Saturday Driver

 

Posypanko Park, Oxford, CT

It was an up-and-out early start.

As I mentioned yesterday, I was going to look at the two fields where I will broadcast baseball in July.

The first stop was in Oxford, CT. Roughly an hour away, I know that drive won't be delightful in a few weeks.

The park is slightly off the beaten path in that it's not served by a major highway. But there are plenty of nice roads that get you to Posypanko Park. There's nothing flashy about the entrance. It just serves the purpose.

But they're gearing up to make things look great there next month. In fact, they were prepping the field when I showed up this morning. Once I explained who I was, I got a good tour of everything.

The reason to do this is to check cell service and see what the press box looks like. It's meant to check the space and circumstances I'm working with. It's also to check out the view of the field and any other things my eye picks up.

In this case, it quickly became apparent that the press box was, as usual, a press box in name only. Fitting three people in there will be a challenge. You have to have an announcer/music person, an official scorer, and a person to monitor pitch counts.

There is no need to force me in there so it looks like I'll be posted just outside of the box on the landing at the top of the stairs. I'm hopeful there will be room for one of my pods to keep the equipment out of the elements. I'll also have my hard-sided cases and those will come in handy.

I could relocate beyond the outfield fence but I don't think that will be necessary. 

That's where the first day is always an extra grind. It's necessary to get there as early as possible, to allow time for setting up and making sure it all works. Cell service seems to be sufficient but that's also part of getting accustomed to the setup.

There are other things, like having a concession stand since going offsite to grab food doesn't seem likely. Nor, in this case, does it seem necessary. There doesn't appear to be too many places to grab food in the immediate area and, if you don't know, there isn't often much time between games in a tournament. After stretching out, it's time to start writing lineups and preparing scorecards for the next game.

As I've said repeatedly, it's a grind. 

Water and restroom access are also huge for the discerning broadcaster.

This is all part of a drill I'm very used to. Thankfully, there are also people who are used to me doing that. I heard my name was mentioned among people involved with the tournament and they were happy that I'd be there. That helps a lot.

Again, that first day tends to feature a bit of "who are you and why are you here?" They don't quite get it.

They do. Eventually.

Honestly, my visit to Oxford was quick. I got a sense for everything and was back on the road, with my sites set on Trumbull. Word is that the tournament will be played on a new field, so I went to check it out.

Turf is set in place and it looks great. Arrangements for a broadcast will likely need to include the pod or a tent.

If we wind up at another location, that would be fine too because I'd likely be familiar with it.

The longest part of this journey was the simply delightful slow traffic on the Merritt Parkway from Fairfield to Norwalk.

In total, it was probably a three-hour tour.

Oh, and I detoured to drive by the new apartment. I admit I was hoping to see a moving truck or some sign of the current tenants heading out. 

But it was quiet. Nothing wrong with that.

Eventually, I packed some more.

And maybe I'll pack some more tomorrow.

Speaking of which, Sunday will start with "Meet the Beatles." Some weeks don't require much preparation, depending on what I feel like playing or what the theme is.

I did a little extra work to set up for this one.

Hope you join me tomorrow at 9 a.m.

The Waiting Remains the Hardest Part

 

I'm so wrapped up in moving (and frustrated*) that I haven't spoken much about games.

As I'm a little worried about a quiet summer -- something I can't afford -- I'm happy to say I'll be back under the headset soon.

* Yeah, I'm frustrated. I'm lacking some answers and it's bugging me. For instance, I reached out to Eversource (the always affordable electric company, haha) and, as I feared, they couldn't find my address. They need a meter number.

OK, cool. I reached out for an answer and I'm still waiting. On that same note, we're also still waiting for a date when we can get the key and start moving. We were told we could begin coming over before July 1 but ... we're holding out for an actual answer.

So, yes, patience is needed, which I'm out of. I'll need some answers on Monday.

Oh, to add to this tale of woe, I also need some ill-timed car work. 

Ah, yes, games. I've alluded to this before but a slate of tournament games is on the horizon, beginning in early July.

Once again, Trumbull will host us, this time with a Babe Ruth 13-Year-Old State Tournament. The winner of that will head to Westfield, MA for the New England Regional. The winner of that heads to the World Series in Glen Allen, VA, which I've heard does a great job. That also means staying just outside of Richmond.

Yes, I'd quite like that. I miss Richmond.

My understanding is the Trumbull tournament will be on a different field than I've worked at but that's all stuff I'm trying to confirm, along with game times and other items.

I've also been asked to call the Cal Ripken New England Regional at Oxford, CT. The teams there will include the Connecticut champion, who will emerge from the state tournament, which is ongoing now. Winning the regional will propel the champion to the World Series at Florence, AL.

The odds of me going to that probably aren't great but who's to say? When I first started calling tournament games in 2015, I was simply trying to survive. The grind was tough on my voice but, somehow, I've gotten much better at managing that. 

Since then, I've called a tournament nearly every year.

The people from the Oxford tournament got to me first and we had some good conversations to understand exactly what I can bring to them. There might be a few more things outside of the broadcasts themselves but overall it should be mostly business as usual.

But Trumbull? Mike Buswell? How can I say no? Even Mike knew I couldn't.

If I had any desire to be out, I was brought right back in.

I haven't called enough baseball in 2024. Frankly, I've felt deficient, so I've got this to look forward to.

But it also starts in the first week of July and we need to get going on the move.

Tomorrow, I'm going to go look at the two fields where I expect to be working. I want to get a sense of cell service, a booth (if available), and space (if I need to create my own booth).

And if I need to create a booth, I need to figure out if I want my pod or a tent, and other ways to keep me and the equipment out of the elements.

Barring any issues and/or conflicts, the games will all run on Robcasting.

However, tonight, I'm sitting in a living room full of crates and boxes (and some junk) and I'm tired of waiting. 

Hopefully, there will be more packing and more mess and, in due time, the move will begin.

Never Ignore History

 

I'm sadly willing to bet the ratings will be low. I hope I'm wrong.

That's a harsh reality of baseball in 2024.

But, again, nobody gets history like baseball does.

Oh, how we -- they -- have tried to ruin this great game. You name it, they've done it.

Take your pick. Ghost runner on second base, pitch clock, permanent designated hitters, etc. Beyond that, there are ugly uniforms, obscene ticket prices, labor issues, egotistical umpires, and so on.

Some people don't have complaints and some people have completely walked away from baseball.

I say it all the time. The game needs players and fans and people to spread the word. The biggest gripe is that it's "boring." It's only boring if you don't understand it.

I understand it. Intensely.

Tonight, in Birmingham, AL baseball is being played at a site that first opened in 1910.

Tonight, it's the San Francisco Giants and the St. Louis Cardinals. They're two teams who are, of course, thankfully integrated.

Once upon a time, Rickwood Field was home to segregated baseball. Blacks and whites couldn't play together in Birmingham until 1963.

Thus, Rickwood Field hosted many Negro League games.

As a result, tonight is a richly deserved celebration of the Negro Leagues.

It's also, of course, a celebration of the life of Willie Mays. Born in Westfield, outside of Birmingham, Mays first played professionally at Rickwood for the Birmingham Black Barons.

Baseball has embraced more of these types of events. Back in 2021, the Yankees and White Sox played at the Field of Dreams site in Dyersville, IA. MLB has also played at Williamsport, PA in conjunction with the Little League World Series.

Baseball has further stepped outside of the box by playing games in London as well as the Fort Bragg Game in North Carolina in 2016. I got to see that site when I visited there a month after the game took place.

It's important to honor the past, probably more in baseball than any other sport. The danger, of course, is living in the past.

But it wasn't that long ago the players talked of now knowing who Jackie Robinson was. Obviously, education has gone a long way toward explaining Robinson's impact on the history of the United States. In his case, knowing the details of what kind of player Jackie was isn't as important as knowing the quality of the man he was and what he meant for society.

What strikes me about tonight's game and broadcast is the eloquence of those who have spoken. Some of what I've heard has been incredibly compelling, led by Reggie Jackson, who told stories of the racism he faced, including using "the N-word" that took my breath away.

