Oh, Christmas Tree

 

Hop on Pop. I loved the book as a kid. This was from Sean.

One might say it is a Christmas miracle.

Mock it if you wish.

But the significance of a Christmas Tree in my home is no small thing.

The tree itself is a relic, dating back to a time when I was married, and it served as a second tree for us. As I recall, it came from a store where they were getting ready to throw it out.

So it got claimed.

After the various machinations of life -- relocation, etc -- it came to be Sean's while living at his mother's. Last year, he said he wanted to move it to Greenwich.

I couldn't say no. I wouldn't say no.

So he brought it here, well into the season, we lit it up, and it sat there until just after the first of the year. We didn't put ornaments on it, but there was a certain amount of joy regardless.

Oh, I've buried some stuff here, haven't I? Christmas and the season post-Thanksgiving have long been an issue for me. My dad loved Christmas, so I put on a happy face every year to keep Mom going after he died. It seemed like the right thing to do. Keep up appearances.

Eventually, I was blessed with Sean, and of course, I wanted all of his days to be merry and bright.

He grew up, and times changed. With Mom getting older and holiday events being anywhere but at her house, the tree tradition just stopped.

Sean still had a tree at his mother's house, and we were sort of OK with all of it. Plus, the holiday season just became this thing that we survived.

Of course, after Mom passed in 2020, neither one of us was in any great rush to put a tree up. The emotional weight of her loss made that an easy call, combined with the inevitability that we'd move and the living room being loaded with stuff.

Again, we'd keep up appearances, but the family part of it changed. Of course, our address would also change with the move to Greenwich.

I'd do little things each year, like put up a few holiday-related items, even if just for a chuckle. I'd work in our Waffle House Christmas mugs along with our WSNO radio station model.

A small tree -- Mom had one of those fiber optic ones, might also come out as a nod to her minimalist approach toward the end of her life.

The ornaments, however, stayed in a bin.

Finally, Sean brought the tree here last December. There would be no presents under it -- a result of economic realities -- but it was there.

What we would do is treat ourselves to a trip as a present. But, yeah, times were really tough. We're still not exactly on easy street either.

We put the tree back in our basement last December, and it stayed there. I didn't give it much thought until Sean reminded me.

With this year -- and maybe a renewed sense of life -- I said it was time to reach into the time capsule of ornaments.

Bugs Bunny, Derek Jeter, Mickey Mantle, Fred Flintstone, Goassamer the monster, The Beatles, and myriad sports ornaments dot the tree. The Hop on Pop ornament -- a gift from Sean to me when he was little -- is clipped in place. Other nostalgic trinkets, dating back before I was born, are in their rightful place.

There's even a WGCH ornament, from the brief era that we also owned WVIP out of Mount Kisco.

It's minimal. It's leaning slightly. It has an angel topper that was created, probably back in the mid-70s.

It's perfect for us.

Oh, please. Go ahead and call it a Charlie Brown tree. I've already said it.

But it's also like Mom and Dad are here.

And, you know what?

I'm here also.

And that's how it should be.

*****

I'm off to England tomorrow morning. For the first time since 1999, I won't be on a Greenwich football playoff game. I was on the semifinal win over Fairfield Prep as the sideline reporter (!) in '99, before John Connelly called the championship win over Southington.

I've called every playoff game since.

Monday night, Dan Murphy will be in the lead seat as the Cardinals play -- yup! -- Fairfield Prep. He'll also likely be solo, as no one on the roster is available. Chemistry matters, and I reached out to people I trust. 

I trust Dan. He'll be great.

I'll miss it. But I'll be in the UK.

Game time 6:00 on WGCH and -- yes! -- Robcasting.

Catching Up

On the Taconic Parkway north (11/22/25)

There, by the grace of Babe Ruth or whomever, I reached the anniversary of my birth last Saturday.

Honestly, the last 365 or so have been some of the toughest ones. I don't try to predict the future, and I'm glad I don't, because I couldn't foresee where life was going to take me.

And yet -- somehow -- I'm actually in a good place as this 58th year begins.

Is every part of life in harmony? Oh, good grief, no. But I'm not tossing and turning in bed, wondering how I'm going to pay the rent. That doesn't mean all of life's issues have been resolved, and I'm not here to tell you otherwise. Life is still life, and I'm a survivor.

Let's clear one thing up since we last spoke. While I acknowledged a new avenue in my career, I'm not going to tell much related to that. As you probably know, I've been around student athletes for basically half my life. Protecting them as the true amateurs that they are has always been a top priority. A bad play can be acknowledged. 

If they tell me I can talk about their favorite music or some other narrative? Cool.

But telling you what goes on behind the doors of the school? Nope.

I knew that long ago.

And so, don't expect tales of North Mianus or any other school. In short, I can't. I think most of you know my style and know that I have always used good judgment.

I mean, if you follow along, you'll learn enough.

But I'll say this: I'm doing fine.

Within the past month, things have been swinging.

Our good friend Phil has reared his head again, accusing me of taking a swipe at his child. Um, does anyone recall where I'm working? Why would I ever do that? 

So, he attacked me with a few invectives ("petulant child" and such) and tried to accuse me of other things that I still don't understand, but eventually deleted his posts. Hey, whatever helps him sleep, right?

He's sort of like Walter Peck from Ghostbusters. If you know, well, then, yeah.

Funny enough, that same day Phil was on the attack, I was in New York hosting another Hunt Scanlon conference. Frankly, the work was well-received, setting me up for a trip to London for two -- count 'em, TWO -- conferences in just over a week.

And that same day I received word that I could finally announce a new venture that I've wanted to talk about for some time. 

I'm going to teach a non-credit, continuing education college course on sports broadcasting, specifically play-by-play.

For such a "petulant child," I was having a good day.

And people continue to notice these things.

Also, I've had to turn down a few state broadcasting assignments due to my crazy, tight schedule. So, yes, let's damage that narrative also.

Oh, that doesn't mean I haven't worked on other things. I spent my birthday in Albany, NY, calling the regional football final between Middletown and Saratoga Springs. I would have called a state semifinal and a state championship had a different team advanced to Syracuse for the title game.

And I spent consecutive weekends in Massachusetts covering Brunswick, including a very proud day where we drove to Milton for the Bruins in their bowl game. But Gus, our trusty cameraman, wasn't available, so Sean (the Renegades' master cameraman and employee of the year) did the honors.

He was nervous and cold, but he did a great job, considering we worked the game from the parking lots at the 30-yard line.

Let's see, what else? I hosted the Greenwich Old Timer's banquet again, had a nasty cold that impacted my voice, and just kept grinding along. Oh, and there have been lots of Beatles throughout the month. More than usual, to be honest.

As we turn towards the final month of 2025, one of my biggest disappointments will be this very space. I've written an all-time number of times and I suppose that was mostly due to my own headspace. I simply elected to not write. I'm still trying to get to where I want to do more.

But, most joyously, I'm not just sitting on the couch. I'm active and feel like I can start to live again.

Get busy living or get busy dying, as Morgan Freeman once said in The Shawshank Redemption.

I've got a lot of living to do.

Mr. Spielberg, Here's the Story

 

Once upon a time...

No, don't do that. It's too hokey. The scriptwriters will never buy it.

Oh, OK. Let's set that scene.

A kid grows up in the New York suburbs. He has little to no athletic ability but loves sports. He loves broadcasting. He is fascinated by it. He spends time watching and listening to all the games on all the channels. Radio and TV. He loves the Yankees. Frank Messer, Bill White, Phil Rizzuto. Eventually, Bobby Murcer -- his boyhood hero -- becomes a broadcaster.

