No Celebration Necessary

 

While worth nothing, I'm here to point out that I'm going to broadcast my 1,900th game tonight.

Yeehaw.

Waterford and Stamford take the field in the Babe Ruth 13U state tournament tonight at 7 p.m. As of now, I'm flying solo for the call.

Such numbers are notable, of course. It's an achievement. But it's not about me.

I know someone in the business who was all in on noting his reaching 900 broadcasts. I applaud him. It took over 40 years to get there but we all have our stories and our reasons. In my case, I'd prefer to have much more than 1,900 since I started counting in 1999.

I'll note when 2,000 gets here, just as I did upon reaching 1,000 seven years ago.

But, especially with age and wisdom, I know hope the number -- however many it is -- has included quality broadcasts. I'm hoping they were all quality, in fact. I'm not here to be a broadcast factory. I want each game to sound nuanced and professional. So the number is just a nice feather in the cap.

The other thing to keep in mind when crowing about quantity is that there will always be the person who wants to one-up. There are also the people who will count basically any time they walk into a stadium. Now, when counting, I don't include working the PA for the Renegades, for instance. It's a totally different skill set. 

So, yes, everyone has their own system of counting. But say you've done 100 games for 2024 and immediately someone will be saying how they've done 200 or whatever. It's all such a weird and egotistical thing.

I do marvel at 1,900 games because it's been a grind. I've worked with wonderful people and have watched amazing athletes. I love that I've been able to be the one to document the games.

It took years to finally get my professional play-by-play career off the ground and there have been some really dry spots along the way. But through hard work, I've been on the call for over 1,200 games in a little over a decade. 

Again, it feels like it should be more, but it's better than nothing.

As this Babe Ruth experience gets closer to the end, I am beginning to gear up for the Cal Ripken New England Regional coming this weekend in Oxford.

That means there will be more games, new experiences, and new stories to tell.

And more athletes who will be the stars.

That's why 1,900 isn't really that big of a deal.

No cakes are needed. No banners. 

I like cheesecake, for what that's worth.

Regardless of teasing a couple of people about this "milestone," the truth is my milestone is always the next one.

So bring on 1,901 tomorrow and so on.

I'll pause and raise a glass for 2,000 to take a moment to salute the many great people I've worked with.

But we'll deal with that when it arrives, hopefully in 2025.

The Pizza Had to be Just Right

 

I mean, wow

I want to tell you a story.

About pizza.

It was Nov 1, 2014, and I was going to have some of the best pizza I've ever had in my life.

That's what I was promised.

But first, there was work to be done.

I don't do a lot well but I can broadcast some sports to a certain degree of satisfaction. I've often felt that, whenever I can, I like to give that to those who might not get such coverage. Thus, having gotten to know Susan over the previous year, she had told me about her brother, who was the coach of St. Peter's Boys High School on her native Staten Island.

At the time, we were just about a year into what was now known as HAN Radio. I thought it would be cool if we could find an open slot and go call one of her brother Mark's games.

We agreed on an end-of-the-regular-season matchup between St. Peter's (aka "Peetahs" in a Staten Island accent) and St. Joseph-by-the-Sea (aka "Sea"). In return, Susan promised us the pizza to end all pizzas.

Initially, it was a running gag. This Staten Island pizza was going to top all of my beloved pizzas?

Better than Sal's in Mamaroneck or L&B in Brooklyn or Patsy's in Harlem or the Connecticut pizzas that I constantly hear about?

Susan believed it would hold its own. Thus I trusted her and the gag ended.

But there was another gag: joking about her father. I half-joked that if I didn't bring an excellent broadcast or -- worse -- if Peetahs lost, would I be sleeping with the fishes?

I was told that Susan and Mark's dad was nothing like that. He wouldn't be intimidating me or the crew at all.

However, her mother might have something to say.

The night before the game, Chris Erway and I called Darien and Wilton football in Wilton, CT. In honor of Craig Sager, the longtime sports reporter known for his garish suits, Chris and I dressed like him for Halloween. Susan and her daughters stopped by the booth to say hello as they went around town to trick or treat.

We finished the game and I went back to the HAN Radio studio, then situated in Ridgefield. Having been stressed out a bit that day, I enjoyed the peace of a Friday night in the office editing audio for the opening and closing of Saturday's game. It would be a New York-centric broadcast featuring music and references that made Staten Island so wonderful and so misunderstood.

On Saturday, I began driving in heavy rain. I was also way ahead of schedule as I crossed the Goethals Bridge.

A short time later, I was at St. Peter's and began nosing around the locked press box. Chris Erway and John Kovach would be along later to round out our broadcast team.

Eventually, of all things, I was invited inside the Christian Brothers' 1859 house to have coffee with the priests. They were all intrigued by the stranger from the northern New York suburbs who was there to broadcast their football game.

I can't stress enough, of all the things for me to do, but I was way ahead of Chris and John. For Chris, this was also a personal trip as his in-laws, as his father-in-law was a St. Peter's alum. They were coming in from New Jersey for the game.

I was given a tour of the school and eventually connected with St. Peter's head coach Mark DeCristoforo. Soon, Mark, Chris, John, and I were sitting at a table discussing strategy and game plans. Few coaches had ever been so open and accommodating.

We set up in the booth, did a long pregame show to review football back in Connecticut, and then opened the Peetahs/Sea game broadcast.

The people in the booth seemed fascinated by us and the way Chris and I -- with John on the field -- bounced off each other.

