From Zero to Ten

 

Calling the FCIAC at Wilton, 2022 (Photo: Shawn Sailer)

I was pretty glum when Monday morning opened its eyes to the world.

The previous week had been a less-than-stellar collection of doing a lot of nothing. 

The broadcasting world felt dead to me. All the gigs were going to others.

Yes, I had the wonderful experience of the two Brunswick FAA playoff games, including a conference championship win on Saturday but not having the FCIAC girls basketball or hockey tournament had me feeling a bit lost.

In fact, I felt a bit done.

I looked around. Then I looked in the mirror. Blah blah blah, Taylor Swift, it's me, hi, blah blah blah.

Around the same time last year, I called the FCIAC girls semifinals in both hockey and basketball, Brunswick's run to the FAA championship game, along with Section One finals in hockey. Oh yeah, I also went to New Jersey and did wrestling. Oh, and the FCIAC wrestling championship.

The once-promised moniker of "Voice of FCIAC Championships/Voice of the FCIAC" or whatever seemed like a bit of a reality.

In a stretch from Feb 12-Mar 6, 2022, I called 21 events. In 17 of those, I worked solo. Chris Erway joined me for the other four.

Beginning with Feb 11, 2023, until last Saturday, I called five.

So, yeah, I definitely looked in the mirror. 

I offered to do things for free and got turned down. So, yeah. That.

But, darkest before dawn as it often seems, my week went from zero to, maybe, 10.

First, I heard from Boomslang Basketball. We're on for a playoff game on Saturday and, if they win, a championship game on Sunday.

Then, with an assist to Ben Talbott, the FCIAC boys basketball tourney was back in my lap. The games, thanks to the snow, have been moved to Wednesday and Friday.

Then Kevin Halpenny called me this morning to see if I was interested in four basketball section championship games in New York. They'll run on NFHS (pay-per-view) but it's work and it's more games. I could only do three and they were OK with that. Thanks to Kevin for putting me in touch.

So, if you're keeping track, there are two FCIAC basketball games tomorrow, the FCIAC basketball championship on Friday, Boomslang Basketball on Saturday, and three Section IX championships on Saturday. Lastly, there's a potential Boomslang championship game on Sunday.

Then I heard from Kevin Devaney Jr. He needed someone to go to New Jersey for boys ice hockey on Thursday. I've come to enjoy being a part of NJ.com sports broadcasts so, yes, let's break up the basketball with a few hockey calls.

So here's the final damage:

Wednesday: Danbury/Trumbull, 5:30 p.m. Staples/Ridgefield, 7:15 p.m. -- FCIAC boys basketball semifinals at Wilton.

Thursday: Westfield/Hillsborough, 4:30 p.m. Ridge/Livingston, 7:00 p.m. -- NJSIAA Group A ice hockey semifinals at Codey Arena, West Orange, NJ.

Friday: FCIAC boys basketball championship, 6:00 p.m. at Wilton High School.

Saturday: Boomslang Basketball, 9 a.m. -- Playoff game at The Leffell School, Hartsdale, NY. Section IX Class B Boys Championship, Noon. Section IX Class A Girls Championship, 2 p.m., Section IX Class A Boys Championship, 4 p.m. all at Monroe-Woodbury High School,  Central Valley, NY.

Sunday: Boomslang Basketball, Noon -- Championship game at The Leffell School, Hartsdale, NY (if necessary).

I'm grateful to have the opportunity to tell the stories of these events.

Now, of course, I expect my phone to buzz with offers while I'm in Florida. I mean, it would be just my luck. Alas, I will not be available. I'm also not bringing any equipment with me.

In a time in which I'm checking a few things off the checklist from the past several years, I was in no rush to end the play-by-play portion of my life. Though thoughts about making changes for a more consistent lifestyle are still in the back of my mind, it's nothing I need to address tonight.

Instead, I got to work on prepping for these games. There are scoresheets to create and rosters to print and notes to tuck away.

Right now, I'm fairly ready for the games tomorrow and Thursday. I'll adjust off tomorrow and set up for Friday. I need to see who is actually playing in Saturday's Section IX games before I can get to work on those.

It's a lot of moving parts but I love the rush of it all.

Incidentally, the winners of the New Jersey hockey semis meet at the Prudential Center in Newark early next week. Yes, that's the home of the New Jersey Devils. Also, yes, I'd love to call it.

That's the feeling I want to have: that I should be calling these games. I say that with all humility while pulling my confidence back up from the depths of Long Island Sound.

It feels like maybe I need to be greedier. More aggressive. Something.

Or, I was in the wrong place last week. Now I'm in the right place.

Tonight, I'm in a good place.

Far better than I was on Sunday.

Just Random Monday Thoughts

I would have needed these bad boys
(Crab cakes: Fratelli's Italian Restaurant - Salisbury, MD)

 

I'm just not feeling it tonight and I apologize.

I'm sure, to some, this should count as a demerit.

"Foul!" you yell. "This can not be considered part of the post-per-day thingy!"

Yes, you could say that and it certainly is a respected opinion but I still posted something nonetheless. So, yeah, we're still rocking.

Not exactly a brain surgery post here this evening, I can assure you.

As the snow begins to fall (wait! Snow!? "Huzzah!" you might say) I watch as the flakes smack the road and not a single thing changes.

You see, the ground is still somewhat warm here in the 203 so it's sort of sticking. Sort of.

The roads, on the other hand, are just wet. I imagine that might change overnight.

I found out today that I will indeed be on the call of the FCIAC boys basketball semifinals and finals once again and there was much rejoicing in the land!

Or, I'm happy. Nobody else cares.

I will fly solo in my endeavor because that is what is desired and I will abide by that. Of course, if the always-mighty Chris Erway were to descend from his tower, well we'd simply dazzle you with our A-Teamness.

Whatever that is.

But, thanks to the snow, those games, initially scheduled for tomorrow and Thursday, have been moved to Wednesday and Friday.

I'm also pleased to say that Boomslang Basketball is back with a playoff game on Saturday morning. If they win that then there will be a championship game on Sunday. I'm in for whatever.

I even saw a last-minute call for a broadcaster needed for a pair of games at Maryland Eastern Shore in Salisbury, MD.

It would have been two basketball games and I saw the need way too late to even consider it. Considering traffic, it would be a five-hour drive and I saw it around 11:30 this morning. The first game started at 5:30. 

Yet there's something fun about the idea of zipping down the New Jersey Turnpike and US 13 through Delaware. Given the weather, it sort of reminds me of the time I nearly slept in the parking lot at Post University a few years back in driving snow.

In this case, I think there would have been a need for a hotel room, as much as I love the idea of buckling in for a long drive home following the second game. Yet, being realistic, I don't think my head would have hit my pillow before 3:00 a.m.

Let's be honest, that would have been dangerous. It would have been a combination of exhaustion and bad weather.

I would have rather stayed in a hotel and grabbed lunch at Fratelli's in Salisbury (the best crab cakes I've ever had) and made my way back to Greenwich. That, of course, would have deleted profits made on the games but the experience would have been great.

But it wasn't meant to be.

Oh, and incidentally, the snow is now covering my street.

Alas, we'll saddle back up on the horse at the Headset Ranch on Wednesday for the doubleheader of Trumbull/Danbury (5:30) and Staples/Ridgefield (7:15). The winners will play in the FCIAC Championship on Friday and you probably know how much it means to me to call those games.

Every time I think I'm out, I get dragged back in.

Willingly dragged in.

Two Degrees of Adams

It was almost two weeks ago when I got a quick three-word text from Sean.

"My diploma arrived!"

Yes, my son has earned a degree from Dutchess Community College. It is the degree of Associate in Sciences, Communications and Media Arts.

I couldn't be prouder.

That being said, he has decided -- for now -- that this degree will be the end of his educational journey.

I expressed concern and a hint of disappointment without overplaying it.

Then I thought back to a young dope of a different era.

