All I've Got is a Photograph

Father and son, circa 1969

We helped my sister wrap up a quick move today.

Quick as in she moved next door. Still, moving is never quick.

It's a time-honored tradition when people are available. I've helped myriad family and friends move around the Hudson Valley, Connecticut, Pennsylvania, and even North Carolina. It doesn't make us special. It's just part of the tale.

Of course, I too have made a few moves, from Mahopac to, um, Mahopac, then on to Carmel, back to Mahopac, and (for now) to Greenwich.

The move here -- hurried as it was -- starred three people: me, my cousin Kris, and Sean.

Anyway, I digress, though my sister and I did recall the insanity of the departure from Mahopac last May. It can never be said enough how we pulled off the closing of our parents house of almost 60 years. We got an email in early May that we had to be out of the house by the closing on May 25th. Somehow, with mostly my sister and I doing the work (with some help from Sean and others), we were able to achieve that.

It was exhausting physically and mentally. I'm proud of us for getting it done but I think we're still both dealing with numerous scars from all of it.

Mental scars.

Again, I'm digressing. We moved the heavy items that Laura needed to be moved, set up her TV, grabbed lunch, and rolled back home. Sean and I agreed it was a good day and we were happy to help.

My back is a little grouchy tonight but it's worth it. I can always use that kind of physical activity.

She had a box full of photos for me that she rounded up in the process of packing. They stretched over most of my life with bountiful memories. In truth, many of them were copies of pictures I already own but that doesn't make the memories less sweet.

I came across lots of gems that stretched from the garish looks of the 70s to the styles of the 2000s.

There were glimpses of baseball games, my senior prom, and my high school graduation as well as birthday parties, holidays, and other slices of life.

Most of the time my smile stretched from a grin into a full guffaw.

Oh, my waistline also stretched and that's one analysis of the pictures I'd prefer to not think about.

But more precious are snaps of my parents, grandparents, cousins, friends, siblings, and nieces. There are also that are no longer in our lives.

The picture at the top of the post features an unsmiling me with my grinning father. I gathered it was taken in late 1969 and I don't appear to be too thrilled with the circumstances.

Three Generations, 1983

Taken in Florida in Feb 1983, I love this shot of me with my father and grandfather. I especially love seeing my father and I with our arms around each other. That was unusual. They'd both be gone just over six years later. We were on our way out to dinner that night and my grandparents met us at our hotel. I was fresh off an afternoon of swimming in the pool behind us, thus my hardly-coiffed hair.

With my grandmother, 1976

I adored my maternal grandmother. She lived in Dutchess County and was more likely to occasionally spend a week with us, sometimes sharing a room with me. She was what I considered the prototype for a grandmother, spoiling us to a point. She often endured my shock over her not caring that she got to visit the original Yankee Stadium and see the greats (Ruth, Gehrig, etc) play yet she couldn't have cared less. My grandfather -- he died long before I was born -- was a baseball fan. As you can tell in the picture, so am I. Incidentally, it's not entirely clear in this Polaroid that I'm also about to blow out the candles on a Fred Flinstone cake.

With Kris, late 70s.

I'm guessing this picture in front of a Christmas tree with Kris was taken sometime in the late 1970s. Even then we were like brothers and it's pretty amazing that we still are. Who knows what made me make that nutty face?

Mom and Sean, 2018

Among the most poignant pictures were a couple of Sean and my mom. Her passing really had a profound impact on him and he was just talking with my sister and me about the event where this picture was taken. This was in North Carolina at my niece's wedding in 2018 and the reason he loves that wedding so much is that he had a great time with Mom. I gave him this picture along with a couple of others, including one just two years later on the day of his graduation from high school. The difference is stark. Time, friends. Hug and love those around you.

In that same regard, I've shared it before, so I won't post it here, but the picture of my dad and me on the day of my graduation from high school is incredibly sad. It was also in this box of photos. He didn't go to my graduation for a few reasons, primarily his own physical health (he suffered intense pain from arthritis). While I'm smiling in my cap and gown, his face shows sadness over the situation. It's tough to look at. Let's keep this post full of happy photos tonight.

We'll finish with this goofy kid in the late 1970s on what is probably Christmas Morning. It's not easy to see, but my pajamas have road signs on them. Yup. Even then.

I'd Really Like You to Read This

 

When you are creative and put your work out for the world to see, you're hoping people will somehow invest in it.

In my case, that means writing day after day. It means creating radio shows and game broadcasts and putting things on social media and hosting conferences and podcasts and doing anything else that I do.

Often, I don't know what the feedback is and, to be honest, I don't crave it. I don't look for comments and pats on the back and criticism. I don't know who listens to the WGCH broadcasts or watches LocalLive. I get statistics for Robcasting but I generally don't worry about them because most of the broadcasts are simulcast to another outlet and there's also an archive.

In short, I don't get a lot of metrics.

I do, however, get to see numbers for the blog every day. Unfortunately.

Sometimes, it's an indictment of the time of year. School is back or getting ready to come back. A few are fitting in one last summer getaway. So finding time to read my nonsense isn't a priority.

So, frankly, it's sometimes me. It's what I wrote and whatever I wrote wasn't exactly the top beef. It's been sort of flank steak. Hardly my best work.

The last four posts haven't landed at all. I thought the one about Veteran's Night with the Renegades would but I was wrong. So it goes. 

But I feel for anyone who does put heart and soul out there and, in many cases, is hoping their work sells. Many take that stuff personally. Whether it's words or music or broadcasts or some other kind of art, we view this stuff like they're kids.

Painting. Photography. Cooking. Music. Talking. Writing. Sculpture. Abstract. These are all forms of creativity.

Whether actually investing financially or emotionally it's all still an investment. To an extent, it's a performance of some kind. Here it's an investment of lots of words; almost all from the heart as I try to make sense of life.

Most of the time, I'm writing for me, but when writing every day for almost five years it's easy to feel the malaise that "nobody cares."

Now, I know I have a collection of people who do, indeed, care, so there's an inherent exaggeration in that statement.

This, by the way, isn't begging for everyone to say how much they love my work, but then again it would hardly be the first time that the point of a post has been missed since I didn't express it correctly.

I have friends and loved ones who create in myriad ways and they put their work out. How they measure the success of that work is up to them.

How I measure it I suppose is in that I hope it lands. I hope it resonates. So it's not always in reads but the quality of the reads, I guess.

It's an eye-opener when I see likes on a post and realize people are responding to the picture that I've used versus what I've written.

Then again, I often think that the statistics are flawed. 

But people do create. Let them know you appreciate that.

Read their stuff. Like their posts. Buy their product. Support them. Tell them you support them.

Trust me. It means more than you know.

(And buy Susan's latest book. It's emotional and deep and wonderful. I actually have a signed copy!)

Anticipation

(Photo: ABC)

Parts of Florida are waiting for a hurricane.

Idalia -- with a potential to reach category 3 status -- is expected to hit overnight.

To reporters at the Weather Channel and others, this is a Super Bowl for them. That might seem crass but there's truth to it. Nobody is necessarily excited, given the destruction and possible loss of life involved, but when you work in any form of journalism, the big stories matter a lot.

We -- from sports to weather to news and beyond -- want to be accurate and honorable in our reporting. 

