For the Team

 

This person is a salesman and I'm sure he's good at it

I'm not a salesman.

You have no idea how many times I've had to say that. 

Back in my ice cream days, I serviced a collection of stores on the east side of New York State, and the company I worked for tried to get me to "upsell" a bit.

The idea was that I would go in, check their supplies, replenish and order as needed, and, perhaps, get the store to take on something more expensive.

I was terrible at that. I was good at the rest of the job.

But selling is just not me.

Cold calling? The only thing colder is my hands as the blood runs out of me at the mere thought.

That doesn't mean I can't help in the process of selling. I always thought I'd make a good "closer" in that the salesperson could get the process going, and in terms of broadcasting, I could explain how things would sound. At that point, my passion would help drive the deal. Thus, I'd be the closer.

We're under two weeks kicking off Greenwich High School football on WGCH.

Every year, we have a few sponsors that help us get the broadcasts on the air. But I know we can do better.

I also know it would help us move toward putting basketball, hockey, baseball, and lacrosse on the air.

WGCH Sports should be a machine and it's not.

And I've moaned about this every year to no avail.

I have no problem standing up for the standard we've set for 60 years.

I also have no problem standing up for how we've taken care of those who have sponsored our broadcasts.

Greenwich is a sports town. Always has been.

So we should be doing a lot of broadcasts. We should be filling up our schedule with high school games.

We should need a second broadcast team like we used to have.

But I'm way off-topic here. Back to sales. 

I have a hand in running all social media for WGCH. To that end, I see any messages that come into the Facebook account.

A local company, nationally known, messaged us to see if we wanted them as a sponsor again this year.

Um. Yes!

I went through the proper channels, knowing this is not my bailiwick. I quickly got the clearance to respond, and did so by putting the right parties in touch.

From there, it was out of my hands.

A short time later, I was being lauded by people at the station for facilitating that sale as the sponsor took a package for the 2024 season. With any luck, that will grow into more for other sports.

I take no credit for it. I did what I should do as sports director and someone willing to do anything for the good of WGCH.

I can't stress this enough. It's time for WGCH to up its sports game. 

Now. 

So I'm content to play this very small role in helping us secure advertising for our coverage.

For the record, please reach out to me if you'd like to know more about WGCH sports coverage and our programming.

The sky can be the limit for our station -- a little engine that still can.

I'm telling you: radio still matters. WGCH still matters. 

And I have ideas. 

Lots.

Let's make them happen.

The Meltdown Continues

 

Scream into the void

It's a little past 10:30 p.m. and I need a topic.

As always there are things to talk about but is there the energy to dig deep on the topic?

It's a take-it-easy night after a day of bouncing around to produce podcasts and radio shows.

But I suppose I do have something in my mind. But, again, it's back to being vague to protect "the innocent" or in this case, "the quite guilty."

Anyway.

Remember this post, in which I talked about not burning a bridge?

I would suggest the bridge is long gone.

The person I alluded to has, in his mind, been wronged by the business in which he works.

Of course, there are always multiple sides to a story and I barely know any of them, so i won't speak as if I have any solid information to go by.

I can only speculate.

All I know is that the aggrieved has made it clear that he was done dirty. Perhaps he was. But, more to the point, perhaps he wasn't.

The thing is, in broadcasting, this happens on a daily basis. Consider the good people of WCBS Newsradio 880. They were done dirty.

And you don't think I've been wronged? I mean, just read this space long enough and you'll see I've told some (sanitized version) of stories.

To me, I have to go off the edge to burn a bridge. You just never know and it's just not worth it.

Beyond that, you have to be so incredibly careful when leveling charges of ageism or any ism for that matter. At least that's my feeling. Gripe among friends, sure, but be careful how far you take it.

Keep in mind you talk about damage to your reputation. Well, I'm here to tell you about the damage you're doing right now.

What I'm driving at is to so blatantly air that on Facebook isn't the wisest move in the world.

The thing is we can come up with all of the compliments known. Great. I'm blessed to have heard kind things. One person recently told me -- a few times -- that I belong on the Yankees broadcasts now.

I've plucked a few in recent times, in part to have fun with that topic when, in truth, they make me so uncomfortable.

But no matter what any listener might say -- as wonderful as that is -- it's the hiring people who get the final say. From there, it's a dog-eat-dog world.

And we're all wearing milk bone underwear (one of the great jokes in TV history).

All of the compliments in the world won't protect me. Beyond that, are they truly a glimpse into reality? If kind words drove the bus, I'd say I should be a network's top broadcaster. Or with the Yankees.

It's a dirtier world than that, based on who you know, how much you make, what influence you bring and have, social media, advertisers, appearance, and other factors.

It's not fair. Of course, it's not. Talent, hard work, and other strong points aren't as strong as you think.

One of the comments in the almost constant line of posts bemoaning the circumstances asks if the listeners' opinions matter. Well, sure, but didn't I just highlight that in the thoughts above? I mean, truthfully, how many broadcasters have been hired and/or retained based on the viewer that "sez" "love him?"

I recall Ernie Harwell being foolishly fired by Detroit Tigers team president Bo Schembechler at the end of the 1991 season. The outrage was unprecedented and it took a change of ownership for Harwell to be returned to the booth in Detroit.

Ernie Harwell, for the record, is within the top five baseball voices ever.

Yes. Ever.

Mssrs. Scully, Allen, and Barber occupy numbers 1-3 and I'd suggest Ernie is right there at number four.

The situation I'm writing about is in no way akin to that of Ernie Harwell. 

My suspicion is something else happened but I'm not sure what.

Sometimes, no matter how good you are, management just doesn't like your style or your scent or your voice or the color pens you use or your use of language. It really can be anything.

Like or not, sometimes it's just best to walk away with your head held high, recognizing you did your best work. I, frankly, write from experience there.

Oh, grumble grumble away, but putting it in writing on social media -- even if deleting -- can be a dangerous route to take.

People have memories, as well as the ability to take screenshots.

Don't take it that public. Don't pursue lawsuits. Don't badmouth those in charge. 

Step away, no matter how painful. Take the high road, as you just don't know where that road will lead you.

And be done with "the incredulity of it all."

A Chicken Bake Thursday

 

Plans fall apart sometimes.

You go to a site, set up, and wait. Then nobody shows up.

Turns out, a mistake was made and everything gets rescheduled to tomorrow.

It happens.

So, I pivoted back to the apartment to do laundry and things around home.

With the Renegades out of town and all sports currently off, I'm in a lull.

Which is a nice way of saying I'm not working enough.

Unless I actually go away, I don't handle these lulls well.

I'm counting the days until the next conference, football game, etc. I'm asking around for the next deposition.

It's been a disappointing summer in that regard and it needs to change. 

That, for the record, is what has been causing me sleepless nights.

OK, the recent heat surge hasn't helped but it's much cooler tonight.

I mean, the only other excitement of the day, other than the missed meeting and "Doubleheader" (because, of course) was our trip to Costco.

What could possibly be better than father and son strolling around a warehouse store, shopping for a 30-pack of toilet paper, orange juice, half and half, and whatever else grabs us? Well, the ability to shop as we please would be nice but, again, the concern about not working enough.

The whole "gainfully employed" thing would be nice, despite how hard I work and how busy I am.

But, under these circumstances, what could be better?

Dinner!

There is something to be said about Costco's cafe, with its ridiculously inexpensive offerings. 

I've long been a fan of the hot dog/beverage combo with a slice of their passable pizza. I went to the kiosk to order when Sean stopped me.

"You're getting a hot dog and pizza?" he inquired.

"Yes."

"I'll take a chicken bake."

Ah, of course. The chicken bake. That item that I've stared at on the Costco menu for years. I always convinced myself I'd like it but stuck with my tried and true combo.

"OK," I retorted, "but I want a bite."

"Deal."