(insert dreamy vibraphone flashback sounds)

The year was 1989. By this point, I was a part-time student at Westchester Community College.

I went full-time after high school but was told that I'd need a job after my first year to be able to pay for my education.

You need to understand that college was not a priority in my house as my parents were simply of a different time. Oh, they supported my going completely but I don't think the same can necessarily be said before I went to Westchester.

So in June 1988, with an assist from my next-door neighbor, I had a full-time job offer from then-General Foods in Rye Brook, NY. I would be working in the mail room of that Taj Mahal-looking building near Interstate 287.

GF (eventually, Kraft General Foods) was great about paying for employees to continue their education*.

*Well, they were until a manager a few years later declined to pay for me to go to school since they didn't like my pursuit of a Communications degree. She felt it "wasn't business-related." Nice, right?

But, stopping the digression, I began going part-time at night, with some classes in Valhalla at the main campus, and even an accounting class up near home in Shrub Oak, NY.

So this was to be the game plan. Keep grinding and get the degree.

Until March 17, 1989. Of course, my father died that Friday night.

Completely lost, I missed the first session or two of that accounting class as I mourned and attended the funeral. I eventually returned to class but, to be honest, I was a shell. I thought I'd just rally but I was a mess. Thinking the instructor would have a heart, well, no. He failed me.

And, with that, I was done with school.

I had a job. I'd figure it out.

That fall, well, I began to realize I wasn't being smart. I decided to go back to school.

Not college but, wait for it, Connecticut School of Broadcasting.

Almost immediately, I regained my confidence and got the morale boost that I needed. Frankly, I did pretty well and learned skills that would nudge me toward where I am today.

My mother, for the record, thought I was nuts for going there, so I made my goal simple: earn every penny back in broadcasting that I spent on attending CSB. If I did no worse than breaking even, then I'd accept that it was successful.

Despite literally everything I feel about the business at the moment (and it's not good) I surpassed what I spent on CSB. In fact, I earned it all back within a year or so of part-time work.

Mission accomplished.

With that came the desire to finish what I started and I returned to Westchester Community College. Though only taking night classes while I worked during the day was a beast, I was still able to persevere and get my Associates Degree.

I even took that pesky accounting class again during a summer session and passed it.

I wasn't done. I moved onto Western Connecticut State University in Danbury, determined to get my Bachelors Degree.

It again took patience, as I went part-time, taking classes almost year-round. Still, I could only realistically handle a couple of classes each semester while holding down a full-time job (and paying for it myself, I might add). Eventually, Kraft moved my position to Chicago and I had to move on in my career. 

It was probably for the best anyway.

But I continued attending school and completed my degree in 1997. Though I didn't attend graduation at Westchester, I did take part in a small ceremony that December at Western Connecticut.

I often see people with sweatshirts or rings or stickers on their car from their college. I have nothing and I do sort of regret that. I'm really proud of finishing and where I went to school.

It sometimes gnaws at me that I stopped there but I don't think I failed in not continuing my education. In fact, simply going back and completing any degree was an achievement.

And I'm always grateful to CSB for helping make my brain function a bit again.

So as I listened to Sean talk about how he wouldn't be continuing his education, I reminded myself to be proud of what he did achieve and recognize that, as his father once did, he also might go back one day.

I'll be just as proud then.

I think he will be also.

Brunswick Wins the FAA

 

Barely scratching the surface of how crowded it was

It was going to be a great game.

Brunswick and Greenwich Country Day School have built up a nice rivalry and it was bound to be fierce today in basketball.

The last time these two teams met, the Bruins won 77-72.

This time it was for the FAA Championship. 

The scoreboard shows it was definitive.

Brunswick 62, GCDS 41.

The Bruins win the title. 

Head coach Steve Juricek showed me what a tremendous basketball mind he has the day I met him. I take no credit but I could tell Wick was on the right path. They were a playoff team that year.

Now they're champions.

It got me thinking about the teams that I've covered. I don't think I've ever called a basketball championship for the team for which I was their broadcaster. Of course, I could be wrong but I don't think I am.

Greenwich High went to a couple of FCIAC basketball championships with me on the mic and lost. Brunswick lost the FAA last year.

I've called Brunswick and Greenwich in multiple championship-winning football games.

I've called Wick and GHS tiles in baseball as well (Bruins: FAA, Cardinals: FCIAC).

I've called a couple of FCIAC titles for Greenwich hockey.

Even lacrosse, when I was on the call of Brunswick's Prep Nationals crown in 2022.

But nothing in basketball until today.

I mean, there is no benefit for me, other than feeling happy for the people that I'm around all season. I just enjoyed being witness to their smiles and sheer excitement.

Occasionally there's a postgame gathering that I might wind up at, depending on the team and how close I am. But don't be fooled. There's no ring or jacket or anything like that. It's my job to describe the details and hopefully engage you. Beyond that, I'm a reporter.

Even when the technical gods tested me today, the day would not fall apart. I was told that my audio couldn't be heard at one point on LocalLive. I don't know how it got fixed but eventually, it was resolved.

Oh, let me be clear: as I was being told about it, my blood pressure was skyrocketing. Yet I had the wherewithal to simply shrug my shoulders and keep going. I still had a (microscopic) audio audience.

I can only deal with what I can control and, after checking the connections on-site, realized the audio situation was out of my hands.

Today of course belonged to Brunswick. It belonged to coach Juricek and his assistants, Zach Dobbs and Kevin Royal. It belonged to the captains: Wyatt Triestman, Jon Sigurdsson, and Malik Samms. It belongs to each member of the roster.

But it also belongs to the parents and families. The supporters. 

Screenshot from LocalLive broadcast after Brunswick won

And the Brunswick Swamp, which is the Bruins' raucous student cheering section. They and fans from Greenwich Country Day created an overflowing atmosphere unlike any other I've seen at that level. There was nearly no room to move in the Dann Gymnasium.

My call was impacted by the crowd because I couldn't see parts of the floor at times. 

But, to everyone's credit, a great time was had and there were no problems. It's sad when you almost anticipate issues. It's glorious when everyone just has fun.

It created an absolutely wonderful, memorable noise in the gym. I wonder if that gym has ever had that kind of sound in it.

Brunswick avenged that loss to St. Luke's in last year's championship game. When they return to the floor next December they'll be the defending champs.

I'll probably be there with them.

For now, winter sports are over, barring a request to call something else.

For now, we're done until one month from today: March 25, when Brunswick lacrosse hosts St. Sebastian's. Baseball follows three days later with a doubleheader against Winchendon.

Though I will say I suspect Boomslang Basketball will be reaching out for a playoff game perhaps next weekend.

As always, I hope something else comes up (except for when I'm away).

But, as we always do, we turn out the lights on one season and one facility, and one team.

Some of the players will change but I suspect much will be the same when the team reassembles in roughly nine months.

The broadcaster might be the same also.

We'll see.

But, for tonight, hail to the Bruins.

The FAA Champions.

The Robots Are Taking Over

 

Daleks, symbols of evil (Doctor Who)

The demons were swarming.

Oh, had I started writing earlier in the day there would probably be a darker tone to this. Now, as I write close to 11 p.m. I find myself simply repeating mantras about things that I can't control.

Hours ago it would have been a look into a black soul and a broadcasting career that felt like it was in the toilet. I've put so much into caring about each game -- each broadcast -- and I can't control what's not in my hands, no matter how much it impacts me financially. I cared about what airs and the quality of it. I get nuts over things that don't air. 

Why do I care so much? Is it just time to stop caring? Like, is it time to just give up?

There are things to think about and decisions that need to be made.

Somehow I have to get my mind wrapped around the idea that it will all be fine. That it will work itself out.

And then I got a robotic litter box.

Yes. That sentence is real.

While I've been looking at them and considering the cost (they're not cheap, friends) my niece Stephanie told me that she had an older one that our dear Rascal can try and have to use. As the plus side to a robotic little box is reducing the smell, I was all in.

Soon the windows can be opened but, until then, I'm very much in favor of trying this out.