It's a shameful part of our past and, sadly, in some places, still a reality.

To that end, there aren't enough people of color in the dugouts tonight, a fact that baseball is dealing with on a continuous basis.

That doesn't take away from what feels like a good night in Alabama.

And baseball needs more nights like this.

Groggy

 

The face the Yankees need?

If you missed yesterday's post (and the brief note added later), I worked an overnight deposition.

Most of them in the past had been over by roughly 4:30 a.m. 

This one ended just after 6:00 a.m.

I quickly finished my paperwork, uploaded the files, and was in bed by 6:15. I was able to get maybe three hours of sleep. 

I also grabbed a nap later on before heading to Mount Kisco for The Clubhouse.

It's now just after 10 p.m. and I'm done with everything. Therefore, I can sleep.

With no disrespect intended, I struggled to find energy for the show tonight but I admit tonight's show was exactly what I needed.

It wasn't stuffed with guests, though we did have our friend Rob Labritz on. Rob is an outstanding human being and a wonderful golfer on the Champions Tour. The golf world has really taken to him and he joined us from Endicott, NY where he's getting ready to play in the Dick's Sporting Goods Open.

But, otherwise, it was an easy show of conversation and laughs. Willie Mays obviously was a big part of the conversation.

Willie is obviously an all-time great, and I withheld most of my opinions as the tributes poured today. But you won't change my mind that Babe Ruth is the greatest player of them all.

When we get together to do the show, nostalgia is a fun part of the evening, especially at the post-show dinner, in which TV theme songs stand out. Tonight, we got into trying to remember TV lineups on a network for a particular year.

Dave Torromeo and Mark Jeffers both did a solid job of remembering the 1972 Friday night schedule on ABC, for instance.

In case you wonder where I come up with the worthless information in my brain, it's reading things like that. The Brady Bunch and The Partridge Family were part of that Friday night lineup, in case you're wondering.

And so I am back home, listening to the Yankees who are on the verge of losing to the Orioles at the Stadium.

More to the point, I'm ready to shut down and go to bed.

Oh, I'm exhausted, no question. I could barely speak while doing the show earlier. But I'm glad to have survived the day without issues with driving, for instance. 

And the Yankees lost, so I guess my plan to adopt the Hamburglar is over.

Time for bed.

On the Record Tonight

 

A stock photo of a video deposition.
It doesn't look like that for me.

I'm back on a deposition this evening.

As usual, I can't provide any details, except to say it's a job that began when I logged on before 6:45.

For the record, that's 6:45 p.m.

There are pluses and minuses to this situation but it's worth noting that we officially started the depo right around 8 p.m.

If you know anything about depositions, it can take hours.

So, if you're following along, we'll be here for a while.

I've been told to prepare to keep going until 4 a.m.

I first started doing this position in Sep 2020. It was literally just after Mom died and, of course, I was a bit lost. But through two friends (Craig, who I knew, and Dan), I picked up something of value. It was something that I found that I could and, with my ability to multitask, I was able to make it all work.

I went to the office for an interview one day and came back the next day for training. Three days after that, I was on a case while being monitored. Just after that, I was on my own.

Though, in truth, you're never on your own. Dan, in particular, will always wake up or even check on you if you're doing an overnighter.

One day, while doing a case in the office, Dan mentioned to me that an overnight case had come in. The witness would be in a far-off place via Zoom but the job remained the same.

Feeling confident or wanting to be helpful, I suggested that I'd be willing to give it a shot. Honestly, I expected to be turned down.

And so, I logged in at 7 p.m. and, according to my notes, I finished at 3:10 a.m. I think I got to Mahopac around four in the morning.

This continued several times over the next few weeks, with the latest end time being 3:40 a.m. I stumbled home around 4:30, basking in empty roads before collapsing in bed.

I also remember I was supposed to go in one night and fell asleep that afternoon. Now, I'm one to sleep for a few minutes, recognize I need to go and get right back up. My internal clock is good like that. Except, not in this case. In the process, I caused concern for Dan and Craig, both of whom were so supportive of me, especially then. They kept calling me and I kept sleeping right through it.

Eventually, they got me, I confirmed I was fine, and that I'd be in ASAP. I think Dan started the meeting but I made it in time for the case to begin. Dan probably bought me dinner as well.

In November, the guys decided that I should have a setup at home, especially with winter on the way. Thus, I built a setup with their help that created a workstation in Mahopac.

Oh, we had adventures there also. One night, we lost power long enough for the Zoom connection to drop. Frantically, I worked with the people on the case that night to restore everything and we carried on. Everyone was gracious and we were all quite close for that stretch. It was the same people every night, from the concierge and court reporter to the lawyers as well.

I remember another time when I blew a fuse in the house. I went to fix it and discovered we were out of fuses. I had another case coming up the following morning but we also had a snowstorm coming in. So I flew to a Lowe's in Yorktown first thing in the morning, got fuses, and installed it in time for the case.

Thanks to my normally insane schedule, I've been a bit busy and that makes it difficult to do more depositions. I commit to other things before them.

I have a chart of all of these crazy hours that I've done. One job I recall was not long after we moved to Greenwich. I went to the office for that one, returning home at 4:30 a.m. after a very short drive. Once the home office was sufficiently set up, I took on more cases from here again, including one that had me waking up at 3 a.m. So, if you're keeping track, I had to wake up even earlier than that.

There will soon be a new location for this setup and we'll carry on. Perhaps Sean will be able to do some home cases as well. He's becoming a pro at them also.

And so, here we are. It's almost 10 p.m. and we're a few hours in. I should add that I learned of the passing of Willie Mays tonight and I'm quite certain we will address that on the radio a few times over the next few days. I'll be bleary-eyed for "The Clubhouse" tomorrow night.

While I'm laser-focused on the case, my multitasking ability allows me to keep an eye on the Yankees as well as Game 5 of the Stanley Cup Finals. I remember keeping my iPad handy to watch the World Series during other night jobs.

But I'm normally wearing a headset and can still do other things as needed.

It's when those things are over that it gets a little tougher to stay awake. The dead of the night is real. That's when I try to stretch and walk around -- even if it's just to the kitchen.

I can use all good juju, mojo, and whatever other thoughts you'd like to pass along for me to survive and, eventually, get to bed.

But this is work. And it's good work.

Sleep is overrated.

(Update: It is 6:11 am and we just finished)

Ready to Bust a Move

 

I'm a bit impatient right now.

Call me Veruca Salt, minus the spoiled petulance. Oh, and I'm nowhere near as greedy, selfish, and demanding.

So, maybe not. Maybe I'm more like SpongeBob.

But we're now inside of two weeks until the great 10-minute move of 2024 and I want to start moving!

It might be a five-minute drive. It all depends on traffic.

We've pretty much set our game plan, and we'll accept help.

All we're waiting for is the "okey dokie" to start bringing things over. I'm content to bring boxes for the basement for now. I just want to feel like we're making progress.

If (and when) the apartment is ready, I'll start diving into the nitty gritty. Basically, by Sunday night, June 30, I want us to be down to the bare minimum here. I want there to be some food, soap, a couple of towels, fresh clothes, and a place to sleep. Heck, if the beds get moved before July 1 I'll happily sleep on an air mattress.

Beyond that, I'm content to be left with the "big stuff," meaning dressers and the love seat and other things that will get loaded either onto a trailer or a pickup truck.

Unlike moving out of Mahopac two years ago, this will mean several trips to and from our new place.

Additionally, a difference between the 2022 move here and this is that The Cat won't stay in the new place before we do.

That whole process still sits in my brain. I was just as anxious about that move, if not more. We didn't have much advance time to move in. We thought we might have some but the timing just didn't work out, so we started moving on Mon, 5/23/22. We did one full truckload, along with a pickup truck and a carload.

Then we unloaded here. That was it for the day. We reloaded the next day with a trailer load, a pickup truck, and a car.

We had to be out by the of Tuesday night. We got it done.

After unloading, I went back for the last car load, including The Cat.

