20, 1964 at Pitt Stadium in Pittsburgh. The Steelers' John Baker knocked Giants QB Y.A. Tittle to the ground, leaving him bloodied. Adding insult to injury, Erich Barnes ran the result of the play -- an interception -- back 26 yards for a touchdown.

Tittle, blood running down his bald head, was beaten up. Morris Berman of the Pittsburgh Post-Gazette snapped a photo.

To me, that is everything about the NFL up through 1964. It's a violent sport and, in this one image, you can see the great Tittle's career ending. He actually played the next week against Washington and would finish out the '64 season.

But he was finished. You can see it.

He retired after the 1964 season.

Yet, given all options, my top iconic photo shouldn't be hard to figure out. It's June 13, 1948 and the Yankees are hosting an old-timer event to honor the 25th anniversary of the 1923 championship squad. They were also going to retire Babe Ruth's number as well.

Ruth, as everyone knew, was not well. Only 53 on this day with dismal weather as the Yankees played the Cleveland Indians (and beat them 5-3), Ruth was ravaged by throat cancer. He had been honored with "Babe Ruth Day" around baseball in 1947, speaking to the crowd in a hoarse voice. He spoke of baseball being "the only real game in the world."

On this day, Ruth was happy to have a pinstripe uniform on with the number three on his back. He joked with his old teammates before taking the field.

Still, he needed a baseball bat to steady himself, the midnight blue Yankees cap in his hand.

Nat Fein, a photographer with the New York Herald-Tribune, knelt behind him as Ruth stood on the third base line. Fein felt that he wanted to see that number three and feature it in his photo while most of the other photographers worked along the first base line.

Old timers, dignitaries, part of the crowd of nearly 50,000, and the famous Yankee Stadium frieze, adorned with pennants signifying the Yankees' success, are all part of the background of the picture that became known as "The Babe Bows Out."

It became the first sports photo to win the Pulitzer Prize.

Again, it is everything. This is about more than retiring his number and honoring the 1923 team.

This is literally about Babe Ruth's life.

He died three months later.

Obviously, we could highlight numerous other photos -- the "Miracle on Ice," Michael Jordan, levitating, Willie Mays' catch, Bobby Orr flying, Chuck Bednarik over Frank Gifford, Brandi Chastain, Pete Rose -- but we'd be here all night.

This actually took up some of "Doubleheader" today and I loved it. To me, sports is supposed to be in part about such minutiae. It's supposed to be about the cultural impacts and more.

It's those who can handle the debate that survives. 

So these are my choices and there are no wrong answers of course. 

Being a Mentor

 

(Photo: Getty)

I'm going to try to keep this judgment/criticism free.

So there are a few members of the broadcasting community -- several, actually -- who offer critiques and advice.

As you probably know, I do the same.

They do it for a fee.

I do it for free.

There's always someone who has a son, daughter, nephew, niece, friend, or some other connection who wants to talk with me about broadcasting. 

I'm happy to. I'm normally thrilled.

And many have asked to have their work listened to. Heck, I had a student going into being a radio DJ ask for a review of their "tape" or "demo reel" (both of which are outdated terms but we all know what it means).

Again, I'm thrilled. One person getting my advice has become a popular local air talent in Fairfield County. He met me at CSB and I was happy to help.

There's joy in this. For one thing, I love -- seriously love, love, love -- talking about this business. For another, it's amazing to watch these people of all ages develop and improve and reach some great heights.

Look, I could set a list of those I've trained -- for free -- but I don't need a brag book like that. That said, I'll mention a few.

I count Matt Hamilton (formerly of the NFL Network and now with FanDuel TV) and Jake Zimmer (PA announcer for the Boston Bruins and the Premier Lacrosse League) as some of the many who have come through the "School of Rob."

Jeez. I think I just threw up a little after saying that. "School of Rob?" Really?

Heck, even Chris Erway and Chris Kaelin -- and so many others -- sort of came that way. Kato went to CSB and Erway interned at WGCH. Then we all connected.

Some of them didn't even need my advice or critique. They were always ready. Most aren't.

But the point is they all got the criticism, philosophy, and standards that I work with. Does that work for everyone? No. Very much no.