He watches college football on ABC with Keith Jackson. Monday Night Football with Howard, Frank, and Dandy Don, and that evolves with Al Michaels. Watches the Rangers and Islanders. He is taken with Jiggs McDonald. Marv Albert, of course, looms large for all of his work. Over on CBS, the kid watches Summerall and Madden. Brent and "The NFL Today," of course. Also on CBS is a baseball announcer, calling football and golf. What's his name again? Oh, Scully, that's right. Let's put a pin in that.

Because Scully would head to NBC to do "Game of the Week." 

The kid has opinions and studies all of this. And it is his opinion that NBC is the place.

The National Broadcasting Company. Founded in 1926 as a radio network. It is at the forefront of TV in the 30s. Pauses for the war in the 40s before putting the World Series on the air in 1947.

It is the home of not only Vin Scully but, at one time or another, Bob Costas, Red Barber, Mel Allen, Curt Gowdy, Charlie Jones, Don Criqui, Joe Garagiola, Tony Kubek, Mike "Doc" Emrick, and so many other great broadcasters that put their stamp on the air at the "Peacock Network."

And of special note is the work of Dick Enberg, who, combined with Merlin Olsen, forms the most formidable football broadcast duo of the young man's life.

This, he tells his Connecticut School of Broadcasting class, is where he wants to be. Sure, he wants the Yankees also (he's not asking too much), but NBC is the place.

Life, of course, has other things are in store. He has to make money, so off to the corporate world he goes. He stays local to go to college, so he doesn't get that "big broadcasting school" pedigree that others look down on him for.

He doesn't have Syracuse or Missouri or Fordham. He has Westchester Community College and Western Connecticut State University.

There aren't the avenues now that there were then, but he's patient, and he grinds. 

He works in corporate America. He nearly gives up on school after the death of his father, but with Connecticut School of Broadcasting, he rebuilds himself.

A survivor, he is. A bit of an underdog, perhaps.

He gets a radio job and, except for a break in the 90s, goes on to have a 35-year career of broadcasting music, news, and everything else. It's a career in that it's part-time and full-time. It's a roller coaster.

Oh, and he does sports, of course, but yes, he literally does just about everything, including maintenance. Clean a plugged toilet at the station? Sure. Sleep on the floor after covering a major storm -- one he wasn't scheduled to work and didn't get paid a dime for? Uh huh.

There are a lot of stories like that. NBC Sports and the Yankees don't happen, and yet, he's kind of OK.

Somehow, this George Bailey sort of character feels he's reached a pinnacle because he works his tail off on every broadcast, bringing everything a professional feel with his own touches.

He doesn't need "the top level." He raised his son, survived a divorce, and dealt with life's other calamities. There are plenty of ups and downs. Heck, he even helped a newspaper company get a streaming broadcasting outlet off the ground before ego and power trips took over.

With friends worrying about his health, he leaves before the backstabbing gets worse.

He returns to work in Greenwich, at WGCH, where he's been for nearly three decades. A newspaper position in town doesn't quite work out (long story -- consider that for a sequel), but he builds a relationship with another school in town. Sure, he's called Greenwich High School broadcasts but now the Brunswick School wants him.

With that, he helps a streaming service called Bleachers. Well, that doesn't exactly fly, but it grows into LocalLive. With LocalLive, it feels like things will soar!

Well, there are bumps on that road. He gets shoved, nudged, and sometimes overlooked. That's business. 

In the meantime, a baseball position has opened in his native Hudson Valley, a Tampa Bay Rays minor league affiliate. He's worked there many times. It feels meant to be, and sure enough, he gets it! 

Then COVID cancels the season. No worries, he's told, the job is his next year. Oh, and the Hudson Valley team is changing affiliates...

to the New York Yankees.

Yes, in a small way, our guy is now a broadcaster for the Yankees.

Ah, but life. In a strange season, he works his tail off, calling every home game before being told that he'd be back the next year if it were up to his boss.

His boss leaves. Changes happen. What seems like a "no-brainer" ends with him no longer working for the team. He finds out he's out four days before Christmas, leading to a holiday spent alone, sitting on his couch.

Then they bring him back by asking him to be the public address announcer. Considering his son and other loved ones still work there, he goes back. He meets new friends, including one known as "Clicks" for his work on the Click Effects sound system.

Oh, wait, this story isn't over.

He battles with finances. His many jobs barely provide stability. His thought is always that he wants to keep a roof over the head of himself and his son.

That's a story that needs a finale.

But LocalLive is going through changes. He receives a phone call that indicates he still has that position, but it won't be called LocalLive anymore. LocalLive will migrate to a new company and a new name...

NBC SportsEngine Play.

He -- in a small way -- has made it to NBC Sports.

Scully. Enberg. Emrick. Costas.

Adams.

This story is too far-fetched.

-----

In no way do I think I'm really part of NBC Sports, any more than I feel that I'm part of ESPN, though I have been on ESPN+, or that I'm part of the Yankees. I don't work with Michael Kay, for instance, despite the wishes of my friends.

Yes, the financial realities still exist, and I'm trying to resolve them by getting one of these many "opportunities" to actually come to fruition. But through a certain amount of hard work and good fortune, I've achieved some of those lofty goals, even if they're on different terms. 

Later today, I'll call Brunswick and Suffield Academy football on NBC SportsEngine Play. I get chills every time I say it. 

My friend Mikey "Clicks" knows some of my journey and found a few things in his travels to celebrate this.

This is an NBC SportsEngine winter hat. Seems perfect for cold days in the Hartong Rink, as I call Brunswick hockey.

But he gave me something else that my inner NBC nerd screamed about.

This banner could have hung at Yankee Stadium or Three Rivers Stadium, or some arena with the heroes of my broadcasting youth. Honestly, I don't know, and I'd rather not ruin that fantasy. All I know is I found room in my apartment and it now hangs here, with profound thanks to Clicks for his thoughtful gift.

My story still has a long way to go and still has answers that I need to get. And again, I don't have "imposter syndrome" that makes me think I'm really a part of these organizations that have defined my career. I can't stress that enough. But, in some small way, I can claim a tiny piece of achieving my goals.

The story continues. May the sequel be even sweeter.

What I Did On My Summer (Non) Vacation

 

The Electric City!

There are a few times that feel like a fresh start.

Jan 1 is to many people. 

Opening Day of baseball season will always be one to me.

And I think Labor Day is one as well.

Around these parts, that means school is either about to start or has just started.

When I was a kid (yes, way back when), Labor Day normally meant a picnic somewhere.

There would be a lot of wiffle ball and volleyball and badminton and football, and more.

There would be food and family. Or people who felt like family.

We laughed and battled and ate and listened to music and tried to live in the moment. We didn't want it to end because it was also the realization that summer was over and school was about to begin. It was important to stay in the moment.

School -- wearing that first day fit, getting reacquainted with friends, meeting the teacher or teachers, settling back into the rhythm, and buying supplies -- would wait.

School still plays a big part in my life now, as the beginning of school means the beginning of a new year of sports broadcasts for me.

When -- ahem -- Sep 1998 began, I had no idea that it would begin this long association with high school sports. I worked a few Ridgefield High School football broadcasts from the WREF Radio studio in 1996, but I had moved to WGCH by the late summer of 1998. Eventually, they needed someone to run their studio for some games, and I got that opportunity.