He stayed in the apartment, despite my booking a pet-friendly hotel. I stayed in the hotel and tried to not think.

I finally stayed here officially on Wed, May 25, 2022.

Being able to bring things over -- next week is what I'm being told -- should allow us to get a lot over there and ensure that we'll be done by the night of July 1.

There are plenty of things for me to worry about, including the weather. The predicted temperatures for this week are brutal, with the mercury skying into the high 90s. 

A quick glance -- two weeks away -- shows high 70s and rain for July 1.

So what would you prefer? Rain but a cooler temperature of clear and sticky?

And then it's the plotting of where the furniture will go and what goes in storage and so on.

It will get here soon enough and I know that. But that doesn't stop me from wanting to move forward. I've waited long enough for so many things. In fact, I feel like I'm in a constant state of being patient.

So I don't want to wait any longer.

There are things to pack and move to a new home.

With apologies to Veruca (and lyricists Leslie Bricusse and Anthony Newley)

I want the boxes
I want to move stuff
Electronics and food and clothes aren't enough
But right not it's tough
And now
Don't care how
I want to move now!

A Good Father

 

In Pittsburgh last November

As today was Father's Day, I pondered fatherhood.

I spent the day at the stadium. Sean worked and I didn't. Thus, I could think.

I always thought I'd be a father. It was something I always hoped I'd be good at.

But what makes a good father?

Being fair and respectful? Absolutely. But there are also lessons to be learned in being tough.

Sean is Sean. That doesn't mean he was any other child. I was blessed to have a son who was pretty easy to raise overall. That doesn't mean he was perfect.

Even now, the lessons don't stop and I think he would agree. Even now, when I think he's getting too grumpy or just needs a little reminder of life, I'm content to do so.

But I know people marvel at our relationship and I'm honored by that. I don't think I deserve credit as he's a pretty wonderful person. 

Honestly, what did I do in the long run?

Obviously, there's not one true answer to what makes a good dad. I definitely took the lessons taught to me by my parents and tried to apply them as appropriate. Where many say they don't want to be like their parents, I was content to be like mine.

I Googled "What makes a good father" and came up with a bunch of ideas. An article on Modern Father intrigued me. In short, these were their headlines (you can read more here).

- A good dad is a role model for his children

- A good dad is a firm but fair disciplinarian

- A good dad is consistent

- A good dad is a true gentleman

- A good dad works on himself

- A good dad loves

These are all fair, especially if you read the rest of the article.

By being a role model, I wanted Sean to see that I worked. And worked. And worked some more. That I had a work ethic. That I was willing to grind, sometimes at all hours and driving wherever necessary. When things got me down or derailed me, I survived and got right back up. But, beyond that, I wanted him to see that I was respectful and honest. And I stood up for what I believed in.

As for discipline, I apparently mastered "The Look." I didn't think I needed it but he has mentioned it to me several times. He knew he had reached his limit when I shot daggers out of my eyes at him. That's been passed down for generations as my father could scare the life out of me with a glance. But it was also fair. I got what I deserved and I think the same could be said for Sean.

Consistency meant that Sean knew I'd be home at night. He knew I'd be at his band concerts and anything else. When we were involved with baseball, there was the expectation of practices and games. We made all of it and never missed a thing. A commitment was a commitment. Being predictable can sometimes be a good thing.

With regard to being a true gentleman, that's something I'm a huge believer in. I hold doors and say thank you. When my mother needed me -- and, by extension, Sean -- we were there. Thus we were her partners in crime. Even in regard to his mother, I think I'm fair and, well, let's leave that right there. 

Sean has watched me "work on myself" forever. I'm not afraid to confide in him for brainstorming if it helps things and I'm willing to deal with my own flaws. I'm always trying to get better and he knows things gnaw at me.

Do I love? I think I do. We're sadly past it but I'm just as willing to hug him as ever. But more than that, he knows I'm still nearby for any nurturing, talking, laughing, and providing. And I give him his space.

Is there more? I'd say so. Fathers often come up short. Sometimes, there's a level of disrespect for us.

We're not moms. I have full respect for mothers. Sometimes we play double duty also.

But this is what I wanted our relationship to be. It was always going to be strong.

In hindsight, being Sean's dad is probably my truest role. I didn't run off to some place to pursue a larger sports broadcasting career because I wanted to be a daily and nightly part of my son's life. 

None of this makes me a perfect father. It just makes me the father that I am.

Does that make me good?

To each their own, I suppose.

Happy Father's Day to the dads who do all of this and more. Being a father has evolved. It's not just the traditional family. There can be dads of all types. There can be two fathers, stepfathers, adopted fathers, and any other definition. They can be pet fathers (as my cat sleeps near me while I type). 

I celebrate all of the dads. Especially the good ones.

To the ones not here, we miss you and love you.

I've loved being Sean's dad. 

That's pretty obvious.

A Bunch of Brats Revisited

 

I'm watching the documentary Brats, looking back to the era of "The Brat Pack."

Directed by Andrew McCarthy, himself a member of "The Brat Pack" (like it or not), it examines the term and the impact it had on the actors who were lumped in that group.

I'm watching it as I write, and there seems to be a feeling of resentment for the label, especially by McCarthy himself.

For me, and likely countless others, it's a walk back in time.

I liked probably most of the movies that fell under that banner but I remember -- in my usual style -- rolling my eyes at the phenomenon. They were a group of actors and I tend to eschew the obsession with such base things. The bottom line was that I just wanted to be entertained or it was where I went on a social gathering.

Let's face it, I didn't see Ferris Bueller's Day Off in the theater. Read that again, considering how much that movie has been a part of my life.

I had nothing against the actors in general but I tend to roll my eyes at "idols." 

I saw Pretty in Pink in a theater because I was on a date. It was an entertaining film.

I love The Breakfast Club but I saw it later at home. Same with Sixteen Candles.

But the memories of all of this are strong. Of course, years later, we can't deal with these movies without wringing our hands over Long Duk Dong in Sixteen Candles or the makeover of Allison in The Breakfast Club.

Some of the movies just never did it for me. The characters of St. Elmo's Fire were likely people I wouldn't be hanging out with (and I couldn't stand the overplayed theme song).

I suppose that was some of it for me. These people weren't often relatable. I wasn't a kid that you could put in a bucket. Oh, you could try to make me be Anthony Michael Hall's characters from Sixteen Candles or The Breakfast Club but you'd quickly realize it doesn't work. I'm not that much of a nerd/geek. 

But I did know plenty who fit so I guess there's that.

I liked that I couldn't be categorized. I floated among basically any group to a degree but, mostly, I was just me.

Let's face it. I still am. The same bands that I was obsessed with are the ones I still listen to now. 

Pick a day in 1985. Any day. I'm likely listening to Sports by Huey Lewis and the News. I'm excited for Rickey Henderson joining the Yankees and, paired with Don Mattingly and Dave Winfield, I know the Bombers will score. But can they pitch? I'll be trying to convince myself that Mark Malone is the right quarterback for the Steelers.

And I'm sure there's a girl in this scene. Somewhere.

So would it surprise anyone that I now broadcast sports and host a radio show about The Beatles?

It wouldn't surprise me overall. 

But this documentary, while sometimes glum, still evokes the sweetness of 1985 at Mahopac High School.

The past hangs on us in such deep ways. At times, we desperately want the past. We try not to live in it and fail. Thus we get branded as the old man yelling at a cloud.

On the other hand, we're kind of OK here in the present. Oh, I wouldn't go back, we tell ourselves. And yet, are we better people now? I think we are. But, truly, are we?

And the future? Let's just not go there.

When I graduated from Mahopac in 1987, I knew I was content. I knew I'd never want to go back but I'd see it for what it was. That remains entirely true.

I'm happy to see the friends that I still see and it's never worked out for me to attend a reunion. I don't know if I'd enjoy going to one but I'm not against it.

I treasure the memories of the bowling team and the friends and the experiences and the laughs. Unlike Brian in The Breakfast Club, I only cared about grades enough to get out of high school.