I've also sadly lost touch with some that I've trained.

Now, let's be clear. As you know, I work for CSB and students do pay to go there. So, yes, I'm getting paid when I do that. But bringing them to visit WGCH or a Robcasting game site is on me.

And every year when possible I take part in any career gathering that wants me. Sometimes, I get lunch or a cup of coffee or some SWAG out of the deal but that's about it.

Others go with a pay system. Good for them.

I simply can't do it.

I've gone and called games with people -- for free -- as a form of mentoring. That's how I did Pleasantville High School basketball and baseball and even their co-op hockey team. That's how I went and did King School football another time.

And, I suppose, that's how I've done some Trumbull High School football, basketball, and hockey as well. Jeff Alterman was a complete newbie when starting the TEN Network.

Payment? He got me ice cream one time, a burger another time, and a couple of shirts from Trumbull Athletics. I could be forgetting things but the point is I like helping him.

This is also all part of paying it forward. It's far more important to me than you might think.

My running joke is always "Please don't take my job" but, otherwise, I'm happy to celebrate your success. I love seeing what Matt, Jake, and others have done. I think they'll be the first to tell you that.

But they'll also say I'm not a pushover.

See, a little secret is that I'm a tough critic of this business. Oh, that part isn't a secret. The part that's secret is that there's a method to my madness. I'm willing to bet there are several young broadcasters who think I'm a complete jerk.

Maybe I am.

But I'm often trying to deliver a different message and it's not landing. Then I get passive-aggressive tweets aimed at me from other wannabe mentors. Again, no one is getting the point.

In truth, I'm mentoring in the process by delivering much-needed critiques that aren't being given otherwise. They just get pacified and that's awful.

The point is that they're better than that. It's the attitude, the ego, the entitlement, and the arrogance that will be their undoing.

I'm not a phony. I'm not here for that. I'm not here to do "atta boy/girl" on every little thing.

And yet I'll be your biggest cheerleader.

That's what being a mentor is. It's honesty. It's sharing. It's paying it forward and, often, that becomes a two-way street.

It's not about taking hard-earned money. At least not to me, but again, hey. Do what you've got to do.

You know. "Keep doing your thing."

We have a serious problem where only those with money are getting into the business because their parents helped them (and they went to "the right school").

We need to be better than that.

So if you're curious about the business and want a friend (essential for survival), contact me.

I think most who have done so have found it worth it.

Night 5: Unintentionally Not Home

Trumbull celebrates

It's not ending like this. 

This streak, that is. 

I'm in the middle of construction traffic on 95 in Bridgeport that should be seen as an embarrassment by the state of Connecticut. 

My trip back from Rhode Island was going splendidly, thank you very much. 

Then? I reached Connecticut. And screw this. 

It won't ruin the memories of three dramatic baseball games. There were two walkoffs, strategic moves galore, one ejection, and one dragon slayed. 

Pittsfield -- unbeatable Pittsfield -- got beaten. 

Trumbull 3, Pittsfield 1. 

Oh, the ejection? You can't slam into a defenseless catcher. The offending player was ejected for that game as well as the championship game. 

And as a reminder, don't let the adults ruin it for the kids. Too many rules and regulations. 

It was a magnificent five days and beyond thankful for everything that Waterford and Trumbull blessed me with. 

And I'm stunned at how much the athletes liked the broadcasts. 

Each one came over to thank me after the championship. It moved me. 

Now they want me at the World Series in Virginia. 

There's work needed to make that happen. 

But there are no pictures of me with the championship plaque. I'm not in any team photos. I know my role. 

Congrats, players. Congrats, coaches. Congrats, families. 

Congrats, Trumbull. 

Night 4: Providence at Night

Today's games ended just past 2 p.m. in North Providence.

I soon packed up and departed, heading down into the capital of Rhode Island.

However, I decided to take a ride.

Onto RI 146 to I-95 to I-195.

Into Massachusetts.

I figured, heck, I was so close, I should say hello to The Bay State.

Lizzie Borden House. No hatchets anywhere.

I only went as far (fah) as Fall River, where I drove by the Lizzie Borden House.