I got to meet Susan's dad -- "The Godfather" -- when she brought him up to the booth and joined us on the air.

The broadcast was, frankly, about as good as possible. St. Peter's won 35-28 and the postgame pizza was on.

I felt great about what we had done. Even now, I feel tremendous pride when reminded of that day.

Chris and John both passed on the pizza invitation, which was to take place around the corner at Susan's aunt's house.

Nervously, I drove there, parked, and knocked on the door that, apparently, was never used.

Susan's Aunt Kathy greeted me. Within minutes I realized I wished that this wonderful woman was my aunt.

Received warmly by all, I finally met Susan's mom.

Jane.

Lovely and radiant, especially thanks to the St. Peter's victory, she made sure I was welcomed and comfortable.

Eventually, The Godfather came in with the pizza.

Finally, I would have my chance to enjoy Joe & Pat's, one of the definitive Staten Island pizza experiences.

But, despite my hunger, the pizza would not be coming my way just yet.

Jane spoke up.

Apparently buoyed by the win and the stranger who had brought radio fame to her son, she accounted that I -- this broadcaster dude -- could not have Joe & Pat's in its current state.

You see, friends, it took a few minutes to get the pizza to the house, and it wasn't the right temperature.

Immediately, the oven was opened, the pizza went in, and I was instructed to be patient.

Not long after that, it was food time. 

Jane, her sister Aunt Kathy (and Susan) wouldn't dream of me doing what I normally do, which is linger behind and let others get food. I was pushed forward to grab the heavenly slice.

Rarely -- and I mean this -- have I ever anticipated a bite so much. What could it possibly be like?

I put my faith in Susan, who knew what she was talking about.

It was phenomenal. It stands among the best I've ever had.

I pondered eating the entire pie.

I thought Chris and John were nuts for bailing.

I questioned most of the decisions I've ever made in my life.

I ate while sitting at a kitchen table with various members of Susan's family, sitting near her father as well, who I got to know as the night went along.

Everyone there asked about me, the broadcasts, and so on but, eventually, I faded into the fabric of the evening. It was like being among family and that's as special a feeling as I know.

The rest of the night featured laughter, more aunts, cousins, and uncles, and a selfie with Susan's oldest daughter, Lucy. 

I made the long drive home feeling overjoyed for the new friends I'd made and the pizza that had to be just right.

While somewhat embarrassed I was very touched that Jane cared so much about the pizza for me. Susan told me that was special treatment and like I said, I was slightly embarrassed but also honored.

I tell you this story for the sad reason that the world lost Jane DeCrisoforo on Saturday morning. A beautiful and fascinating woman, she married Chris ("The Godfather") and raised Susan, Amy, Mark, and Megan.

They're a wonderful family who are devastated.

As I've said many times, some stories aren't mine to tell. Susan wrote an eloquent obituary and I'm sure many more words will flow from her.

This is the one story I can share -- my one encounter with Jane.

Susan was a rock to me when Nancy died three years ago.

I'm here for the DeCristoforo family. So is Sean.

We raise a pint to a true Irish beauty who, like my own mother, will always remembered by me for pizza.

I'm so glad I had that one meeting with Jane (no, I didn't call her that to her face).

And that she'd welcome me back to cover St. Peter's sports.

So long as they didn't lose.

You're a Grand Old Flag

It's Independence Day.

Fourth of July.

It's also Lou Gehrig Appreciation Day, or the anniversary of his speech in 1939.

It's George Steinbrenner's birthday. 

It's John Sterling's birthday.

It's the 40th anniversary of Dave Righetti's no-hitter (we didn't have cable so I couldn't watch it. I learned it happened after it was over).

I remembered taking the photo that tops this post in April 2015 in Cooperstown. 

That scene struck me as I walked around Doubleday Field that Saturday morning.

I was there to scout and prepare for our HAN Radio/Network broadcast of Brien McMahon and Norwalk the next day. Once I was certain cell service was strong enough, I began to walk around the stadium to learn more for the broadcast (that's called "preparation" and doesn't involve charts and notes) and made my way to the outfield stands.

Stretching from the right field corner to nearly dead center field, I walked through every section, noting the outfield wall panels and the various angles along with the condition of the field. I wanted to check the view from the outfield.

Eventually, I noticed the flag pole.

I was taken by the scene immediately. The clouds. The blue sky peeking through the clouds. The bright light of the sun. 

And, of course, Old Glory, flapping in the breeze.

Take all of that and add in being in a place so sacred to me and it just screamed "MURICA!"

America, indeed.

I won't try to overwhelm you with jingoistic drivel that sounds like I've just walked out of some political rally.

At the same time, I will tell you I was raised by parents that taught me to honor the flag and our country.

When "The Star Spangled Banner" is played, I was taught to stand at attention as rigid as possible* until the last note is completed.

*With exceptions, of course, such as having to guide a broadcast.

It's how I was raised and I'm good with it.

So I'm proud to display that picture on July 4th.

With all of the patriotism and myriad baseball notes, I'm also reminded of countless picnics and gatherings every year, often ending with fireworks that would raise my father's blood pressure. My dad -- as most know -- was injured when a firecracker landed on his lips in the 1930s. He was afraid of fireworks for the rest of his life but never stopped us from doing anything with them.

He did, however, give us the usual "you be DAMN careful" speech if we were setting any off. We knew if we did get injured we'd never hear the end of it.

Please note I did have a small firecracker pop in my hand one night in the 80s. As opposed to flicking the thing aside as I lit it, I cranked my arm and paid the price for being too slow in my delivery.