Or college, for that matter.

I generally sat in class knowing that I didn't remotely care about trigonometry. 

The teachers who connected with me were the people. The ones who kept me engaged. The ones who saw us as people. Oh, they exist and I hope I'm one as an instructor.

But, memories aside, The Brat Pack itself was, ultimately, a vague term. Can you truly define which movies fall under the header? Can you say without a doubt who were the members of the group?

The Rat Pack, on the other hand, is pretty definitive. Sinatra, Dean Martin, Sammy Davis Jr., Peter Lawford, and Joey Bishop with a collection of others around. 

The Rat Pack was cool. Defined cool. The Brat Pack were ... brats. And that's the rub.

But is James Spader in The Brat Pack? Jon Cryer? Matthew Broderick? Michael J. Fox?

Lea Thompson calls herself "Brack Pack adjacent." I suppose that works.

Obviously, in the end, none of it matters.

I find myself just wanting to watch the movies and remember the time.

It doesn't have to be that difficult.

Into the Weekend

 

Probably my favorite picture of me and my dad

With Father's Day on the horizon, I can tell you it won't be a weekend of rest and relaxation.

The Renegades are playing tomorrow night and are giving away a replica 1994 jersey. You know what? I want one so I bought myself (and, yes, Sean) really inexpensive tickets because I thought that was how it worked. I mean, we don't get such things just because we work for the team.

Oh, and I'm not working tomorrow. Sean is but I'm not.

Anyway, I got (politely) chided for buying the tickets. No, I wasn't going to get any special favors but there could have been a way around my spending the money.

Well, I'll tell you what. Buy me dinner or a beverage and we'll call it even (I'm kidding).

It will be different to be a fan but I'll likely hang out and have fun with everyone. 

Oh, and I'm going back on Sunday because Sean is working and we have plans after the game for Father's Day.

So, yeah. 

Beyond that, I'm trying to slot in time to drive up to Oxford, CT to see the field and press box where I will be calling baseball again in a few weeks. I just want to get a sense of it, check the cell service, and see what the view will be like.

I'd like to see where I'll be working in Trumbull as well. I'll get some baseball calls back in my life in July and that will feel fine.

Oh, and Chris Erway and family are having a tag sale tomorrow. I mean, I have to stop by if I can! You might have heard I have an apartment to move into soon.

Then there's "Meet the Beatles" on Sunday to start Father's Day.

So, again, we'll be buzzing.

I'm not quite sure why it was hitting me today but I found myself talking about my dad and, obviously, missing him. Sure, it's Father's Day weekend so I guess that's it.

I even -- for the first time in a while -- was convinced to play the live version of "Free Bird," which he loved.

I remember him telling me back in the 80s that it was a song he'd want played at his funeral. I mean, he didn't know he was going to die in 1989 so it was sort of a dark thing to think about.

Anyway, after he died, I remembered it, wondering just how I could ever thread that into his funeral. If it was played at the gathering after the burial, I don't recall it. It strikes me that it would be the kind of thing I would have played after everyone had left, when finally alone in my room.

Honestly, those memories aren't clear.

But I do remember that I delivered one of the eulogies that day. While considering a quote to use, I came up with the opening lines of "Free Bird."

If I leave here tomorrow
Would you still remember me?
For I must be traveling on now
'Cause there's too many places I've got to see

I vaguely recall a few curious looks but I explained how he loved the song.

Thus, it was referenced at his funeral.

I haven't gone back to the song too many times since then. I've never shied away from it when it's been played but, at the same time, I haven't reached for it either.

However, I didn't stay for Lynyrd Skynyrd when they played the Greenwich Town Party a few years ago. I was tired and, well, it was also a far cry from the band that recorded the song in 1973. Of course, members of the band -- including lead singer Ronnie Van Zant -- died in a plane crash in Oct 1977.

Of course, "Free Bird" has also become a bit of a parody over the years, thanks to the live version, in which the crowd implores the band to "DO 'FREE BIRD.'" I'm as guilty as anyone, having said the words many times and many events.

But, after some thought, I brought myself to PLAY "FREE BIRD" today and I'm glad I did. I'm always glad to talk about Robert Sr., especially explaining him to Sean and others who never met him.

It's been thirty-five years since we lost him and it's still difficult. I tell friends when they suffer a loss that it's important to hold the memories close but make sure to keep moving forward.

I think about my dad every day.

But some days are harder than others.

Home, but Active

He's watching me

 

I slept last night.

I mean, it wasn't off the charts but I slept, er, OK.

So I was up and drinking a cup of coffee in the living room.

The living room has boxes and some walking room in it. The cat sits up in his tower. But, mostly, it's becoming a holding area to move.

In fact, preparing for the move was how I thought the day was going to go.

Then the phone rang. Could I jump on a case?

Um, OK. When.

"Now."

My hair was still in several places thanks to bed head but I quickly splashed some water on it and threw on an appropriate shirt.  A faded creamsicle Tampa Bay Bucs jersey isn't the way to appear on Zoom for a court deposition.

I went from that phone call to going on the record in seven minutes. They needed me to be fast and so I hustled.

The truth is I only really need to be seen on camera to start the proceedings. After that, it's my voice and not my face that is needed.

So as they began the deposition, I double-checked everything. The recording was rolling and each other item was correct.

At that point, with a mostly quiet day ahead of me, I was good to go with a case that would take up the day and I figured I could use my home time wisely, and then...it was over.

Quickly. That was all the time they needed.

So I did my paperwork, fixed an issue with uploading the files, and that was it.

From there, I had my day in front of me. 

Oh, there were plenty of things to do. I went up into the attic. I did some paperwork and cleaning/rearranging. I did "Doubleheader."

There is still the clerical side of moving, which is mostly organizing things like switching the electricity and cable/internet accounts, along with changing addresses to several accounts.

We're still waiting patiently to hear when (and if) we can start moving anything over to our new address.

*****

I'm watching the Stanley Cup Finals and lead announcer Sean McDonough is clearly battling through an illness.

His voice clearly isn't right and I feel for him.

McDonough's performance throughout these playoffs has faced heavy scrutiny. Those saying they never speak ill of another broadcaster have waged a nearly nightly war on McDonough, saying how he should be removed by the more excitable Bob Wichusen.

"Bullet Bob," a former WFAN update anchor, is certainly worthy of the praise.

But I feel for McDonough, especially tonight. If you're not familiar with him, it's easy to criticize him because his voice is very flat. He's normally not like this.

I've been in this place, in terms of voice issues during a call. Dealing with a sore throat, along with whatever else, and loss of power in how I make my living isn't what you want.

So McDonough isn't at his best tonight and these are the Stanley Cup Finals. Oh, the information is still sharp but the power and energy are off.

I'd truly love to go to someone else's job and judge how they do. That's what dealing with armchair broadcasters is like.

McDonough has called the World Series, the Cup Finals, and myriad other big events. He's a pro and knows what he's doing.

I always read how fellow broadcasters shouldn't criticize one another.

Read the cesspool of Twitter/X tonight and you'll see the jabs McDonough is taking throw that belief right out the window.

Very petty.

And not very positive.

Oh, and while I'm at it, leave reporter Emily Kaplan alone. Yes, she asks questions that are unique, but she also knows her stuff. Any comments about her appearance are unnecessary. 

Lastly, since I'm on a roll, I'm here to stand up for Portland Sea Dogs broadcaster Emma Tiedemann. Once again, I'm sorry to say backward-thinking Neanderthal men still exist.

According to Jesse Scaglion (Tiedemann's husband), this clown called the front off and announced that he was "NEVER coming back to a Sea Dogs game b/c we have a female broadcaster & men only go to baseball games to 'get away from women & that our broadcaster should go to softball.'"

Not cool.

Speaking of pros, that's Emma.

We don't care about these things and have to have thick skin. Then again, we do care.

Sometimes, all one can say is "Do better."

Therapeutic Laughter

 

Four friends walked into a pub...

How long had it been?

That was the question four friends asked upon sitting down for dinner in a restaurant on Greenwich Ave. last night.