So we ordered a feast for two kings at Costco, including a warm chocolate chip cookie for my 22-year-old Cookie Monster.

The hot dog was a standard issue. Always delightful, with a dollop of mustard on it. For as much as one can put a "dollop" of mustard on a dog.

But it's also the classic dog that will be repeating later, like now.

The pizza was...as always...fine. Nothing I'd ever find in a New York pizza place. Connecticut, on the other hand...

I even enjoyed a taste of the cookie, but I don't mess with them otherwise because Sean loves them and I don't need them.

However, the chicken bake was the star. While I've read that devotees say the taste has changed, Sean and I were both pretty content with it.

I always pictured it as a chicken Caesar salad wrapped in a crust. That's not far off from what it tasted like. The crust was crunchy and created a bit of a heft to it, thus making it more of a meal than you might believe.

Sean liked it a lot and I thought it was pretty tasty.

And it was cheap. I love that.

Who knew a chicken bake could help salvage a day?

Let the Photos Only Resurrect Good Vibes

 

A small part of every day is spent with an app called Timehop.

It pulls together memories from various parts of my social media footprint and presents them in a clean, concise order.

This morning, the collection included snaps from a getaway to Maine in 2004. Sean and I drove up along with his mother and my mother.

The thing about that is life forces you to process such memories. Yes, my ex-wife was in the passenger seat for that trip and you have to assess that. In this case, I don't have anything good or bad to say. She was there. That's it.

I don't recall anything particularly positive or negative pertaining to her.

I've learned to accept the reality that who I traveled with mattered for the purposes of chemistry and, to an extent, survival, but their presence can indeed be swept aside.

It's not preferable but it's better than wishing none of it had ever happened.

Instead, it's a reminder of Sean and I hanging out.

It's also a reminder of the bond between Sean and my mother.

I always liked Maine from the very first time I visited it in 1994. It just felt comfortable. I liked driving there. I liked the shopping, especially walking around Freeport. I liked the New England charm.

I think it should say "Home of John Nash" at the state line but I digress.

I haven't been in nearly two decades and I think about driving back up there often, especially to complete that portion of Interstate 95 to the Canadian border. Our trips there didn't have much time to drive over three hours to the border, just to turn around and come back.

Now, on my own, I could do such a thing but I need the wheels and the money to allow that kind of trip.

I also need good weather as I don't recommend doing such a thing in winter. I've been trapped in Freeport a few times due to snow and it's a lovely town. I'd rather not be trapped on 95 out past, say, Bangor.

In fact, there were times when we -- yes, this is crazy -- day-tripped from Mahopac to Freeport. Admittedly, I'd be begging my ex for a hotel on the way back because I was exhausted and always got shot down. 

If you've ever driven I-495 in Massachusetts, it gets a little boring after a while.

But as I looked through these pictures this morning, I was immediately grabbed by the one at the top of the post.

That's always been a favorite of mine. Sean was always a trooper when doing stuff but, let's be honest, he was two in this picture and he needed a break. He and I stepped away from the occasional monotony of shopping* and he sat on the rocks to watch the fish in the in-store pond. 

*Seriously, there were stores he would complain about going to, especially with his mother. The Gap was one of them. Daddy, he learned, walked in, looked around, and walked out. I'm a quick browser.

Anyway, I took his picture next to the pond and although I don't think he was actually feeling well, he was his usual smiley boy for me. His hand curled around his sippy cup in his look of a polo shirt and khaki cargo shorts. He was almost a stereotype at that moment.

But he was happy and I was relaxed. It can only be described as a nice moment as we no doubt talked about the fish, with me likely making up some story about the fish and how they were behaving.

I know I've told you the story of walking to LL Bean from a nearby inn where I was staying just a few years after this picture was taken. Oh, yeah, it was in a driving snowstorm at four in the morning and it's a favorite memory of mine. Seeing this picture of Sean reminded me of that.

In this case, it was a very warm day in August.

The other picture that stuck out to me was one of two numbered road signs.

I was most definitely taking a picture of the I-295 and US 1 signs but I liked that Mom was walking Sean in his stroller at the same time. I saw it as a slice-of-life shot.

My mother often used strollers and grocery carts to lean on as she aged, feeling that it was comfortable for her, especially in her latter years when she didn't want to use a cane. Plus this gave her a way to spend time with her grandchildren.

In this case, she's still getting around pretty well and looks good as she makes her way down the incline on Bow St. 

Sean, of course, is nonplussed, sipping away on whatever beverage has been prepared for him. He wasn't always just an orange juice man, preferring a nice 2004 milk or water or perhaps some other time of juice.

I'm sure I came away from this quest with some wares though I don't remember what. I recall I used to find some good bargains at various stores in both Freeport and Kittery but LL Bean was always the star for me. 

If we stayed anywhere on this trip, and we did, it was down near Portland as hotels and inns in Freeport were too pricey for us. I think, as I said, Sean wasn't feeling well, and, believe it or not, I was having a hard time finding the hotel I had booked in Portland.

Sean, by that point, melted down, repeatedly saying he wanted to go to the hotel. Repeatedly. That lasted for some time as I tried to figure out my mistake.

Yes, I couldn't find the blasted place. Keep in mind that our other hotel of that era was in South Portland, a few miles away and in a totally different area. I think it was sold out.

The takeaways from this post are missing the sweet memories of my son, missing the presence of my mom, and how much I love to travel. The pictures, of course, are keepsakes of the time.

And that's how you parse those memories.

And maybe it's time to get back to Maine.

Tweeting On

 

I liked the bird better

The writer and fellow Mahopac High School graduate Jeff Pearlman quit X/Twitter today.

He said he was on it for 16 years and, while he loved it at one time, he felt it had become "a cesspool of conspiracy theories and hatred."

He's not wrong. But I also don't talk politics out there and, believe it or not, mostly keep myself out of trouble. I tend to ignore attacks (even from burner accounts).

However, I still find a usefulness to it. I find it to be relevant when I want to mine for information on a topic. No, it's not a source, as I tell students, but it's a jumping-off point.

It served me well in that regard over numerous breaking news items since I first joined years ago.

Yes, it's a cesspool. Yes, it's horribly divisive, but so is basically every other form of social media.

Should I point out the number of people who post incessantly about politics and, when someone goes against their opinion, becomes incredibly dismissive and condescending? In fact, I told one person that and they didn't quite like it.

I also told the same person he's obsessed with a certain presidential candidate but he's hardly the only one.

That's where I do get in trouble. I call out B.S. quite frankly.

On the other hand, I was recently told to not look at a certain account online. Yet, my answer to that person, as it has gone to others over the years was simple:

"Keep your friends close and your enemies closer*."

*Even when they block you.

But, yeah, I want to know what's going on. I want to know when the little passive-aggressive digs are there.

I want to see what the latest obsessions are.

Yes. Obsessions. Plural.

Let's see: wrestling, unions, New York Mets, wrestling (yes, I know I said it twice), liberal politics, Peanuts (yes, the cartoon), Noah Eagle, drifting, and oh I could go on and on.

Is it unhealthy? Sure it is. All of it.

Yet, at least for me, it just feels necessary.

I've thought about bagging it. But I generally feel it wouldn't be wise, given what I do professionally. For instance, I'll need it for high school football news and scores in a few weeks.

But it's where my often intense reading begins. It's the base of how I know as much as I do these days.

You have no idea of the number of messages I get on a daily basis from well-meaning people about some story that they think they're cueing me in on. In reality, I likely have already seen it, even if it happened years ago.

More likely, especially if happened years ago.

There's a reason my phone and watch buzz with some form of breaking news, even after I've turned off a lot of the notifications I get.

Most people who are around journalism are the same. We see it. We read it. We hear it. We experience it.

But, even through the people that don't like me, I get information to feed me for work or simply just because.