Her cats love them.

We saw one for literally five seconds. I'm not kidding. Peanut Butter Dragon was gone and stayed under her bed the rest of the time we were there. But Gunter -- her new Maine Coon -- entertained us while we talked.

He's like Rascal 2.0.

This also had us back in the Hudson Valley, in the shadow of Dutchess Stadium.

We'll be back there soon enough. Yes, including me, as I just have to finalize my schedule.

Basketball awaits tomorrow, as Brunswick plays Greenwich Country Day at 5 p.m. for the FAA Championship. It should be fantastic and I'm happy to call it.

It's nice to be wanted.

On Sean's Time

 

He came into the world just as you might expect.

Quiet. Unassuming. No fuss.

That was Sean Adams.

That is Sean Adams.

He's 21 today.

Oh, he's thinking all the time. You bet he is. And there's a comment potentially buried inside that brain. The comment is most likely something sarcastic but it can also be equally profound.

That low-key approach of his was on display as I was teaching at CSB one night years ago. He couldn't have been more than ten (tops) and I had nobody to watch him.

So, armed with things to keep him busy, we made the drive to Stratford. He sat on a stool next to me for the entire 3.5-hour class.

He said nothing. In true Sean fashion, he'd only speak if needed and that would have been for a run to the men's room. Otherwise, there were no attempts to play with equipment, get loud, or be an otherwise average kid.

He stayed entertained. Then, suddenly, class was almost over. I was wrapping up when I paused and asked him if he wanted to address the room. Would he like to offer any thoughts or advice?

I thought he'd say nothing. I do the talking normally. Sean, not surprisingly, is happy to run a camera or controls. In fact, in other visits to CSB, Sean acted as floor director, guiding students while wearing a headset. Even then, he'd only do countdowns and points. All hand gestures.

But, no, in this case, he spoke. The words resonated.

"Just stay calm," he said, "and everything will be fine."

I've told every class that story since.

He doesn't quite laugh and smile as easily as he did when he was little. Bullying in school took a chunk of that away. But he still has a pretty easy laugh when he knows you. Still, there can be an air of mystery to him.

Because of his height and overall quiet demeanor, he can even seem a little intimidating. A few of his younger cousins have noted a level of fear, not understanding it's just him being quiet. Thoughtful. Even uncomfortable.

In truth, he's shy.

I've said forever he does things on his time. You could say that about him being born. I had literally just gone to sleep when I was awakened by his mother, who told me she thought it was time. 

Still, Sean allowed us plenty of time to prepare and leave in a calm fashion. We hustled down U.S. 6 from Mahopac to Peekskill but drove safely. There was no need for speed.

Even then, there were laps around the floor of the hospital because Sean just wasn't ready yet. 

Then he arrived, as I said, quietly.

So he's figuring life out also. 

Yes, he's following in my footsteps as he does figure it out. He's gone to the Renegades and will begin his third season there. He's taken on deposition work, having started officially training yesterday but, he's been watching over my shoulder for two-plus years. He's now running a shift at WGCH as a studio operator. He'll also host the broadcast of the Greenwich Town Party with me once again in May.

Eventually, he'll pave his own path. 

As with everything else, it will be on his time.

In true Sean fashion, any glass he raises will have water or orange juice in it. Maybe a Vitamin Water. Even at 21, he won't drink alcohol. It's who he is. It's his decision.

On the other hand, I will toast him. 

Proudly.

Happy birthday, Sean.

Bowled Over

 

(Photo: Rob Mazzei)

A few weeks back, a Facebook friend left a comment on a post of mine.

I've known Rob Mazzei since, well, let's go with a long time. Over forty years isn't a stretch at all. We were friends in high school and you know the drill. Go to school, get a job, family, drift apart, etc.

After high school, he was an honorable policeman and seems to live a good life.

As many retired police officers do, Rob has gone into doing security. In his case, he's been back at Mahopac High School.

So it was when he put the picture of a plaque on my post about an off night for the blog.

The picture brought me great joy. It screamed a ton of memories to me.

We won that plaque in 1987, just as it says. The Mahopac varsity bowling team topped all at Cortlandt Lanes that afternoon. Our raucous style of cheering on our teammates could certainly bother opponents but we loved it.

The scoring details are lost to history as far as I know. I remember sitting with a reporter from the Reporter Dispatch (now The Journal News) to help with names.

Bus rides were filled with teenage drama but also tons of laughter and singalongs. My dear friend Scott Wilson would bring his boombox, load up some cassettes, and the singing would begin. 

Yes, we even sang Bon Jovi (hi, Shawn Sailer). I had no control over changing the music. Besides, I had my trusty Walkman and headphones I could put on for my Huey Lewis fix.

Win, lose, or whatever, we had a blast. 

The boys and girls teams shared those bus rides. Oh, the fun we had.

And, as the plaque shows, the boys team had co-captains. Never be fooled: Rob Ellsworth was the anchor. Simply an outstanding bowler who led by example (and strikes). Also a quality human being.

The other captain? Well, never mind what kind of bowler he was. He was the leader in that he'd get in your face and tell you to get over whatever was crawling around in your skull. He'd pump you up. He'd keep you engaged. He'd encourage.

At least he tried. Or maybe his mind is foggy 36 years later.

We weren't world-beaters. We battled the better teams (Walter Panas High School always sticks out as a rival) and placed well within our league. We weren't a team that was going to win a state championship.

We were good. Sometimes very good.

Sometimes great and, in this case, a champion.

But no one had more fun than we did.

I look at that plaque nearly four decades later and I'm pleased to say I'm still in touch with Rick Zingel, Scott Wilson, Rob Ellsworth, Bob Sullivan, and Chris Caputo. Now, by "in touch" that generally means social media. I've seen Rick and Rob in the years since and Scottie is still a brother to me, though I am genuinely sad at how poorly we've been about getting together. 

It crushed me to miss his wedding due to being in San Francisco last September.

The other names on the list were people I was close to back in the day and played baseball with a couple of them. But life happens.

Then there's our beloved, albeit beleaguered coach, Dan Veglia. It was "Vegs" who told me I was going to be a captain of the 86-87 squad when he wrote it in my yearbook at the end of the 1986 school year. I beamed, feeling unworthy in terms of talent but loving the chance to be a leader.

He laughed at our insanity as a team but also guided us simply. He also knew how to put us in our place when necessary. No yelling. No screaming. Just simple, measured discipline.

We lost him far too young, in 1996. There is a volleyball scholarship named in his honor, as Vegs also coached that sport.

I guarantee they were great.

They just didn't have as much fun as the wild crew of the winter at the bowling alley.

All of this is more than just a narrative about ye olden days of strikes, spares, splits, and gutter balls, as well as fries and a drink at the Cortlandt Lanes snack bar.

You see, when we won that title, the plaque was blank. We all hoped, having won it in probably February, that it would be hanging by the time "Pomp and Circumstance" rang out that June for the Class of 87.

We all wanted to see it. Take pictures of it. Savor it.

It didn't happen.

A few years later, I was at Mahopac High for a dance recital in the theater. I was briefly able to find it and smiled at seeing it. I felt proud. It was 1990 or 1991, and it was a big deal to me. It was the first time I'd ever seen my name engraved on a plaque like that and it was hanging in my high school.

The picture Rob sent is now a keepsake. I realize my reaction reeks of Al Bundy scoring four touchdowns for Polk High. I also realize that it can be easy to mock bowling as a varsity sport but know that I was extremely proud of it.

Friends had talked me out of giving baseball another shot for various reasons and, overall, no regrets. I would have been nothing more than a bench player and probably an easy target.

I gave bowling a shot as a whim and, no, I wasn't particularly good at it.

But I loved it. Literally every minute of it.

So that pride bubbled to the surface seeing that plaque again for the first time in over 30 years.

Thank you, Mahopac.

Thank you, Rob, for the picture.

Long may it hang for future students to wonder who the heck that bowling team was. 