That also meant I got to do some on-air work as well. But it all changed when I called Port Chester/Greenwich baseball in 1999. I was now a play-by-play announcer and never looked back.

That December, I worked my first Greenwich football game, capping off the end of my first full season of calling football, doing a slate of Westchester games on WVIP.

This Saturday, I'll be at Brunswick for a scrimmage to check the equipment and have a chance to get some practice in. Next Friday, Dan Murphy and I will put the headsets on and get started on another year of Greenwich football, as the Cardinals host Fairfield Prep. The following day, I'll be at Avon Old Farms for the Brunswick opener against the Winged Beavers.

I'm blessed to be the "voice" (no matter how much I don't love that term) of two great programs. 

Labor Day weekend has been a collection of activity and inactivity. It began with Sean and me going to Scranton for a day trip to Waffle House, trains, and Sheetz. In truth, we should have stayed the night and enjoyed ourselves, but there's a little issue of paying the bills that keeps me up at night.

That, friends, needs to change even if it is at the cost of the number of games I cover.

Nevertheless, we had a great day.

I also had a bittersweet day on Saturday, when I went to see Greenwich and Newtown play a scrimmage. I stood quietly and took in the game, feeling the rush of wanting to put the headset back on.

After the game, I made the short drive to nearby Sandy Hook and briefly visited the new school that replaced the one where the unspeakable happened in December 2012. I pulled in, thinking that the memorial to the 26 lives lost was there before realizing it was up the road. 

Sheepishly, I left and found the stirring memorial, where I quietly paid my respects. I have no words, and I don't think any are needed.

The rest of the weekend was mostly quiet, which tends to be a problem. Oh, sure, I hosted "Meet the Beatles" and we went to Wegmans for groceries, but the summer of 2025 was sometimes too quiet for me.

Don't get me wrong. I called a lot of games, recorded a lot of podcasts, and attended a lot of meetings. But there's a reason I was too cheap to get a room in Scranton.

Again, it has to change.

September will reignite me. Sean and I will get to The Big E. I'll call football and maybe some soccer. Hopefully, depositions will pick back up. We have one more week of Renegades games. And we're heading into a good stretch of conferences from now until early December.

September, of course, also brings reminders of sadness with the reminder of September 11 next week. I'll likely be over at Cos Cob Park that morning for the ceremony honoring the lives lost 24 years ago.

Further, we'll remember Mom later this week, on the fifth anniversary of her passing. Time flies, and we must keep moving forward.

While the summer wasn't full of travels, it was full of ups and downs and a few adventures. And, as the nights get cool, I'm hopeful.

One of these days, the promises will come together into something beautiful.

But let's dive into September. 

A hopeful fall and winter await.

Oh, a final note. Midnight tonight -- Sep 2 -- marks my 35th anniversary in broadcasting. To that, I say thank you for listening, watching, and supporting.

OK. Here.

 

So, yeah, it's been a minute.

Let's talk.

I stopped writing on a daily basis on Oct 27, 2024. In truth, the grind of life had gotten to me and I was ready to take a break. I went to San Francisco for business the next day and left my computer at home. I thought I'd come back quickly.

I've posted seven times since then.

If I may speak openly, like I did on my radio show today, let me say that the last year or so has been anything but easy. So, because of that, I didn't want to weigh this space down with daily notes about financial hardships, frustrations of life, depression, social media attacks, etc.

I tried to lean on a circle of people. They know who they are, and it was just that they were in the right place to get me to talk. 

There are, in short, a lot of things that have bothered me. The frustrations of (lack of) income have weighed heavily on me. I can't (and won't) begin to list things, but I've done too much for no money for one thing and, in other cases, too much that takes too long to get paid. That doesn't even begin to lead to the number of broken or empty promises.

There are myriad loose ends of life. Personally. Professionally. I often speak about wanting a home. I have an apartment and I enjoy it. I don't enjoy the downstairs showroom person complaining that we walk too loudly or, as she texted our landlord, "The son isn't the problem. It's him."

Him. He has a name. So does the son. We're not bad people. And we're also pretty quiet.

But when I talk about "home" it means a base. Like a place to make a living and have basic necessities and, dare I say, benefits.

Then, of course, I could have written every day about the "Mr. Toxic" thing. Phil (yup, many have asked and have figured it out) has made it a daily obsession to post something intended to rattle me. I've asked others to review and (yup) sent screenshots as well (Phil seems to be bothered by that). 

The reactions generally include, "Dude, he has it in for you," and "Wow. What's his problem?" I've tried to joke about the free rent I get in his brain, but I've also made it clear it wears on me. If he'd like to celebrate beating my mental health, well, huzzah. You win.

I spoke honestly. I've been depressed about stuff. I got further dumped on today.

And, look, I'm not innocent. With each post about Gary Cohen, Bob Wischusen, Sean McDonough, and his "hatred" of the Yankees, I'd eventually find a comeback. Sometimes, it was too much, and I do feel bad about that. I would also just step away for days and let him bloviate. 

He'd keep going.

Then he'd add professional digs. Recently, he made a comment about wanting daily, locally-produced sports talk in CT. Um...4pm, WGCH, right? Sure, I miss days, but we're there. 

There were also things sprinkled around a few other games. Enough that a fellow broadcaster had the marbles to message him privately about his comments.

Phil, of course, didn't respond.

That's all in addition to when he tried to embarrass me in a broadcasting group, not realizing I was in the group. I responded politely, hoping to open a dialogue. At one point, the post disappeared.

Otherwise, he never responded.

Sure, the easy answer is "block him." I'm already blocked. Heck, he blocked me on every outlet back in 2023 or whenever it was. He took down the recommendation he wrote for me on LinkedIn. He also removed the one I wrote for him, which he asked me to write.

He further methodically deleted every correspondence between us. I could see it as it was happening. Is this rational?

I thought we were, at best, friendly. And most of my friends know how to give and take. Chris Erway and I wouldn't be friends all these years if we couldn't handle disagreements. The same goes for Chris Kaelin. And others.

Again, I've made mistakes in this process. When Phil called broadcasters who don't prepare like him "lazy," I called it out. I further called him a "prep snob." I shouldn't have said it on WGCH, but I did. I thought, being a professional, he'd touch base, we'd yell, talk, laugh, etc, and move on.

That would be a no.

He's had other broadcasters come after me in various ways as well.

This war is stupid and unnecessary. I have my thoughts on him as a person, and I've had them for over 20 years. But I also appreciated the job tips he offered, how he told me I was too good for a broadcast I was on one night a bunch of years ago, and him asking me to sub for him on Bridgeport Sound Tigers broadcasts.

We disagree on a lot. Isn't that good? Isn't that how it should be?

I'm better because Chris Erway, for instance, challenged me on certain things. Because that always allowed me to think about my stance and whether or not I needed to adjust my thinking. I'm also better in that I don't get into every social media spat. I deplore politics on Facebook. I especially abhor posting about it obsessively.

I also detest that constant judgment. People think they know me. They don't really. Oh, there are a handful, but most don't understand the depth.

And I'm somewhat deep and slightly complex. At least I think so.

Today, I spoke openly on "Doubleheader." I'm sorry that Chris Saunders "caught a stray" in the process, and I was wrong about that. In my hurt, I know I went too far.

But I felt it was time to open up about things. This was all because Phil got hurt over "prep snob," which I actually said to take the grief away from someone else. That's the backstory that isn't known. I actually thought Phil would hear it from me, say, "Come on, Rob, why?" and we'd talk.