It shocked me more than anything else. No fingers were lost in my stupidity.

Be safe tonight if that's your thing. 

We're taking it easy.

No hot dog eating contests. Please note I saw some genius compare Joey Chestnut to Aaron Judge.

Seriously.

And on that note, I wish you a happy Fourth.

Happy birthday to this wonderful, yet horribly conflicted country.

We didn't have the POWER!

The setup at the Otesaga Hotel...sans power strips

The first thing to know is that Sean wasn't there but he'll never forget it.

The story begins on a stormy Monday morning in April 2015 in Herkimer, NY. Nine years ago today, in fact.

We were completing a long weekend in the stretch as we transitioned from HAN Radio to the HAN Network. Video was becoming our thing but we weren't on our own platform yet. We were still -- GASP! -- on NFHS but I digress.

But we still did audio-only as an internet radio station.

So why was a group of coworkers based out of Shelton, CT all the way up at a motel off Exit 30 of the New York State Thruway?

One word: Cooperstown.

In an effort that began with Paul Silverfarb and moved to me, we were flexing our broadcasting muscle by driving to upstate NY to call the Norwalk/Brien McMahon baseball game played at Doubleday Field. We bounced the idea off of Marty Hersam and he was all in.

To Marty, any idea was "just crazy enough to work" as he'd say. He shot very little down.

So, in typical exhausting HAN style, we would call a baseball game in Bridgeport, CT late Friday night, then slog to Cooperstown the next day. We'd check the setup and head to our rooms before the game on Sunday. Then sleep again and head home on Monday.

Bridgeport went as planned. We packed up Marty's vehicle with the video equipment while I loaded the audio with me. For once I had an advantage in that I drove back to Mahopac that night so I'd have a head start. I actually thought we'd caravan but that wouldn't be the case.

I left early Saturday, stopped in Kingston for a quick breakfast, and moved along to Cooperstown, arriving by late morning. I went straight to Doubleday Field to check cell service where I thought we'd have a place to setup and walked the entire ballpark. Everything was in order and I could breathe a little easier. I was even able to visit the Chamber of Commerce to see if they had any interesting facts or notes to present about the town. Shockingly they did not but maybe they didn't know what I was asking for.

Paul arrived not long after and we walked around.

Marty would be next to arrive and others would follow. Let me add that Marty was also sick and probably shouldn't have driven but I know I wouldn't have been talked out of going either. 

I caught everyone up on my due diligence before we went to the Hall of Fame for a few minutes. We had tickets thanks to having interviewed people from there on the air.

Lunch and conversations took place before we drove to Herkimer, with me leading the way. I'm not going to lie. It was a proud moment as I watched the headlights trailing behind me up Route 28. Not that I necessarily knew where I was going either. Yet everyone knew I'd get us there.

Me, heading into my room (Paul Silverfarb photo)

So, why Herkimer? That's all Marty could find for us. We'd drive 45 minutes each way for three days. At first glance, the Red Roof Inn near the Thruway wasn't necessarily the style I'd stay in but, truthfully, I liked it a lot. A Denny's next door allowed for a bigger meal if so desired and I ate breakfast there on Sunday morning.

But we wanted dinner, a beverage, and a place to watch some sports on Saturday night. The only option, we were told, was Applebee's in Herkimer.

Piling into my car we made a five-minute drive to Applebee's on Route 5.

It's also where we went on Sunday night after the baseball game. The broadcast went off mostly without a hitch (McMahon 7, Norwalk 3). We found a hard line jack to plug into for the internet and called the game from behind home plate.

The experience was truly one of my favorite things ever and I'd very much like to go back to do another game (Brunswick? Greenwich?). I was so overjoyed that I closed the broadcast by reading a passage from Walt Whitman:

I see great things in baseball. It's our game - the American game. It will take our people out-of-doors, fill them with oxygen, give them a larger physical stoicism. Tend to relieve us from being a nervous, dyspeptic set. Repair these losses, and be a blessing to us.

Considering the various tensions of the day, I floated back to Herkimer for dinner. In fact, as I look back, this might have been our last stand where the entire HAN crew got along and laughed. That's not to say there weren't good times ahead but things would change and tensions would grow.

The first change was following the end of the baseball broadcast.

Our traveling party would get smaller as that broadcast would mark Paul's departure. He left us to get back home and wasn't staying with us that night. He also would resign not long after.

The rest of us headed back to Herkimer. We had dinner, laughed, and called it a night. 

The storm clouds would do their thing.

By Monday morning, in the small continental breakfast area of the Red Roof Inn, we'd face new realities.

I had hoped we'd have the day to ourselves but Marty wanted us to remain consistent and do our morning news show, "Coffee Break." He also wanted "Nutmeg Sports," the show I hosted to air as well.

And he wanted them from Cooperstown. Or Herkimer.

But.

We lost power in Herkimer. The hotel and town went dark.

We called around Cooperstown. Who would want us? We tried a few places. I remember calling the library. It was as if I'd called Mars.

Not liking where we were, I took a stand and said I was heading to Cooperstown and I'd figure something out. I was going to look into doing the shows back at Doubleday Field.

One thing I'll add: it was April 20 and it was raw. Cold and rainy.

Still, I sped back down 28 toward Cooperstown before I got a call from Tracey Iaizzi. She told me to go to Ommegang Brewery just outside of the village. We'd do "Coffee Break" from there. They would get free advertising and an interview, we'd get to try some of their beer, and we'd get to air the show. It was a win for all.