So whether it's a presidential election, national tragedy, war, weather catastrophe, or huge sports game, it's something we as reporters will never forget.

Would I dash into a hurricane to report? Yeah, I think I probably would, as I did to be in the studio for Superstorm Sandy.

As of this writing -- just after 5 p.m. -- Florida now is waiting. The shelves are likely clear of any supplies that residents need if they're sheltering in place. The roads appear passable as of now via Google for those who want to get out of town but the clock is ticking away to do that.

I've been in touch with loved ones who have any interest in the path of the storm. Indeed, it appears Idalia will head up through Florida into Georgia, South Carolina, and into. -- you guessed -- North Carolina, where our family is. The storm will turn and head toward the Atlantic from there.

It's no joke and being prepared is key.

I'll do what I always do. I'll continue to monitor local radio and TV along with the Weather Channel. I get very interested in the coverage of these storms and am hoping everyone is safe when it is all over.

For those staying, I can't help but wonder about the decision. I hardly have any business judging as I don't know what the circumstances are but, yeah, I do wonder.

After it's over, so much of it is in the hands of the government and insurance companies to facilitate recovery for those impacted.

We mostly count our blessings here. We've had our storms -- no doubt -- but fortunately nothing like this. I remember a fair share of hurricane threats and certainly have stories of power outages and some cleanup after the storm was over. But our cleanup with of branches and lawn furniture that might have gotten blown around.

Where I've lived has had minor earthquakes, heavy rain, tropical storms, blizzards, and rare tornadoes. Rarely has it headed into situations where the National Guard was needed. I've long felt fortunate in that regard.

I'm hoping everyone in Florida is fortunate as this storm approaches.

Sadly, only time will tell.

A Monday Evening Walk

 

(Google Maps)

Sean has allergies that will frequently flare up.

As a result, tissues are always around our place. That is until we run out.

So we decided to take a walk to the CVS near WGCH.

It was a perfect night for a nice stroll, serving as a way to walk off dinner.

Just up the road, we spied flashing lights as several police cars were gathered at the top of the hill. They were talking with a man who was certainly expressing some level of frustration about something.

We couldn't tell what was going on otherwise.

Sure, we were both curious but what could we honestly find out? It was none of our business.

We walked on and made our way up Mason Street, chatting about basically anything.

We discussed the Renegades (since we both work there), WGCH (ditto), things we passed on our walk and, his current favorite topic, Pokemon.

I mostly nodded. I care -- I promise, I do -- but I also don't entirely understand it.

Items were acquired at CVS and we reversed our course to head back toward home.

I bounced off him how I have an opening for football and if he had ideas for a potential guest analyst. I shared my thoughts on the topic. We also discussed his likely filling in to run the board for a game.

Another topic of note was how difficult it is to juggle a sports broadcasting schedule and still be an involved father. He noted that he was always impressed with how I made everything even if I was sometimes late.

But I was there.

"You always made the important stuff for sure," he said.

Indeed, that was always a goal. An occasional jab at me is about why I've never moved to "the big time." Well, part of it was my own doing as I insisted on being an active dad, especially after his mother and I split. It also helped that he was up to going to some games and broadcasts with me.

The expectation with me is that I'll be there if I can. Otherwise, proceed without me or I'll get there later. I've done it many times, including a lot of Thanksgivings over the years.

But it worked. It always worked.

As we climbed the hill towards home, the kerfuffle with the police had broken up and the man in the middle of the mess was still there, standing with a car that had been banged up and a couple of other people.

Still curious, we schemed different scenarios to pry about what had happened, only to chuckle to ourselves that we were just being nosy gossips.

We went home, our curiosity unsatisfied. 

Instead, we laughed about other things and talked for a bit before heading off to our separate rooms.

I guess that's how we do Monday around here.

Striving

A Bobby Murcer 1979 Cubs jersey, a Cider Donuts hat, 
and a party hat on top of that.
It was Rascal's (the mascot) birthday at the stadium today

 

I feel sort of uninspired to write tonight.

Yet, here we are.

The social media follies of 2023 continue to rattle in my skull, with the latest being that I (and others) have been blocked by the person in question. I frankly don't find it mature or very positive but it really doesn't matter. That situation wasn't my finest moment but I can assure you I sure as hell didn't deserve the way I (and, again, others) have been treated.

And thus lessons are learned and what you think are friends aren't. Full stop.

It's a situation that I hope will eventually get appropriately resolved one day but, for now, so be it.

But one of the things that still gnaws at me is the idea that my style of handling some things means I settle and do things for a lesser value.

I call nonsense on that.

I put my heart and soul into everything and, in general, I'm pushing for perfection.

Unattainable? Of course but that doesn't mean I don't try.

Take today at the ballpark. I'm pushing for every read to be right and, when it isn't, watch my face. I know I don't have a poker face and you read in my mind how angry I am at myself.

How disappointed I am.

So when there are breakdowns in communication or other unnecessary things that get people off their game I get fairly apoplectic.

This isn't about just me either. In the PA booth at Heritage Financial Park there are four people pushing for a smooth operation. It's best that it runs as a well-oiled machine free of ego.

There's always some on Crossfire (that is the video scoreboard), Click Effects (most of the music and sound effects), a booth producer (who works with the people in the field and around the stadium), and a PA announcer (me), who works in tandem with Rick Zolzer on the field.

Nobody needs to be over anyone's shoulder.

For what it's worth, I've talked for a few years.

At least since before 1999.

This has always been who I am. I push for the teamwork effort. I'll back up the team and get protective.

If it goes wrong, well, snark will follow.

I'll also bite my tongue. A lot. Until I need to speak.

But that's what is always going on. We're striving to put on the best entertainment not only in the South Atlantic League but in Minor League Baseball. Beyond that four in the booth, we need to work with basically everyone for a smooth and enjoyable ballgame.

Of course, the ballplayers do their part too.

I don't settle for some half-hearted effort. After it's over there's rarely anything that can be done except to be better next time.

But in the moment, I'm aiming for the best I can be and to help elevate the crew I'm with.

I don't need someone over my shoulder. Nor does the rest of the team.

Too many cooks can kill a stew. Especially the micromanaging cooks.

And so we shall endeavor to be better next time in whatever it is, be it a podcast or public address announcing or simply breathing.

Or that next game broadcast, currently scheduled for Saturday, Sep 9 at 1:50 p.m.

Or on social media.

And we're onto a new week.

A good night's sleep and I'll be inspired tomorrow.

Thank You, Vets

 

I'm not a big fan of the Lee Greenwood song, "God Bless the USA."

You know the one, though you more likely know it by its chorus, which includes "I'm proud to be an American."

That line is the point of the post.

Nights like this feel right for expressing such pride.

It was Veterans Night at Heritage Financial Park and I was on the mic for public address duties. I was also in the booth, calling the action for the same event in 2021.

It's a fun gig but, in many ways, I'm just an eye in the sky, reading prepared advertisements and introducing the players.

"Leading off for the Renegades, number ninety-three, Spencerrrrr JONES!"

Occasionally I can throw in a witty line or an ad-lib but I'm otherwise Ron Burgundy.

"Anything you put on the teleprompter, Burgundy will read."

I've used that line on several occasions in this job.

But being an eye in the sky on a night like this isn't a bad thing.