Instead, the bombs began getting lobbed. Most were meant to be harmless, with the hope that it would all stop.

It didn't.

And, moments ago, I noticed he posted one last "eff you" to me on Twitter. Instead of any and all avenues leading to a professional and appropriate conversation, he has decided to not double down, but go all-in.

Congrats, Phil. I discussed how openly you have impacted my mental health. To that, you don't care. You, frankly, aren't alone in that thought. How you think thats appropriate is beyond me.

I wish I had that kind of ego, but I also wish you had a hint of a sense of humor. Most people get it or we talk it out. 

You think you are this hyper-positive person, who frankly, passively either doesn't support others or dumps on them. That's why you're "toxic positivity."

Maybe one day you'll get it and we'll simply agree to disagree.

I truly hope that day isn't too late.

This, by the way, was his response via X/Twitter. He's all class. And, yes, I did a screenshot. Sorry, Phil.

Baseball '25

(Photo: New York Yankees on X)

Tomorrow is that grandest day.

It's Opening Day for Major League Baseball. The Yankees and Brewers will throw first pitch at 3:05.

I'm looking forward to the things that have intoxicated me about this game since at least 1972.

But, to be honest, I struggled with baseball this off-season. I missed it, but I didn't miss it. The 2024 World Series was an unenjoyable blur and the worst World Series involving the Yankees that I can ever remember. That fifth game dangled the most dangerous word -- hope -- in front of all of us before it evaporated over a disgusting single inning of terrible play.

I also allowed things to get under my skin. While it should be shame on those who did things, it's ultimately my fault. So, shame on me.

I'll feel the fire. I will.

And screw the haters. They're obsessed anyway.

Once again, I'm sharing the post I wrote on April 5, 2015. When I wrote it, I was in a very vulnerable, emotional place. Ah, the glory days of the HAN Network.

The words below comprise a post that was among the most meaningful I've ever written. I hope -- sincerely hope -- you enjoy them.

Remember, as we embark on this season, be good to each other. It's still baseball. A sport. A game.

That's just it. Enjoy the game and watch it with those who bring you joy.

*****

 From left: Lou Gehrig, Joe Cronin, Bill Dickey, Joe DiMaggio,
Charlie Gehringer, Jimmie Foxx, and Hank Greenberg. 

Check out that picture above. Look at them: Gehirg, Cronin, Dickey, DiMaggio, Gehringer, Foxx, Greenberg. Even non-baseball/sports fans know at least two of those names (Gehrig and Joe D., of course).

It was taken at the 1937 All-Star Game at Griffith Stadium in Washington. Look at that glorious NBC sign in the background. Incidentally, three radio networks broadcast that game (NBC, CBS, and Mutual).

You might not know that every one of those players is enshrined in the Baseball Hall of Fame. Yet they are. Those guys aren't scrubs. They're among the best to ever play the game of baseball. Naturally, I've written tons about The Iron Horse, and a few words about DiMaggio as well. Bill Dickey, by the way, is vastly overlooked.

For you non-fans, Jimmie Foxx was the loose model for Tom Hanks in A League of Their Own.

You probably know this, if you've read anything here, but I love this great game. My god, we've screwed it up incredibly over the years. The race issues were deplorable. The sport struggled with growth and competition from the NFL through the 70s (and it continues today). We've added playoff teams and dealt with drugs (steroids, greenies, cocaine, etc. Go on. Look it up.). We're worried about pace of play and bringing the inner city back.

We had Black Sox and a gambling Red (just put him in the Hall of Fame, please?).

We have the Babe. The one and only. The single greatest, most important athlete in the history of sports. Yes, I know, Jim Thorpe, Bo Jackson, and others might have been better true athletes, but given everything involved, there's Babe Ruth and everyone else.

We've sold our souls too many times. Baseball shouldn't open at night, but ESPN's money is too much to overlook.

Yet tomorrow, in the day, with the stands full and the records 0-0, the lines will be painted fresh. The grass will be gloriously green. I wish a band would play, and we could recreate some of the openings of seasons past, but a voice will intone the starting lineups, and they will gather on those freshly-painted baselines. The anthem will be sung. A ceremonial first pitch will be thrown. There might be a flyover or some other special effect.

Then, as there has been since 1869 (the generally agreed upon "first year" of Major League Baseball), a batter will step up to home plate. A pitcher - 60 feet, six inches away - will author a first pitch.

And there will be baseball. To me, for its history, grandeur, strategy - everything - it is the greatest game of them all.

Football is the national passion. Baseball is the National Pastime.

Give me 714. Give me .406. Sixty-one. Fifty-six. I wish we could have 1918 back, but time marches on. A fan knows what these numbers are.

Give me the billy goat. The Bambino. Curses real or imagined.

Give me those uniform numbers that we all know: four. Three. Seven. Five. Forty-two.

Give me The Mick. Jeet. Gabby. Dizzy. Daffy. Dazzy. Pudge. Yaz. Three-Finger. Blue Moon. Vida. Catfish. Bucky. Stan the Man.

Give me Willie, Mickey, and The Duke. Tinker to Evers to Chance.

Give me The Called Shot. The Homer in The Gloamin'. The Shot Heard Round the World. The Miracle of Coogan's Bluff. Those last two are the same thing.

Give me Ebbets Field. Forbes Field. Crosley Field. Now give me Camden Yards and Fenway and Wrigley. The Big A. Chavez Ravine.

Give me the corner of E. 161st Street and River Ave. The most famous address in sports history.

Give me the Royal Rooters and the Bleacher Creatures.

Give me 27 rings.

Give me those great quotes, from music to movies to TV and beyond.

Take Me Out to the Ball Game. "Luckiest Man."

“That's baseball, and it's my game. Y' know, you take your worries to the game, and you leave 'em there. You yell like crazy for your guys. It's good for your lungs, gives you a lift, and nobody calls the cops. Pretty girls, lots of 'em.”
―Humphrey Bogart

Give me Vincent Edward Scully. The man known as Vin. The man who learned at the side of Walter Lanier Barber, the Old Redhead himself sitting in the catbird seat, while the bases were FOB (full of Brooklyn).

Give me a Ballantine Blast. Tell me "It's Miller Time" or "This Bud's for you."

Give me Cooperstown (maybe in a little over a week from now).

I love this game. It energizes me. Engulfs me. Fills my heart, yet breaks it. It enraptured me for sure when I saw my first pro game in 1972 and a guy named Murcer doubled off another guy named Palmer. One is a hall of famer. The other doesn't need to be.

It made me cry when in 1996, my boyhood team won their first title in 18 years, and I couldn't share it with the one person I wanted to share it with.

Most of all, selfishly, give me a microphone so that I can broadcast it.

This is the beginning of my year. This is when I feel refreshed.

This is when I know that this horrible winter is over.

It's Opening Day.

Play ball.

February Made Me Shiver

The face of 2,000 games with a voice that is
hanging on by a thread

 The second month of 2025 has nearly passed by completely and I haven't written. I don't want you to forget about me!

In truth, my sojourn away from the blog has been emblematic of my needing a break more than I realized. The past few months -- if I can grab my seat on Oprah's couch -- haven't been easy.

I mean, I'm still here and so on, but telling you the stories of not making enough money or not working enough or not sleeping or worrying about paying the bills or about the entitled person downstairs complaining about how loudly we walk (seriously) or the usual social media nonsense would have been redundant and not very compelling.