No 40 whacks to be found (thankfully).

But, to me, Fall River, MA will always be about Battleship Cove. I first visited it with my family in probably 1977 or 1978, fascinated by this giant ship, submarine, and other vessels that we were allowed to tour. I've been back several times since.

On this day, I found it sort of a bummer to visit alone so I opted to not do the tour, simply grabbing a photo and heading back to my car.

Battleship Cove with the USS Massachusetts on the right

With that, I did a very "Rob" thing and drove U.S. Route 6 out of Fall River west into Rhode Island where it routed onto Interstate 195.

You might know that Route 6 begins its journey at Provincetown -- the very tip of Cape Code. From there, it winds around the Cape and makes its way eventually to Fall River and onto Providence before heading off into Connecticut.

It also crosses numerous other states before ending in Bishop, CA.

And it goes right through the heart of a little hamlet known as Mahopac, NY. 

Providence is I-95 and U.S. 6. Those are two of the primary roads in my life.

Not wanting to drive all over, I returned to Providence to come back to the hotel. In the process, I went through the area around Brown University before settling back into my room.

I could have driven down to Newport and walked around or done something else but Saturday beach traffic made me opt for staying close and taking it easy.

It's time to go out and get some food. (Note: Written before I obviously went out. I'm back from dinner as well as a walk to the nearby Providence Place mall.)

Tomorrow, with virtually no shock, we'll see good friends Trumbull and Waterford face off for the third time since this Babe Ruth Baseball journey began earlier this month. Waterford has won the first two. The coaches are no doubt pondering scenarios and lining up their pitchers.

I get to call it. I'm thrilled.

I'm sad the result means one of them will be done.

The winner of this semifinal match gets to hang around and wait for the winner of Braintree and Pittsfield. They play at 1 p.m. with the championship scheduled for 4 p.m. The winner of that game is off to the World Seris in Virginia in early August.

The road will guide me back towards Connecticut sometime Sunday night and I can promise you that I'll likely be on 95 (unless traffic conditions say otherwise).

I won't be on U.S. 6.

What a ride it has been regardless of the final outcome.

Night 3: Underdressed?

 

The booth at North Providence

Pool play concluded today at the Babe Ruth New England Regional.

Four more games included wins for Trumbull, Waterford, Pittsfield, and Braintree.

We said goodbye to the teams from Vermont and Maine, who both went 0-3. I always find that sad.

Somehow we avoided all rain and thunderstorms and got the games in.

Fearing a storm, the folks at North Providence High School had me move into the press box for the last game to protect the equipment. I prepared for the storms but decided the booth was the best call.

Oh, I was prepared. I had my Pelican case, rain jackets and an umbrella. Things would have stayed dry but I was up for moving into the booth at that point.

It didn't rain until I was sitting outside with Trumbull families a few minutes ago. I walked out to grab dinner and ran into a whole group, who greeted me with applause.

Nothing I deserve for sure but I'm so grateful anyway. The reviews of the broadcasts have been wonderful.

Oh, for the record, I wore a pair of patterned shorts along with a black Under Armour polo, and New Balance sneakers.

A storm of a different kind brewed over in the Play-by-Play group that I'm an admin in on Facebook.

A member posted about game day attire. The minute I saw the post, I felt my blood begin to boil.

Cue the pearl-clutching.

Cue the elitism.

Cue the arrogance.

One member responded by saying we should "dress to respect the sport." For the love of Marty Glickman (well-known legendary New York play-by-player), what does that even mean?

I'm disrespecting baseball because I'm in clean, neat shorts with a polo shirt and sneakers?

Then there was the "suit for hockey" crowd. Yes, I did high-level hockey. I wore a jacket and tie because I was told to do so. I followed the rules.

But at Brunswick hockey? Comfy and appropriate is my rule. Khakis, a warm top, and a heavy jacket. Staying in winter sports, it's normally a quarter zip pullover and khakis for basketball.

Do I ever wear jeans? I used to but they were always neat and appropriate. I don't do it as much anymore.

I can't see where anyone -- literally, anyone -- has judged me for my appearance when calling games given how I normally dress.