I'll be happy to explain.

Another Step in Moving Forward

 

Sean's 21st birthday is Thursday. It's his day. It's his time.

Now, before you say, "ohhhh. He'll be partying," the answer is a firm 'no.' Before you say he's doing it behind my back, I trust him when he says otherwise. He has no reason to lie to me.

Like I was at that age, it wasn't a big deal. Twenty-one was like twenty basically. Except for how things had changed in my life from 1988 to 1989 but that's not really the point here.

He has no interest in drinking on Thursday. That's it. Full stop.

However, it's a small cause for celebration for me as well. Of course, it's a celebration because my son -- my only child -- is reaching this milestone. But it's also the end of, basically, an odyssey that began around 2007.

That's when, effectively, my marriage ended. The next few years were horribly awkward times of living under the same roof and stories that I've mostly tucked away.

By the fall of 2010, I had been called to a soulless, horrible courthouse in Poughkeepsie, NY. I so much as look down that block now and have nightmares.

After hours of waiting, with no lawyer (I couldn't afford one) but my sister at my side for support, I was whisked into a courtroom where child support was ordered to start after the opposing lawyer said that "she knew the case" and that Sean didn't live with me half the time.

The fact that my own notes said otherwise was irrelevant.

And so began nearly 13 years.

Friends told me I should be excited when Sean turned 18. Oh no, friends. Not in New York. The great Empire State keeps the child support train on the tracks until the child turns 21.

Certain employers didn't help things -- though I also blame myself. I began working for the ice cream company and simply blew it because I didn't tell them to take money out of my paycheck. I thought they were and then I found my debit card blocked.

The process is not automated at all. You have to be in charge of it.

In this case, New York had the bank shut my account. It took some help to fix that.

Aware of that, I informed another employer (one here in Greenwich who still owes me money) that the biggest thing I cared about was paying child support. Please take it right out of my check from the day I start.

Nope. Didn't happen. We didn't get off on the right foot.

Each time either brought on the garnishment of my bank account or New York simply blocked it. And, of course, I got hauled back to Poughkeepsie.

The garnishments took one bank account to a negative balance. It took time and effort to fix that also (and it was thanks to non-payment by that Greenwich employer who still owes me money).

There were so many items in the mail that brought me more anxiety. So many profane moments when the reality hit of another trip to the courthouse.

It reached a point where I almost expected the judge and me to be on a first-name basis.

"Good morning, your honor. How are Tom and the kids?"

In fact, I wrote about visiting Family Court back in 2019 here. It's, dare I say, a worthwhile read.

If we can ever find a bright light in the COVID world, it was that court became virtual. So any recent visits have been via phone or computer.

A word of advice to all: New York doesn't allow for electronic payments via a debit or credit card unless you want to pay extra for that. So, you snip coupons and write out a check.

In early February I wrote what I think is the last check as I overpaid.

I told Sean I'd made my last payment on him and that I'd soon have the title.

We both laughed.

Each trip to Poughkeepsie was demeaning. Each one came with the threat of losing my license or passport or going to jail. I got used to it. While I was told to not worry about it as much by those who knew better, it was still a threat that I took seriously.

It got paid. All of it.

And more than once Sean would show me something that he got, smile, and say, "Thank you."

Though I rarely talked about it. He still knew it and it bothered him.

I'm told that, come Thursday, it ends with no fanfare. No letter saying, "Thanks."

Nothing.

I'm still skeptical but, with these words, I'm letting on that I whole it's finished. 

My "crime" was simply being a father. Beyond that, I've never known what I did wrong all those years ago.

Oh, I carry blame for sure over the failure of my marriage. I always will because that's who I am.

I've sort of pieced the rest of it together since then.

It's important to remember this is Sean's birthday and it will be celebrated as he likes. It will be low-key though he is getting a trip to Florida in a few weeks.

He's also now a college graduate, having finished up his associate's degree from Dutchess Community College and I'm profoundly proud of him for that.

So forgive me for taking these few moments to exhale at what (I think) is the end of another path in a long road.

But, thankfully, it's over.

I think.

Always Be Prepared

 

A makeshift booth

Another day is done.

As it was a holiday (by definition) some of it was good and quite fun.

There was also a long drive up to Poughkeepsie to do Poughkeepsie Nissan Monday Night Sports with Zolz and Fran (plus Uncle Mike running the controls). It's a fun time.

Then there's a long drive home.

I cut through Mahopac for no other reason than just because. It's easy enough to use as another route to get from the Taconic Parkway to Interstate 684 to finish the drive.

Plus it allowed me to glance at the old house. In the dark, it sat mostly quiet as it embraced its new life and new occupants.

I'm back in Greenwich with no real guidance on upcoming work and that will always make me a bit anxious.

But I sit ready to be asked to do the job, even on the day of the game.

In some cases, going in blind is dangerous, especially if you know nothing about the participants and event. In the case of, say, the FCIAC, I've got roughly 25 years of experience with the conference.

I'm still awaiting news on the next Brunswick call, which should be a basketball semifinal or final. Either way, I'm comfortable with the team and fairly comfortable with who they might play. 

My broadcasting brethren often speak of their need for fancy charts and graphs and stats and interviews and so on.

I need a couple of rosters and my scoresheet in the worst-case scenario. I'll make it go from there.

A lot of times, I don't even need a partner. I can work around that. 

Broadcast booths must have chemistry. You don't have to be best buddies but a good booth should sound like you've invited the audience in. Grab a burger, a dog, and a beverage and we'll tell you about the game.

Stay for a while. "Pull up a chair," as a wise red-haired man often said.

I've often said that I've been blessed with partners. While there are stories (always!) there really aren't horror stories. At least not on the air.

My least favorite scenario is getting a person thrown in with me but I've done it so many times that I adjust and move on.

Still, I prefer picking my own partner or at least having a chance to develop chemistry before air time.

But, sometimes, it just isn't possible.

When it comes to last-minute games, I'll always think of my first hockey broadcast. Oh, I very much was not prepared. I was working in Norwalk and got a call. I got put on that night's game. I'm pretty sure I've told this story here so I won't belabor.

I survived.

I also remember sipping a cup of coffee in Fairfield one day and getting asked to call the FCIAC baseball championship that started in just a few hours.

I went. I went blind.

I got the job done.

So I suppose what I'm saying is that I'll be ready if I need to jump in. 

Time is always nice but it's also a luxury.

If the planets align, I'll be ready for that next call.

Whenever I get it.

Scattered Pictures

 

(Photo: Sean Adams)

It's quiet around here.

Too quiet.

In fact, it was a low-key weekend. I took Sean over to WGCH as he continues to get comfortable being a board-op but, in truth, he doesn't need me there. He's off and running with a show that is very easy to handle. It's a perfect training ground.

I took him over because I was parked behind him in the driveway and we could run a few errands. One of them included picking up a few picture frames. For one, I needed to replace the frame that holds the photograph of Sean, me, and Mom taken at my niece's wedding in 2020. It is treasured by both of us but the cat knocked it off my wall and broke the frame.

We also got frames for photos Sean took as he was practicing for his college photography class. One was of me dressed as Elton John while the other was a picture he took of our bratty cat that he gave me for my birthday.

Lastly, Sean took a picture of a Wawa in New Jersey for a class project.

I was proud to frame and hang each of these.

Some of Sean's photos: a bratty cat and me as 
Elton John

In the meantime, the FCIAC girls basketball quarterfinals raged on at Staples high School. I wasn't booked to work it, nor was I set to be on an emotional Greenwich/Fairfield hockey game in Bridgeport that included an emotional ceremony to honor the late Charlie Capalbo. The Fairfield goalie waged a five-year battle against pediatric leukemia before dying in Apr 2022.

Each event had a broadcast but I still felt like either Robcasting or WGCH could have added something to things. But that's just the thing. Where do you draw the line of doing something for the fun of it?

Either way, I was home.