Me? On the Avenue? In this economy?

Well, yeah. But it was worth it.

The best answer we could figure out was 12 years. So it was that Lindth, Tawm, Oy, and Rawb were together again.

The four of us worked in a network radio office beginning in 2007. I'd known Lindsey and Joy longer than that but 2007 was when I first met Tom. In the insanity of broadcasting offices, we became a unit.

More to the point, they became family to me during those horrible years.

If you don't know, this is when my marriage was in full nosedive mode. It felt like every day brought a new challenge that I was learning about.

My job at the time was to do the morning sports from home and then come to the office to do traffic duties, meaning I was programming the commercials and other elements for the outlets in question. On some days, I was waking up at 5:30 am, recording the reports, taking care of Sean, then driving to Stamford, working there, going and calling a game, and returning to the office after the game.

If you're keeping track, there were some 18-hour days.

There were a lot of days when I just drove to work in a mental fog.

But Lindsey, Joy, and Tom were there and I was there for them. The truth is, I normally just wanted to walk in, put music on at my desk, do my job, and go home. I didn't want to be antisocial but, well, that's not how it went.

We laughed. Daily. Especially out front where Linds, Joy, and I formed a wall against the utter insanity, narcissism, and other activities of that office.

It drove *them* nuts. 

*Them.* Always.

And who bore the brunt? This guy. We all agree upon that. Why? Because I took the attention of the females away from the people who wanted it.

Toxic. Oh, was it ever.

In truth, some days I wasn't even trying. As Lindsey reminded me last night, simply telling a story would have her cracking up.

Of course, as I love a good gag, I also had sound effects and one-liners at my disposal. A request from the other side of the sliding window would be a Woody Woodpecker laugh.

Hence in the middle of the toxicity, our humor was needed to stay sane.

Eventually, I got nudged out and, eventually, so did *they.*

The networks that we worked for would go out of business.

We laughed about all of it last night. Every impression, every insane moment, every curve in the road of life.

Oh, we were serious at times also, detailing some of the heartbreak and drama we've dealt with in the years since. We remembered those lost and recalled faces and stories long forgotten.

And the quotes. So many of them. In-jokes that wouldn't make sense to anyone else.

Joy and I both still work for WGCH. Lindsey is still around Greenwich. Tom is in the City and, as we planned dinner, I shot him a text out of the dark. He was thrilled to join us.

We bonded over lunches at a place in Stamford back then, allowing us to laugh and blow off steam about the insanity around us.

We gathered last night over drinks and appetizers, older and wiser. And grateful for each other.

I walked to dinner and after it was over, I started walking home. 

The night air was so comfortable and there were pleasant smells in the air of various flowers.

You don't survive what we dealt with during that time without support. Sometimes it's that you're a great working team and there was truth to all of that.

*They* badmouthed all of us at one time or another, usually behind our backs.

But in our case, it was more than our teamwork. It was the need to laugh, even when the stories were sort of sad.

One that still cracks Lindsey and Joy up involved me at home one night. Even now.

I was leaning back in an old office chair that I had. I bought it when I worked at Kraft Foods back in the 90s and the metal had weakened on the frame.

And it snapped.

And down I went, hitting my head on the hardwood floor of my house at the time.

I stared at the ceiling for a moment, slightly dazed but more so astounded. Just stunned at the hell I was in at that time.

And yet -- yes, I was still married -- nobody came in to check on me.

To be clear, I was fine (save for whatever brain cells I likely further damaged and a wounded pride) but I guess the way I told the story -- a la Tommy DeVito in Goodfellas -- made them both laugh.

How could I not also laugh at the ridiculousness of it all?

And so I walked home under the streetlights of Greenwich, feeling pretty safe I might add.

Feeling like things were OK. 

Hopeful that it won't be 12 years before we do that again.

Big Words and Other Offseason Thoughts

 

It's a bit of an offseason for me right now. Fortunately, it hits at a good time with the move coming up at the end of the month.

The offseason is an opportunity to pause and reflect. Are there things I want to do better? Things I want to change? Is the status quo OK? Do I want to upgrade the equipment?

I'd say "yes" to almost all, save for the status quo. Oh, sure, I'm generally pleased with the quality of my work as opposed to the quantity. I'll never be pleased with that. Every time I feel any pride in the number of games I do, there's always someone (not naming names) who will try to one-up.

I mean, why is everything like that? Why is it always a contest? Or why is it that when you bleed a little to a friend, you get silence before they figure out how to make it about them?

Nevertheless, I scratched and clawed to get every call I could and still I couldn't get to all of them. Some were postponed or didn't match up with my calendar. I guess that's how it goes.

People tried to give me calls and I had to turn a bunch down. I don't like doing that.

But I put my heart and soul into every call, regardless of how many I did.

So, in the offseason, I find myself in that place of not assuming. Don't assume I'll be back at this place or that. Things change. There are no contracts. No serious commitments.

I have Greenwich's football schedule (and, yes, space is still available in the WGCH radio booth) but anything can happen between now and Sept 13 at 5:50 p.m. That's when the pregame show is expected to start for the Cardinals at West Haven.

Yes, West Haven. I'm kind of a big deal there, after the state semifinal of last year. OK, not really, but they definitely took note of me.

Once again, this tenuousness highlights how I want a home base. Then, maybe, I can do other games outside of that base.

Too many carrots are being dangled with not enough reach to make it edible.

Remember, I have to pay for that new apartment somehow.

So these are the things that race through my skull during these few weeks off. My likely next group of broadcasts will be in early July for baseball in...you guessed it!... Trumbull! It's become a tradition!

The summer Cal Ripken/Babe Ruth tournaments are coming up and I'm excited to get to them.

*****

Oh, about the picture at the top of the post. That was taken on Aug 3, 2002, at Bridgeport's The Ballpark at Harbor Yard. Now, of course, the Hartford Healthcare Amphitheater concert venue is on that site.

It was sort of a mini WGCH Night. We got to take batting practice on the field before calling a doubleheader between the Nashua Pride and the Bridgeport Bluefish.

Those of us broadcasting the games were asked to throw out the first pitch before game 2 and Ian Handwerger had a digital camera with him, so credit to him for the image. It was also Sean's first baseball game. He wasn't quite six months old yet.

I look at that picture and think about the guy in it. Ah, youth. Thinner, more hair, blah blah blah.

Still, I have the wisdom and experience of nearly 22 years later.

If I knew then what I know now and so on.

It's a thing (apparently) to take pictures and add little puff pieces so, in homage to rodomontade*, so I decided to take liberty with it.

And then post it.

Repeatedly.

I'm planning to have a little fun with this concept.

*I had braggadocio as the word I was going to use but wanted something grander. So I found rodomontade, which apparently means the same thing. I suppose it's rather grandiloquent or sesquipedalian of me.

Or, simply, pompous.

Not my style.

We Built this Awfulness

Just...why?

 

I've admitted to being a sucker for lists.

That also makes me a sucker for clickbait, such as the Culture Sonar item that I found randomly on social media recently.

It's a list of Nine of the Worst Songs of the 80s. 

I'm not going to argue that some of them aren't my taste.

I mean, "Kokomo" is a crime against music, especially against Brian Wilson.

Thirty years have not changed my thoughts on New Kids on the Block either.

It's probably best that I don't go on an anti-Lionel Richie rant (save his stuff with The Commodores) but "Say You Say Me" cost Huey Lewis an Oscar, so you can probably guess my feelings there.

"I've Never Been to Me" is a rough listen.

We've addressed "We Built This City" many times of course.

"Lady in Red" is just cringe.

I don't agree with hating on either "9 to 5 (Morning Train)" or "Eye of the Tiger."

And then there's the stain on J. Paul McCartney's career in "The Girl is Mine" with Michael Jackson. I clearly remember making fun of that dreck back then. All I could think then -- and now -- was "What was Paul thinking?"

Truly only "Ebony and Ivory" is worse.