It's a profound honor to watch veterans get honored.

As they should.

Think about what they put their mind, body, and spirit through for our protection and freedom.

It astounds me. 

I think of the atrocities that my family members experienced in war and I can't even grasp it.

I had uncles in World War II and a cousin in Vietnam, off the top of my head.

I've talked with my cousin but never had the chance to talk with my uncles about their experiences and, frankly, who knows if they would have talked?

Soldiers tend to downplay their experiences and, often, prefer not to recall them.

In the case of tonight, Purple Heart honorees mixed with red-blooded Americans for a few hours to cheer, wave, sing, and watch baseball.

I prefer to avoid the jingoistic nature of "God Bless the USA" but you couldn't help but be swept up in it. I know my parents would be touched by the whole scene.

The ceremonies began with a procession of motorcycles who drove around the field before recently splitting near the first and third base dugouts.

All of the dignitaries were introduced, with a few politicians delivering speeches. 

Various organizations were honored for their work with veterans as well.

It was all just done right.

From my perspective, I went on mic to introduce one award to be given out before sending the attention of the crowd back down to Rick Zolzer, who truly feels so strongly about this night each year. He is masterfully passionate in his duties as the true master of ceremonies.

The music throughout the night stayed within the theme with many patriotic tunes (or pseudo-patriotic tunes) filling the speakers.

It's hard to not get caught up in the Americana of "America the Beautiful" as performed by Ray Charles, that's for sure.

Ceremonies over, it was time for baseball, and the Renegades, who play in special uniforms as the "Veterans," defeated the Aberdeen IronBirds.

In theory, for a night, there was no complaining about politics and stupid sports debates. Nobody was blocking one another on social media and any such juvenile nonsense.

It was about baseball and family and community and laughter and food.

I watched from the public address booth as the night crept along.

Meaningful performances of "The Star-Spangled Banner" and "God Bless America" filled the air as veterans stood outside the window where I stood and saluted.

Following the final out, a trumpeter played a somber "Taps" before fireworks lit up the sky.

It was OK to feel a catch in your throat a few times.

It was even OK to be proud to be an American, no matter how much that pride has been tested.

The stadium got so quiet at times that all you could hear was the engines roaring by on Interstate 84.

Profound.

Impactful.

Zolz always finishes the evening the same way, delivering a standard farewell of "Good night. Drive safe. God Bless America. I'm Rick Zolzer."

Normally, I stay off the mic after that but I got swept up in the emotion of the moment. I wanted it clear one last time what tonight meant.

"Thank you, veterans," I said. "Good night."

It wasn't an attempt to steal thunder or upstage anyone. I certainly don't need the last word.

I just wanted these brave men and women to know that they are appreciated and loved.

Proud to be an American.

And it's OK.

A Fine Friday

 

Bishop Sycamore head coach Roy Johnson

It was a night of documentaries here.

First, it was the story of the Bishop Sycamore football team. You can probably understand that I'd be interested in that one because of my experience with high school football.

I can only sum it up by saying "Ugh."

The main focus of the documentary is head coach Roy Johnson who comes off as shady and a con man. He has a mountain of lawsuits and stories of shady behavior that have grown.

You want to believe that he genuinely cared about his players but even that doesn't come off well.

It's the players -- the "kids"  (and that's a stretch because some of them were not of high school age) -- that you feel the worst for.

The situation got exposed when Bishop Sycamore (not a real school) set up a game with powerhouse IMG Academy in 2021. Adding to the chaos was the addition of ESPN broadcasting the game.

Final score: IMG 58, Bishop Sycamore 0.

It was 23-0 after one quarter and it wasn't long before ESPN wondered what was going on. They noted during the broadcast how little they knew about the Centurions.

They knew nothing because the roster was questionable and there were facts to be found about the team. You wonder how the broadcast was allowed to proceed with such minimal preparation.

It actually got dangerous for the players for the school based in Columbus, OH.

The documentary exposes the ugly side of high school sports -- especially football. I always question, for instance, if big-time broadcasters should be covering youth sports but of course, that cat is long out of the bag.

It just felt like such games belonged in the hands of smaller broadcasters (such as WGCH and we put on a rather professional broadcast if I may say so).

But, hey, I broadcast youth sports, so what do I know?

Yet you look at this show and you realize that Johnson created a school (Christians of Faith School) and when that fizzled out, he did it again (Bishop Sycamore).

You watch the show and he fully admits that he lied and was entirely deceitful. Still, he's unrepentant.

I've seen so much in my time in high school sports but I've never seen anything quite like this story and the trickle-down.

It's astounding and I felt dirty watching it.

Or maybe that was the presence of Bomani Jones who, of course, brought race into the discussion because that's what he does.

Still, if you have anything to do with high school sports, I highly recommend watching it.

I also watched a documentary about HQ, the quiz game that many played on their phone.

I was guilty of doing so also. In fact, I even won once, though I think I won pennies because the number of winners reduced the payout.

So much for a moment of glory.

Again, it's a fascinating tale of power, greed, excess, and business.

After that, it was time to check in on the Yankees.

Overall, I haven't written much about the Bombers here on the blog recently.

Honestly, what is there to say?

I think I've said it before: they stink. In fact, the last time I remember a season this dreadful and unenjoyable was 1982.

Yes, there have been worse teams since then (the early 90s were dreadful) but there was something disgusting about '82, probably having to do with the strike of 1981.

Look, I get we're spoiled. I also get there will be no sympathy. I'm not sure I want any either.

But the thing to know is that a fan needs to remain loyal. At least that's always been my approach.

I don't remember a time when I wasn't a Yankees fan, though I do remember that first visit to Yankee Stadium in 1972 and how my head exploded.

So no matter how awful they've been this year, especially given the expectations, I simply don't walk away. Call it loyalty.

Hope springs eternal in sports. That's the very nature of spring training and opening day. However, it's tough to feel good when it's Aug 25.

So you look for signs. You look for something to feel good about.

For tonight, I'll settle for getting a win against Tampa Bay in Florida. It's a win. That's it. Nothing more.

It's still an unacceptable season and there's a ways to go before this team will win a championship again, but it's all I've got for tonight.

I miss that feeling when this team was never out of a game. In their loss against Washington yesterday, I never felt like they were going to pull that one out. It was an effort typical of 2023 for the Yankees.

So, for tonight, um, yay?

The playoffs will be less stressful for me.

I'm Anxious For Fall

 

Cardinal Stadium booth, Nov 2022

The first game -- the first scheduled broadcast -- is Sep 9 at 2 p.m. That's when Greenwich and Fairfield Prep meet in the rematch of last year's Class LL state championship game.

So, yeah, if you're checking your calendar, that's 16 days from now.

But far be it for me to procrastinate. Oh, sure, I can be last-minute about things but, well, packing isn't often one of them.

Chris Erway and I have each gone through our respective schedules and checked our conflicts. It looks like we'll work 13 games together.

I'll either work the others alone or get someone to join me.

Sean Kilkelly is in for running the studio. It looks like he'll miss one game and we've got that potentially covered already.

Bob Small is ready to provide support as needed.

It's all in place. Almost. 

For what it's worth if you enjoy our "A-Team" rapport, you might want to encourage Chris to work more than just football (and wrestling) with me. We need to do a little basketball, ice hockey, baseball, and lacrosse also.