I guess I'm babbling about a big nothing burger here. Jeff Pearlman left Twitter and that's his business.

Jeff left Mahopac years ago. Lived in New Rochelle. Now he's in California. 

So, yeah.

I don't agree with him on some things but I certainly respect him given, you know, hometown and all. Plus he's a hell of a writer.

I'm still on Twitter and currently have no plans to leave.

Nor do I plan to block anyone in the near future.

And I'm on all of the other places of note for one reason or another.

Like I said, I'm babbling.

But I'm also keeping an eye on things.

I'm Familiar With It

 

I made it to the very end of the WCBS Newsradio 880 format change at midnight.

Oh, it wasn't easy. I actually dosed off for a bit before awakening around 11:30. From there, I heard the end.

It hurt. You knew you were hearing something historic and, in the process, a piece of radio died.

I've done the format change dance before. Sometimes, it's exciting to see things change, especially if there's still employment to be had.

While we didn't change formats, WGCH was part of a change in which the offices of our then-network, Business Talk Radio (and Lifestyle Talk Radio) shifted operations from Chicago to Greenwich.

I recall being there when the change was supposed to happen. However, it didn't proceed on the initial night. If my memory is clear, the change happened the following night, and I was there for that.

There was an intrigue to it. 

Beyond that, not a lot changed initially at WGCH.

On the other hand, it was several years earlier when I had just picked up work at WREF in Ridgefield.

Housed in a small building next to Connecticut Route 35, WREF ran a format of adult standards, though there was some early rock hits we played as well.

I started at WREF in the fall of 1996, as the Yankees were making their run to the World Series for the first time in 15 years. 

My job was as needed for fill-in work, which included my first professional involvement in sports. I was the board-op on four Ridgefield High School football games, which didn't involve any on-air work but it was still radio, and after being out of the business for a few years, it was nice to be back.

In the process, I was about to lose my corporate job at Kraft Foods. My position was moving to Chicago without me and my department was laid off.

In fact, I was asked to do an air shift on WREF the morning of my last day at Kraft. So I did some DJ work, including playing "In My Life" by The Beatles in tribute to my soon-to-be former colleagues.

But, maybe, I'd have a new home at WREF.

Alas, no.

The station had been sold.

But radio continued from the building on Route 35. In fact, I'd been given a Saturday morning shift that featured having a newsman to banter with.

After the news of the sale broke, the newsman didn't come back. I sat in the air studio, playing music, and gathered whatever headlines I could come up with.

In fact, WREF ran like that for the rest of its existence. I moved to a Sunday show of "Big Bands and Ballads" that allowed me to pick and choose from the wall of carts, a few CDs, and even a record or two.

In the process, I became the assistant general manager, which meant coming into the station, sitting in the big office, and answering any phone calls.

Plus, it also meant beginning to clear the building out. I didn't get much, to be honest. I went through the music library, creating cassette tapes of any songs that I liked and, admittedly, I still have two really old headsets. They're both in states of disrepair now but actually still work.

I used them on sports broadcasts for a bunch of years until finally upgrading a little over a decade ago. My own headset was an investment. It's one I'd like to upgrade again.

Having a say in how WREF ran through these couple of months -- as minimal as that say was -- was enjoyable. Family would sometimes come over, bring food, and hang out with me while I did my Sunday shift.

I also did a Christmas morning show. This was the first and, still, the only time I've ever worked on Christmas morning*. Feeling a hint of spirit, I played holiday tunes that I liked and made the best of the morning. A friend came up and hung out with me for some of it and my replacement -- the late Luke Michaels -- joined me on the air toward the end of my show.

*OK, I worked a midnight mass once on WGCH, meaning technically that was also Christmas morning (in 1999, I think).

But there was a bit of a freeform feeling to WREF in this in-between stage. I still maintained the format and followed any protocols that were put in place. WREF also needed to be turned on and off every day, as 850 AM is a clear-channel frequency, meaning smaller stations at the same dial location can't interfere.

Thus, I had to flip a switch either around 5:45 am or sometime in the evening.

By early 1997, after the joy of the Yankees winning the World Series, board-opping a football game on Thanksgiving (I completely forgot about that), and the Christmas shows (Eve and Day), I was only hosting the Sunday program from Noon to 4 p.m.

Most of the rest of the day was now taken by music being pumped in from the new owners. Still, Steve Goodwin (the acting GM) and I were there to hold down the fort.

Ridgefield Press, Feb 20, 1997

The end, unbeknownst to me, came on Feb 23, 1997. Coincidentally, I'd become a father five years later to the day.

My mother, sister, and a few others had come over to keep me company. I was in good spirits, continuing to play music and be an on-air personality.

But one of the guests -- a man invited by Mom -- began talking to me about it being my last show.

Wait. What?

I said I had heard nothing about it. Surely, I would have been told, right?

RIGHT?

He told me he had read it in The Ridgefield Press. His pushing the topic was making me a bit indignant.

Then, he went out and got a copy of the paper.

Boom.

WREF would cease operations from the Ridgefield studios, with programming to originate from the new owners' Danbury offices.

I called Steve Goodwin and got confirmation. Always check your sources, friends.

I did the rest of the show in a fog.

I don't think audio exists and I haven't exactly looked for it.

But I recall saying a sort of goodbye to the audience as I talked up one last song, which I believe was "April in Paris" by Count Basie. An absolutely brilliant recording.

However, somewhere before the song was over, someone else pulled the plug.

I never got to flip the switch.

Oh, the building had power but WREF was off the air.

From that same 2/20/97 Ridgefield Press:
Seeing my name in print as a host was bittersweet

The man who told me I was out of a job insisted on taking a picture of me as I was leaving the parking lot. Admittedly, I wasn't much in the mood for such jocularity.

The next day, with my heart in my gut, now completely unemployed, I put WREF on to see if there had been any changes.

They were now running things from Danbury for sure but only playing "It's the Same Old Song" by the Four Tops on a loop.

I thought for sure the "stunting" (as it's called) would end at the top of the next hour.

It didn't. It kept going. That's how stunting works.

I wasn't listening when the format finally flipped. It became a satellite oldies station.

While there was talk of keeping a local show, my understanding is that never happened. Either way, it wasn't going to be me.

One thing I know for sure: I was the last live broadcaster on WREF in Ridgefield. They've essentially been either satellite or simulcast of another radio station ever since.

In fact, the station is no longer WREF. It bounced between a couple of formats and eventually became WAXB and is "Juan 850" playing Spanish adult hits.

Yes, I quickly learned how cold it could all be. The new owner thanked me for my help in transitioning things and I could now say I had worked in radio management. A nice addition to my resume, I suppose.

Steve Goodwin and Luke Michaels both said they would recommend me to another radio station they worked at: WGCH in Greenwich.

I trained with Steve at the end of March 1997 and, that same day, visited the WREF building for the final time. It's now Enchanted Garden, "one of the area’s premier arts education centers since 1997," per their website.

There was a WREF dinner not long after that felt awkward, especially for me as the true newbie.

I've lost touch with almost everyone from there. Luke Michaels wanted to work with me on a drivetime radio show on WGCH but we lost him to cancer not long after I joined the station. Steve Goodwin did some board-op work with WGCH, including some games for me, but I lost track of him.

It's business, sadly. 

It's what could have been, I suppose.

Yet, 27 years later, I'm still with WGCH, trying to make us better than ever.

And now I'm the play-by-play announcer.

But, yeah, it can all be so fleeting.

And cold.

I returned to work in Ridgefield. As a writer. Occasionally for The Ridgefield Press.

And I've called Ridgefield High School football. I'll do that again -- from Ridgefield -- this fall.

Life's funny that way.

Host with the Most, Part Two

 

There's a hint of pride in that face

I made my second appearance as the on-field host for a Renegades game last night.

I was told that the possibility existed on Thursday but I honestly didn't give it much thought.