Yet, at the same time, what can never be forgotten is that all of these songs were popular. "The Girl is Mine," for instance, was a number two hit on the Billboard Hot 100 on Jan 8, 1983. Only "Maneater" by Hall and/or Oates kept Jackson and Macca out of the top slot.

Don't ask about the "and/or." 

Still, I feel like some of us knew these songs weren't our thing at the time. And popularity doesn't determine quality. Shall we revisit the horror of "Pac-Man Fever?"

But are these truly the worst of the 80s? For instance, "Red Red Wine" by UB40 deserves whatever form of hatred it gets and would be on my list if I had one.

It's all just so subjective and can change from day to day for me so I don't feel an urge to create a list.

Yet I'm sure the Exit 55 hive mind -- if one exists -- can come up with some 80s songs that just drive them up a wall.

There are plenty of other '80s songs that are pretty awful. 

Keep all sharp objects away from me when Billy Idol's version of "Mony Mony" comes on.

And give me a year (or more) off from any songs by Bon Jovi, Journey, and Bob Seger.

Of course, Mr. Mellencamp sits in a special place all by himself.

On the other hand, and finishing on a positive note, listen to this cover of a little ditty called "The Power of Love." 

Ho...lee...wow.

Then I'm Movin' Out

 

Some of the boxes waiting to go

For the two or three (and that might be generous) who loyally follow this space, you know we announced the end of the Apartment Chase 2024 on Friday.

I've been nibbling at doing some packing over the last month but was anxious to dive in Friday night after things were finalized. Yet, it was Friday night, and a bit late at that point.

Of course, I spent all of yesterday in New Jersey. Not Connecticut, for the record.

Oh, I have thoughts about the state championship broadcasts in Connecticut this weekend. Not because I watched them but because friends sent me things.

Admittedly, yesterday took a lot out of me and I was up early to do "Meet the Beatles." 

But I also wasn't going to miss the opportunity to make some progress. I'm too anxious about it.

So I used the opportunity to drag down some bins and start packing up the clothes that I likely won't be wearing before we move.

I mean, honestly, I don't expect to need heavier sweatshirts and other long-sleeve items since the temperature will be climbing into the high 80s over the next few days.

It also allowed me the chance to take some things out to donate them. There will be some reduction between donating and throwing some things out.

To that end, I do have some electronics that I would be willing to part with. I know I have too many mixers and I'm sure there are some broadcasters who could use such a thing. Inquire within.

There's still a lot to think about with everything. I glance at the pictures I took of the new apartment occasionally to plot where we want to place the furniture. I've laid out my bedroom in my mind somewhat but of course, it will soon become a reality in three weeks.

The same goes with the kitchen and living room and Sean has an idea of what he wants to do with his room.

But this process is also about not getting ahead of ourselves. So I'm trying to pack the things that aren't necessary between now and July 1.

I'm also trying to assemble things for ease of moving for not only us but for those helping us.

From there, it's a question of if we need to rent anything. We have to figure out what vehicles we'll have and if a rental van or truck will be necessary.

If I have any hesitancy, it's due to the width of our driveway and realizing we'd have to unpack from the street. Remembering what it was like with a truck when we moved in here, I'm cognizant of what is involved.

Greenwich streets can be narrow and, in places, have a low clearance where railroad tracks are concerned.

But, according to Google, we're moving 1.4 miles away. It's not the 38 miles we moved back in 2022. We only got one truckload done that day before having to do it again the next day.

I'd like to think we'll move much more this time in a day.

But I'm anxious. I'd like to start moving stuff now.

Or soon.

Or even in the days before July 1.

Who am I kidding? I don't want to wait until July 1.

My goal is to make this transition as smooth as possible for everyone.

But, as I packed up boxes of books, assessed what we had in the attic, reviewed the clothes, and addressed things in the kitchen, my back decided to speak up.

That's when Sean yelled at me for overdoing it.

I had already decided to stop before he spoke up.

The process is just heating up.

Up On the Roof

 

The pressbox roof at Hunterdon Central Regional HS

OK, let's see. I needed eight rosters.

I needed four score sheets.

I needed equipment. Audio and video.

Just in case, I needed one of my pods. I also needed sunscreen.

I wasn't sure I'd have a booth to work in.

In short, I was ready. I left in plenty of time, heading across the Hudson River and then down I-287.

I was in Flemington, NJ by 9:00. That was the site of the 2024 NJSIAA Groups 3 and 4 lacrosse championships.

Two boys games began and ended the day, with two girls games in the middle of the day.

Oh, I had breakfast before I arrived at Hunterdon Central Regional High School. A Wawa was less than a minute away. Adding to my preparation, I picked up breakfast and lunch.

Plus coffee. And a big bottle of water.

I'm always nervous when I get to a site and I don't see a lot of activity. That was the case at Hunterdon Central. They'd show up but just not as early as I was.

So my thing is to always walk over and investigate things. In this case, I found an open door on the press box and plenty of room inside. 

I picked the first seat inside and put my stuff down.

But there was a camera to set up, as my videographer was going to miss at least the first game. (Narrator: The videographer never showed up.)

Note: The camera I set up is a remote camera that is controlled offsite.

So I climbed the stairs and walked out the door to the roof of the press box.

The door was spring-loaded and closed behind me.

I went about setting up the remote camera that Kevin Devaney Jr. dropped off with me. I worked on extending the tripod and putting it in a position to face the field.

Then I walked back to the door on this beautiful sunny day with the temperature in the mid-70s.

I reached for the handle.

And it was locked.

If you're paying attention, I was stranded up there.

At that moment, and for the next 30 or so minutes, there was literally not a person who paid any attention to the person on top of the booth.

I did not panic. I have to make that clear. I did pound on the door several times but nobody answered.

I watched one lone man -- a fan of Ridge High School* -- who stretched out in the stands and never looked my way.

* Funny thing about Ridge High School. They are the Red Devils but their colors are black, green, and white. This is because nearby Bernardsville High School -- Ridge's rival -- has red uniforms. Ridge's team name, however, is the Red Devils after the tool company owned by George Lee, who donated land for the high school to be built. 

Eventually, the lone fan below realized that Ridge fans would be sitting closer to the booth and he moved his spot. As he did so, I asked if he would open the door.

With a polite chuckle, he obliged.

At that point, I propped the door open with a chair, given that I had to go back up there to connect a microphone cable and extension cord. Plus I had to connect the camera to the internet.

With that, the roof drama was over and I went about completing the audio setup. Chris Gross at LocalLive assisted me from his perspective to make sure we were good and the day was off and running.

The four games rolled by with Moorestown, Chatham (in triple overtime), Morristown, and Westfield winning their respective titles.

It was over and I packed it all up, making sure to pry the upstairs door open.

I grabbed dinner for Sean at Wawa and began the long drive back home. Some 15 hours after I left, I walked back into the apartment.

A special shout out to the guys that I shared the booth with. We kept each other laughing and engaged all day. When they got criticism from the crowd, we laughed it off.

We did the same when it happened to me.

And so I'll leave you with this:

"A critic is a man who knows the way, but can't drive the car." -- Kenneth Tynan

"When critics disagree the artist is in accord with himself."  -- Oscar Wilde

Take Me Home

 

Pen, meet paper.

It was a black Paper Mate felt tip Flair pen, handed to me by Gideon Fountain, my fearless leader at WGCH Radio.

But, also, a realtor at Houlihan Lawrence here in Greenwich.

He promised me a month ago that he'd find me something after finding out we needed to move.

Well, he found us a new home.

I signed a lease on a new apartment a short time ago.

Greenwich, we're staying in town.

I was given a list of several apartments from Gideon roughly a month ago and one kept sticking out to me.

I kept looking at it, thinking it might be too classy for a couple of rogues like us.

But still, I knew the neighborhood. I've driven through there many times. It's not far from Lake Ave and Greenwich Hospital, which makes getting out to Brunswick and off to I-684 a bit easier. It's a bit off of the downtown area so the traffic isn't quite as obnoxious.

Even Greenwich Ave and WGCH itself wouldn't be too far away. It would be a fair walk. In fact, the Greenwich train station is reachable as well, for those mornings when I need to get on a train to go to a conference.