So, I stopped. 

But, I also worked whenever and wherever I could. Doubleheader at the Westchester County Center? Cool. Five CYO basketball games on Long Island for no money but it beats sitting on the couch? Sweet. FCIAC's? Brunswick? Greenwich High? Yeah! Yeah! Yeah!

I'm going to do softball (!) in Pennsylvania this weekend and there are other things in the pipeline.

I suppose, if anything, in the "it's always darkest before the dawn" way, (hopefully) things are turning in the right direction. There's a glimpse of a light and now I have to reach it.

Sean turned 23 last Sunday and I've written so many words about him. He remains my greatest joy. I'm so proud of him and enjoy the time we spend together. We have a wonderful relationship as father and son (and roommates and colleagues). He's also, like me, a wise ass.

On Monday night, I broadcast my 2,000th sporting event -- Fairfield Ludlowe and Staples in the FCIAC boys basketball semifinal. I realize it is an achievement but I wasn't sure I would give it much thought other than mentioning it to a few people.

But then I pondered the many people I've worked with and those who have supported me and, once in a while, I need to promote myself a bit. So I thought I'd post something publicly, mostly, and be done with it. Yes, I'd acknowledge it somehow on the air and try not to get emotional.

If I'm being completely honest, I wanted the 2,000th to be a game that meant something. In other words, a baseball game would have been great. On WGCH also would have been important. So when it became apparent that it wouldn't be a Brunswick or Greenwich game, I was really happy to have it be Ludlowe and Warde, featuring two coaches who are friends of mine and two schools I have great respect for.

Some time back, another broadcaster bought a cake in honor of a milestone of his own. As that is completely not my style, I couldn't help but laugh. Shawn Sailer -- another wise guy -- kept it in mind and presented me with a picture of a cake to congratulate me when I called my 1,900th. I laughed. Hard. I updated it Monday morning before leaving.

Fast forward to Monday night. I knew Shawn would be at the game and wondered if he had anything up his sleeve. Turning serious for a moment, as we were talking, I wanted to thank him for his loyalty and unwavering support, but knew I couldn't say the words without getting emotional. I texted him instead. 

I also touched base with Susan and Chris Erway to thank them as well. There are so many others to thank who have kept me going. This business is not for the weak and there are many wanting to bring you down. I've highlighted them before and of course neither one of them acknowledged me this week.

Obviously, I thought of my parents and hoped they were proud. I've tried to carry the values they instilled, including standing at attention for the national anthem until the last note has concluded. I did that before tipoff and thought about the pride of this moment.

Then, it was time to work. Mike Buswell did color with me and he acknowledged the 2,000th game. For the most part, it was a non-factor otherwise. We called the game as Staples advanced to the FCIAC Championship.

There was nothing ceremonial about the night otherwise. There was no need. I did my job, thanked everyone, and went home. No need for a cake.

Tuesday came and went. I did some work and taught at CSB.

I came home around 11 last night and decided I wanted a seltzer before I went to bed.

I opened the fridge and, on the bottom shelf, I saw something.

A cake. A cheesecake. With a handwritten note on the outside of the package.

My son strikes again.

See, here's the thing. He's proud of his old man, sure. He even watched the game -- he never does that. He was incredibly supportive and I think the cake was meant in kindness.

But.

He also loves cheesecake. So it's a win-win for him.

And me.

And, nose to the grindstone, I'll be back on the mic tonight. I have a break tomorrow before more games on Friday and beyond. I've called 14 games in a week. Of course, I always want quality over quantity and I hope I've lived up to those standards. I've made friends and, sadly, lost some. I'm sorry about that.

Anyway, March is full of opportunities and promises. 

We're not out of the woods yet.

But I'm starting to see daylight.

It's Cold and People Are Hot

 

This is warm compared to this morning

It was six degrees this morning outside my window.

Yikes.

I'm at work now, but have a few minutes to gather my thoughts and try to present them in a way that will be enlightening, charming, and oh whatever.

I see the world is handling things juuuusst fiiiinnne this week. No, I can not type those words with a straight face. The behavior of this country is sad. Obsessed. And so on.

For someone like me, there is nowhere to run to (Martha and the Vandellas, 1965). I can't afford to hide on an island or bury my head in the sand. So I turn my collar to the cold and damp (I'd like to think no explanation is necessary on that one, but it's Simon and Garfunkel, originally in 1964) and keep pushing forward.

I mean, I simply don't have the bandwidth to do battle. As such, I mostly ignore it all. And I try to go into my "I don't care" bubble.

Or I pick my fights.

But, for the record, stop. Please. We're all guilty of the divide.

*****

While I'm on that rant, no rule says one must engage on a topic. Any topic. You can simply keep scrolling. I do it all the time. It's not that difficult.

There is this desperation to be the smartest person in the room (even virtually). There's also an obsession with fighting and arguing. There's just no need.

And the macho "tough guy" stuff online. It's nuts, such as the witch hunt for who didn't vote for Ichiro to be in the Hall of Fame. One person -- one -- didn't vote for him, keeping Mariano Rivera as the lone unanimous inductee. 

It also happened with Derek Jeter and, well, OK. So be it. I'm not going to rescind that person's voting right nor do "I want to meet the one person that didn’t think Ichiro was a Hall of Famer," as one nitwit said.

For the record, that one voter is a fool but it's still their right.

*****

It's been a month of working. But not enough working. We're surviving. Barely.

But, still, there are games to call and I'm doing what I do.

I posted a tweet/X/whatever this morning calling for all young broadcasters to be mentored. I stand by that belief.

I've seen it. Entitlement, lack of preparation, bias, etc. Overall, forgetting how lucky they -- we -- are to be there.

I'm extremely fortunate to be moving towards 2,000 game broadcasts. I've been welcomed at so many different places to call a game and am overall grateful for every stop -- from stools on a sideline in a small gym to a heated booth at Cardinal Stadium to a two-level suite at Fenway Park.

I'm additionally grateful when schools work with me to make it all work but, at the end of the day, it's up to me. So when Harrison High School put us in an auditorium to call a football game and I had to look through a window over ten feet away with no view of the end zone to my left, we made it work. In that case, I sent Chris Erway to the field with a wireless microphone. We survived. We laughed about it.

An athletic director has enough to do without dealing with us. So we minimize any grief.

For the record, I called basketball last night at Greenwich High School. Times have changed and I no longer sit at center court to call a game like I did in 1999. Instead, athletic director Peter Georgiou and site manager Joe Urbano set me up with a folding table in the corner of the gym, near the Greenwich bench.

Perfect. No complaints.

But consider this. You're a young broadcaster. You're calling sports. You're following your classmates around, explaining their athletic exploits to a waiting audience. These are calls and moments that will live forever. Don't you want to do it the right way? Don't you want to do it where your call and behavior are both things to be proud of?

More than anything, don't you want to simply do your "job" and stay mostly out of the way?

That's my approach, I suppose, but to each their own.

Regardless, it's often the "Wild West" with young announcers. They need guidance to improve and to decide if they want to stay in the business at all. And, frankly, they need criticism -- sometimes blunt and honest. Even those who wanted to only be mentored by top-level broadcasters got treated like that by me. Not naming names.

They know. Maybe.

I'd just like to see us elevate the business, especially given how the media is viewed.

*****

One last note: last night's game broadcast was only on Robcasting. It was sadly last-minute but exists now in archival form. What it was supposed to be was the beginning of a span of winter games on WGCH (and Robcasting). 