By Saturday, I had confirmation that I'd be on the field.

I appreciated the vote of confidence and hoped to do my best.

Unlike last time, Sean would be in the stadium.

So my goals were 

- Don't embarrass the team.

- Don't embarrass Sean.

Me? Oh, heck, I can deal with embarrassment. I'm good at it.

Early on, things went according to schedule, at least on my end.

I handled the on-field hello and the first pitches. I chatted with people on the field, including Renegades "Mount Rushmore" legend Wade Davis, who came to the stadium for a first pitch of his own.

The team gave away mini Mount Rushmores, with four of the legends in team history portrayed on it.

One thing I did notice was that the microphone I was using was being temperamental. So was the walkie-talkie I was carrying.

But, OK, I've been down this road. I've gotten around equipment failures.

Right before game time, my job is to get the word from the dugout to the PA booth to start the music that serves as the introduction of the team. Then, the on-field host normally introduces the players.

I got the OK to point up to Clicks to start the music.

I also tried to radio up. They couldn't hear me. Eventually, they started the music.

Then, I tried to take my microphone off mute.

And it died.

Jamie Goerke took the mic from me and I left it in her hands as chaos began. The Renegades waited to come out. The national anthem singer was waiting.

And it was like dead air in radio. It felt awkward.

I stood and waited. Patiently. Jamie radioed up to play the national anthem on the PA system.

The Renegades took the field on their own.

Jamie got the mic to work but it was too late. The anthem had started and the singer couldn't sing.

Honestly, that could have killed the vibe of the night right there but we weren't willing to let that happen. This, as you know, wasn't my first rodeo or baseball game. It also wasn't my first time as the on-field host.

Initially, we decided we would leave the mic on and let Clicks handle the volume in the booth. That means there's no option for me to mute and unmute the mic, thus taking away my ability to ad-lib during the game. That wouldn't be the end of the world but it takes some of the fun away as a host.

Eventually, Jamie got another microphone working and handed that one to me. It worked the way it should and we were in business.

After playing a game of Tic Tac Toe with a mother/son duo, I felt my mojo kicking in.

The night took off from there.

I felt like I was able to shine in a few moments, especially standing on the first base dugout when I had to play the "Dirtiest Car in the Parking Lot" segment. It is exactly what it is: a car is selected and we have some fun with it, before giving the "winner" a prize from a local car wash.

I heard some laughs as I shamed the car in question.

Later on, we played a trivia game involving players who had played for the Renegades before making the major leagues ... or not.

I played it with the entire crowd and, again, I used the skills I developed in various Hunt Scanlon conferences and banquets.

It has to be done quickly, in the span of an inning break and, where I struggled in my first game, I was much cleaner this time.

Once again, Jamie Goerke was the rock star for me, patiently dealing with any questions.

I'd have to say, my anxiety was non-existent. I relaxed and had fun with the fans as well as my coworkers who were universally supportive.

I appreciated those who called out my name to say hello. I appreciated the fan who noticed I was wearing a Bobby Murcer 1973 1973 Yankees jersey. It was Old Timers' Day in The Bronx after all.

I appreciated the good humor of those who played the games, including the couple involved in Water Wars, a trivia game in which the person who gets the questions wrong gets doused with buckets of water.

The questions -- which I came up with -- were impossibly silly and simple.

The man in this couple got all four wrong. Soaking and, with a smile, he fist-bumped me.

The Renegades won the game so I couldn't be blamed for them losing. 

Players sign autographs, especially taking care of the kids

After the final out, I returned to the field to thank everyone for coming out before playing the post-game tennis balls event. People buy bags of tennis balls and try to throw them into hoops on the field to win prizes.

With that complete, I handed the mic back to Jamie and officially said goodnight.

Sean, Anthony, Clicks, and Jason were waiting to support me and hear the stories. Clicks had his own crazy night with the PA mixing board giving him grief.

It was one of those nights but we got through it without fans really knowing what was going on.

That survival skill is the best.

I don't know if I'll ever get to do it again but I had fun and I proved to myself that I was capable of doing a good job.

Most of all?

My son wasn't embarrassed.

I drove home with a smile on my face.

*****

WCBS Newsradio 880 switches formats at midnight. I've been listening whenever possible and, like many of my brethren, will mourn its end.

It's a shame. I've mentioned it before but I wanted to say it once more as the end is almost upon us.

Sad. That's all I've got. Just sad.

Old Timers' Day

The Mick, Yogi, Whitey, the Yankee Clipper, and Casey

Oh, I know.

"Twenty-seven rings!"

Well, yeah.

You're damn right.

It's Old Timers' Day at Yankee Stadium today.

I'd love to be there but duty calls elsewhere and I just found out I'll be on the field tonight for Blue Rocks/Renegades.

But I love the nostalgia of Old Timers' Day.

I remember it being a highlight when I was little. That's where I began to learn about DiMaggio, Mantle, Ford, Yogi, and so on. Mrs. Babe Ruth and Mrs. Lou Gehrig were also there. It was baseball royalty.

That's probably where five-year-old me decided I wanted to be number five. 

Then I found out DiMaggio -- who I revered -- would have that number forever.

Eventually, I made my way to my first Old Timers' Day. It was 1983 and my guy had just hung up his uniform and grabbed a microphone. Yet, on that glorious day in The Bronx, Bobby Murcer patrolled center field once again.

My picture of Bobby Murcer in center, 1983

 

I've been many times over the years. I got to see all of the greats. One year, Willie Mays was on hand and how could anyone not love that?

The game was always fun. It used to be a short exhibition game and sometimes, Mantle would hit a home run. Maybe DiMaggio, though he had stopped playing by the time I was a kid. Maybe it would be Joe Pepitone or Willie Randolph or Hector Lopez or some other name of the past.

There were always the introductions that produced all of those great memories. Scooter, Goose, Guidry, Bucky, Nettles, and so many others.

Admittedly, it is a very long day if you go and I've had kids go who quickly lost interest, but I sit there and love every minute of it.

The eras, of course, have changed for the annual celebration. Today, they'll celebrate 15 years since that last title, in 2009, and the those on-hand will tell stories and bring smiles. I've already seen Derek Jeter (you know, "The Overrated Shortstop"), CC Sabathia, and Mariano Rivera. 

Nick Swisher is there and who has more fun than he does?

Alex Rodriguez is making his first OTD appearance and, look, he's a controversial figure. I'll always struggle with how to talk about him but the guy was such a great player. He's always, like it or not, a pariah.

Many others will be introduced, though Brett Gardner has elected to stay away. Old Timers' Day was always for the fans, and Gardy was a fan favorite, so one hopes that he will reconsider.

Old Timers' Day wasn't just about the players but it was the personalities also. Mel Allen, the revered and true "Voice of the Yankees" would be present as a host and play-by-play announcer for the exhibition game.

When I was a kid, Frank Messer -- the first play-by-play voice I took note of -- hosted the ceremony. Partners Phil Rizzuto and Bill White were former players and so Messer was the right person to preside over the day.

Since then, John Sterling and Michael Kay have served as co-MCs. Kay is hosting on his own today.

I alluded to Claire Ruth and Eleanor Gehrig -- representing the Yankees wives. Today, those who touch our hearts include Diana Munson (Thurman), Jill Martin (Billy), and of course, Kay Murcer (Bobby).

It's a day for nostalgia, and nobody does it like baseball.

Nobody has the history the Yankees do.

Hate them for living in the past. Hate me if you want.

But I eat all of this up. 

It's a reminder of what we've seen. 

What has been.

And what can be again.

Today

Golden Slumbers...Eventually

Another no-hitter on the scoreboard

This hasn't been the best week ever.

I mean, to the public, I've been me.

Work. Baseball. Radio. Etc.

But, in truth, I had a nearly sleepless night earlier in the week as I worried about some stuff.