Can you believe we've worked exactly one baseball game, back in 2014 at Wilton High School?

Nah. The world needs more of us, especially since I was never able to get him into a Renegades game back in 2021. I was going to make it happen in 2022 but, well...

So we've done a large part of getting ready. We'd still like to touch base with coaches, parents, and captains before Sep 9.

I'll try to get to a scrimmage for each team eventually.

Anyway, I tore into my equipment today, gathering everything that I think I need to call Greenwich football as well as Brunswick football and soccer.

Oh, and Boomslang basketball. Don't worry, they're coming back also!

I made a list of what I needed for each scenario. There are subtle differences based on the number of broadcasters and how we connect.

Then the question became how I wanted to transport everything. Will I go with the hard-sided case I got at Harbor Freight Tools or will I choose a duffle bag or some kind?

Will I use WGCH's equipment, thus changing everything?

Will I pack a snack table for places where we don't have a place to set up?

Will I pack a pod to be ready for bad weather?

Well, sort of "yes" to everything.

Initially, I broke it all down and packed it into a duffle bag. That didn't thrill me because it defeated the purpose of my having the hard-sided case.

So I did what I do. I used my kitchen to do a full mock setup.

I then broke it down again and packed into the hard-sided case. Done.

I added an old small trolley that I can put the case on if I want to roll things.

Take a walk into Cardinal Stadium and you'll get it. The days of our media parking there are long gone.

The duffel bags will get filled with backup equipment just in case we need anything. 

I have the pod also for the weather as well as the huge Pelican case, which I put to good use back in Rhode Island.

It all has to get arranged in the car.

Now? Bring on Sep 9.

Oh, I'm ready. I know enough about Greenwich football that I could be handed a roster today. Then we could call that game.

I know, I know. Preparation and all.

But that's the point. We're prepared. 

We just need some games.

Fourteen Candles. Many More Tears

 

No image can quite capture the mood

Dear Gabriel,

Hi there, it's your Uncle Robbie here.

Somehow, time has flown by and you're now 14.

Except we never had the chance to get to know each other, did we?

Time is so fleeting. So is life.

Oh, how are we related? Well, the short version is that I'm your uncle. Your sisters call me that, and likely a few other funny things. I suspect you would have also.

But I'm also your mom's uncle, and we're somewhat similar creatures.

I didn't know how to process your not being in our family when we lost you.

I was in Virginia when I got the news and it stunned me. I drove home with a feeling of emptiness and complete shock.

My mom -- your Granny -- and I decided that we wouldn't go to Alabama, where your parents were surrounded by other family members. We felt there would be a point where there were too many people.

Fourteen years later I look back and know we would be there now. I would have driven home from Virginia to New York, picked up Granny, and gone to Alabama to be with your parents. But, at the time, well, we decided differently.

That being said, we're all so close now that of course we'd be there. Time also makes you see things differently.

To that end, Granny, your second cousin Sean, and I would come visit your family right around your birthday, making sure to spend a night together with dinner and laughs to honor you.

We laugh in our family. We know you would have also.

Before you was Evelyn, your big sister. While we still mourn you, we celebrate your younger sisters, Eleanor and Isabel.

They would have both driven you crazy and adored you.

Sean and I love our visits every year. We feel comfortable when we're there. We play with the clowder of cats, eat the food we love, visit places we enjoy, and just have fun.

Oh, I always wonder about how different things would be though that is a fruitless operation.

But I'm fairly certain you would be a sports fan, arguing different things with me and your dad. Like your father, you'd no doubt be a Dallas Cowboys fan, much to my consternation. I think your dad would have been OK with me trying to drag you into Yankees Universe, and maybe begrudgingly liking my Pittsburgh Steelers. Or at least tolerating them.

I'm guessing you would have come on the air to do my radio show when I visited and we'd laugh over miniature golf and whatever else. I'd like to think you and Sean would have discussed games and so on.

Maybe you would have played football and you can bet your shoulder pads that I would have tried to broadcast one of your games.

I find your birthday sadder now than I did back in 2009. The shock has worn off. 

In truth, we should be with your mom and dad and sisters tonight. We should be eating the recipe that Granny passed along for spaghetti and meatballs.

Or we should be out at a restaurant in Fayetteville.

With ice cream for all afterward.

I hope you're a guiding light for all of us, watching over your family along with our other departed loved ones. Your Granny and Pop are hopefully both nearby. So many others. Beloved pets as well.

I hope you let Roxy out and tell her to "go be a dog."

I hope you pet Bandit and Fred and Chico and the other furry friends.

I send you a hug as best as I can on this fourteenth birthday. I would have loved the times that we stood outside your house having a catch. Or maybe at one of the parks near your house.

Sean would no doubt be nearby, yelling at his "old man" to not ruin the shoulder and elbow that have both seen much better days but still can't resist zipping off a spiral or a fastball (speed being relative, of course).

I see your picture every time I'm in your family's house and I smile with a hint of sadness.

I have pictures here in Connecticut but I can't quite bring myself to look at them. 

We mourn you. But we also celebrate you. For you existed, just all too briefly.

Time. It's often all we have.

Go be a kid wherever you are.

And keep an eye on all of us.

We miss you.

Love, Uncle

Tuesday

 

Tacos make Tuesday better

Ah, Tuesday.

You can never tell with Tuesday, can you?

We talk a lot about Monday. 

You know, "Monday Monday," "I Don't Like Mondays," "Manic Monday," "Rainy Days and Mondays," and so on.

But Tuesdays? Sure, the Moody Blues gave us "Tuesday Afternoon," and the Rolling Stones liked their Tuesday to be Ruby, but even Lynyrd Skynyrd agreed that "'Tuesday's Gone' with the wind."

Wednesday is hump day and Thursday, as many literary fans know, we never could get the hang of Thursdays.

Then there are Friday, Saturday, and Sunday, and we can sing all day about them.

Tuesday is a wild card.

My Tuesday will take me to the stadium where I will be gainfully employed reading words and announcing names for tonight's Renegades/InronBirds game. As I'll work with people that I like it won't be a bad gig. That's what makes it all still fun to me. 

I have family there and I have friends that could be family.

Plus it's baseball and I can't wait to see what the stadium looks like after renovations are finished in time for the 2024 season.

I plan to keep doing it if they still want me but I know there's a lot of time before next season.

There's a football season (well, two in that I have both Greenwich and Brunswick to consider).

There's soccer also this fall.

Then there is ice hockey and basketball in the winter. Maybe wrestling.

Plus Boomslang will be back soon.

Then we'll shift over to baseball and lacrosse.

In the middle of all of that, who knows what else will come up.

Yes, I frequently talk about wanting a home base and that's still a goal. It would be great to have one of the many things I do as my anchor and then slot in other things off of that.

For now, we continue the harried pace of the life that I'm living and that's OK.

I had breakfast today with friends and we talked about new ideas and opportunities.

That, of course, will only add to the insanity of juggling but why not? 

Keep in mind, I also have podcasts and conferences for Hunt Scanlon coming up as well.

Somewhere, I'll also slot in some depositions.

And, you know what? I'll make it all work.

That's my life. I just do it and keep rolling.

Off to the stadium.