I'm confident that WGCH will join us soon. I'm planning to call another Greenwich game very soon (possibly tomorrow or Friday).

Being back in the GHS gym brought back a flood of memories of great games and great people. 

But in the end, it produced a 57-52 upset win for Greenwich over undefeated Staples. A lot of people were smiling as they walked out.

Including me.

Turning my collar to the freezing Greenwich night.

My Thankful Day

 

Two pods and a lot of rain

It's been a while.

A little over a month ago, I stopped the madness of posting every day as I headed to San Francisco for a conference.

The most recent post came after I returned from California.

Then? I stopped.

Oh, I thought about writing it but I gave myself a break.

November tends to be a busy month of work and I was somewhat occupied with another conference, a few cases in the deposition world, and a bunch of games.

If I'm being honest, I'm not working enough and it's frankly not sustainable. That causes me some sleepless nights.

Last night, however, I tossed and turned and thought about the annual Thanksgiving broadcast of high school football between Greenwich and Staples.

If the game had been at Cardinal Stadium, my concerns would have been minimal. I'd be there within five minutes. We'd have our own booth. We'd have heat and power and internet and we would be dry.

Today's game was not at Cardinal Stadium. It was at Staples where I have worked maybe three games in their press box. Ever.

Today was not one of those days. So I knew we would be out on the landing just outside of the press box door.

And it was going to rain. I had hoped the forecast would change but it did not. The chance of rain sat at 98%.

So I worried about getting internet and having working equipment. And keeping it dry.

I was up early, out the door, and on the Staples campus at 7:30. The game was scheduled to kick off at 10.

I surveyed the setup, reviewed the size of our space, and pondered what to set up.

Dan Murphy arrived a few minutes after I did and we got to work.

I opted to go with the pods that I have. One is larger than the other and I thought that was the best one to use as an anchor for our equipment. I told Dan he could use the other one.

Keeping in mind the day would be windy, we had to be mindful of anchoring the pods.

For the record, I had a canopy in my trunk that belongs to WGCH but I think it would have been too big for our space.

I ran the power from the booth. We strung the internet cable from the WWPT Radio booth. Then I promptly dropped it. So we did it again.

All was well. Until it wasn't.

The rain picked up and soaked the old MacBook that I was using. The computer began to act weird and, eventually, stopped charging.

Uh oh.

If only I was prepared. You know, like with another computer.

Like the one I'm currently typing on.

A quick text to Bob Small to make sure we could connect via a different website (yes) and we were in business.

I won't tell you it was perfect. In fact, it wasn't. We had a problem with Dan's microphone initially but he worked diligently to get that under control.

But, overall, today's game wasn't great (final: Staples 27, Greenwich 0) but the broadcast was a standout. I'm very proud of it.

Look, I stood in the rain for hours. I did everything I could to keep notes dry. At times, I just kept them tucked in my jacket. I never wrote out a scorecard because it would have been laughable.

Dan kept some stats from inside of the other pod. For the record, we never saw each other during the broadcast as we reacted to what each other said.

Dan never panicked. It's easy to overreact in these circumstances but Dan was a seasoned pro and didn't budge. He made the situation work for him and adapted as necessary. He knew we had been blessed with great weather since mid-September so, eventually, this was bound to happen.

And it did. Oh, did it ever.

Even the famous tailgate was sadly a no-go today, as the rain scuttled those plans. Starving, Dan left to go get something to eat. He tried calling me at one point and I couldn't answer it because the phone and my hand were both soaked.

The point of all of this is we made it work. It had a chance to be a disaster for the ages and, instead, the broadcast was a triumph.

Broadcasts like that make a team grow closer, especially when you rally and don't let it ruin the effort. I think that happened today.

I warned Dan that we've experienced so many things on Thanksgiving Day. We nearly fought with a TV crew, dealt with cold weather, light snow, and bad communication that impacted the broadcast. We've had classics, tension, and a few ho-hum games. 

That led to today. Even as the forecast looked awful, Dan remained consistently excited for his first Thanksgiving call. For the record, today was my 23rd, only missing 2020 since I started working on turkey day in 2001.

It has made Thanksgiving Day almost my favorite holiday. Of course, now I wish we could just fast-forward to January, but that's a different story.

But seeing it through Dan's eyes -- and his enthusiasm -- gave me a boost, especially as my blood pressure was spiking during setup.

It took some time, but I made my way home to a very quiet afternoon. While I spent the day with only The Cat, I thank those who did invite me to spend the day with them. In truth, I was shot. 

I came home, cleaned myself up, and put all of the soaking clothes in the laundry. Then I made a turkey sandwich and watched TV. Football, of course.

And, eventually, I fell asleep.

I also discovered we accidentally put a bag of equipment in Staples High School in my car and I have to arrange to return that.

Thanksgiving 2024 was one of challenges. But it's all in context. 

The weather, as bad as it was, could have been a lot worse. It could have been snow. I can see the silver lining.

I, too, can be positive, even if my positivity is dipped in reality.

John Nash caught me working under the umbrella

But I'm thankful. You bet I am.

I have friends who cared about where I spent my Thanksgiving. I have friends who were texting and making me laugh all day.

I have love. A roof over my head. The turkey sandwich.

And though he wasn't with me until just a few minutes ago, I have a son.

You bet I'm thankful.

And Greenwich has at least one more game as the Cardinals host New Britain on Tuesday night.

That means we'll be back at Cardinal Stadium.

Bad weather won't impact us.

The Broadcast Brings Peace

 

In the booth at Brunswick. Any booth is my sanctuary.

Let's start with the good news.

Today's broadcast went much better. Working solo isn't easy but I find it works for me. Oh, I'm probably best with a partner, but it has to be a good partner. Obviously, Dan Murphy and I have that chemistry, for instance.

I felt like I saw the action better today at Cosby Field for Brunswick's home game against Phillips Exeter Academy. That's not easy to do as the press box there is set lower, making the field somewhat tougher to see to the right.

So despite feeling exhausted, I felt a bit better about the broadcast. As always, the booth is my comfort zone and I can generally leave any troubles behind there.

Oh, and before the game, I walked into Cosby Field and took note of the assembled families as they waited for the Senior Day ceremony to begin. As I walked, I noticed a certain feeling in the air before I heard someone say "Oh!"

My gut took note and wondered. Sure enough, as I said hello entering the booth, I was asked if I could be the announcer for the ceremony. In other words, I became the host, introducing each senior player and interpreting the notes that I was handed literally before I began the ceremony.

I've hosted several of these ceremonies so I know the drill. Enunciate. Allow each player to have their moment. Keep it moving.

As far as I know, it went off without a hitch and I'm happy. The ceremony is really for the parents as coaches and players are anxious to get to game time and play.

With that all said, on the downside, the Bruins lost 36-27.

As I've often said, I can't allow myself to be emotionally involved too much. I'll always feel for players and coaches and families but I have to withdraw from that. It's not about me. If anything, in a loss, the words are even more magnified on the air than usual, in that criticism can be difficult for the audience to accept. Tensions are frayed.

I came home after the final whistle, leaving quietly, other than chatting briefly with someone I know who got me a copy of Brunswick's hockey schedule. I'm not looking to get to winter sports yet but it's nice to be thought of.

Not everyone thinks so kindly of me and I'm pretty bummed about that. I wrote not too long ago about being exhausted playing the bad guy.