I've paid for it since Monday. I worked a baseball game Tuesday and was a zombie. I mean, I stayed awake and did the job but I know I felt the exhaustion.

Yet, I still didn't sleep well that night.

Things improved slightly on Wednesday night.

But, yesterday, without anyone knowing, I got a little boost from a friend who was texting me to talk baseball.

In the middle of talking about Aaron Judge and other "diamond notes," we turned to other topics.

Remember I once said to not tell me things are going to get better without some tangible evidence? 

Without saying it, he offered how to back it up.

This does not mean things are cleared up. It means I'm not worrying quite as much.

And it allowed me some sleep last night.

Hope, as I've said, is dangerous, but it's sometimes all one can hang onto. 

And there are points where things snowball, especially late at night as the gremlins are strolling around in the dark.

Monday night, the gremlins worked overtime. I stared at the ceiling when I wasn't staring at the insides of my eyelids.

I looked at my phone.

I strolled through the empty apartment.

The funny thing is I don't turn the TV on in these circumstances. That used to be something I'd do but I don't anymore. I tend to lean on something soothing to listen to if anything.

I should probably read more, and I still have Paul McCartney's book that I need to finish. It helps me get ideas for "Meet the Beatles."

Eventually, I tried the couch. As a reminder, it's actually a loveseat courtesy of my cousin Kourtney.

So, it's a two-seater.

And I'm six feet tall but I make it work. I curl up or let my legs hang. The thing is, it's all mental because there's no way it's more comfortable than my bed.

But I got a few minutes there, just as I got a few in bed.

Heck, I can't even blame The Cat for this night, as he stayed with me until his usual hijinks at 5 a.m.

Then he gets closed out of the bedroom.

So, no, things aren't where I want them to be but I feel a little better. I'm just hoping that feeling will improve.

And more sleep tonight would be nice.

I have two Renegades games this weekend after working a doubleheader yesterday. The Gades threw their fourth no-hitter (a seven-inning game, just as they did in 2021) so that gave us a little extra excitement. The early game was a bit of a grind. 

But the Gades provided a different kind of thrill welcoming a group of baseball players from Bhutan earlier in the week, and I was honored to be a part of that as the PA announcer. The Bhutan Baseball and Softball Association group went to Yankee Stadium on Wednesday and that was great to see also.

So it's been a week.

And I have to believe it's getting better.

A little better all the time.

My New Partner

 

Calling hockey in Poughkeepsie in April

I announced last night on social media that Dan Murphy has accepted the offer to become my partner in the WGCH radio booth for Greenwich football.

If you've been paying attention that might come as no shock. Dan and I called a game together last year -- Darien/Greenwich -- and he joined me for a few Hudson Valley Vipers hockey games also.

This began because Dan asked me to come on a podcast a few years back. I was happy to do it. We finished some three hours later, stunned at the easy chemistry we had. We repeated that a few more times, normally to preview football and baseball season. 

Then, while in Buffalo for the road meet that Dan organized, we were talking at a Buffalo Bisons baseball game that night. He said he wanted to try calling baseball with me. With no equipment -- including microphones -- nearby, we sat together and did an inning. Friends tried to rattle us as we stayed true to calling a serious game.

It sparked the idea for him to fill in on a game. When Chris Erway was away, I offered Dan the Darien game.

No small affair, to be clear. 

He did a great job and, as I said, we eventually added some hockey during the winter.

Once Chris told me he was moving to North Carolina, I knew it was time for a new partner. 

Could I do the games alone? Sure. That's how I do things at Brunswick most of the time. In fact, I do a lot of games on my own. I've also called Greenwich Football solo a few times.

But WGCH gave me the approval to bring in a partner. Dan said he could make the games and I decided to offer him the gig.

If Dan can't -- or if I can't -- there are others I can reach out to. Chris Kaelin -- yes, trusty Kato (Tako) -- is always on speed dial. A friend of mine from the Renegades, Anthony Conover, has also said he'd love to jump on a game. I could see Dan, Anthony, and I working a game together but we'll work out those details.

And there is almost certainly going to be a day where I will have to run between Brunswick and Greenwich. I'll need help on those days. Plus you never know when and where business and travel will pull me away.

The bottom line is, that having someone I can trust is important. Dan will learn the ropes of the equipment and the nuances of the broadcasts. I think, overall, he already has the announcing down. The chemistry is so important.

Now, look, we all know he won't be Chris and that's good. I don't want that. He needs to be Dan, and we discussed that last night. 

Honestly, how many different partners have I worked with over the years? How many are still good friends to this day? The chemistry with every one of those people came through.

I can't say enough good things about Chris and the years we spent together. We'll remain close friends and if the road twists to a chance for us to call games together again, we'll cross that bridge.

But it's Dan's turn now.

It's always been about our team at WGCH Sports and the community we cover. That won't change. It was there before I started and it became my priority when I became sports director. The broadcasts will always sound professional. 

With Dan, we're going to have fun. It's sports and it's broadcasting. That's what it should be.

Dan will do his homework and I'll be there to fill in the gaps. Greenwich will welcome him with open arms.

Once upon a time, a New Yorker came to WGCH and began calling Greenwich sports. The football gig was considered to be the plum assignment. The town got to know him and accepted him as one of their own.

A second New Yorker will be in the booth with him, forming a new lead team on WGCH.

The same quality you've come to expect will be on the air live from West Haven on that Friday night.

Make sure to say hello to the new broadcast team.

The Picture Doesn't Tell All

 

Sean is at his mother's place doing some cleaning.

There's so much to say about that sentence but I'll resist. "Baby steps," as Sean said to me.

He texted me the picture above, taken in Mar 2002. But, being my son, he couldn't resist a jab.

"You look so thrilled to be a new dad!"

I had no response, except to laugh.

Of course, deep in his brain, he knows the truth. And so do I.

I loved being a new father.

As in, I've rarely loved anything more.

I was overjoyed and treasured every minute of helping to raise him.

And I loved it when he fell asleep on me, as in this picture.

There's no doubt in my mind I'm watching TV or that I'm deep in thought about something. I also look tired but, before anyone says "2 a.m. feedings" and so on, it wasn't that bad with Sean.

I just tended to work ... and work ... and work ... and often worked strange hours. Who knows what game I might have just got home from?

Or if I was filling in on the morning news? I did that quite a bit back then, often leaving Mahopac around 3:30 in the morning.

Baby Sean was a sound sleeper. So is grown-up Sean. Sure, there were the 2 a.m. feedings but they weren't that bad and I'd often get sent back to bed because of my crazy schedule. It wasn't long before he'd sleep through the night. 

Honestly, I wish he could pass some of that back to me as I'm really struggling lately. The lunatics in my brain are winning the race currently.

Sean wasn't even one to cause many sleepless nights. I recall one night that he struggled to sleep and we settled down on the couch for a bit. Eventually, he dozed off on me and I put him back in his crib. It was pretty quick.

Another time, when he was a toddler, he came in and told me he couldn't sleep. I repeat: he came to me. He came straight to my side of the bed.

Even now, he'll tell you it's because he "knew that Daddy would wake up." So that's what I did. I shot up, in fact. I walked him back into his room and settled him down. I probably offered to stay in there with him though I don't remember the details. Either way, he quickly went back to sleep.

But this picture, despite my expression, is back at the very beginning of the father-son partnership that has existed between us. That bond has always been there and continues to be.

There's no great message in this post otherwise. The picture, and Sean's snarky comment, make me smile.

I love being a dad and love that kid.

That's reason enough to post it.

National Radio Day

 

My 1955 Granco radio

I'll note my 34th anniversary in radio broadcasting in a few weeks.

But today is National Radio Day.

I love TV. In fact, I love all forms of broadcasting. That's why I embraced internet streaming also. From a talent perspective, a lot of things remain the same in terms of how we present games and shows.