Again, the intense arrogance of this group is astounding. It's the same garbage about preparation for a game. And it's from the same crowd.

Oh, I can feel the blood getting even hotter.

Preparation is another hot-button topic. For the record, reviews of these broadcasts have been strong. I might have said that already. How many notes, charts, graphs, and colored pens do you think I showed up with?

Few.

On the fly, I've pulled up things when prompted. I've used my knowledge for virtually everything else.

As for my appearance, I'd have to go shopping if anyone has a complaint. I have a couple of polos and more shorts to wear for the balance of the trip. Somehow -- silly me! -- I neglected to pack a jacket and tie.

We did that towards the end of my tenure at HAN Network. It wasn't my idea, and I can't make that clear enough.

So I could be seen hosting "Coffee Break" or "Nutmeg Sports" in a jacket and tie ... with shorts on behind the desk.

Keep in mind I mostly engineer my own stuff. Therefore, I can be found literally crawling around a press box. I'm sure my dry cleaning bill would love that!

So, at HAN for games, I'd often show up dressed to do the manual labor of setup before heading somewhere private to change into the jacket and tie.

I don't think it improved the quality of our broadcasts nor do I think any viewer cared.

Oh, one other member in the group said that anyone who shows up to work a game with him in jeans gets sent home.

To that, I can't decide if I want to laugh or find another emotion.

Could you imagine me sending Chris Erway home because he showed up in jeans to call Greenwich/Trumbull?

Safe to say these people don't exist in a judgment-free zone.

If I showed up in literally anything than shorts for the Babe Ruth regional, I'd be laughed out of the field. Given temperatures have drifted through the upper 80s and real feel temperatures even hotter, I would look ridiculous and overheated.

So, again, my rules are for comfort, looking neat, and being appropriately dressed.

Now, if I'm not the one making the rules, then I do as I'm told. With the Renegades, I've been allowed to dress as I wish. That doesn't mean I overstep my boundaries but there can be a level of play to this given I'm in the PA booth. I wouldn't have normally worn a jersey, for instance, but the PA booth is meant to be more fun than the radio/TV booth.

But if the rule is a suit, then fine. I don't mind wearing a suit. I don't mind dressing up. When I do conferences, I wear a suit because that's what is expected of me.

I actually put great thought into how I look (up to a point).

My play-by-play brethren are supposed to help each other. God (or Vin Scully) forbid we ever criticize without being on a high horse.

Oh, wait. Criticism isn't allowed. Unless it's about how we dress.

Or how we prepare.

It must be brutal to be that perfect.

Back to the tournament tomorrow morning at 10.

Night 2: Out of Time

 

Braintree and Trumbull line up

Fact: I waited too long to post this but here I am.

The first pitch this morning was at 9:59.

The last pitch was roughly 11 hours later.

Four games, too many pitches, still too many pitching changes, a few disagreements with umpires, and so on.

I'm proud of the effort. Lots of baseball and lots of fun.

A few knuckleheads also because, hey, isn't that always the deal?

Fairly kind reviews of the broadcasts as well.

Eight games in we've had mostly so-so games and one epic game.

Truly, it was so much fun.

Obviously, I've become very close with Trumbull. But I've also gotten to know a few people from Braintree, MA. 

Those two teams locked in a dandy tonight.

After two innings it was 1-1.

It stayed that way through seven innings.

It looked like it might stay that way through eight.

What I love about games like this is that it isn't some sort of meltdown that really makes or breaks the game. 

An errant throw didn't cause the winning run to score. No clock violation or balk and anything else was involved.

Oh, to be sure, Braintree committed errors in both the seventh and eighth that potentially set up Trumbull to win the game. Still, Trumbull had to drive that winning run home.

In the seventh, the guys from Massachusetts were able to wiggle out of it.

In the eighth, they were so close.

Then Eric Story stepped up and launched a ball to left field that looked well hit but I thought it might be caught.

We seemed destined for a ninth inning.

But, the thing was, this was no routine fly ball.

Oh, it wasn't going over the fence. So far, no one has hit one out.

But it was going over the left fielder's head.