We did all of that and then drove back to Doubleday Field. We'd do "Nutmeg Sports" from there.

Or not. Marty told us to wait.

He went over to the nearby Otesaga Resort Hotel. This beautiful place was where the Hall of Famers stayed when they came to town. Now, they'd host a radio program on their back patio.

We moved over there.

Setup began. We went about putting the cables down and setting up the cameras. I worked on setting up the audio. All seemed to be going well. Sticking with the theme of the weekend we were in a talkative, jovial mood, considering we had taken some lemons and hit them out of the park (mixing metaphors but, hey).

Then, finally, Marty had heard enough. He'd been rummaging through bags and equipment cases. He'd been looking at the floor. He was a man on a mission.

Finally, he spoke.

"OK (soooo), EVERYBODY STOP. WHERE ARE THE POWER STRIPS?"

Seriously, we didn't have that many. It was as if they'd dissolved. We, sadly, had a way of misplacing some things and having such equipment hiccups. Let's not get started on the adapter we needed for the Thanksgiving football game later on in 2015.

I almost sprinted out to my car to check any bags out there. Nothing.

Then we discovered that we were having other technical issues. In the end, we did "Nutmeg Sports" as an audio-only program on the patio, with John Kovach and me sitting in a couple of Adirondack Chairs looking like two country gents talking about farm equipment.

After the brief explosion of the "POWER STRIPS" moment, we seemed to take it all in stride.

It was an extremely enjoyable conversation about sports and the weekend. My kind of radio.

We packed up, returned to town for an early dinner, and everyone began to drive home.

I took one last moment after John drove away, to just walk around town once more. I think I hoped some spirit would grab me (or maybe a souvenir). Alas, nothing did as the town began to shut down.

Still, it's a baseball town. Heaven. Americana. My kind of place.

Then I made the 3+ hour drive back home.

But, as I said at the top of this, Sean wasn't there. He was 13 at the time and had school. The shame is he probably would have loved it but there would be other trips for him. 

Eventually, I told him the story of the power strips and he thought it was hysterical.

In the ensuing nine years, I've heard randomly about power strips whenever he feels like it. When we went to Cooperstown last August, we drove over to the Otesaga. The parking lot was crowded and he asked me what we were doing there. Though we couldn't walk inside, I told him where we were.

"The scene of the crime!" we both laughed.

No power strips were to be found, though we both glanced around.

We, too, drove home afterward.

The memories of baseball, laughter, and power strips jangled the brains toward the aforementioned Catskills.

The Story of Sideways Sad Hank

 

How it should have looked

I'm fairly certain I've told this story before but it's worth repeating. (I did. Two years ago, but oh well)

I had, to be fair, a bit of a love/hate relationship with Henrik Lundqvist. For as great as he was -- and oh my he was -- I was hyper-critical of his play. 

To be clear, I got over it and see him much more positively than I did at one time.

He stood on his head at times, especially in the 2014 Stanley Cup Finals loss to the Los Angeles Kings.

No, I'm not going to post the series-winning goal here, which I remember watching at a Hampton Inn in Meriden, CT. It features a phenomenal call by Mike "Doc" Emrick but it's also fairly painful to watch.

But, burying the lead, nine years ago tonight I was at Madison Square Garden with media credentials for the Columbus Blue Jackets against the New York Rangers. Paul Silverfarb and I were in town to watch the Blueshirts against Greenwich's own Cam Atkinson.

Earlier that day, Mom went into the hospital to have a stent put in. She, my niece (happy birthday, Steph!), and my sister (it's not her birthday) went to Yale New Haven Hospital.

It was supposed to be routine and I was told to go to work. Mom knew I had the credentials and wanted me to go. 

"I'll be fine," she said. "Plus you're not great in hospitals."

She was right. I pace. I walk. I'll go somewhere else. I'll sleep. I'll read. I'll sit in the car.

Before you come at me with being a horrible son, let me assure you I more than did my share of taking care of Mom.

At the same time, in Dec of 2013, we were in the nascent days of HAN Radio/HAN Network so I was in New Canaan to prep for the four state football championships we were supposed to call. I also had to record a series of interviews for a football preview show that was due to run before we did the games.

Then Laura called me.

"Hey," she began, and I sensed it wasn't good. 

Mom was heading towards open heart surgery. Then stent would not be installed.

I asked what I needed to do. Was I needed in New Haven?

"No," she said. 

She added that she'd check with Mom but I had a feeling what the answer would be.

So I connected with Paul and told him. As I recall, he was the only one I told initially though my memory could be fuzzy.

He encouraged me to join him in New York City for the night. He knew that I'd only go home and worry or go to New Haven.

I also talked to Mom and, after I lovingly yelled at her, she also told me not to go to the hospital.

Paul and I went to the Garden and, in the days when funds were quite tight, I bit the bullet and paid to eat in the media center at MSG (the money goes to their wonderful Garden of Dreams charity). No, it's not outrageous to have to pay. In fact, it's common.

We went to our media table up on the Chase Bridge and watched the game.

If you're a Rangers fan it did not go well.

Keep in mind, though Paul and I are both Rangers fans, cheering is completely against the rules of a media credential.

But disgust would be the emotion of the night to an extent.

The Blue Jackets scored just 38 seconds into the game, with Atkinson receiving the primary assist on the Matt Calvert goal.