Today was equally low-key. We ran to Walmart because we needed some things around the house and, let's face it, the price is right there.

But I knew what we were getting into. Walmart. Norwalk (though I'm not sure the location matters). Sunday afternoon.

True to form, we hit some traffic around Darien on 95 and the Walmart parking lot was the usual chaotic mess.

Precious pictures of my parents

What is it about Walmart? Look, I'm not here to bust on anyone working at the store. I have no issues. But, those shopping there are always such a fascinating and frequently mocked cross-section of characters.

There have been groups on social media dedicated to such delights. 

Let's be honest, it's never boring. 

I didn't see anything that jumped out at me today. Just the usual slow-walkers and aisle hogs and things like that. General cluelessness, I suppose, but nothing that will fill this post.

In fact, we grabbed a few things, checked out, and left.

Lunch followed, with Sean experiencing Shake Shack for the first time. It was his call and, given his birthday is this week, it seemed like the thing to do.

Here's what I think we both concluded. It's good but it's also pricey and I would yearn for it again for months. If I ever yearn for it at all. But it's still good.

Oh, his birthday. He's the star. It's his day. It's his time. But there is something about it this year that I want to write about and I'll try to find the right way to do so without taking anything away from him.

And a postscript about the picture frames. I was awake early this morning when I noticed the cat was on my nightstand. He raised up on his hind legs and began tapping the newly-framed picture of me/Elton John.

The picture has survived.

For now.

Great Artist. Bad Record.

 

There are so many days and nights when I just hit a wall. No topics jump out.

Often, I get an assist from my writing muse. Susan rides in on her white keyboard with suggestions.

She texted me a Rolling Stone story the other night that I certainly found interesting. When I was talking with her the next day about this little ol' slice of internet hell, she suggested I write about the very story that she texted me.

She helped me talk it out a bit. It was a great idea.

And so, here we are.

The topic of the Rolling Stone story was to rank 50 Genuinely Horrible Albums by Brilliant Artists. As with everything R.S. does, it's utterly and completely flawed but still interesting. The text, written by Andy Greene, includes this passage:

There’s also no U2 record because we like them all, even Songs of Experience and October. Those are fighting words to some, and we’re sure many readers will have problems with this list. True suckiness — like true greatness — is a subjective quality.

Good lord. Considering it said "brilliant artists" and includes Kiss also adds to have just flawed the thinking is, but we can digress.

(Incidentally, the story did rank 50 albums, and number one was Ye by Kanye West.)

Since this is all subjective and it's my list, I'm going to just throw what are not great albums by artists I genuinely enjoy. And, yeah, U2 will likely show up in this. There's no great methodology here, and I don't intend to spend hours on this.

Well, let's just start with The Beatles. Now, if you know me, you know that on Babe Ruth's green earth there is no way I will tell you that there are any bad records of theirs. However, Beatles for Sale isn't my favorite. I will say that Let it Be has grown on me, thanks to the 2021 Get Back documentary. Magical Mystery Tour is a bit unfocused but has brilliance on it. Thus the answer has to be Yellow Submarine only because six Beatles songs followed by a collection of George Martin instrumentals.

Obviously, it's not dreck but I tried to find flaws.

Billy Joel, while revered, is a little easier. I never liked The Bridge but that can't be my answer. Hell, he barely cared about The Bridge and, well, it shows. Still, it does have "A Matter of Trust" and that counts for something.

But River of Dreams is just awful. Of course, it's awful by Billy Joel standards but when compared to, say, The Stranger in his canon, you realize it is terrible. I remember cranking the CD open right after it came out in 1993 and seeing that Color Me Badd sang backup on a song and realizing this was not good.

I mean, look, it still has some decent songs but, well, no.

Paul McCartney is easy to narrow down. Just go to the 80s. Critics and fans have come to recognize his 70s output (solo and with Wings) was much better than we ever gave credit for, mostly because it was being compared to that band he used to be in. By the 80s, things are much more unfocused as Paul clearly missed John Lennon following his death. Then he did the absolute train wreck that was "Ebony and Ivory" with Stevie Wonder and do we need to get into the Michael Jackson duets?

Sir Paul needed the end of the decade and Elvis Costello to discover his mojo (and his Hofner violin bass) again on Flowers in the Dirt. But while many mock his 1984 soundtrack to Give My Regards to Broad Street (he remade Beatles songs for the love of Lennon), Press to Play is not good. Classic rock artists didn't have the easiest time around 1986 and Macca was no exception. While I personally like "Spies Like Us" (from the same era but not on this album), his music at this time was dripping in gooey 80s production values.

No. 

I wanted to pick a truly awful Beach Boys album but I truly felt there was only one way to do this correctly.

Take virtually every non-Brian Wilson album. Bingo. You have an answer. Also, anything with "Kokomo." No, I'm not kidding. The Beach Boys played the Greenwich Town Party a few years ago and while it was a pleasure to take a few minutes to watch them, Sean and I were thankfully gone before they sullied things by playing "Kokomo."

How does one suggest a bad Elton John album? Well, let's see, we could go to his late-70s selections or anything after "I Guess That's Why They Call it The Blues." Leather Jackets, his 1986 album (again, classic rock and 1986) has got to be the right answer. It's truly amazing that Elton John and Bernie Taupin can come up with anything this bad.

Genesis. Oh, Genesis. Of course, they're a band who have a simple dividing line: the Peter Gabriel years and the non-Peter Gabriel years. Snobs like me see where the Gabriel stuff is great and non (read: Phil Collins) isn't. 

But that's not true. Duke is great and Abacab is very good and the Perfection pieces self-titled album is also terrific. Invisible Touch is fine and then there is We Can't Dance.

Glub.

Look, the Collins and Genesis-less Congo is insufferable but given Collins, Tony Banks, and Mike Rutherford are on We Can't Dance, well, that wins. The problem with that album is that we're into the cutesie-I-Make-Movies Phil Collins years. He's lost that loving charm by that time and, while there are a few OK songs on it, we've reached the border of the Phil Collins Disney years.

Make it stop.

Now how do I address Huey Lewis and the News? I mean, their early work was blah blah blah.

No, I revere their early work. I don't care it was a little too "new wave." The first four albums (self-titled, Picture This, Sports, and Fore) are sacred to me. Small World changed the game and Hard at Play was an attempt to remain pop-driven. 

But Soulsville is the album that I haven't listened to enough. Is it a bad album? No, not at all. In fact, I saw them touring in support of that album and the collection of soul covers on the album are solid. But, keep in mind, this was their second album of covers following the wonderful Four Chords and Several Years Ago.

Let's finish with U2 since Rolling Stone could never see any wrong with the four Irish boys.

They'd be definitively wrong.

Pop is a strange album but one in which they tried to embrace the electronica of the era. But they came back from that. Beginning with No Line on the Horizon, the game was over.

But Songs of Innocence was the end. Look, this was the album that the band and Apple forced on all of us. As I'm one to like free music, I was into the idea. But then I listened to it.

Sadly, whatever good I have to about U2 was over and done with.

So, no, Rolling Stone, I don't like them all.

What about you? What are the albums in the acts that you love that just aren't up to the standards you want? What Taylor Swift miscue makes you cringe? 

I'll leave any analysis of The Monkees to my writing muse.

Susan, it's all yours.

Bye For Now

 

Unless things change, today was my last hockey broadcast until next season.

Sure, there could be any one of a number of things that could happen but, as of now, my schedule is clean effective tonight. Heck, my next scheduled broadcast of anything isn't until the end of March but I'd like to truly believe something will come up before then.

Like, hopefully, a lot of stuff will come up before then.

It ended on a good note, though, as Brunswick and Frederick Gunn went to overtime before Nike Cadaret won it with a top-shelf goal from the slot.

It's likely there will be Brunswick basketball, as the Bruins are the top seed in FAA and any games they play will most likely be at home.

But, like I said, nothing is scheduled for now.

I had a fan stop me as I was walking out of the rink tonight with Sean.