He circled and cycled and pirouetted but to no avail.

Ball...meet grass.

Base hit. In fact, a double.

C.J. Lenzen, running hard from second, scored with a slide, setting off a big celebration for Trumbull.

What a joy to watch it all, regardless of winner.

I like Trumbull. Their coach, Mike Buswell, is a close friend.

I like Braintree. Their coach, Gill "Tuna" Mannion, has become a friend. I even met his wife and kids after the game tonight. She was so kind to compliment the broadcasts.

Nobody should lose a game like this but that's not how sports works.

Trumbull 2. Braintree 1.

Cool selfish postscript. Eric's dad yelled to me from the street as they were heading back to their car. 

They get to head back to the hotel. I get to head back to my table for the last game.

His dad told me that the first thing Eric said to him was that he couldn't wait to hear how I called it.

Like ... really?

It's just such a humbling thing to hear. 

I got to watch this game. Better yet, I got to call it.

People are listening. It's been a fun ride.

But the clock is ticking and, weather permitting, four more games await tomorrow.

Teams begin departing after that as we turn towards the brackets.

A long day that could have brought sunburn simply brings what it's supposed to bring: exhaustion from a (hopefully) job well done.

The baseball is good even if the games aren't perfect.

I'm where I belong.

Providence Night 1

 

"She came from Providence. The One in Rhode Island." -- The Eagles, "The Last Resort"

I am in Providence.

Also the one in Rhode Island.

I spent the day at North Providence High School. On the road at 5:50 a.m. and at the field a little after 8.

Four games are in the books. Four winners. Four "meh" (at best) games. Some wonderful performances.

Lots of patient and kind people.

Lots of support for the broadcasts.

And a few knuckleheads (always).

And one hungry, tired broadcaster.

Waterford, Pittsfield, Braintree, Trumbull. Those are your winners. The closest game was 3-0 (Trumbull over the host North Providence/Smithfield).

All of the games are in the archive at Mixlr and I'll get everything into the Archive.org page as well.

It was a day of no booth, lots of heat, sweat, moving equipment, being offered a booth, staying outside, sweating more, dodging foul balls smacking in front of my eyes, and talking.

Lots of talking.

I made it work.

I thought all four broadcasts deserved passing grades with two of them actually worth saying they were, er, good.

But now, I'm in my room in Providence and ready for something to eat.

As well as something to soothe my voice.

Such is the rhythm of tournament baseball.

Games at 10, 1, 4, and 7 today. Then the same tomorrow.

Then Friday.

Two more games Saturday.

Three Sunday and a champion crowned.

It's actually awesome.

Let's do it again.

One of the many versions of my setup today.

Not Giving Up Vs. Reality

 

Ah yes! That big league job is right there but, BLAST!, 
I'm blocked by the nasty crocodile!

I've always been a realist.

I see things through a pretty honest prism but, at the same time, I can still dream with the best of them.

I'm going to Rhode Island for upwards of 17 baseball games starting tomorrow morning at 10. I'm doing it and I'm getting a place to stay.

Now, I don't focus on this but do I have thoughts sometimes that someone will reach out and say that I'm good? 

That they're going to put me in touch with Harold Bigwig of Bigwig University and the Bigwig Bandits?

That maybe more work or a new home might emerge?

Sure. I'm very human in that regard.

I've never given up on a dream.

In some ways, I've had success like that. Through various positions over the years, I've received offers for more game broadcasts to working with different groups to joining Hunt Scanlon and becoming their conference moderator and podcast host.

But I'm also realistic that, due to decisions and paths that I chose in my life, I'm likely not going to ascend to some "top-level" job.

Instead, I take every job that I do and try to make it sound "top-level."

Professional broadcasts. That's been my goal since the day I started.

From there I enjoy the journey.

There comes a point where, while not giving up, one has to be realistic. OK, you didn't get that job -- I have my own stories, thanks -- but that doesn't mean to keep moaning about it on social media.

You won't quit. Cool, neither will I. Nor have I. That's why we keep grinding in this business.

But I'm still realistic. And I still relish every broadcast, no matter how "low level" some think it is.