In fact, the Blue Jackets scored three times and that was enough for Lundqvist. The legendary goalie was pulled after giving up three goals on 13 shots in just over 11 minutes.

As the night was wrapping up and the game was ending, I pointed my iPhone at the monitor embedded in my workstation where the MSG-TV broadcast was on.

There was Lundqvist, with his head down and a baseball hat on looking like a man who allowed three goals on 13 shots in just over 11 minutes.

I snapped.

As Apple products do for some foolish reason, the picture rotated 90 degrees.

I looked at it. Most of the time that drives me nuts.

On this night nine years ago, I laughed.

I showed it to Paul. He laughed.

I posted it online and called it, of course, "SidewaysSadHank" though I'd sometimes just post it as #SadHank" in its corrected form.

Still, the sad version is definitively better.

We went to the locker room and caught up with Atkinson. It was nice that recognized both of us (as did Dave Maloney, the Rangers radio broadcaster who lives in Greenwich and whom I called a game with some 20 years ago). We chatted, got our sound, and said goodnight.

We also stopped into the Rangers' locker room. While you'd think the game was a blowout, it in truth was a 4-2 loss. 

Lundqvist sat at his locker and the message was clear: he wasn't talking.

I feel like we got sound from Brad Richards but, otherwise, Atkinson was the reason we were there since there was a local angle and Paul needed it for the Greenwich Post newspaper (RIP).

We went home.

I worked again the next day, putting together the radio show that had multiple elements to it, including my first interview with Christopher "Mad Dog" Russo. Marty Hersam, the "H" of "HAN" listened intently as we talked a little high school football. Russo tee'd me up about baseball history and I dug in.

Marty looked at me in shock. Instead, it took what had been a simple interview and added a little juice to it and I was extremely proud of that.

Still, my mother was having open heart surgery in New Haven. But I had this show as well as a game in New Britain. Then I was supposed to stay in New Britain and call three more games on Saturday.

But snow had other ideas. The CIAC elected to take the Darien/New Canaan title game and move it to Stamford. So we made our way to New Britain, called Ansonia's championship win (what a shock), and drove back to Stamford where Marty had moved my hotel reservation.

As we prepared to leave for New Britain, I finally let on about Mom. Marty was aghast.

"Go," he said. 

I told him there was really nothing I could do at that point and we made the commitment to call the game. The infant Hersam Acorn Radio was my baby.

I texted and called to check on Mom constantly.

I stayed Friday night in Stamford and did Darien vs. New Canaan the next day in heavy snow. Of course, she was on my mind all day.

The snow prohibited me from leaving Stamford. In fact, I even walked to a nearby Buffalo Wild Wings for dinner.

Sitting in my room that night, a friend reached out to talk as the snow pummeled outside. It's a conversation that I'll always recall.

Finally, on Sunday, I was able to get out and meet up with my sister and some of her kids. 

Mom was pleased when I walked into her hospital room.

For those thinking I was some kind of awful son, I came back to New Haven from Mahopac the next day and sat at the hospital all day. My editor wasn't thrilled at all but I felt it was my duty to be there and I would work remotely.

Marty supported me: "Family comes first."

Good thing, because Mom had a bad case of AFib not long before I walked in. I sat with her at times and sat in the lobby quite a bit also.

Otherwise, she was fine and through some rehab (not her strong suit) she was strong enough to come home after Christmas.

Oh, that's a whole different story.

This was the tale of a bad night for Henrik Lundqvist and a long, weird, active, and even scary weekend.

There's more but I can't tell you everything.

Can I?

I recognize Lundvqist now for being the legend he is and one of the most truly decent people in sports. He's also developed into a fine broadcaster.

But Sideways Sad Hank will live forever. A moment from a different time.

One Thousand Five Hundred

 

I just got home from calling Brunswick/Avon Old Farms football.

It is safe to say that, in a world where "classic" is said too often for hype, tonight's was truly a classic.

The Bruins were down 21-7 after three quarters. Their season hung in the balance. Ryan Field at Avon Old Farms was up for grabs after the Winged Beavers scored twice in the third quarter. It was senior night and homecoming at AOF.

They were rowdy in the stands.

But the Brunswick Bruins pulled a gut-check drive with their super quarterback Danny Lauter hitting Jason Aguedello for a score. The Beavers turned the ball over -- one of seven in the game between both teams.

You wouldn't think you'd use the word "classic" with that many turnovers but the Bruins picked up a touchdown catch and run by Kha'lil Eason and, suddenly, the game was tied.

Then Eason ran for another score. Now the Bruins had a 28-21 lead with 3:21 to go.

Cue the dramatic music. Scrambling to his right, Beavers quarterback Marshall Howe heaved a 44-yard touchdown to Brady Hutchinson and, suddenly, the game was tied again. 

There was 2:14 on the clock and the Bruins had two timeouts. Overtime?

Nah. It was the Lauter/Eason Show.

There were a mere nine precious seconds left when Lauter found Eason for a catch and run that gave Brunswick an eventual 35-28 win.

On a night in which a raucous crowd hit me with a miniature foam football and I seriously wondered about the equipment getting damaged, the Bruins got the last laugh.

On a night in which I walked to the field after packing up to congratulate Danny Lauter, Wayne McGillicuddy and a few others, I finally walked back to the car, when I sent Susan a simple text:

"And I said nothing but tonight was my 1500th."