It doesn't check every box, but it checks most of them. No, there's no balcony or patio or deck, and I do love that about our current place. But there are priorities to consider and most of the other ones are in place.

Everything must be considered when looking for a new home. What is included in the rent? Are there laundry facilities? Does it cost to use the washer and dryer? Is there storage? What is parking like? Honestly, these are fairly basic questions.

And ... is The Cat allowed?

Everything came up positive and there's a small backyard area where I could put up a small tent or a pod and set up my lounge chair. So, yes, I can chill in our backyard, even if it takes a little effort.

Yet, it felt like we would lose it. I'd keep going back to look at the list of places and find that it was still open.

Gideon and I kept misfiring about finding a time to see the place in person.

Finally, that happened Wednesday morning.

Looking around, we saw that Sean would have his space and I'd have mine. There's a separation that will work quite nicely there. Beyond that, of course, there's a kitchen, living room, and bathroom.

There's also laundry and storage, even if we have to talk to it.

By Wednesday afternoon, I told Gideon that not only were we interested but we'd take it. Apparently, someone else was interested. 

Yet, somehow, the thought of a quiet father/son combo was more appealing to the landlords.

Yesterday, as the conference went on in NYC, Gideon was texting me to fill out an application for the place. Then he told me the landlord wanted to meet us.

I figured we were pretty close to the goal line (that's a sports reference).

He seemed to like us. At that point, I started feeling confident and that's a dangerous feeling.

But what's not to like? We don't entertain a lot, we're rarely loud (unless sports are on), and keep to ourselves. We just do our thing.

Today remained quiet until Gideon reached out. There was a broker serving as a go-between who wanted to know why there wasn't a signed lease yet.

Good question, I thought. Then again, why the rush?

But the broker was not happy to wait. Given I was working and had four lacrosse games tomorrow, we needed to find time.

And so, friends, I made it out of work, went to Gideon's office, and signed the papers.

With that, I finally feel comfortable saying that we've found our new home and we're staying in Greenwich.

I tried so many towns. Greenwich, Stamford, Norwalk, Fairfield, Stratford, Shelton, Brewster, Danbury, White Plains, Bedford, Mount Kisco, Port Chester and, of course, Carmel and Mahopac.

I considered all kinds of things. I worked with another wonderful agent -- Diane Farrell of Compass Realtors in Darien (thank you, Susan) -- who looked at a place in Stamford for me, going so far as to visit it herself and take me along via FaceTime. While that had potential, the idea of a fifth-story walkup with no working elevator did not appeal to me for the move-in process.

And, speaking of which, now comes that. We know we can move in pretty soon. Probably July 1. I'd love to find out if we can start moving things even earlier because it would be so easy to take some car loads over but that likely won't be possible. But we're looking forward to settling into our new home.

Unfortunately, I had hoped to not subject my cousin to helping me move into another second-floor apartment. I'm happy to say he did not disown me.

Honestly, I'm hopeful this will be a bit easier than moving from Mahopac to Greenwich and The Cat shouldn't be a big issue this time because it's a five or ten-minute drive.

So, yeah, if you'd like to help, we'll try to make it fun for everyone.

It made sense to stay here in Greenwich because of my work at Hunt Scanlon, 360 Service Partners, Brunswick, Greenwich High, and of course WGCH. Yes, getting back to the Renegades can be a bit of a haul but when considering all of the pieces this is right for us. But Sean also works at many of the same places and that adds to this being the move we needed to make.

We're grateful to everyone who tried to help us. Truly grateful. It was arduous and nerve-wracking. It felt hopeless at times. Yet, I know -- I did -- that we'd never be homeless. There were people who wouldn't allow that.

We felt the pressure of that move-out date. August 1 was hovering and I'm happy we got it done before the end of June since that's when we were initially supposed to move out.

We're so indebted to our landlords here in Bruce Park for allowing us to live in this location. This was the beginning of the next phase of our lives. This was where we began to heal from Mom's passing and move forward.

But we also knew this wasn't forever, unfortunately. That was something I accepted when we moved in. 

And I say "we" because Sean lived here when he really wasn't supposed to. Initially, he was only supposed to be here occasionally. Curiously, he began to be here more after all debts had been satisfied to his mother. That just means we only grew closer.

Things can always change in a flash. A few people asked about me moving to North Carolina (big shock, I know). With the right situation, I could still move on. And, let's face it, Sean will find his way. Will his bedroom become my office? I mean, who knows what the future holds?

And thus, it's time to find a work home that will allow me to afford a fair lifestyle. I've had enough promises pushed my way.

There's been enough dangling.

This is about settling into a new home.

This is the first step towards the rest of my life.

It's time to start packing.

Mahopac, you'll always be my boyhood home. The place that made me. You're never far from me.

But Greenwich, I hope you're happy with us.

Because we're staying.

*****

In the time since I started writing this, the broker in question basically harrassed Gideon to get me to write a big, fat check.  

Tonight. 

So I just went over to the apartment and did that.

Incidentally, that check hurt a bit.

But NOW is it official.

Fine Distractions

 

This is a stress bull. That is all.

Wound up like a top, I didn't sleep much last night.

Oh, but I needed to. I had to be up at 4 a.m. and on a 4:49 a.m. train bound for Grand Central.

The fates were somewhat kind. Despite my exhaustion, I didn't struggle to stay awake during today's Hunt Scanlon conference. Plus, each time I was outside -- walking to and from the train in Greenwich and New York -- the rain held off. 

Overall, it was a good day. But it was also a day of juggling lots of things. It's nice to be such a popular, I suppose.

With this popularity came glimpses of hope. Hope is so dangerous. So lethal. But it's also positivity, if you will. Yet, I'm a realist so I'm potentially excited about some things but also tentative because nothing is in stone.

After a while, these nuggets -- the dangling carrots -- need to either be real or go away.

To that extent, some of it is what kept me awake last night.

I was initially tossing and turning. Then I slept a little. Then I was wide awake.

Then I was on the couch. Then I slept a bit.

Then I was awake and figuring that my alarm time was approaching.

It was 3:40 a.m. I still had 20 minutes.

I went back to bed and got a few more minutes of sleep.

And that was it. As I alluded to, I walked to the train station, made it to the Harvard Club, hosted the conference, walked back to the train, and walked back home.

Then Sean and I did a few things around town.

And all of that hope plays on my mind.

Now, I'm sitting on the couch and I'm ready to fall asleep. I'll likely miss some of Game 1 of the NBA Finals. I'm watching the Yankees as I write.

Since this has an "off the bench" feel to it of being about random items, let me flash back to yesterday's post. It was one of those that I put a lot of thought into before I published. I let it go for a few hours.

I decided it needed to be said. That's it. I'm not going to go on about it otherwise.

But people were kind. Thank you. I often worry those posts reflect poorly on me.

And so we move on.

There are so many things going on tonight that it's not worth dwelling on.

I'll be putting the headset back on this weekend, as I call these four New Jersey lacrosse championships:

- 11:00am – Group 3 Boys lax final – Ridge @ Moorestown

- 1:00pm – Group 3 Girls lax final -Chatham @ Moorestown

- 3:00pm – Group 4 Girls lax final -  Kingsway @ Morristown

- 5:00pm – Group 4 Boys lax final – Eastern @ Westfield

So I'm staying busy. 

And that's a good thing.

Now, I have to edit Hanratty's Huddle, the podcast that everyone should be listening to. Somehow, last week's show didn't get posted. So it will be 2-for-1 tonight!

Lastly, I talked about yesterday on the radio, but allow me to say it here. Thank you to the brave souls who made the ultimate sacrifice on this day in 1944. I can't imagine what it was like to listen to the coverage of D-Day on the radio and I certainly can't imagine what it was like to be there.

But, as a nation, we should all be eternally grateful.

I'm Sure You Have Questions

 

This is a tweet I sent out a short time ago.

It's pointed. No question there.

But I think some of you may wonder who it's aimed at.