I continue to say the egos in broadcasting have actually reached a dangerous level. Or it's just people I see.

There are many jobs that I looked into that I didn't get for one reason or another. Heck, I often think of the position in Allentown, PA I interviewed for back in the early 90s. If I get that, who knows what my life would have been like? Oh, and it wasn't a broadcasting job.

Instead, I didn't get the job.

There are broadcasting gigs that I thought were absolute "no-brainers." There was no way I wouldn't get at least an interview and, yet, I never got an interview.

But that's life. The hiring manager either had someone already in mind or there was some other reason. So often, it really isn't about you.

Or sometimes it is and maybe, of course, you simply weren't good enough.

It's funny. I had that very conversation yesterday with someone about that. I asked about a position and how I might not have deserved it. They emphatically disagreed with the take.

But, alas, again that's life. It happens.

Whining about it online simply looks bad in the long run and I know a thing or two about misplaying a comment.

Oh, I was much better behaved today I'll have you know.

You simply can't be Peter Pan forever. There's no need to quit but there's no need to harp on it either. Focus on the next broadcast, term paper, Excel spreadsheet, sales meeting, or whatever it is.

I'm buckling down to drive to Rhode Island tomorrow and do the best I can to describe these games for the fans and families who deserve the best coverage.

I'll be on the road early. I do love a good early morning road trip.

Of course, there's still the issue of finding a deli that's open before 6 a.m. around here.

But no worries. I have bigger things to focus on.

Like the Bigwig Bandits.

Oh, wait. That's right.

Waterford and Cranston at 10 a.m. on robcasting.mixlr.com

From the Desk of Ponderous

 

Dave Parker (in yellow) on the National League bench

In the heat, humidity, and misery of today, I had one of those shows.

It was acerbic and willing to take shots.

It was borderline irrational and, when I step away, not my best look.

Admittedly, there are those who actually like it when I do those shows but I usually regret them when they're over.

But, in truth, there's always a method to my madness.

There are often messages being delivered to those who "can't handle the truth."

But that doesn't always mean this is the right way to proceed.

Oh, certainly, I was often foaming at the mouth over the complete embarrassment that was the Yankees in Denver this past weekend against the Rockies. I've never been a "fire everyone" type but good grief this was just horrible.

Aaron Boone lives in Greenwich and I've covered his son in Greenwich football. That doesn't mean he's immune and I didn't think he had a particularly strong game as manager yesterday.

But, indeed, fault can go around, including the players who were just not good. Blowing two two-run leads, baserunning blunders, defensive miscues, and so on.

Just bad baseball from a team that is paid exceedingly well to not play like that.

So, yeah. That got me going.

But when I see whining about why Lee Mazzilli wasn't the MVP of the 1979 All-Star Game, well, it just lights me up, and not in a good way.

Maybe because "Maz," who did have a walk, home run, and two RBIs, didn't create an iconic defensive play in right field.

Dave Parker did, gunning down Brian Downing at the plate and setting things up for Mazzilli to walk.

Ask people about the 1979 All-Star Game and they'll remind you of Parker's throw.

Incidentally, Mazzilli worked that base on balls off of Ron Guidry. You know, the Yankees pitcher. Not that that has anything to do with how Maz "should have been the MVP."

Noooooooo.

But, honestly, worrying about the 1979 All-Star Game MVP is as ludicrous as being concerned that Curt Schilling -- three outs away from being the losing pitcher in Game 7 -- was awarded co-MVP of the 2001 World Series. He shouldn't have been, but he was and that's the very nature of such things. They're utterly idiotic.

They're also hastily arranged votes from media members on-site. I've taken part in such things on a much smaller level. You write it quickly and that's it.

Randy Johnson should have been the sole MVP but who cares? The Diamondbacks won. End of story.

I need to keep prepping for Rhode Island.

Lest I see any passive-aggressive tweets aimed my way.

For the record, I am not *checks notes*: 1) a bot,  2) needing to hear a regular "home team" broadcaster, or 3) jealous. I am, however, passionate about play-by-play that is accurate and concise without exaggeration. When calling a hybrid (audio and video) broadcast, it is best to provide some details.