These milestones are bittersweet for me. Yes, tonight I called my 1500th game and it's not an exact science. I called some games before 1999 (when I did my first game on WGCH) but the pre-99 games were for the softball league at work. Still, in the end, they really were produced broadcasts. So I allowed one game several years ago -- a Danbury Westerners game that was called in the bottom of the first -- to sort of represent those pre-99 games.

I figured I went through the process of setting up and establishing a broadcast. So, yes, there have been a few judgment calls.

But back to being bittersweet. Sure, I'm very proud of the blood, sweat, and, yes, tears that I have gone into 1,500 games. Yet if I'm being honest, I'm also sad and embarrassed that I didn't surpass 1500 a long time ago.

Sure -- quality versus quantity and I'm all about that -- but there were also years where the output was paltry. WGCH wouldn't do more than 25 games per year between football, basketball, and hockey games in the early 2010s.

Now? They don't even do that and I'm getting tired of carrying the water and answering the questions.

It took the explosion of the eventual HAN Network (and Robcasting) to begin cranking out over a hundred games per year.

Look, if all I did was some football or just one sport per year that would be one thing. My time would be occupied with a "real" job and so on.

But I've scratched and clawed since 2014 to make a whole lot of games happen. In fact, I'm just a few games away from the most productive year yet, which is pretty astounding given COVID. I've doubled the number of games I've called in 2020.

I know we have at least a few more football games this year. Can we throw a few winter sports in to set the new standard?

Again, the total number is, in truth, irrelevant. It's the quality and, let's face it, everyone has their own life to consider. So I get I'm not a failure. I just wish the total was higher.

But I've done this whole thing my way, haven't I? I focused on staying in New York and making sure I was here to watch Sean grow up. Success is a very personal thing and, by that barometer, I've done well, regardless of whatever I think of reaching 1,500.

Chris Erway hoped last night would be the magic number. It was only 1,499. He also admitted he doesn't think he'll still be calling games when I reach 2,000. Of course, I hope that happens sooner rather than later.

But I've clearly failed in getting to the important stuff and that is to thank you to all of you for listening, writing, supporting, and embracing me. You've all made me better.

And thank you for hitting me with a foam football.

Tonight was my kind of gut-wrenching game, on a day in which I left a roster sitting on my printer. Thus, I sat in the bleachers and hand-wrote it. 

It's not glamorous. We were in those bleachers tonight, in the elements as they were, using a Pelican case as a desk for my computer and mixer.

I'm humbled that people still care about my work but, in reality, it's your stories. They're your athletes. I just enjoy watching them. I just honestly react to what I see.

But it's about all of you. I just talk and tell stories and try to stay out of the way.

I report. I inform. I elaborate. I entertain.

There's no fake voice or fake anything. 

Some wonder, frankly, how I still do it. Or why?

Because I love it.

Anyway, that's far more than I wanted to say about it. I need sleep.

Game number 1,501 is next Friday night: Trinity-Pawling/Brunswick football.

Thank you all. 

A deep dive

 

Is Dropbox the answer?

I'm in the process of trying to figure out the best way to archive old digital files.

You might recall I had a bit of a scare when I couldn't access files on an old external hard drive. Well, I finally bought a device to help me and, today, got around to emptying the hard drive off (thanks, Marc Ducret!).

Now it's a question of where and how I store all of these old game broadcasts and other files. Sure, Dropbox is nice but it's also not cheap. But is another external drive the answer? Or some other service?

As always, I've been reading and researching and overwhelming my brain.

But this process meant diving into the rabbit hole of broadcasts from the Gades, HAN, WGCH, Local Live, and more.

Remember the Georgian Court basketball games I called in a snowstorm and wound up stranded at Post University? Those broadcasts are there.

The long, hot summer baseball tourneys? Got 'em.

The first lacrosse game I called -- back in 2005? Yes.

And all kinds of wacky Hersam Acorn audio when I was literally the only person who knew what we were doing (thus...Robcasting). 

Some of the files might be bad or weren't complete for one reason or another. That highlights a huge bummer for me. When HAN went primarily to video, we initially talked about keeping the audio element.

Then, we didn't and the audio came to an end so it was on me to create an audio recording if I wanted one.

Eventually, HAN made a business decision to put many of the game broadcasts -- including games that I called -- behind a paywall.

So, at this point, I don't have access to them and that's a shame. I recorded the audio of some but not all.

There are certainly a few I'm quite proud of, such as the 50th FCIAC Championship football game. Chris Erway and I were on fire for that one. I mean, there are so many others.

Hopefully, I'll get that audio one day (even if it's video).

Of course in those files are stories -- good and bad. There's blood and sweat and tears. There are a lot of long nights and exhausting drives home. There are a lot of late-night conversations to give me the energy to make those exhausting drives home.

This is true of every stop I've made along the way.

There are a lot of great memories.

And yet...

My eye drifted to Sep 11, 2015. John Jay of Cross River at Yorktown football. The internet was terrible. We struggled all night. The broadcast felt like a complete disaster on multiple levels. I had to go to the athletic director's office to sign a waiver for us to broadcast the game.

The next day we held our breath at Notre Dame of West Haven for football as we lost power a few times and nerves were raw.

Those are just a couple of the horror stories.

But the triumphs. That 2015 FCIAC Championship. The Cooperstown game between McMahon and Norwalk. The long stretches of hockey and basketball championship runs.

Broadcasting at Webster Bank Arena and Ingalls Rink and Mohegan Sun.

I could go on but I sense you're getting the idea.

These are files that are important to me so I have to find the right place to keep them safe. With those files comes even more memories.