"I'm looking at myself reflections of my mind

It's just the kind of day to leave myself behind"

-- "Tuesday Afternoon by The Moody Blues

Maybe I Should Meditate

 

Sunset over the Gulf of Mexico, Mar 2023.

I let something I read fester a bit. 

If I wrote about it without some thought, I'd likely do damage. I don't want to do that.

Instead, I growled about it, realizing there's not much that can be done, and I decided to let those talking marinate in their own stew.

In short, people talk behind my back. 

They talk behind your back.

They also talk about you on social media and you know it's about you (or people you know).

But when things said are inaccurate, my blood pressure spikes.

I've long advocated for picking battles. That doesn't mean I don't screw that philosophy up.

Look, I was troubled by my own reactions to a situation last week. The person in question decided to go public and, again, more was said last night.

Again, when it's inaccurate, I get annoyed. That's a nice way of putting it.

I've pondered various rebuttals but, honestly, what good does that do? It becomes a "he said, he said, he said, etc" situation.

Breaking it down line by line is just no good.

Plus, when it plays out on social media, who wins? Honestly, everyone looks bad.

I'm about moving forward and I will but everyone sort of just needs to, well, be quiet about it all. Yes, that includes me.

But for people who are all about positivity, it leaves a negative taste.

It will pass. It will. But I don't like this kind of conflict. I especially don't like it with people I liked.

*****

I'm feeling the frustration of late August. The first football broadcast -- Fairfield Prep/Greenwich -- is just under three weeks away.

I want everything to come together. Now.

Chris Erway has identified his conflicts. I'm, frankly, exhausted with my own conflicts. Finding a way to teach at CSB this summer was brutal, to the point that I came home from North Carolina to teach and then drive back to Virginia. It was, to be blunt, insane.

Now I'm dealing with conflicts between CSB and the Renegades. It makes me look unreliable and, frankly, my reliability has always been a selling point.

So now it's picking the right combination of Greenwich and Brunswick football games to be at and figuring out the best way to try to cover them all, whether I'm there or not.

But, more than that, it's waiting on those things that are out of my control. This is where I'm often impatient but stomping my feet like Veruca Salt won't accomplish anything.

In my control is the creation of new sounds for the open and close of the Greenwich broadcasts. I can select some game highlights to use, especially given the Cardinals are the defending state champions. But I need to know who is sponsoring the games so that I can write the words for a voiceover to be created.

It will happen. All of it will. It also will likely all happen at the last minute.

I'll be ready for Sep 9. I could be ready now if they said they were going to play tomorrow.

*****

There's nothing to be said about the Yankees. I mean, I talk about them on "Doubleheader" but, at this point, what more can be said?

They're terrible. That's it.

Still, they added Oswald Peraza and Everson Pereira to the roster today.

I want to see these guys get serious playing time. I know -- not the Yankees way -- but a guy can wish.

Selfishly, I love seeing these former Renegades (along with Anthony Volpe, Jhony Brito, Randy Vasquez, and others) make it to the bigs. Many Renegades are playing in places other than New York. It all makes me smile.

Like I said, it's selfish, but I cherish that 2021 Hudson Valley Renegades team. It's not about me and I know that. Please don't let my words make sound like I'm saying that it is about me. But I covered these guys and it's exciting to see them achieve their goal of the big leagues.

I'll feel similar excitement as players whom I've watched from the PA booth make it also. Their time will come but, for now, it's the players I got to broadcast in a special season, and I wish them all the best of luck.

That's enough babbling for tonight.

Que Pasa New York?

 

We had one of those plans that is the kind of thing we would do.

- Take a train into Grand Central.

- Walk around Grand Central.

- Get a black-and-white cookie.

- Take a train back to Greenwich.

OK, that wasn't all we did but, in essence, that was the idea of today.

We promised ourselves we'd be on a reasonably early train to get into Manhattan before the crowds did, so we walked over to the train station and were on a train shortly after 9 a.m.

Then, we walked.

We strolled some of Grand Central Terminal, taking in the magnificence of the hub that has welcomed passengers since 1913. Sean has been a bit of a rail fan since he was little and he always enjoys getting a chance to ride trains.

In this case, he also enjoyed anything he walk to that involved the Pokémon game has was playing on his phone. Believe me, this is a win for me since it fought any boredom he might feel during our travels.

We left GCT and went to Times Square for our first stop in our pursuit of treats: Krispy Kreme.

Believe me, I'd be content if I never went to Times Square again because I hate the crowds and I frankly don't really like what it has become but there is something to be said about a donut on a Sunday morning with a small coffee while chatting with my Pokémon-crazed son.

Before you accuse either of us of having our heads too into our devices, we both always stay in the moment even if it doesn't seem like it. He thought I didn't care about what he was doing but I care enough to make sure he's making progress toward whatever he is doing in the game.

And, for what it's worth, I've continued to become even more like my father, rattling off stories that Sean seems to enjoy or at least be interested in.

Out of Krispy Kreme, we went somewhere for me: the Major League Baseball store on 50th St.

I'll cut to the chase: I didn't spend a dime. I was glad to see the store was buzzing (since baseball is, you know, dead and all) but nothing tempted me that much. The thing for these places to realize is that prices have to be tantalizing. A Derek Jeter 1996 jersey for $325 isn't going to get me to reach for my wallet.

I suppose had I seen more nostalgic-type items I might have been intrigued but nothing did it for me. But I enjoyed walking around a lot and given I'm often in the area for conferences I might have to visit again.

We crossed the street to walk by Radio City Music Hall (it's National Radio Day for what it's worth) and we chatted about how much I wanted to work at NBC. My heroes worked there. I loved their sports coverage.

Never say never, I suppose, but it made for a nice conversation.

After passing Rockefeller Center, we strolled up Fifth Ave and came across a truly-sad sight near Trump Tower. There, in the middle of the road, a group of anti-Trumpers holding a banner that said "TRUMP LOST" faced off with several vehicles filled with MAGA supporters. One of the vehicles had an earl-destroying horn that they weren't afraid to sound off.

That was enough for us. We walked away, grousing at how we both thought they were all wrong. The concept isn't difficult.

Across 57th Street, I had an idea to walk through Central Park and go somewhere that I, shockingly, have never been.

Fifteen blocks later, we arrived at Strawberry Fields, where a simple mosaic saying "Imagine" sits in the middle of the path. It opened in 1985 and it took nearly 38 years for me to visit.

It's not a place on a Sunday that is serene. Tourists made plenty of noise and crowded around while Sean dutifully stood nearby he was more engaged with Pokémon than The Beatles. A man sat on a bench playing a guitar and singing "Hey Jude" as others posed for pictures and took it all in.

I decided that we wouldn't stay long.

As the chaos rolled, I went into deep thought about John Lennon and the profound impact his passing had as I took a few pictures of my own.

A more private place to think was just across Central Park West: the Dakota, sadly the site where Lennon was murdered in 1980.

We paused there.

Well, actually we paused so I could plan our next step in our day, which now included roughly 40 blocks of walking. My back and feet weren't exactly thrilled with me but I was pleased with the exercise.

We walked around the corner to jump on the subway, changing at 42nd Street for the Times Square Shuttle back to Grand Central.