There are obvious differences in terms of the vehicles we use. 

But radio, much like baseball, was my first love.

Turning an AM radio dial and picking up Atlanta, Charlotte, Pittsburgh, Chicago, Boston, and Washington D.C. during the overnight house always fascinated me. St. Louis, Toronto, Detroit, and Cincinnati were among the other far-off places I could get late at night.

There was a time when I had to rely on a radio station in Wheeling, W.V. to listen to the Steelers. WWVA had a 50,000-watt signal that I could pick up in Mahopac at night. However, day games couldn't be heard that far off.

But my radio story begins with WABC, the famed music radio station. It also included listening to Yankees games and other sports.

I was enchanted.

Eventually, I caught on to Don Imus On WN...hold on...WNNNNNNNNNNBC.

Then along came Z-100 in the formative years of the 1980s. What I wanted to do began to crystallize.

So it came that I found myself behind the microphone at Majic 105 as Sep 2, 1990 began. 

I was where I belonged.

But it was never that easy. I was fortunate to get my foot in the door but, as we know, the broadcasting business is rough and tumble. Politics, egos, and the grind are just a couple of pieces of the story.

And so it was that I was actually out of broadcasting for a few years. I used the time to work and continue going to school.

A fateful phone call in 1996 brought me back into the business at WREF in Ridgefield. As my corporate career was closing due to our jobs relocating to Chicago, I thought I had found a radio home.

I was wrong. WREF was sold just a few months after I started working there part-time. I helped close things by being their "assistant general manager." I was the last radio voice heard at the studios on Route 35 in Ridgefield.

It took a story in the Ridgefield Press, handed to me during that air shift, to find out that we were done.

But friends from WREF recommended me to another radio station and shortly after I began at WGCH.

I've been there for 27 years.

Since then, I've been heard on a lot of other outlets like Z-93, WLNA, WBNR, WVIP, WGHQ, WLIE, WMVL, WICC, and so many others as part of networks that I got to be on. Plus, of course, all of the internet work I've done, most notably on Robcasting.

It remains a joy. A happy place. A place to forget my troubles.

I know the pitfalls of radio. I know how programming frustrates me and, believe me, I'm happy to have at least a small say in the events at WGCH. I think I've earned that after all these years.

We can still do radio -- or audio broadcasting if you will. It needs to be live, local, and relatable. 

And it needs support.

It doesn't need the same three songs played every hour. It definitely doesn't need to be network programming delivered via a studio hundreds of miles away.

Radio is still meant to be a pace of information and discovery.

A place of community.

And it still, in my opinion, matters.

Sadly, I won't be on the air anywhere today. I'll be doing PA announcing for the Renegades on "Bhutan Night" at Heritage Financial Park. I suppose, in that way, you'll hear me on the Renegades Baseball Network broadcast.

But I'll be back on the air soon enough to talk sports or The Beatles or call a game. Or maybe I'll be needed for news (it's been a while).

You never know. That's part of what I love about it.

To the many who have enriched this wild ride of a career, I wish you a happy National Radio Day.

Turn it on and leave it on.

Don't Feed It. Please.

 

Dog begging for attention? Cute. Human? Not so much.

A day later, I remain astounded by the damage of Sunday's rain in the region.

Greenwich had some issues, particularly with 95 being closed for a stretch but I think we survived. I saw some footage of the Binney Park area across town so I can't say we were completely spared.

As I wrote last night, other parts of the state got walloped, like my friends in Oxford. I reached out to a few and haven't heard from all of them, unfortunately. However, there is no need to jump to conclusions.

But roads, bridges, and more were washed out around the area. A wedding and event venue in Monroe had a sinkhole open on its grounds. There's no question it was scary stuff.

Where I draw the line is when I know someone is looking for attention. And I frankly have a problem with those who provide the attention.

Even if I wanted to, I wouldn't, because I got exiled from that world roughly a year ago. 

Why, you ask? Because I didn't feed the troll the attention that they wanted!

But, fear not! Others do and they're the problem.

First, you got the version of being stranded in three-part harmony, followed by the mea culpa for winding up in that situation in the first place. Complete with twenty-seven eight-by-ten color glossy pictures with circles and arrows. And a paragraph on the back of each one.

OK, I'm partially quoting Alice's Restaurant Massacree by Arlo Guthrie but you get the point.

It's truly acceptable to not tell every story. I'm living proof of that. More often than not, I don't want attention but to each their own.

Don't get me wrong, I'm all for storytelling. I just suppose there's a line or common sense to it.

Anyway, I'm glad everyone is safe and sound in that situation.

I also went off today on "Doubleheader" about ESPN's Kidscast, which I'm fully in favor of. First of all, the kids come from Bruce Beck's sports broadcasting camp, and there's no one who dislikes Bruce. He's been an outstanding guest a few times on "The Clubhouse" and is beloved.

Deservedly so.

It's not, however, cheap to attend, and I can imagine a certain subset of the region can attend the camp.

Let's cut to the chase: those who can afford it.

I'll further say that there is no way my parents would have scraped upwards of $1,500 for me to attend. Plus find a way to get me to and from the camp. There were simply realities in my youth and I understand that. Don't get me wrong, they provided and gave me a lot within their means. I was never denied playing baseball every year, for instance, so long as my grades were good enough and I had earned the right to play.

That's how I was raised and it's how I raised Sean.

Most years, the Kidscast broadcasters have been from Fairfield and Darien. I remember speaking with a dad several years ago who said he'd get his child whatever equipment and advantages were needed. He basically shrugged his shoulders as if it was expected.

I've wondered if there is a scholarship to let underprivileged kids attend.

The camp gets a world-class collection of broadcasters, reporters, and athletes to attend and it's certainly worthwhile. A few people who I know and have worked with have gone to the camp.

But as I watch each year (like last night), I find myself wondering where the kid from the tough section of an urban area is. Where is a truly deserving kid who would be well-served by the opportunity to train with high-end people before calling a Kidscast on ESPN?

And, of course, this just sends us back down the road of training and mentoring the next generation. One thing that has also gotten under my skin about this -- again, not the fault of the camp -- is that some of their graduates only wanted to be mentored by D-I and "major league" broadcasters.

Nope, they're not interested in the help of a "nobody" like me. Needless to say, it didn't help our relationship.

Anyway, I enjoy continuing to mentor broadcasters of all ages, whether they attend CSB or connect with me on their own. Max Feifer, a student from Horace Greeley High School, is the latest to attend "The School of Robcasting."

No. I do not call it that. 

Max has joined me on "Doubleheader" several times and we'll continue to do just that. To me, it's just as important to stay in touch even if the "internship" is over. I'm still in touch with several who have worked with me and they know the door is always open for a return.

And I'd fully embrace teaching a student who deserves an opportunity. 

That's always been the idea.

I hope this is something that the camp and ESPN consider for the future.

Washed Out and Yet They Played

 

CT Route 34 near Lake Zoar (Photo: Dawn Schmedlin)

I woke up to rain.

A lot of rain.

It poured. Bad.

The yard next to us flooded to the point that there was a lake created in their backyard.

But, duty called, and we had to go.

First up was "Meet the Beatles" though walking to WGCH wasn't an option. I made the short drive and did the show.

I didn't rush home, thinking that we might not head to Dutchess County for the Renegades game.

Oh, I was quite wrong about that. We left a little after 11 a.m.

The plan was to work our way down to I-95 and then eventually to the Taconic State Parkway.

As we approached Railroad Ave, I noticed flashing lights and a police officer in the middle of the intersection. He waved me through but then I noticed the traffic.

It headed towards Hamilton Ave -- a two-lane road and it was bumper to bumper.

A moment later, I reached the entrance to I-95 South, where I found a Greenwich police cruiser blocking the entrance.

Road closed.