It really could be a book but I don't know that anyone would ever care to read it.

The Dirty Thirty

The earphone pads have been replaced but the headphones and the label are original

It was a Saturday and I was nervous.

I went to Jefferson Valley Mall -- just down the road in Yorktown Heights -- because I needed a pair of "cans."

For the uninitiated, that's slang for headphones.

I bought a pair of Koss HV/1A-Plus and I think they were $30. Something like that.

Honestly, it was probably more than I'd ever paid for headphones but I was told everyone should have their own.

It was Sep 1, 1990.

I tried to sleep a little during the day.

That night I had dinner, Then I steadied myself and drove to the studios of WMJV in Patterson, NY.

I sat in the parking lot in the middle of the woods and waited for an appropriate time to go knock on the door. In the meantime, I'd brought a thermos of coffee with me and, somewhere along the line, I took Nodoz.

It was now around 11:30 p.m.

I knocked and the current on-air host "Jim Heartman" let me in.  I stood in the studio uncomfortably. I waited. I tried not to think.

It was now after midnight and my journey to be a professional broadcaster had reached its first stop.

Sep 2, 1990. Thirty years ago this morning.

Heartman finished his last song, offered to stay, and wished me well as he left.

I sat down at the console.

There was no automation. It was all CD's, with a bunch of "hit songs" on multiple discs. There were also carts (they look like 8-tracks if that works to tell you what it is) for the imaging (liners, sweepers, themes, IDs, etc).

We would have dead air if I didn't press play on the next element.

James Ingram was singing (again, it was 1990). I tried to tell myself I was ready.

"You're all I need," Ingram crooned as the song faded.

Nope. I wasn't ready. I pressed play on a song called "Time For Letting Go" by Jude Cole.

Time for a pep talk -- the one I've given to students for years.

"OK, you have a few choices: 1) You can press play on this stuff all night and never say a word then deal with whatever fallout in the morning. 2) You can run and probably never work in the business again. 3) You can turn on the mic, open your big mouth, and start yapping."

Obviously I chose the third option.

In short -- I was there for a reason. I needed to understand that this was good anxiousness, and I'd come to understand that eventually. It's healthy.

I sound like a "DJ" at first and I promised myself I wouldn't do that. It's easy to do the "fake voice" and I just needed to relax and be me.

I chose to go with "Robbie" as my first air name, having told my father's best friend earlier that day that I was going to use in honor of my dad, since he and my family called me that. He had been gone almost a year and a half at that point. I'd eventually shorten it down to Rob once again since that's what the rest of the world called me.

To this day, "Robbie" makes me smile. In moments of being funny, Chris Erway calls me that, as do members of my family.

I was told I had some leeway in what I played. It was preferred that I played the "hits" of the moment, but I allowed myself "The Heart of Rock and Roll" to help calm those nerves.

I could also take requests, and I got a few phone calls.

It was a long six hours. My family and friends listened for a while but by 3 a.m. things were quiet.

I'd read. I'd walk around. I'd stretch.

I reached the end of the shift at 6 a.m. and left for home.

Then I tried to sleep and the Nodoz won out as my heart raced like it was at Indianapolis. That was the first and last time I ever took that and have never done the Red Bulls and Monster drinks of the world. The stuff -- and the way I felt -- scared me.

I look back 30 years later and cringe listening to the audio (which you can enjoy in its awfulness here). Yes, the music is fairly painful, but so am I. I'm raw. I'm trying to be a DJ with the "Live and Alive" thing that I thought would be my "thang" and the canned signoff and stuff like that.

I let songs fade too long. I probably talked in spots for too long also.

It would all get tightened up and I'd relax and be myself eventually. I was also allowed to do a sports report at 6 a.m. during John Harrison's show. John trained me a few nights before the first shift and became one of my closest friends.

In total, I did it for almost a year. I think I did exactly 52 shows before I got hung up in radio politics. Jim Heartman would get both John and me out of the way, even though we actually had very good ratings.

I was devastated and not sure I'd ever get back in. But I continued to go to college, worked in corporate USA, even tried college radio at Western Connecticut (but I think my being experienced meant I was a threat).

The real comeback began first with calling play-by-play of softball for Kraft and Philip Morris, and I'm eternally grateful to Harold.

Then John was offered a spot on WREF in Ridgefield. He declined and recommended me.

Only a few months later, WREF announced it had been sold and would close.

Thankfully Steve Goodwin and the late Luke Michaels at WREF and they told me they would recommend me to another station -- WGCH in Greenwich.

I served as "Assistant General Manager" of WREF during the ownership transition and did a Sunday afternoon DJ shift.

WREF closed in March, 1997 (I was the last voice heard in the Ridgefield studios) and I trained immediately at 'GCH.

Doors closed. Doors opened.

I've never looked back.

I used to keep track of all of my radio/TV appearances but gave up, especially after HAN gave me a daily diet of too many appearances to track.

The number at this point is well into the thousands. If there's a baseball game tonight, I'll call that -- my truest calling in this business.

I loved doing DJ work, and have had chances to dip my toe back into music many times since, including hosting three Greenwich Town Party broadcasts.

I've loved news reporting and anchoring.

I've enjoyed behind the scenes, be it production, engineering (I'm an amateur at best), office work (obviously, not ideal), or anything else.

I've loved sports reporting.