Or the perceived bad guy.

In truth, I think I'm fairly easy to get along with. I have my opinions -- oh, you bet -- but I also listen when spoken to and have a good respect for others. That doesn't mean I'm going to blankly agree with things. However, I might just politely nod and that will be the end of it. Yet if I truly respect you and the topic at play, I'll debate things.

But I also pick my battles, believe it or not.

However, not everyone feels that way and, in the process, I become persona non grata. 

But I'll never have patience for phonies. And enablers. Among other things.

I hate this kind of middle-school nonsense. That's the word. "Hate."

And I have a disdain for conflict.

I also don't like cutting people out of my life but it has become a necessity in recent times.

Thus, I simply have to move on.

And I am.

I know who my friends are and have to reduce the toxicity.

I'll get a break from Connecticut Junior High School after tomorrow when I head to California for a few days. That will maybe do some good. Hope they have fun in study hall back here. Maybe they can pass notes to each other.

Bennie Rose will be my guest on "Meet the Beatles" tomorrow morning at 9. Join us on WGCH and Robcasting.

The Night Before the Game

 

(Greenwich Football social media)

Tomorrow is game day for Greenwich Football.

If you don't know, the Cardinals lost last week to Wilton for the first time in nearly three decades. The 20-17 win for the Warriors was definitely a shock but also well-earned. Wilton did a solid job of slowing up Greenwich's running game and capitalizing on mistakes.

To be honest, I still very much expect the Cardinals to be right in the thick of the playoffs when Thanksgiving comes around. That's hardly a stretch to say.

The Cardinals play at Trumbull High School tomorrow night.

Trumbull. Huh. Where have I heard of them?

Yes, Trumbull has become an extended broadcasting home for me, covering baseball there every year for some time now. I've also picked up some basketball, ice hockey, football, and even rugby.

That began with being asked to cover the Babe Ruth New England Regional back in 2015. The idea was for us to come in and call the semifinals and championship game with the HAN Network.

However, that wasn't enough for me. I wanted to call every pitch. So I pushed for it and called all of it in what became the last days of HAN Radio.

That has basically continued in some form on an annual basis ever since, including the Babe Ruth State Tournament in July and Little League action in August in Rhode Island.

I've been so fortunate to meet and get to know the wonderful people of the town, led by Mike Buswell. On the Trumbull football/broadcasting side, Jeff Alterman has been my main contact and friend, and I've been proud to watch as the TEN Network has grown.

TEN, in fact, will be doing their own call of tomorrow night's game just a few feet over from where Dan Murphy and I will call the action on WGCH and Robcasting. The Trumbull booth isn't big enough for us so we'll enjoy a pleasant Friday night under the stars.

Both teams have playoff aspirations for good reason. My feeling, and I alluded to this once already, is that the Cardinals will get things straightened out and be a playoff team. That's not to say they'll win tomorrow night or to minimize Trumbull at all. The Eagles' coach, Marce Petroccio, is someone I'm proud to call a friend and I know he'll have his team ready.

Once upon a time, Marce brought a Staples High School team to Cardinal Stadium to play Big Bad Greenwich.

Final score in that 2000 game? Staples 14, Greenwich 8. Yes, the Cardinals almost won on a Hail Mary at the buzzer but it was not to be. It was, instead, the official arrival of Staples as a powerhouse and Marce as a top-level coach.

Now, 24 years later, he's a legendary coach.

So we give all of the props to Trumbull while knowing the Cardinals, led by coach Anthony Morello, likely had fierce practices this week. I can't see any way Big Red won't be ready by seven tomorrow night.

From a broadcast standpoint, I've poured through both rosters, including rebuilding Greenwich's, looked back at the history of the matchup, and have set up and broken down the equipment a few times to make sure things are working.

Yes, we're as ready as we can be. We even get a small break with a later start, allowing us extra time to do the slog through Friday night traffic.

We'll be live from Trumbull tomorrow night at 6:50 p.m.

Maybe Not My Best

 

In any part of life, regardless of the circumstances, we all have a day in which we just feel off.

I called a fascinating and weird game between Greenwich and Wilton last night at Cardinal Stadium. I came home and watched the Yankees/Cleveland game and crashed into bed after it was over.

Dan Murphy was along for the entire evening and, at one point, we talked about calling a game when we just don't have "it."

Well, that was me today.

I called Brunswick's homecoming matchup against Andover today. The circumstances were joyous. Jovial. Fun.

And yet I felt I was sort of just OK on the air.

As I sit here tonight, I look back and think about what could have been off, if anything.

Lack of sleep? No, I don't think so. By my standards, I had a decent night.

In the morning, I had breakfast, including a cup of coffee. I eventually cleaned a bit, sweeping and vacuuming before reviewing notes and making sure I had everything I needed.

I stopped at a deli to grab a small sandwich just in case there was food at Brunswick. We sometimes get offered things and I wanted to be ready either way. The sandwich would suffice otherwise.

I parked at Brunswick and got to work on setting up. It was mostly nothing unusual, except for having to climb to the roof of the press box a few times to thread an audio cable.

The only other factor was that I began to feel a little bit of sinus pain last night. Nothing too bad though I did take something for it before I went to bed. It did not linger through the Brunswick game.

At game time, I set about doing my opening and getting down to business.

And from there, I was fine. That's it. Just fine.

I'm hoping to the listener there was nothing unusual to take note of and that it was just in my head. That, overall, it didn't sit to my high standards but so what?

Look, the fact that Brunswick won 42-7 doesn't help things though I contend that a broadcaster should be at their best in those moments. Most of the time, I handle this with ease. 

The truth is, I laid out a bit more today. I wasn't quite as glib.

In this business, you generally have to fight through whatever it is that's going on. Sometimes those things are tangible. Sometimes they're not. But, unless something makes it physically impossible, I do whatever I need to do to make it work.

Maybe, ultimately, the sinus thing bothered me more than I let on. Maybe I was just overtired. Maybe I'm run down. Maybe it was Friday night's game that sapped me.

Who knows?

The goal is to not have the audience be aware of it. From what I gathered, nobody noticed.

So, I have to do "Meet the Beatles" tomorrow, with guests Sun Kings: A Beatles Tribute.

I can chill out after that and enjoy sports on TV.

A full week awaits before games next Friday and Saturday.

As always, I'll be ready.

The Day is Done

 

It's just before midnight and I'm fried.

The Yankees made us sweat through a second straight game before finally winning Game 4 of the American League Championship Series. Last night, of course, was a gutwrenching loss.

But they're now up three games to one and are a win away from their 41st league pennant.

There was also football tonight and I was at Cardinal Stadium for Wilton/Greenwich.

Final score: Wilton 20, Greenwich 17. I'm fairly stunned.

But that's why they lace them up and play. Greenwich had their struggles and the Warriors played an outstanding game.

Big Red falls to 4-1. They play again next Friday at Trumbull.

In the booth, Dan and I had a very good call. We were talking later about my assessment of things and I think he's been outstanding. He's been everything I could hope for.

With that, we call it a night.

Onto Brunswick tomorrow.

The Boys Are Back in Mount Kisco

Dave, Mark, Bob, Me, 2022

 

The first edition of "The Clubhouse" aired tonight on WGCH and Robcasting.

We kept it simple tonight, only having 1969 "Miracle Met" Art Shamsky as a guest.

Beyond that, it was just Dave Torromeo, Mark Jeffers, me, and Bob Small. We talked about sports and whatever else we wanted to talk about.