"I'm a Gunnery fan," she said, "and our fans were texting each other back and forth about you. We should hire you!"

Well, gosh. Keep in mind, Frederick Gunn (once called The Gunnery) was the opposition today. They lost to Brunswick in today's game. In overtime.

The pats on the back and thank yous and kind words are humbling. I've said it before: it gives me a boost when I get down about this business.

But now I sit in this uncertain zone. I'm not a fan.

I can only say I'll do road games so many times. I can only say I'll drive to Trinity-Pawling (hockey next Friday) or anywhere else before I feel like I'm banging my head on a wall.

Soon I begin having that "Taylor Swift" feeling, as in "I'm the problem, it's me."

So I depart the rink with my head high, proud of (most of) the work I did this season and await whatever is next.

Hockey was a sport that was thrust into my lap 23 years ago when a play-by-play man was needed. With much hesitation, I called that Greenwich/Ridgefield game expecting to take my lumps. I got that game just hours before the faceoff. I didn't have rosters or a scoresheet or anything.

But I made myself pull it together.

Then I went and simply did my best took my lumps. I learned from my mistakes.

It galvanized me to get better.

Somehow, I've been calling hockey ever since. Yes, basically a quarter of a century at this point. It was the first sport that terrified me to broadcast but taught me that I could learn and get better at it.

You can count lacrosse and soccer and field hockey and wrestling and others in this same department.

And, at least for tonight, this season has come to a close.

I hope not, of course. I'll be pulling my hair out until baseball and lacrosse come along toward the end of March.

Mostly, I'll be pulling my hair out over the uncertainty awaiting that next broadcast.

But, for tonight, I can hold my head high that I did an honorable job on Brunswick hockey for 2022-2033. I wish them well in the playoffs.

And, if anyone wants me, they know where I am.

The Empty Booth

Tim McCarver sat in Yankee Stadium on many October nights

In the play-by-play world, there is no sadder sound than that of the broadcast with no voice on it. It's the crowd-humming equivalent of dead air.

I looked at a few minutes of last night's Greenwich/Wilton basketball game for reasons other than the game, including the stellar camera work of Lucy "Snakey," Susan's equivalent to Sean.

Both Lucy and Sean do camera work. Both can handle audio work. Both are riots with well-timed commentary. Both are sarcastic. Both will also rip your heart out if you hurt someone (like, say, their parents).

Anyway, much to my dismay Wilton didn't have a voice on the basketball game. Now, look, I would have likely muted it quickly if there was one because I don't want to get into the criticism, judging, and nitpicking that comes with being a teacher of this profession.

So the question becomes is it best to simply have a voice on a game? Well, I, er, maybe?

Now, if you're sitting there saying, "You wish you had called it," well of course I do. It's was I do. When it comes to youth broadcasting organizations, there needs to be an advisor who is hands-on and is not afraid to step in to help teach in the name of creating a professional effort.

I have no idea if Wilton or any other school that I watch has that kind of hands-on approach. An exception is Darien's DAF Media where Damian Andrew not only sets it all up and breaks it all down but also guides it and even serves as an air talent when needed.

I've heard of a few who were, let's say, hands-off. Very off. They're literally advisors and that's it.

There's no criticism in this. For sure, I would have shot to Wilton for that basketball if they wanted a voice in part because I'd get a good laugh out of working a broadcast with Lucy, who I had on the air when she was probably seven years old. Plus I'd enjoy being the grizzled old fool who could help the students. I'd love to be a play-by-play advisor (YES, I'M BEING SERIOUS).

It gets me out of the house since I was home doing nothing last night.

Plus Greenwich was playing and I know a few of their players.

I mean, it's all unrealistic and completely hypothetical but that's how my mind works. I want to call games and then call some more. There are always ideas running around with ways to make that happen.

But back to the whole no broadcaster thing. Games need that voice because, as the famed Jets'Dolphins "announcerless game" proved, we do serve a purpose. We fill in the blanks that are needed on TV/video. Oh, the picture tells a lot but it really doesn't tell it all. We -- the much-hated broadcasters -- fill that void.

Simply throwing any old voice on who is ill-prepared, can't keep up with the action, or (worse) simply wants to throw out one-liners isn't sufficient. 

A pro is needed.

But anyone thinks they can do it.

We know, of course, that they can't.

So we find ourselves at the conundrum of if a game is better off without a broadcaster. 

Ultimately, it is not.

*****

Tim McCarver, Don Larsen, and Bobby Murcer during
David Cone's perfect game in 1999

A tip of the headset to Tim McCarver on his passing. While he was briefly a Yankees broadcaster, he was frequently on my TV with the Yankees every October on FOX with Joe Buck.

McCarver called more than just Yankees World Series and playoffs, having dabbled in broadcasting in the late 1970s before joining the Phillies' booth and eventually making the Mets' booth shine. He also did color for NBC, ABC, and CBS before his long run at FOX.

Tim was part of the crazy 1985 World Series as well as the Earthquake Series of 1989 and the magnificent Twins/Braves nail-biter of 1991. He also witnessed Joe Carter never hit a bigger home run in 1993.

Then came the Yankees upon his move to FOX in 1996 and he got to witness quite a bit. The '96 team. The Tino Martinez grand slam. The Mr. November of Derek Jeter. The Scott Brosius home run. Eventually, he also saw Mariano close out the Phillies in 2009.

He was a fascinating man who had a lot of skills beyond simply baseball in sports broadcasting. He could do a lot and do it well.

He was also another broadcaster who I had debates about because of his polarizing nature (yes, just like Joe Buck).

Lastly, he was a very good catcher with the Cardinals, Phillies, Expos, and Red Sox, though I probably would have disliked him for the way he tortured the Yankees in the 1964 World Series.

But he knew the game and he taught the game to many on TV.

Respect to him and condolences to his loved ones.

And thanks for the scouting report on Mark Wohlers. Made that Jim Leyritz three-run homer in Game 4 of the 1996 World Series even sweeter.

He hung the slider.

I'll Explain What I Meme

 

Humor is a wonderful thing.

In my darkest times, it's laughter that fuels me.

It's laughter that will snap me back from a funk.

In turn, I try to do the same for anyone who needs a boost. I like it to break any tension.

But there's also a time and a place.

Yes, you're not as funny as you think.

So that meme you think will work? No. It probably won't.

Every joke you might have conjured as a 12-year-old should probably remain there.

Oh, don't get me wrong. I'm no prude and I still have a young attitude when it comes to all of this stuff but the fact is humor is as much about timing as anything else.

It's also about knowing your audience. I have certainly misfired in this regard where I thought I could help and, clearly, I couldn't.

Thus I've mostly retreated over the years into a more silent shell until the moment is right. Of course, that also means you might hear me laughing to myself because I think I have a great one-liner when, in reality, it would probably be dumb beyond belief.

But, also when dealing with humor, one must recognize that not everyone shares the same sense of humor.

Mine is dark. Goofy. Playful. Sometimes it's smart and sometimes it's quite dumb.

But I can also be a tough audience. While I think I have a pretty easy laugh I'm also not easily impressed. There's a TV show that a couple of people tried to convince me on. Both got me to watch it. Both were astounded when I didn't give it a glowing review.

It happens.

I truly believe in the power of laughter. I can never stress that enough yet I also believe in timing. It is everything. Maybe you wrote "too soon" on that political meme that you just HAD to share because, yes, it was too soon!

Or maybe it should have just never been used.

Or maybe just stay out of politics. What do I know?

(For the record there are plenty of funny memes and I do love me a good visual gag. But, again, timing)

Let me not head back down the enabling highway, which continues to be deep and wide, and oh my but I'm heading towards a "That's what she said" aren't I?

Friends, let us laugh till we aren't sure that we're not going to spit out whatever we just drank.

Let us howl until it might get dangerous because we can't breathe.

Normally, that's along the lines of Beavis and Butt-Head, Blazing Saddles, certain Loony Tunes cartoons, and even old episodes of The Dennis Miller Show (long story, and a whole different lifetime ago*).