Oh, I thought plenty about John Lennon. There's much to think about. I've read scathing commentary about "Imagine" as a song and Lennon as a person. No doubt John was complicated. But he was also a poet, artist, activist, troublemaker, and wise ass. He was at times a tortured soul coming from a difficult past. But he also had a good heart and I truly feel like, at 40, he was rounding into being a better man than he had been.

And you might know he made some of the most incredible music ever. 

He had been a bad husband to his first wife and wasn't great with Yoko in the 70s. Then came the "Lost Weekend." He wasn't great with Julian but they were heading to a better relationship after the birth of Sean. 

Obviously, he wasn't great in his relationship with Mr. J. Paul McCartney either but there was plenty of blame to go around and they too were better by 1980.

Then it was all taken away on a Monday night that December. Howard Cosell told the world not long after.

So dump on John all you want. It's all open to interpretation and opinion but I look at him through a fair prism.

And with that, we returned to the very goal of our journey: the black-and-white cookie at Zaro's Bakery in Grand Central.

Armed with the delights we headed to our train, settled into our seats, and discovered that we were on an express train to Stamford.

Oops.

We casually walked off in plenty of time and shuffled eight tracks over to the proper train. 

We're back home after a day that was heavy on footsteps and sort of taking everything in.

New York, at its most Manhattan, is a sensory overload. It's a city on steroids. Think about it. Times Square, myriad smells (some quite herbal), a Trump protest, loud horns, Central Park, softball, John Lennon, the subway, and food? That's a day right there.

It's still a city that, in a suburban way, I still call home.

So long as I feel safe (questionable at times) I love it.

It was a long overdue treat for us to do this today.

And we need to do it again.

Little to No Fuss

 

"Ah, but between you and me and the Staten Island ferry"
- Billy Joel (Picture taken yesterday)

It was a mostly peaceful yet busy Saturday around the old homestead.

I began digging into the schedule for the fall as Brunswick has asked for me to do football and fútbol again. We'll flesh out the details but I'm trying to do as much as possible. The same goes for Greenwich football which appears to be a go on WGCH once again.

And, look, I'll say it. It should be. It's tradition. It was clear when every game wasn't on WGCH in 2021 that many felt a tradition was lost. So I'm fighting for as much as possible.

But WGCH is also a business so sponsors are needed. And I've put the word out for guests for "Doubleheader."

To that end, I'm also trying to figure out how to cover everything even if I'm not the lead broadcaster. I have a few ideas that I'm hoping will work out.

Chris Erway is planning to be along for the majority of the games. His schedule gets busy with kids' birthdays and other conflicts on his calendar but he does a great job of juggling it all. He puts up with me for four months and then doesn't see me again (he's smart). I still have a cookie holder riding around in my car from last November.

So our renowned "A-Team" will come together again for an 11th year. Or 12th or 10th. It's hard to keep it all straight.

But there very well may be an opening for a play-by-play announcer and/or analyst to fill in. 

I suppose I'll say "inquire within" for now but keep in mind that I have a few things in mind and need to see how this will all shake out.

Still, scrimmages will be upon us soon for both Brunswick and Greenwich with the first game on Sep 9 at 2 p.m. as Greenwich hosts Fairfield Prep in the Class LL Championship rematch.

The first soccer game is the following Monday, Sep 11.

I'll be working early that morning, as WGCH has asked me to anchor the Sep 11 ceremony coverage from Cos Cob Park. 

I live here in town and it makes sense to get me involved so I'm honored to be asked.

The day also included me recording a podcast with my good friend, fellow road enthusiast, and potential game broadcaster Dan Murphy. This is the fourth time (I think) I've been on the "Gribblenation Roadcast" having previously been on as a guest to discuss my career and for a couple of sports previews. Tonight, Dan and I discussed the NFL as well as the utter disaster that is baseball in New York.

The podcast will soon be available on Spotify and wherever you get your podcasts. Previous episodes are available also and you can mock my horrible predictions. Don't worry, I mocked myself tonight.

Oh, and a potential game broadcaster? Well, Dan asked me to do a mock play-by-play with him at the Buffalo Bisons game in late July. With an audience around us, we called some of the game together that night. I heard potential and we definitely had chemistry.

Earlier tonight, Sean and I popped out to grab dinner and he worked this morning over at WGCH.

It was while we were running to dinner that I got a call from a friend who just wanted to check in and say hello. It was great to talk for a few minutes. I'm always grateful for their friendship and, like many of us, we normally just text. This was taking the extra step to call. I'm further grateful for their listening to games and shows.

Lastly, they're right. I did fly off the handle earlier this week and I know it's not a good look for me. Some love it when I get passionate on the air like that. I have friends who tell me they love "Mad Rob." But there's still a line. There are still things that bother me about the whole exchange. Especially the inaccurate parts but we keep moving on.

Lastly, I need to spend a moment to highlight just how awesome last night was. To be honest, it's enormously weird to be on Staten Island without Susan being around but she's away and was able to listen to the broadcasts.

Both games finished with a final score of 5-4 but they were fun, hard-fought, and played with the gorgeous background of Lower Manhattan in front of us.

In truth, I knew Kathy but had never met her in person (save for a Facetime call on my birthday one year)  until last night. But Sean and I both walked away just overwhelmed with her kindness and good humor.

It was a great night supporting these women in the easiest way I know how: talking. I bloviated for roughly three hours between two games and tried to make people laugh while reporting a couple of interesting softball games.

There are lots of things out there that deserve coverage that don't get it and I was glad to provide it. While not necessary, Kathy and the league gave us a few gifts to thank us.

I hope it all happens again. Maybe next time, I'd stay over so that I don't have to drive home. That being said, I'd do a better job of eating because, again, I had some struggles with anxiety in the car. At least that's how I'm describing it.

I can't stress this enough: we were not in danger at all but it's something I'm aware of now.

First, it was on the bridge across I-78 towards Bayonne. Then it was on the Bayonne Bridge. Later, on the Goethals. Even in tighter spots on the NJ Turnpike and Palisades Parkway. 

It required focus and maybe even a tighter grip on the steering wheel but, again, there was never any danger. It's just something I'm aware of and it concerns me given how much I love to drive.

These are all roads and bridges that I've driven before. 

We'll figure it out.

New adventures tomorrow.

Softball Mayhem Tonight

Tonight's office: SIUH Community Park
(Photo: Staten Island FerryHawks)

 

The legend lives on from the Chippewa on down

Of the big lake they called New York Harbor

 -- Gordon Lightfoot (sort of)

It's a gloomy, awful Friday morning in Connecticut and I'm preparing for a softball broadcast.

Check that. Two softball broadcasts.

The rain is supposed to clear out after a night of heavy downpours and thunderstorms.

So, we should have the aforementioned softball game(s) later as scheduled.

Ok, then what's this all about?

What it comes down to is that I like calling games. I also like calling games for those in my world.

So when Kathy Dempsey (friend of Susan but, now? A friend of MINE!) asked if I would do it, I couldn't pass it up.

I will say, both Kathy and Susan kept reminding me that I didn't have to say yes to any of this. While Kathy doesn't know me as well as Susan, we all knew that I'd do both games.

Kathy, I should mention, is playing in the first game. There will be plenty of Gordon Lightfoot songs to go around for our fair Queen of Yacht Rock.