In the end, was it "negativity" or perhaps you're just better than that? I feel it's the latter but I don't stand on the high pulpit that others do when they beat their dead horses.

Sometimes, lessons get taught the hard way, I guess.

I need to stop.

But maybe I should just "keep doing my thing."

Fortunately, tomorrow's my last show of the week.

On that note, I'll behave.

Up next: a breakdown of the 2014 All-Star MVP and why it was Mike Trout.

Clothes and Preparation and So On

 

Much to his dismay (or more likely relief), 
The Cat will not be going

Stop me if you've heard this story before.

I'm packed.

See, my thinking is to just be prepared. I mean that's the rule, right?

Forty-eight hours of preparation for each broadcast, right?

Anyway, I did laundry and mapped things out for the week.

We also kept an eye on the raindrops as well as the sky, since there was a tornado watch at one point.

Alas, nothing, I'm glad to say.

People in my business get very uptight about what to wear. They also get very uptight about preparation, climbing on high horses will quoting long-deceased announcers of a different era.

I'm not immune but, come on, common sense has to prevail.

At first, we'd wear what I typically wear to a game. The look was always comfortable and appropriate. Yes, that even included jeans. I certainly didn't think it impacted the quality of the broadcast.

I've mostly pulled jeans out of the gameday look but I'm not against wearing them in certain spots.

But, this week, it's shorts.

And shorts.

And shorts.

I'm told the North Providence High School press box will be rather warm and, as I tend to crawl around plugging things in, as well as looking like a defensive lineman (with zero of their talent), I'll be doing anything to stay cool.

Plus shorts pack better so I'm all set with a duffel bag. I look forward to wherever I'm staying over those days.

Besides, I don't think anyone will look askance at me because I'm in an Under Armour polo and khaki shorts. Do we really still buy into the "clothes make the man" stuff when it's 89 degrees in a Babe Ruth 14U tournament?

Some do, getting very holier-than-thou about this and more. It's a very big problem in the business these days.

I remember when we insisted on a more "professional" look with the HAN Network. Yeah. That was a thing. It was also a thing to wear a jacket, shirt, and tie on camera while standing behind a desk with shorts on that nobody could see.

Oh, and as for preparation? I'm fine but never as prepared as I'd truly like to be.

Anyway, I just have to double-check equipment and if I want to bring anything extra, such as the pod and the Pelican case, along with getting some supplies like water and I'll be ready to hit the road.

This, by the way, is the run-up to vacation towards the end of the next week. My son -- yes, him -- has admitted he is excited to go.

Wait just a minute and sound the alarm! My always cool child professed that he is looking forward to 1) our adventure, and 2) his adventure after I drop him off.

We discussed that as we left the stadium last night after an enjoyable evening of Renegades baseball.

The upcoming trip is fun because it's different for us. We're not purely going to North Carolina, hanging with family, and coming home. We're seeing friends in Buffalo, then checking out Pittsburgh, then staying in West Virginia, then North Carolina, then Maryland where he's staying before I come home.

But that's after Rhode Island.

That adventure is later this week.

First game is Wednesday at 10 with Waterford and Cranston, RI.

On Robcasting: robcasting.mixlr.com.

This, by the way, kept me from having a meltdown over the New York Yankees.

I'll let the disaster marinate until tomorrow at 4 p.m. on "Doubleheader."

Game On (the Air)!

 

Interstate 95 in Rhode Island, 2021

OK, we're set.

The 2023 Babe Ruth New England Regional 14U Baseball Tournament will air on Robcasting beginning Wednesday morning at 10.

I'll handle the play-by-play, analysis, witty banter, and other minutiae. 

North Providence, RI has approved my presence and it looks like I'm welcome to be in the booth as well. I'll still go through the steps of having the proper items with me in case I wind up outside.

Everything, as always, will work itself out.

I've said I will call every pitch (technology permitting) from Wednesday-Sunday and that is my intention. If you're wondering, it's 17 games in total before a champion is crowned.

Whether my voice has adjusted to the grind or I simply handle it better, I haven't had many voice issues since that first tournament back in 2015. 