*OK, so I got some news from someone circa 1992 that I handled with aplomb in person. Then I hung up the phone. Then I essentially turned into Dennis Miller, cha cha, minus the right-wing politics. I also should have learned from my mistake that night but at least I wound up with a child.

See? Well-placed and well-timed, amirite?

Oh, right, that joke played like many in that it brings that awkward chuckle or, worse, silence.

And so we leave it to the professionals. Two shows nightly!

Hello, Love!

 

First, a note about the title of the post. Ron Lundy was a DJ on WABC (770 AM) in New York City. It's not unfair to say it was the most famous radio station in the country at one time. Lundy, along with Dan Ingram, were two of the top jocks on the famed Top 40 station that was affectionately called "W-A-Beatle-C" when the Lads arrived in 1964.

In any event, Lundy -- a big-voiced, warm personality born in Memphis -- would open every show with a boisterous "Hello, Love!" It was Lundy that I recall just sounding so friendly and happy to be on the radio. It obviously stuck with me.

As World Radio Day passed yesterday, I figured opening a post about Valentine's Day with that nod to Ron Lundy was fitting. Thanks, Love.

*****

It is, indeed, Valentine's Day. To many, it is despised, mostly for its over-the-top Hallmark trappings of chocolates, candy, food, and excessive gifts. To be sure, a lot of that is true.

For sure, it's easy to go full Adam Sandler in The Wedding Singer, growling out "Love Stinks."

Yet, ever the romantic, I appreciate all of the wishes that loved ones are passing along. I still buy into the idea of the thing called love. You know, the power of love (hmmm. That sounds like a song title).

We've come a long way in recognizing that Valentine's Day doesn't have to be about excess. It can be simply about loving those around you. It can also be about loving yourself.

The "Galentine's Day" concept has taken off for women, for instance. 

You see, the problem is that, as with everything, we need to strike the proper balance. That's the kind of Valentine's Day I look for.

Also, any day can be Valentine's Day in reality. Sure, the calendar says it's February 14 but in our world, adjustments can be made! So the day of l'amour should simply be a reminder to love. Love everything.

Love your romantic partner. Love your kids. Love your parents. Love your friends. Love yourself.

Let's be honest, as a society, we're awful at reminding our loved ones that they are, indeed, loved. I've tried to be better at it but I know Sean would think I'm nuts if I started telling him that. It's more implied between the two of us.

So, simply, stop putting so much pressure on the day. That's a solid reminder for me. Honestly, I was home tonight with what was supposed to be a later depo. When I logged in I was alone. That's very common and I actually prefer it. Nobody else was on the Zoom call so I'm able to establish things how I want them to be.

But then an hour passed and nobody joined me. The start time for the case came and went. Eventually, I got the news that it had been canceled and nobody told us.

So I got around to making dinner. I decided since I had a couple of eggs, some cheese, a bagel, and a hash brown pattie that a breakfast sandwich would be perfect.

All was well and really good. Except my lousy toaster oven got a little smoky and set off the smoke detector. It was loud for a minute or two before stopping.

Then I ate. Delicious.

So here are my two cents. Don't overthink Valentine's Day. Don't put too much pressure on yourself either for it.

I think -- I could be wrong -- that mine was pretty nice.

Love doesn't always stink.

Wrestling With the Calendar

 

Franklin High School, NJ, 2022

The life and schedule I lead are, as they say, what it is.

As I've said countless times, I wish it had a bit more regularity to it. I often pine for a home base (and benefits) and then I'd like to be able to work around that. But I'd love the tradition and expectation of knowing that I'm calling something annually.

Yesterday -- Super Bowl Sunday -- was the finals in New Jersey state wrestling. Chris Erway and I drove to Franklin High School last year and called the same event.

Saturday, for what it's worth, was the FCIAC wrestling championship. Chris and I also called that the last few times but I was at Brunswick doing Wick and Berkshire in hockey.

Now, I'll tell you in full disclosure that wrestling terrified me at first.

All boys were forced into wrestling in middle school when I was a kid and, as an awkward eighth grader, I would have been happier with a root canal. So my relationship with wrestling had been distant at best. Chris, on the other hand, was an outstanding wrestler and knows the sport. We had worked those FCIAC finals together and I served as lead broadcaster and anchor. He handled the nuts and bolts. We weren't bad.

In fact, I thought we were good.

It pleased me to get the call to do the 2022 finals at Franklin High School and, later on, go to Atlantic City for the individual championships. I can't stress enough what a great time we had.

It was at Franklin High School that I was handed a unique opportunity. Chris and I were asked to work separately for one session during the day so that we could each call a match on a different mat. Dan Long took one mat and Chris and I split the other two. Chris was fine with it. I said I'd try.

So there I was to call wrestling on my own.

I was pretty nervous.

And, as I look back, I'm pretty proud of it. Oh, I can tell you with full clarity how I was warned that one of the school's fans would hate me no matter what. It was a match between Phillipsburg and Howell and the one school had its own broadcasters who begged to be on the call.

You know, sort of like forcing Gary Cohen on a national broadcast of the World Series with the Mets involved. That kind of thing.

I told myself, in the process, to go back to the basics of TV broadcasting. Kevin Devaney, Jr would control the camera, which was aimed squarely at the mat. The picture would do the heavy lifting. I just had to fill in. I didn't have to have the proficient description of Chris but I still needed to honor the things I knew: report, inform, elaborate, educate, and entertain.

Was it the best wrestling broadcast ever? Of course not. Could I do it again and keep improving? I hoped so.

I honestly didn't worry about the reviews and I saw nothing that troubled me. I got excited at the right moments and I kept the action right in front of me. I stayed in control.

Yes. I was quite proud, thank you very much. In a career in which I've had to step out of my comfort zone (looking at you, field hockey, soccer, cheerleading, and did I mention soccer?) I could now add wrestling to my list of truly doing play-by-play. I wasn't leaning on Chris in this moment. I was adrift and I needed to swim.

I held my head high and drove home.

Alas, it was not to be for 2023. The finals, as I said, were yesterday at Rutgers and I had been keeping my calendar open for that and, later, for Atlantic City. You learn to watch out for potential playoff dates and there's a reason we're going to Florida on the dates I've chosen as those were Brunswick hockey playoffs. I probably won't be needed for those either. The Bruins will likely be on the road.

So I checked to see what happened with the NJ.com calls of the wrestling finals and found Dan Long was there, along with two other people. Good for them.

I was home.

The FCIAC finals were handled by New Canaan High School students. Again, I was at Brunswick.

Doors open and doors close. The 2022 finals were unexpected and we had a blast. I know Chris loves broadcasting wrestling and, to be honest, I came to like it a lot too. Plus I enjoy working with him.

Often, there are no explanations for why some opportunities either never happen or simply fizzle out. Sometimes it's personal and sometimes it's really not. Sometimes those in charge just want someone else more. Sometimes it's a matter of them not liking the sound of your voice, your attitude, your appearance, your age, or any other thing. Like it or not this is simply reality.

It would have been fun to go to New Jersey again yesterday but it didn't happen. So we move on.

I'll be back at Brunswick later today for their Senior Day game against St. Luke's at 4:30.

The only thing I'll wrestle with there is technology.

It Was Fine

The Chiefs scored on the lone takeaway of the night

 

The Chiefs won the Super Bowl.

A late penalty was a big factor in setting Kansas City up with the opportunity to run down the clock and kick a field goal. To be quite clear that was not the difference in the game. 

Patrick Mahomes proved (at least to me) that he's an all-time great. He, Andy Reid, and Travis Kelce are well on their way to having to write speeches for Canton.

But, how to sum it all up?

Well, it's in the title.

It was fine.

It was a good game. Maybe, with time, it will be a great game. I enjoyed it. There were lots of moving parts to consume. But, being honest, the penalty for sure sapped any remaining wow factor. 