So, no, I didn't have to do the second game, but I know Susan thought I'd do it.

Have we met?

I don't do much well. I barely broadcast well. But I can make these games special for the people playing and their families.

So, when asked why am I doing this, I'm doing it for fun and to give everyone a nice memory.

Sean is coming with me and the idea of calling these games from the home Staten Island FerryHawks is too good to pass up.

He and I are making a day of it. We're heading up in the early afternoon to go grab lunch before heading to Staten Island. It will be a long day for sure but, again, have we met?

I'll call the games as I always do. Sure, there might be more frivolity than normal to keep the affair light but that's because I want it to be fun.

Keep in mind that, long before the Greenwich and Port Chester baseball game that I called on Apr 10, 1999, I was first a softball broadcaster. Back in 1995, I became the play-by-play announcer for the league where I worked. Even after my job with Kraft Foods was transferred to Chicago, I stayed on and called games for a few more years and continued to host their banquet until the league folded.

Those Philip Morris/Kraft softball games proved to me that I could be a serviceable play-by-play announcer.

So this is going back to the beginning for me. Just in a nicer stadium than old Abendroth Field in Port Chester, where people could just walk across the outfield grass while the game was going on.

Barring any Kathy hijinks, I don't expect we'll have such issues whilst the game proceeds. Though one can't rule out a pizza rat showing up (if you know you know).

We're going with an open mind. I have no -- literally, zero -- idea of what to expect. We might be in a booth. We might be sitting down in the stands.

We might not have wifi or cell service. We're trying here.

The whole thing might bomb or it might be a blast and a beginning of a new tradition to end the summer broadcast schedule.

Isn't that the beauty of broadcasting? Look, radio and TV can be scripted. Of course, it can and it often is. But, so often, many parts of the business are completely unscripted. I don't script my radio shows. I don't script my game broadcasts. 

We've prepared as best as we can. Kathy has spoken with the stadium about us being there. We've done our due diligence. Now we leave it up to the broadcasting gods.

So it's best to go in with an open mind and enjoy the evening. The stadium is great. The view is breathtaking and, take it from me, Staten Island is a cool place. The people have always been kind to me and it reminds me more of the suburbs than of the city. Plus, I'll stack Joe & Pat's pizza against anything Connecticut has to offer. 

Yes. Anything.

Ah-nay-than-ugh (from "Anchorman").

And we get a perfect view of the Staten Island Ferry. 

So come for the softball and stay for the fun.

Incidentally, admission to the game is free. 

The broadcast is also free.

So join us. Sean will be there and he might do some color commentary. Heck, maybe he'll break out his play-by-play skills like he did in Brooklyn a few years ago for the mascot race.

I've got notes for three of the teams as I write (8:35 a.m.). 

6:30 -- Damn Dames vs. Old School (I'm still waiting for their lineup and roster!)

8:00 -- Dirt & Diamonds vs. Basic Pitches

Playoffs and fun abound.

All live at robcasting.mixlr.com.

And why not do it? I taught myself that many years ago. I have a little bit of a skill and I'm happy to contribute it wherever it brings joy to everyone (including me).

See you tonight.

*****

Since we've mentioned Susan and Staten Island, how can I not remind you to get your copy of her latest book of poetry: Broken Places?!

It's great. That's my review.

Buy it on Amazon!

At Seventeen

 

Sean and his dad, Aug 2006

Somehow, for reasons I don't understand, we're still here.

It was on this day in 2006, after prodding, encouragement, and inspiration from several friends, that I started this train wreck of a writing exercise.

My only rule was that if I started it I wanted it to last.

Well, 17 years later, here we are.

Of note on that date in 2006: 

- I owned a house.

- I was married.

- I had a pool in the backyard.

- Sean was four.

- I was sports director at WGCH, preparing for another football season.

- As I prepared to write the first post, ground was being broken on the new Yankee Stadium.

Us. July, 2006

Since then, obviously much of the above has changed and, frankly, for the better. We could do an analysis of then versus now but I'd absolutely say I'm happier and a better person now than I was then.

At that time, I had certain delusions. A certain naivete. Now, I'm more world-weary, less trusting, and dare I say even smarter. These things are frankly for the better.

Yet, overall, I'm still me.

Seventeen years and over 4,000 posts have washed by. There have been wonderful triumphs. There have also been horrible lows. I've never quite figured out the lowest point. Deep financial woes a few times, especially in late 2017/early 2018 come to mind.

The pandemic of 2020 to 2021 also impacted me much more than I've ever spoken about.

But the highs have been full of laughter and love and friendship and whittling down exactly who belongs in the circle that I want around me.

And just when I thought I was about to end this journey here, I elected to jump into writing a post per day. Save for very few exceptions where time zones have come into play (San Francisco, London) I've honorably done that very thing.

And I suppose that's an interesting thought: where I've written from. OK, maybe I haven't typed away from the Great Pyramid of Giza but I've brought you to places that were meaningful and interesting to me.

- North Carolina

- Florida (in fact, a few locations in the Sunshine State)

- Rhode Island

- San Francisco

- London

- Virginia

- Stuck in traffic in the middle of Interstate 95 in Bridgeport while I typed on my phone

- A parking lot in Norwalk, CT

and wherever else. I know there are others whose datelines I've forgotten.

I haven't loved every story I've written. Heck, I can give you examples from this week alone. But I've loved plenty of others.

Heck, I can give you examples from this week alone!

I actually really enjoyed researching and presenting Arctic Outpost Radio to you last night. Sometimes, the writing is a joy even if the reaction isn't.

But, mostly, I find it all to be cathartic. Discussing the divorce and the heartache and the battles and the insanity of life and my own bouts of being down and the fun with friends, family, and especially Sean.

Even introducing The Cat and telling stories about him. Almost three years into his living with us and I truly realize that we needed him mostly for the company but also for the diversion he provided after Mom died.

I've learned to not live in the past but certainly honor it, understanding everything that I've seen and heard. A lot of things have damaged me for sure but I like to think I'm a survivor.

I'm not where I thought I would be in a lot of ways. I just have to accept that and keep striving.

As a writer, I've continued to be a reporter, in that every detail of life doesn't need to be shared. I share enough. I can't explain my philosophy much better than that. I constantly worry about oversharing.

You didn't need a post about every baseball game or practice of Sean's. There's a line.

So you don't know a lot of stuff through these posts.

But, no matter what, it's always honest.

And to each person that has read, I say thanks. To Susan, Shawn, Harold, and Jon, who I know have read basically everything, profound thanks. To others I've missed, please note there's a reason I tend to not name names and I apologize if I missed you!

With that, we start the 18th year here. I'm not planning to shut down the blog anytime soon.

If anything, I ponder how to keep growing. I've often contemplated changing the website, which is why I share the posts on WordPress.

Of course, I'll keep grinding. No dream necessarily dies. It all just has healthy doses of reality.

Real. 

That's me.

We keep moving forward.

Aug 17, 2023

A Radio Mystery

 

"Cal Lockwood" spins the 78's from 77° latitude (Instagram)

If my memory is functioning (which is debatable these days), we return to 2021.

You know, from the bowels of hell during the pandemic.

It was that February when I got an email from Mick, friend of the blog.

"Have you ever of this or even listen to it??? So f****** cool......," he wrote.