It was a fun and easy show, serving as a reminder that I wish they could all (Doubleheader included) be that way.

We didn't need to stress over things. It was an easy hour of top-notch radio.

A few people mentioned that it was as good as anything they hear on sports talk these days.

In truth, we're three guys (Dave, Mark, and me) who love sports and, while it can be easy to cast us off as "old," I think we adjust as needed.

We each had things to get wound up tonight, like Dave spouting about the Jets. Overall, I think I stayed calm, though I was asked off the air about how much I detest the black Mets jerseys.

I'll repeat: they celebrate mediocrity. Oh, cool, you clinched the 2000 National League pennant wearing those? Remind me, how did the 2000 World Series play out?

(Narrator: they lost. To the Yankees.)

Plus they're ugly but I recognize that beauty is in the eye of the beholder.

I loved the format of this show tonight, allowing us to growl and talk and laugh and be loose until the interview at the midway point.

Shamsky was wonderful in explaining how he really doesn't pay as much attention to current baseball but how much the 1969 team means to him. I asked him about being on the Ed Sullivan Show to sing "You've Gotta Have Heart" and he said the team made a bunch of appearances like that. He doesn't go a day without being asked about 1969 or thanked for it.

In that regard, he's a wonderful ambassador.

Our famous scoreboard, "The Clubhouse Report" took up the final segment of the show as Mark delivered the most recent sports news that gave us a chance to react to. In truth, a show like this flies back and that's exactly what tonight did.

When the equipment sets up and breaks down with ease, things go fine technically, and the show presentation is flawless, it's all a joy to do.

Plus, at its core, we have a good time both on and off the air. We all have ideas worth pursuing and real-life circumstances worth discussing.

A show like this is supposed to be fun and it was just that tonight.

We're only in for a four-show run this time before the end of the year but we're also panning some a little different and I'll let you know about that as we get closer.

We'll be back at it next week.

I'll be back on Doubleheader tomorrow.

This is Not a Baseball Post

  

Whitey Ford delivers to Bill Virdon during
1960 World Series at Yankee Stadium

I was going to write about baseball tonight because it is so prominent right now.

You know, playoffs and all, with the Mets playing.

Oh, you say another team is playing? I should check that out.

OK, seriously, I'm probably not going to write a lot about baseball because, sometimes, I just don't feel like posting about stuff that no one reads.

I'm not kidding. The lowest-read posts are generally baseball-related for some reason.

Sometimes, I just write and don't worry about it. Tonight, I'm not feeling it.

So, baseball is on. The Yankees (you know, that other team) are winning. That pleases me.

But I'll spare you any words of wisdom about any of that.

On the other hand, I started something new tonight, helping to get a show off the ground. Rick Zolzer -- you know, "The Zolz" -- and I have been talking about doing a show for a few months. He did one on Z93 in Poughkeepsie and I joined in 2021-2022.

He has since moved over to the Pamal radio cluster and the process began to put a new show on the air. Of course, it's viewed as a "Zolz" show when, in reality, it's Zolz, me, and Sheriff Kirk Imperati.

It will air every Monday night at 6 on "The Beacon," a six-frequency group led by WGHQ, along with WBNR and WLNA. We're on AM and FM as well as the internet and, of course, Robcasting. "The Beacon" is part of the old Hudson Valley Talk Radio that I used to do the Renegades on.

I realize I'm often involved in shows because I'm the glue. What I mean by that is I keep things on the air, run equipment as needed, and act as a voice at times. It's essentially the role I play on "The Clubhouse." In that case, I'm the lead in that I open and close the show, as well as take us into and out of breaks. 

"The Clubhouse," by the way, returns Wednesday night on WGCH. While I'm at it, this is my entire schedule this week:

Mon, 6pm: Zolz's Are You Kidding Me...Again

Tue, 11:30: CT Roughriders/HC Hockey Club

Tue, 4pm: Doubleheader

Wed, 7p: The Clubhouse

Thu, 4pm: Doubleheader

Fri, 6pm: Wilton/Greenwich Football

Sat, 3pm: Phillips Andover/Brunswick Football

Sun, 9p: Meet the Beatles

So, if you're keeping score, I'm (still) on WGCH, fill in on football on WALL, do occasional interviews on WICC, appear on this group, and of course, do Robcasting, LocalLive, FloHockey, and so on. Did I miss anyone?

If only it, you know, paid, but those are minor details.

In the case of tonight's premier show, I got a crash course in running the studio* before we went live at 6 p.m. We had a few hiccups -- including 30 seconds of dead air -- but the content and chemistry were all solid.

*I ran Renegades games and worked in that very studio on and off for a bunch of years. The equipment is mostly the same. However, the automation that runs the commercials has evolved over the years and that's the part I needed training on.

As for the dead air, apparently, there was a hiccup within the automation software. Beyond that, things ran well.

It's a show that will evolve as we move forward. 

And it will be fun.

That's what sports talk should be.

We'll be back next Monday night at 6. 

No Suffering in Suffield

 

The assignment was to call Brunswick football at South Windsor but I'd also been told that the setup wasn't necessarily "broadcast friendly."

Well, the people were friendly.

Let's start by cutting to the chase. It took me three hours to get from Greenwich to Suffield, CT. In no world should that happen but this is Connecticut after all. In fact, my Waze app told me to go up I-684 in New York and come back to Connecticut.

That, to be clear, was the better option.

I was slowed up in Brewster. Danbury. Newtown. Waterbury. Southington. I lost track after a while.

But I made it with some time to spare. I parked and ran into Gus, our trusty videographer. He suggested I speak with the man who let him into the press box.

OK, now that was a nice discovery: that there was a press box at all. However, the many turned out to be the athletic director and, while he was great to work with, he didn't have great news.

Sure, there was a press box but, in his view, there was no room for me. Suffield Academy runs its own broadcast so a student would be in the booth calling the game. Plus an official would be sitting in there to run the scoreboard.

In hindsight, there was actually plenty of room but there would have been the problem of two broadcasters talking out loud close to one another. I've done it. Many times. But it's not ideal.

I volunteered to take the landing outside of the press box. There was more than enough room for what I needed to do.

In the end, the Suffield Academy AD had no idea I was even coming and, in his view, "This is a first. Opposing teams normally don't bring a broadcaster." That, friends, is an issue to me.

I've covered Greenwich High football for 26 years now on WGCH, Robcasting, HAN, and so on. Especially on WGCH, every game was covered, home and away.

It should be expected in my opinion.

It's not some lavish thing that Brunswick does. I'm there to bring their audience a familiar voice and knowledge of their team.

One of my goals over my time with Brunswick was to reach a point where other schools began to expect to see someone broadcast their game. That someone hopefully being me.

We still have work to do there.

Nevertheless, the night went flawlessly. Sure, there were Suffield Academy parents nearby doing their thing and sometimes glancing back at me but there was no harm. I had a job to do and I did it, even if I did talk in a bit of a softer register due to the circumstances. But there's no way I'm staying quiet on big plays. The kids deserve that, regardless of the team.

In the long run, the Bruins won 35-7. Everyone seemed to depart with a smile on their face. The Bruins are 5-0 and have their Homecoming game next Saturday at 3.

I'll be there and happy to do so.

I think a few people know who I am there.

The drive home was far less eventful, taking roughly 90 minutes.

But, again, I was five minutes from the Massachusetts state line and roughly an hour from Vermont.

A state I haven't called games in.

That seems like a goal.