I adjusted and took us back past WGCH and literally back to our front door. We continued on, left Greenwich via Glenville, and jumped on I-684.

It poured as we drove. It didn't seem possible -- or even probable -- that there would be baseball at Heritage Financial Park today.

Passing Purdy's on 684, I noticed a lot of cars exiting at Exit 7. My immediate reaction was, "Oh no."

I saw the same as we approached Croton Falls and Exit 8.

That told me that the last stretch up to I-84 would be bumper to bumper and it was.

Somehow, we survived the traffic started west on 84. Coming down Stormville Mountain, as we got close to the intersection with the Taconic State Parkway, I saw flashing lights.

We were up against the clock in our effort to get to the stadium in time for our call time and it would be thwarted by a car off in the trees on the left side of the westbound lanes.

Quickly, thoughts moved from being on time to being safe. How anyone survived that accident is beyond my pay grade.

We reached the stadium literally on time for the meeting, and I snuck into the booth to catch up.

We also grabbed some lunch before the game.

Somehow there was a window for the Renegades and Crawdads to play, and they did so without a drop of rain. In fact, there were even stretches of sunshine.

I'm fascinated by such decision-making, and I'd love to sit in on the process to understand how it all works. I know everyone tries to be smart and safe about these things. 

But, in the end, there was nothing to talk about. Our drive was interesting and I had no idea what I was going back to but it had no concern whatsoever on the baseball game.

The game happened, we had fun in the booth and wrapped things up. The Renegades lost a close game and they'll back to it in the stretch run of the playoff race on Tuesday night.

As we got ready to leave, we watched as baseball and softball players from Bhutan -- yes, seriously -- started taking batting practice long after the crowd had filed out.

Once again, the great game of baseball bonds us all.

The drive home lacked much drama, and we came home to peace and quiet. Thankfully, things are dry here for us but there are many dealing with headaches all over Connecticut.

I've seen pictures and videos from Wilton, Ridgefield, Redding, Newtown, and Southbury. Part of Connecticut Route 34 -- a main thoroughfare from Newtown to New Haven -- had washed out in a few places. For reference, I used 34 on my daily drive from Mahopac to Newotown back in the HAN Network days.

There will be massive headaches as the work week begins tomorrow.

Accidents on 95 caused the road to be closed earlier today.

The biggest concern is health and I hope everyone is safe.

Old Enough to Vote

 

While this picture doesn't apply to this post, please know that
Alice Loxton is a wonderful follow for those interested in history
and this is her latest book.

A birthday is being celebrated today.

There will be no cake, no cards, nothing more than this post.

But now they're old enough to step into a polling place and go to college and begin to gain some independence.

They can drive, and we've aimed the car down the highway pretty consistently.

How we got to 18 is amazing. There were many times I thought it was over. It felt like the inevitable split with rebellion featuring diva behavior.

The time of birth was 7 a.m. on Aug 17, 2006.

And "Exit 55" came into existence. The first post was about breaking ground on the new Yankee Stadium the day before. I was gutted watching the ceremony.

Post number one

It's funny in hindsight that I called the first post "And Away We Go" because I often use that phrase during game broadcasts. The great Jackie Gleason would often say that during his legendary variety show on CBS and my father loved "The Great One." Thus "And Away We Go" is often said as a little nod to my dad.

I'd be remiss if I didn't mention my mother, who read posts occasionally. That's one of the amazing things about this. I never knew -- and still don't -- who was reading. I'm often surprised and mildly embarrassed when people say they're reading.

We've seen so much in these 18 years and I'm not sure I'm prepared to try to explain everything. Obviously, we've seen life roll by. There have been births and deaths and divorces and marriages and relationships and breakups and growth and bad health and storms and triumphs and deep moments and open discussions.

And I'm mostly satisfied with what I've shared.

However, I know where I was 18 years ago and how the years have impacted me. I know the changes I've seen. 

Some things, of course, have not changed. The things I've written about have evolved.

Where I worked and what I did have evolved as well. Yes, I'm still with WGCH. I'm still with the Renegades. But there's so much around that that has changed.

I had no real social media presence at that time, with the exception of starting this blog. Now I'm on MyBookXInstaSnapTok. Or whatever.

In truth, I started the blog because several friends had one and said I should try it. However, I refused to do it until I knew I was committed to it.

Now, I'm the only one still doing it.

To that end, I wrote a lot in the early days, and cranked out over 400 posts in 2009. Eventually, I scaled back. 

Way back.

My output sadly trickled down to just 35 posts in 2018.

Obviously, I've posted quite a bit since then.

Each post is (somewhat) carefully thought out. The words are often read a few times.

Still, there are regrets. There are things I wish I hadn't written and things I wish I had. I wish there were things that I wasn't bothered by. Yet I always felt it was important to talk about, especially for those dealing with similar situations.

There are things that were tough to write but needed to be written.

There are posts that I'm proud of and a few that I'm probably not.

But what this little corner of the world allowed me to discover was that I could write a bit. I wasn't just a broadcaster. My voice could be used in different ways.

I had wondered about my writing ability probably since I was in college.

The blog has helped create friendships. It's possibly damaged a few also and that makes me sad.

But here we are.

Despite thinking I might just let the "Exit 55" fade out quietly after writing a few days in a row in 2019, we are still getting together once a day for whatever comes out of my random thought generator.

I've bled for you but have always tried to keep some mystery about it all because I never wanted to be that much of an open book. But I also tried to be honest and transparent.

To those who have read every post, thank you. To those who have read even one post, thank you.

To the kind comments, thank you. To the critics and haters, thank you for the challenge.

To my inspirations and close supporters, my unending thanks.

I will continue to try to find meaningful things to write about and hopefully do it honorably.

In general, I don't write to harm. I write, if anything, to cause thought.

Sorry for whatever hurt and/or embarrassment I've caused.

I said I wanted to make sure this would last.

I don't know that I saw this carrying on for 18 years but here we are.

Laundry in the Hood

 

Note: NOT my laundry room

It's laundry and mute night here.

Come on, who has it better than I do?

But seriously, Sean is working for the Renegades and I have the night off. So it was my night to get some things done around here, including laundry.

I also purged some clothes and I'm a big fan of cleaning things out.

But, at one point, I stepped outside to check the clothes in the dryer when I was struck by the weather. We're at the time of year when it's warmer and more uncomfortable inside as opposed to outside.

It's currently 73 degrees outside and closer to 80 inside. It's not bad as I sit on the couch and watch the Yankees.

However, it's gorgeous outside.

Boy does that make me miss my balcony. I haven't used my chair once this summer and I'm only making a note of that. Beyond that, it's hardly a big deal.

Let's face it, at this point, I'd need bug spray on and I'm just getting over a bout of bug bites from Rhode Island.

So, if you're keeping score, I dealt with a collection of mosquito bites and sunburn.

In other news, I'm an idiot for not putting either sunscreen or repellent on.

So it goes.

As for the Yankees game, well, they won and Aaron Judge hit his 301st home run. But former Renegade Oswald Peraza homered as well, and that will always make me smile.

Peraza was part of the early success of the 2021 team that I got to broadcast. He electrified then-Dutchess Stadium with his power explosion.

Those were wonderful times and it's funny how many of the crew from that year I still talk to say the same thing. 

As for tonight's Yankees broadcast, well, I had it on mute. I'm sure Ryan Ruocco is a nice guy.

And there was no "Hawk Tuah" girl. Oh, wait, that wasn't the Yankees.

But more to the point about tonight was how much I was enjoying the weather outside. With the laundry going around I couldn't afford to take a walk but that's the kind of night it felt like.

Sean and I have met a few of the neighbors and characters who populate this area and it's a nice group so far. The neighborhood is more flat and walkable than Bruce Park, but it was also nice to have the park nearby as well as the train station.

Plus Bruce Park Grill is across the street.