The reactions online are this is the greatest game ever with the greatest halftime show ever and the greatest broadcast show ever and oh my God why is Terry Bradshaw still allowed to work?

Let's parse that.

1) No. It was not the greatest game ever. It was a very good game. Perhaps great. Let's not act like Kansas City had some stirring comeback either. Yes, they won by definition in a comeback. But not once did the game elevate my heart rate. It didn't stir. It was very good.

2) Rihanna was fine. The music was fine and featured songs that even I know. She lip-synched and, well, whatever, I guess. There was nothing spectacular about it. It was solid. Those of us watching it kind of shrugged our shoulders when it was over. To be honest, it was exactly what I was hoping for. It was a show that I'm not on here dragging.

3) Leave Terry Bradshaw alone. That's my message. He won four Super Bowls, didn't cheat in them, called his own plays, and I'll just stop talking now. But he's an institution.

Other things: Greg Olsen was good. Kevin Burkhart was, again, fine.

That's really the word tonight.

Our Super Bowl gathering of Sean, Kris, me, and The Cat was the best part of the day, especially when Kris's wife Lori was on the phone from Florida. We'll see her in a little over three weeks.

But I'm content with the wings and pizza and the chocolate cake and some company here. I'm happy with the laughs and chatter.

The game was fine. We didn't find ourselves breathless when it was over and I can tell you Kris and I have seen some classic sporting events together.

Tonight was good. 

The game ended, he stood up, and basically called it a night.

Now comes baseball.

OK, yes, basketball and hockey continue on, of course.

Pitchers and catchers report this week.

And I have a basketball game to call tomorrow afternoon at Brunswick.

Oh, and the NFL isn't rigged. The game wasn't rigged.

Now, everyone play nice and we'll start the new week.

Mr. Clean

 

We're going to have a small Superb Owl party here tomorrow.

Small as in one in addition to Sean and me. Oh, and The Cat.

Understand that we don't entertain here. Like, ever. Our guests since May 25th have numbered maybe ten, and five of those have been for deliveries or repairs. Another one is our landlord.

So, yeah. 

Look, we have a small place. We still lack a couch. I could definitely use another set of eyes to see what we can do to make things more comfortable. Admittedly, there are times I want to stretch out while watching TV. So I use my chair and ottoman.

But with our, ahem, party here tomorrow, I decided to do some cleaning. Scrub the floors, vacuum, change the cat litter, and get the garbage together to take outside.

Things like that.

The cat in question was less than thrilled to see the vacuum in my hands, first electing to hide underneath my bed and then sprinting into Sean's room to hide under his bed.

So I cleaned everything up. We'll take the garbage out tomorrow and pick up a few things before we prepare to watch the Chiefs and Eagles do battle.

The cat recovered. He's fine.

It says here: Eagles 35, Chiefs 30.

*****

If you were on the book of duh face today you might have noticed I posted a couple of pictures of new WGCH board operator Sean Adams.

Operations manager Bob Small asked me a few weeks ago if I'd be interested in running the board for a new Saturday morning show. Saturdays are often hit or miss for me so I wasn't sure if this was something I'd want to do, especially with the inability to make a serious commitment. 

Sean, however, could use an opportunity. I connected Bob and Sean and, as I normally do, I then step away.

My nepotism extends to opening the door. Sean needs to then walk in and make it happen. That doesn't keep me from going over to WGCH while he's being trained. What I'm thinking is that I could then be Sean's backup.

With new people in charge of 1490 AM, we're trying to rebuild the little radio station that can a bit. We've needed board operators for a while because we don't have a very deep roster. I lean on the great Sean Kilkelly for anything I can bring him in for but Sean Adams can be of great use to the station potentially. The radio station has to create opportunities to get these talented people in the building.

Bob and I have a few ideas coming up.

So I can back Sean up (and Bob has us both covered if needed) for his new Saturday gig. It really does make sense. Sean was born into radio, given he was gurgling in the background the day he was born as I went on the air to talk about him during the FCIAC hockey championship that night.

He's been a part of WGCH ever since, appearing with me on recorded holiday messages every year and co-hosting the Greenwich Town Party with me.

Now, he's an actual employee. He's not worried about going on the air and, overall, doesn't have a big desire to do so.

Leave the talking to Dad, he says.

But he has a technical mind for broadcasting, through his upbringing to becoming a camera operator for the Renegades. In fact, he was a little more advanced in that there was a Radio Club at his high school that he was excited to join.

Then he found out "radio" meant basically setting up speakers for football games. It had zero to do with broadcasting.

He eventually gave it up because he knew a little more about what "radio" was.

Now he gets to do it for real.

So, if you're scoring, he's gone to the Renegades, WGCH, and will likely soon be on depositions.

Just like his dad.

But, here's the thing. I'm proud. You know that. Yet I don't share every single piece of his life -- good and bad -- on social media. When he struggled in baseball, you didn't need to see those swings and misses. That helps no one, especially Sean. 

Sure, I shared pictures and stories. Sometimes too much I'm sure. But I tried to use good judgment.

Not everyone does.

And one other thing, he gets mad at me when I share things on social media. Like most kids.

You can be certain there will something about him again when his birthday gets here in 10 days and justifiably so.

But, for tonight, I'm enjoying having him as a colleague at WGCH.

And we're planning to host the Greenwich Town Party again this May.

Halftime Adjustments

 

Rihanna is the featured performer in Sunday's halftime show. (People)

We're less than 48 hours from Emperor Goodell's 57th Large Contest.

Somewhere around 8 p.m. Sunday night, we'll be sitting in the Presidential Suite taking in the game* when Rihanna will saunter to midfield. There's no confirmation that she will need an umbrella-ella-ella.

*Assuming Sean actually sits with us to watch the game. That is not a certainty.

Personally, this is one halftime show that I didn't really have a reaction to when it was announced. I'm not concerned either way. I'm sure the few of us who will congregate here on Sunday night will stretch our legs, talk, and mildly keep an eye on the TV.

With the arrival of the Big Bowl brings talk of the best and worst ever and among those is the halftime show. The thing is there are two weeks between the conference championships and the Super Big Game so there is a lot of time for nonsense like lists.

And, yeah, I've seen a few lists.

Spoiler alert: when it comes to the purple-shrouded one in Game number XLI, I remain completely unimpressed. Yes, 16 years later, I still don't think Prince's performance is the gold standard. 

To be honest, at this point, I don't know who was the best.

But I'll tell you I was bored with Prince on a night that I fell asleep during the game.

"Well, Paul McCartney MUST be your favorite then," you say. Indeed, Paul's show in 2005 was pretty great but it was also safe, featuring "Drive My Car", "Get Back," "Live and Let Die," and "Hey Jude." So, sure, it's not really spectacular but it's also a Beatle. "Hey Jude" is smart because of the singalong factor and "Live and Let Die" allows for pyrotechnics. All great songs, of course.

I'd put U2 pretty high up also. Look, I'm hardly their biggest fan but they hit the right notes in the first Super night following Sep 11, 2001. 

Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers were a band that I wondered about. I wasn't sure they'd fit the halftime game vibe but they were actually great.

For us classic rock fans, the era of those acts came to an end with The Who in 2010. They were ... fine.

Since then we've had one "spectacular" after another. Black Eyed Peas, Madonna, Katy Perry, etc. Most have left me rather empty. A few were rather dreadful and a couple were entertaining (Lady Gaga for sure). Some even baffled me (The Weeknd).

I'll just say "Maroon 5" and add nothing. Just leave that right there.

So I suppose what I'm saying is that while Up With People won't be appearing (they did "The Power of Love" as part of a medley at Super XX, I just look for Rihanna to entertain us.

The days of the halftime marching band are over.

Thus, in short: don't stink, I guess.

Let's face it. I'm not the demographic for the halftime show. Simply my age alone takes me out of the conversation. More importantly, I'm actually a football fan who cares about -- GASP! -- the game!

So, yeah. We'll likely talk among ourselves at halftime on Sunday night.