It included a link to Arctic Outpost Radio AM 1270.

"Spinning the 78's," the link said. "From the top of the world."

I was intrigued.

So I clicked on the link. What I found absolutely fascinated me.

It's literally a radio station that can be heard online via TuneIn, Radio Garden, and other audio streaming sites. The station -- running without any host interaction and minimal station liners -- plays classic music dating back to the early 20th century.

A review of their website says "Playing great shellacs from 1902-1958.  Big Band, Jazz, Swing, Vintage Country, and Blues. As always, completely commercial free."

I've heard tons of things that fit in their description though I did catch an instrumental version of "Yesterday" once. That song, of course, wasn't released until 1965 by The Beatles.

But, never mind any inconsistencies. Arctic Outpost Radio is a wonderful jaunt through this stretch of musical history. There is no rock and roll or pop to be found unless it is a cover that fits in the genre. There are vocalists but don't expect to hear Frank Sinatra and the like.

Plus it's not limited to any one continent. I've heard music from all over the world.

This is stuff you've likely never heard in fact. 

For instance, as I write, a song called "Je Länger Ich Dich Anseh', Je Lieber Hab' Ich Dich" (English: "The Longer I Look at You, The More I Love You") is on. I had to go to Shazam for the title and hit Google to discover it was apparently composed by Willy Rosen and the performance was from 1929.

Rosen, I further discovered, died in the Auschwitz concentration camp in 1944 at the age of 50. Oh, what sad, awful things research can reveal.

Music has such a wonderful and, yes, horrific history to it. Listening to Arctic Outpost Radio isn't simply for background noise. There's a deeper dive to be found occasionally.

For me, these are wondrous tunes that I imagine would have intrigued my father, for instance, especially the Big Band music. He raised me on so much of that. I will always remember listening to an AM station down in Florida, WWBA (Radio six-eight-oh, the jingle would say).

So there's a nice connection as I listen to "Steppin' Pretty" by Andy Kirk & His Twelve Clouds of Joy, recorded in 1936.

Complicating things is that the station is purely a jukebox of music with an occasional liner, including a top-of-the-hour legal ID noting the basics of "Arctic Outpost Radio, AM 1270, Longyearbyen."

We're not getting news along with traffic and weather together for the Svalbard archipelago.

Longyearbyen, if you don't know (according to Wikipedia) "is the world's northernmost settlement with a population greater than 1,000 and the largest inhabited area of Svalbard, Norway."

So, I suppose if you're in Longyearbyen, you can pop Arctic Outpost Radio on your AM radio.

Maybe.

But then there's more. The station liners will occasionally mention "Your host, Cal Lockwood."

Cal has an Instagram page. He also has a Twitter (X) account. Neither has been touched since 2020.

There's even merchandise but it's just a men's and a women's t-shirt and a coffee mug. The mug features a sketch of Cal, who's wearing sunglasses because of course, he is.

But since I've been listening, I've never heard Cal. Is that him in the station liners? I have no idea.

Apparently, it is him on the liners. On the Instagram page, he posted a video in which he thanked listeners and cued up another record. That's the same voice that is heard during any of the breaks in the music.

It's all incredibly fascinating.

Furthering the intrigue, Arctic Outpost Radio and Cal Lockwood have a following in Portugal. It seems, in the early days of lockdown, comedian Bruno Nogueira told his followers about the stream that he was listening to on a video podcast.

Nogueira encouraged his audience to give Lockwood a listen and visit Cal's Instagram page. Within days, Lockwood's followers jumped from three -- yes, three -- to 40,000.

It now has 54,000.

But Lockwood remains a man of mystery and though another Portuguese comedian, Nuno Markl, exchanged messages with the DJ, he has mostly vanished.

In fact, a story on Icepeople.net says there is no record of Cal Lockwood in Longyearbyen. However, if you read the story, there is indeed a station playing this music on 1270 AM.

However, Cal seems to be walking anonymously among the population of 2,368.

Or it's all a hoax.

Who knows?

Honestly, I don't know and I sort of don't care. I love love love the idea of this all being legit, even if Cal Lockwood is truly a nom de plume. OK, let him use a radio name and protect his identity. He can be Batman for all I care.

I don't need to find out that Cal is really Mick, running songs off his computer from Long Island.

We needed things like Cal Lockwood and Arctic Outpost Radio during the loneliest and saddest days of the pandemic.

Sometimes, we still do.

I'm listening, Cal.

Keep jazzing things up.

And thanks for adding to the still wonderful world of radio.

Radio, someone still loves you.

Still Smoldering

 

(Photo: Wikipedia)

Remember when I tried to put out the fire last night?

Well, about that.

I thought things had gotten too intense and I felt that what I wrote could be the beginning of an olive branch. Or at least the end of "Broadcasters Behaving Badly" (coming soon to Bravo).

The branch got stepped on, chopped up, and incinerated.

Fair enough.

How to respond to what I read around 11:30 last night as I was starting to drift off is something I've been thinking about all day.

The words bit. Was there some truth? Sure. I acknowledge and accept faults. I even apologize for them.

Still, to respond, climbing into a breakdown of everything, just seemed so unnecessary. As I wrote yesterday, minds won't be changed.

Spiking my blood pressure simply isn't smart.

I ultimately decided letting it just go was best. Given my love of roads, bridges can be burned and, sometimes, rebuilt.

I felt it was simply time for cooler heads to prevail. That was the goal of last night's post. 

Instead, well, that happened.

It bums me out though.

It leaves such a bad taste that I wondered if I wanted to teach today, but a commitment is a commitment to me. So I taught at CSB to a good group that wanted to learn more.

We talked a lot about play-by-play in this group, with my stressing that I can give them the fundamentals but that they have to develop their own style.

I let them hear several of the greats. They heard plenty of Vin Scully but also Al Michaels and Doc Emrick and Bob Costas and Joe Buck and more. 

I even played some of the highlights of the 2015 FCIAC Turkey Bowl Championship Game.

It wasn't that I wanted to brag about my work and I certainly don't consider myself a great. I will however show off HAN whenever I can. What we did there was pretty great.

However, it's that I wanted them to hear that their instructor also does this stuff and I felt Chris Erway and I had a strong call that day.

With that, it allowed me to explain the backstory of a day like that. Obviously, Chris and I didn't just walk into the booth that day (though, trust me, we can). We worked hard to craft any storylines but also dealt with the nerves of a crew concerned that we were missing a key piece of equipment that kept us from getting on the air.

The stories matter to the students. They need to understand that there will be plenty of things that they'll deal with in the business.

And, yes, we got on the air before kickoff, thanks to Kate Czaplinski, who rushed from the Shelton office to Boyle Stadium in Stamford -- on Thanksgiving morning -- with the missing equipment.

Incidentally, Kate married our former boss Marty Hersam on Saturday in Vermont. I'm a romantic at heart so I'm quite happy for them and wish them all the best.

Back in 2015, we called the game and Darien won another classic.

In 2023, telling that story and the stories of Vin made my soul feel good.

It helped rebuild me.

There's much to be proud of and, sometimes, we stub our toe in the process of life for one reason or another.

Perhaps I stubbed mine.

Stuff like this embarrasses me.

I accept the blame that I deserve.

And we move on.