Conversely, the train station is a longer walk from here but we have pizza, a bank, a grocery store, and other businesses within a 20-minute walk.

I've been enjoying walking around and look forward to investigating more of the area. There are plenty of intriguing houses to stroll past.

I don't miss the hill on Bruce Park Ave. Or, as you know, the parking.

Though I miss having a washer and dryer in our apartment, along with an attic for our storage and, of course, the balcony.

But, as always, so it goes.

We're happy here.

The Elation of Emissions

 

(Photo: CTEmissions.com)

OK, let's get to the bottom line. 

The drama of the car is over (for now).

I took it to the Nissan dealer service area just across the state line on Monday morning.

It meant putting my faith in what they're doing at a huge financial cost to me. It also meant this had to be the answer to why I've had a check engine light on intermittently for years.

I told them they could have the car all day when I dropped it off just after 8 a.m. Thanks to Sean, I had a ride both to and from the service department.

By the mid-afternoon, the work was done, my credit card was swiped, and we were back home.

"Drive it," they said, telling me that I needed to reset the drive cycle because there was still an emissions test that I needed to pass.

But, for the first time in a long time, there was no check engine light. There was no light to tell me that the gas cap was loose.

Frankly, I had become immune to it. However, Connecticut's testing had an issue with it.

So, on Tuesday, feeling hopeful, I went across town to the inspection station/car wash/gas station/convenience store/oil change facility.

Seriously, that's all in one place.

The inspector took my paperwork, and didn't charge me for the test since I satisfied the requirements for a free retest and...quickly told me the drive cycle wasn't complete. As a result, the car didn't pass or fail. It was aborted.

"Keep driving," I was told.

So I drove the car to Heritage Financial Park on Tuesday night, hoping that would be enough.

I also took the car out for breakfast yesterday morning to add to the reset of the drive cycle.

Again hopeful but more nervous, I took off for the inspection station this morning.

It couldn't fail. I also didn't have much time as it needed to pass by Saturday.

As there are no reservations, you pull in and sit on a line. Twice, I've sat and waited for roughly an hour. I assumed the same this morning.

But it wasn't that bad.

I reached the bay, stepped out of the car, and went into the waiting room.

Honestly, the drama of the story ends here. The inspector -- the same one who dealt with me in June as well as on Tuesday -- handed me a sheet with "PASS" on it.

It was over.

Huzzah.

Look, I was concerned about how I'd react had it failed.

My likely first stop would have been the service department of Nissan, with the hope that I would remain calm in explaining the issue.

But the obvious worry would be about finding out what was wrong and, at that point, Connecticut isn't exactly sympathetic.

Happily, none of those concerns are necessary.

I have until 2026 before I have to deal with this test again.

*****

Did the Mets really have the "Hawk Tuah" girl throw out a ceremonial first pitch today? 

From the team that once had the Baja Men perform "Who Let the Dogs Out" before a World Series game comes this cultural touchstone moment!

Then they're fanbase wonders why #LOLMets is a thing.

Working Tonight

 

Current view as I work at "his" desk

I just finished up a job which I'm happy to have done.

It was honest work on a deposition and that's a very good thing. It also allows me to believe we'll survive another month here in Presidential Suite 2.0*.

* You know, the home of father and son, with Adams as the last name.

But it was also a highly active day with plenty to think about. Lots of meetings about lots of things.

Among them is that barring anything weird, it is confirmed that my voice will be on Greenwich High School football for a 26th year. All but three of those have been on WGCH (the other two were on HAN). Of course, I only did 7-on-7 football in 2020 and that was on Robcasting. In fact, most of 2021 was on Robcasting.

But you get the idea.

Will Greenwich win their fifth state title with me as their broadcaster? OK, they also won one in 1999 but I was only a sideline reporter for a game. A very cold, in fact, frozen, sideline reporter.

But they've been to eight championship games since I started as lead announcer in 2000 and I've been on the call for all of them. 

So, again, will they win a title this year? You'll have to tune in beginning on Sep 13 to find out. I'm sure West Haven will be a delightful host.

They like me, for what it's worth.

I'll also soon tell you who will be next to me in the GHS booth this year, as the A-Team has officially split. Perhaps we'll discover The New A-Team?

Beyond that, I'm thinking about work and how to work, and how to stay above water. Sadly, it's time to consider moves that I don't want to consider, none of which I feel like stating publicly yet. So many carrots dangled and so many disappointments.

My headspace isn't the best tonight to try to talk about any of it.

So some parameters might change. That's all part of what I'm thinking about. I have committed to some stuff this fall. But it's best to not put the cart before the horse, cross that bridge when we get there, and all of those other lovely clichés.

Anyway, I don't have much more to babble about tonight.

Just lots to consider.

I was happy to work.

Don't Let it Destroy You

 

Burning a bridge isn't the answer (Google Image)

I'm watching a possible nervous breakdown happen in real-time.

To be clear, it's serious but not that serious that I need to call any authorities. It's more of a metaphysical thing.

I've watched comments appear on "the socials" and then get deleted.

If I gathered correctly, a broadcast outlet refused the demands of an announcer and, ultimately, decided to move on without the broadcaster in question.

The person wanted to work "SOLO" (his caps, not mine) but the channel was resistant for whatever reason.

Look, I happen to like working alone if I don't know a potential partner. I don't love to have a partner get "thrown" into a booth with me. There's no chance to create chemistry. But I've also done it many times, even with people I know.

For instance, Bob Gerbert volunteered to do Little League games with me. Quite often, Something told me to take a shot in that situation.

It worked. Quite well.

I'd say it was exceptional. There's always a question of learning cadence and when to let a game breathe but those moments can be figured out. Further to the point, Bobby's son, Jack, had a huge hit to tie last Friday's game, and Bob knew to let the call happen and let the crowd noise take over. 

There was no secret that he was rooting for his son and for Trumbull, and even high-fived people around us, but that never came across on the air. He was fair and honest at all times.

That's stuff that can be taught if necessary but I never needed to say a word.

But, yes, I'm resistant to working with just "anyone."

However, to make enough of a "stink" to get fired? No, I'd rather not do that.

Regardless of whatever "esoteric" aspect of announcing those in charge lack. Because, let's face it, the bosses get the last say.

I've dealt with too many "broadcasting executives" who thought they knew it all. One dude that I worked for earned the nickname of "Marconi" because he thought he had invented radio.

(He very much did not and tended to damage every outlet he worked at.)

But going public with all of these gripes can be a very dangerous avenue, and I say that as a writer/broadcaster. I've certainly shared quite a bit of "inside knowledge" but I've long tried to never burn a bridge.

I'm not sure our friend can say the same.

The last thing he posted included a picture of him when he was much younger, with the caption making a crack about how he was too young to be beaten down by the business.

Oof.

That has also been deleted.

Look, I get the airing of grievances. I've done it. 

But it generally doesn't go well.

I've lived it all. I've been "done dirty" many times.

Seriously, there are too many examples.

I've got the scars. I've got the stories.

And, yet, here I am.

I've had many others try to knock me out. Other sports talk show hosts have shown up with offers of money and...well...OK. They were able to do a few shows, the money dried up, and poof. They were never heard from again.

I've watched as so many young broadcasters try to take over.

And yet? Here I am.

Oh, they tried to outdo me even in youth sports. But that was me in Rhode Island last week.

I've had people literally say they wanted my job. Ultimately, they got their wish because I could see the writing on the wall. I stepped back and I watched.

For the record, they're no longer in the business.

So, before the nervous breakdown kicks in, remember to keep grinding. If all else fails, move on with your head held high.

And if that fails, post all the compliments you've received. Then repeat.

I'm sure that will work.

But, while we make some light of all of this to keep things in perspective, it's also work mentioning that I take what I'm watching seriously and hope they get whatever help is needed.