I've not named the person who has earned the #ToxicPositivity tag publicly, other than in very vague ways.

I know some of you know who it is.

And, frankly, he's sort of not worth anyone's time.

But oh how I struggle with phonies.

And he's that. Full stop.

When he went off on me -- publicly, I might add -- last fall, he highlighted how he'd tried to help me at one time and that is indeed true. I recall a couple of times, including when I filled in for him on hockey (and received very good reviews) and he sent me a job lead.

It was very kind of him. I won't forget that. But I've also dealt with people like him many times. They "help" while holding the knife behind their back. I'm not saying he did that but, well, here we are now.

See, he says he's all about "positivity." That, frankly, is garbage.

The people he praises are people that he has either badmouthed to me or rolled his eyes to me about. But, of course, he has deleted most of the correspondence between us, including the glowing review I gave his work several years ago.

Oh, and I also invited him to be on a Greenwich football game broadcast with me. That could have eventually led to something, given I have an opening in that booth right now.

So the relationship was hardly one-sided.

In his fall, 2023 diatribe to me (before he blocked me thus giving me no chance to respond), he alluded to mental health issues. Curiously, I also write about mental health and given I know he's still reading my stuff, has not once commented on such.

So today, in another attempt to get at me, he praised a fellow Connecticut broadcaster who happens to be a friend of mine. 

It's not my friends' fault, and I'm sorry to drag him into this. Still, Mr. #ToxicPositivity is literally posting these things with an eye on hurting me, as the Connecticut state tournament is going on without my involvement.

For the record, I'm working in New Jersey this weekend.

I'm not one to "take the gloves off" too often. I tend to be a lover, not a fighter. I tend to be a sarcastic goofball.

But there does come a point when it's time to consider if the line has been crossed.

And if it's worth going all-in.

To be a positive person is to not call people "lazy" if they don't prepare like he does (or Marty Glickman, whom we've all heard mentored Mr. Toxic).

You also don't write diatribes and block people (beyond me) when you're so positive. You work to reach a common ground and agree to disagree. 

You don't criticize other broadcasters (which you've done) when you're a positive person.

You don't climb on a high horse, constantly bloviating nonsense about the industry that has a large hint of criticism in the process as Mr. Toxic does.

When you have a life out of broadcasting but you also consider yourself such a "pay it forward" guy to others in the business, you don't charge people for your "in-depth critique." You do as so many have done. You listen. You talk. You help.

You don't grift.

He didn't like that I called him a "prep snob." For the record, I've called other people "snobs," more often than not as a joke. I know a "deli snob" for instance and a "pizza snob" and a "beer snob." 

Now he posts incessantly about game preparation. That's aimed squarely at me and a few others.

However, he should know that I dealt with criticism from others in the business. About him. About his know-it-all ways, social media posts that could be a book, and dead horses that he has beaten (Marty Glickman and others, such as the documentary that he was in that I've never watched because he made us all sick of it).

It's a shame. It's sad.

He should also know that I defended him. Because he had been kind to me and that I (thought) I knew him.

Eventually, things went too far, and after I posted a joke, he went nuclear.

Again, publicly.

And now it's a middle school game of passive-aggressive comments.

People saw what was written today. They saw the tweet as being a shot at me.

The words of those people were far harsher than what I've written here.

Perhaps it's time for a truce? 

Yeah. I'd suggest that.

Now. 

No further questions.

Ainsley's Back

 

I'm sort of dragging tonight, so forgive me if I'm not providing deep thoughts.

But, then again, we all need to check out, right? Not everything needs to be profound.

Then again, hold on. Wait a sec.

Ten years ago, I barely knew a coworker of mine named Susan. We'd chat online via instant messenger, especially if she wanted to pass along knowledge about something in Wilton, given I was a reporter in that town.

Eventually, of course, I'd start HAN Radio/Network and she was a huge sounding board for all of that.

Anyway, no need to ramble about knowing her, except to give you the foundation of how I came to know that she was an incredible reporter, editor, and writer (not necessarily in that order). I've long been dazzled by her writing talent. I've even occasionally asked her to edit this trainwreck of a blog. Generally speaking, she has demurred.

But as we got to know each other, she told me about being a published author. To that end, I learned of her book, The Blacksmith. At the time it was an ebook and I quickly downloaded it.

What you need to know is that horror and goth aren't normally my style. I'm a reader of sports, music, and travel as well as a fierce consumer of current events, which sadly means social media in 2024. But what is also my style is supporting my friends and loved ones.

So, I downloaded it and sat down one night to read it.

I was entrenched. Flabbergasted. Mesmerized. Enchanted. Titilated.

Susan created a world with her lead character, Ainsley that produced all of those emotions.

I thought it was great and nothing in my mind has changed that opinion.

Susan has added to her Tales From the Graveyard series since then and has also published two books of poetry. I have such admiration for her because I know how personal this is.

She also remains a fierce lover of storytelling, though her journalism has evolved into the marketing side of things. Still, she has interviewed a wide range of people. 

Since then, she has given Ainsley a reboot, publishing a physical copy of The Blacksmith and I'm so proud to say I have a copy.

Of course, I'm sort of afraid to sleep now with Ainsley in the house but I don't sleep much anyway.

Still, I have to watch my back.

I know Susan would be thrilled if you brought Ainsley into your world. I purchased it on Amazon and I've also seen Barnes and Noble has it as well.

I guarantee you'll enjoy it.

At Least I'll Get Wawa

 

I think I'm working here on Saturday (Google Maps)

It has been confirmed that I am heading to New Jersey this weekend to call four lacrosse championship games. 

The coverage will be via LocalLive on NJ.com.

The teams and details aren't confirmed yet but I'll be out in Flemington this Saturday.

That means learning the ins and outs of a new facility, which is at least something to take into account. Based on the setup, that often means no press box or there isn't room for me in the press box. In 2022, for instance, I worked on top of a press box on a considerably warm day with the sun baking on me.

Foolishly, I had no cover of any kind. Including a hat.

So this time I have to be more prepared in that regard. I'll need one of my pods in the car, a hat, and sunscreen. All just in case there's no indoor access.

And food. Yes, you need food. You can't rely on a concession stand for several reasons, including trying to get to it in between games. There isn't always enough time. Simply making a restroom run can be a challenge.

Oh, Wawa, my sweet Wawa. I'll be visiting you for sure in the morning.

Of course, that also means staying hydrated and taking care of my voice. The adjustment there is that I'll likely have a videographer with me which means I don't have to be completely detailed on the minutiae of the game. Thus that cuts down on some words.

The audience can see the game so it's not an audio/radio call.

But I still have to bring the energy and attention. These teams have earned a professional broadcast.

As for Connecticut, well, that's not my problem, is it?

They have what they have and I have to go where I'm wanted.

New Jersey will get me for what appears to be my 20th championship call there between baseball, wrestling, soccer, and lacrosse. I've also called some regional basketball and hockey championship games also.

I'm hardly "The Voice of New Jersey Sports" (cringe) but I've come to do quite a few events there.

I don't quite have the respect in NJ (shocked, right?) to have a larger say in which games I call and I try to be flexible. So it goes and, in this case, it's lacrosse.

Unfortunately, it's not playing out like last year, when I got to do a six-game swing of lacrosse and baseball spread out through a Friday and Saturday, with a hotel room included.

I'm happy to be working. I'm happy to take my talents somewhere.

After that, it will likely be a few weeks before the next calls, as Cal Ripken and Babe Ruth baseball will be heating up. I've come to love this being a summer tradition for me and am looking forward to those games.

For those asking, we have not found an apartment yet. Yes, it's nerve-wracking but there are people working with us on some ideas. 

We're staying upbeat and believing it will all be OK.

In the middle of this week is also a Hunt Scanlon conference, our last before a summer break. So I have to stay on my game for that also. But, hey, I handled the Renegades double-dip of PA and booth producer on Saturday and I likened that to being a conference moderator.

I'll be ready to go on Thursday morning.

And I'll be ready for lacrosse on Saturday from New Jersey.

Where I'm wanted.