For those asking about my working alone, I actually love it for the most part. Don't get me wrong, I like working with a partner but chemistry is so important. Chris Erway and I get that. Shawn Sailer and I do also. Chris Kaelin and I. Of course, there are others. I was admittedly nervous the first time I worked solo (I think it was Northwest Catholic and Trinity Catholic in a state basketball championship) but I survived it and have come to love it.

To be in the booth with me, it helps to have a sense of humor, love of what we're doing, understand that a rooting interest isn't cool, and not minding a story or some other diversion. Still, the game and the athletes are the stars.

I tell students that there is always something to talk about. Give the score. Look at the crowd. Discuss the weather. This, of course, is in lieu of having no stories about the game or players.

Another question is about video. These games will be audio-only on Robcasting. Granted, it does cost my money to run Robcasting but that cost is admittedly reasonable. The reality of video is an additional cost. More equipment is needed and, to do it right, more people are needed. I have a wonderful cameraman/videographer that lives with me occasionally but he isn't cheap.

I kid. Sort of. Still, I have to be fair to him.

The bigger factor is we don't have a camera, video encoder, or any other equipment. Not yet.

I will say that I still love calling a game on radio. Especially baseball. I love painting that picture. That being said, I'd probably not change my call if video were involved because limited cameras often don't give a full picture. Not unless it's a truly professional production. So I fill in that picture.

Additionally, even with video, I'd want to keep the Robcasting audio channel going for those who want to listen in their car or while shopping, walking, working, etc.

But, yes, video does drive up the cost and, often, that means charging people to pay or download. I'm averse to that.

We begin Wednesday. I'll be up early to drive and it will be fun maintaining the energy for the first day!

Profound thanks to the families of Waterford and Trumbull who said they wanted me to go. Thanks to the people who have told me they're helping to fund my being there. Thank you to North Providence. Thanks to Mike Buswell for being the chief inspiration for this. He (and others) have talked about my broadcasting on the road before and, if it wasn't for my calling the Renegades in 2021, they would have had me in Texas with them at the World Series.

I'm honored to join them all in Rhode Island in 2023. 

We'll deal with the World Series in Virginia when it's time to cross that bridge but I admit I'm skeptical of that happening.

So here's the schedule:

Wednesday, July 19, 2023

P1 10:00 AM - North Providence High School Baseball Field Waterford, CT vs. Cranston, RI

P2 1:00 PM - North Providence High School Baseball Field Western MA vs. Tri-County (ME)

P3 4:00 PM - North Providence High School Baseball Field Vermont vs. Braintree, MA

P4 7:00 PM - North Providence High School Baseball Field Trumbull, CT vs. NP-S (Host)

Thursday, July 20, 2023

P5 10:00 AM - North Providence High School Baseball Field Western MA vs.Waterford, CT

P6 1:00 PM - North Providence High School Baseball Field Tri-County (ME) vs. Cranston, RI

P7 4:00 PM - North Providence High School Baseball Field Braintree, MA vs. Trumbull, CT

P8 7:00 PM - North Providence High School Baseball Field Vermont vs. NP-S (Host)

Friday, July 21, 2023

P9 10:00 AM - North Providence High School Baseball Field Trumbull, CT vs. Vermont

P10 1:00 PM - North Providence High School Baseball Field Tri-County (ME) vs. Waterford, CT

P11 4:00 PM - North Providence High School Baseball Field Cranston, RI vs. Western MA

P12 7:00 PM - North Providence High School Baseball Field NP-S (Host) vs. Braintree, MA

Saturday, July 22, 2023

B13 10:00 AM - North Providence High School Baseball Field N 3rd Place vs. A 2nd Place

B14 1:00 PM - North Providence High School Baseball Field A 3rd Place vs. N 2nd Place

Sunday, July 23, 2023

B15 10:00 AM - North Providence High School Baseball Field Bracket Winner B13 vs. N 1st Place

B16 1:00 PM - North Providence High School Baseball Field Bracket Winner B14 vs. A 1st Place

B17 4:00 PM - North Providence High School Baseball Field Bracket Winner B15 vs. Bracket Winner B16 (CHAMPIONSHIP GAME)