I've loved hosting shows -- any shows. "Coaches Corner," "The Press Box," "Doubleheader," "Spotlight on Sports," "The Clubhouse," "Tee Time," and on and on and on. I've hosted my own talk show "The Rob Adams Show" and co-hosted shows on religion, self-help, home improvement, and so many others. I even hosted a radio flea market/swap meet called "The Trading Post."

I've reported on storms, 9/11, the Columbia disaster, the Roy Halladay plane crash, and more than I can remember.

I've been a flat-out pain in the ass because I believe in certain styles of broadcasting.

But, most of all, the very thing I wanted to do was play-by-play, and I got my first opportunity with those softball games in 1995 before being able to call games on the radio beginning in 1999.

I've tried to entertain listeners (and viewers). I've tried to be honest and fair and strike all emotions.

Thirty years haven't really flown by. The memories are strong of friends made (and lost), relationships built, arguments had, moments marveled at, and a lot of words out of my mouth.

I achieved a lot of cool moments and a lot of goals. It has also almost killed me and broken me at times.

And I still love it.

I'd go to the station -- any station -- in almost any circumstance, and I still will.

I can only hope I have thirty more years in me.

Sean -- who was basically born on the radio -- was sitting with me at the rehearsal dinner a few weeks back for Meaghan and Eric's wedding. Eric's dad Rob (nice name) had just retired that day from working in TV (he did a lot of production work for Dateline).

Sean looked at me.

"No," he said. "I don't see it."

"What's that?"

"Retire. I don't think you'll retire from radio or broadcasting. I think you'd rather die at the microphone."

You're right, Sean. You're absolutely right.

Thanks for being along for the ride, friends. Thirty more? Who knows?

Let's just start with today and see where the road takes us.

Notes On August 9th

Sean Ford (left) invited me to Fenway

Two items struck me today in the memory department.

First, I played softball on this day in 2013. It was there, after a hard-fought game (I know no other way to play) that I popped the question on HAN Radio (and the Network, etc). It would take three months to bring it to fruition and Paul Silverfarb was partner-in-crime for the whole thing.

Despite literally everything, I'm still awfully proud of it. The stories will live on and they'll only grow. I'd one day like to see all of us recall how special it was but I fear that's a pipe dream. Too much to work through.

And, yes, that includes me.

Then there's Aug 9, 2008. After working in the studio as the game analyst (yes, I really did), I wrapped up the broadcast, went home, got some sleep, picked up Harold, and drove to Boston.

I kept saying I'd believe it when it really happened but I walked into Fenway Park as a professional broadcaster. I kept waiting to be stopped. They wouldn't have my credential. We weren't allowed on the field. Something wasn't going to thwart us.

I deal with this crap of "#YankeeBoy" which is truly something you can't say if you really know me.

Susan, who was at that softball game but didn't talk to me, knows that I bleed baseball. Then comes the Yankees. I'm more about the game -- the sport.

And so, as a lover of history and the sport, I was overwhelmed at being a broadcaster at Fenway Park. ALL of my heroes worked there at one time or another. Seriously. Think about it. Vin Scully not only called games at Fenway but much of his career STARTED at Fenway, thanks to the Maryland/Boston College game that he was assigned in 1949.

Doc Emrick and Red Barber and Mel Allen and Dick Enberg and Scooter and White and Messer and...

Me.

Babe Ruth and Lou Gehrig and Ted Williams played there. Bobby Murcer played there. Don Mattingly. Paul O'Neill.

And I was broadcasting a game there. I was sitting in the dugout, doing an interview. I was inside the Green Monster. I just stood there and soaked it all in.

I've probably told all of these stories. It was a weekend of an enormous high, and a fairly dreadful low, when I found out why my son didn't hear his father on the air at Fenway Park. No, I'll never quite get over that.

When the game was over, Sean Ford (the true "Voice" of the Renegades) packed up and headed out to catch the bus. Harold and I sat and watched some of the next game before convincing ourselves to make the walk back to my car at the Prudential Center. We really didn't want to live but we went and had a good dinner before heading to Lowell for more baseball the next day.

It's a weekend and an experience I'll always treasure.

Back to baseball tomorrow, and hopefully not for the last time in 2020. (Robcasting, 5:30).

Anatomy of a Call: Bedlam

The HAN crew is in the background. That's me in the gold hat (screenshot)

"A breezy day at Mead Park in New Canaan..."

It was five years ago yesterday when Greenwich traveled to play the New Canaan Rams in an FCIAC baseball matchup.

John Kovach and I had the call on the HAN Network, though we were still HAN Radio at that time, streaming live for both audio and video.

The Cardinals and Rams gave us a good show. The Rams had to come back to force extra innings before coming back to win it on Robby Jones home run.

As it was still a radio call, I was giving as much detail as possible.



I cringe when I hear it.

I'd like to tell you about a broadcaster named Chuck Thompson. A great broadcaster who did football and baseball in Baltimore for many years, Chuck called the bottom of the ninth in Pittsburgh as the Pirates won the 1960 World Series over the Yankees. Bill Mazeroski homered to give the Buccos the title (the call starts at 1:01).

One problem: Art Ditmar didn't throw the fateful pitch. It was Ralph Terry who would be vindicated by winning the seventh game of the 1962 World Series. Ditmar stewed over it for years and even went to court over it.

In 2015, I got the pitcher right...

"And a high fly ball to right..." Er. OK. So far.

"Back goes..."

I know, at this point, I was looking for my defensive chart. Somewhere -- somehow -- I blew it. Instead of just not trying to identify the right fielder, I found the name of the starter.

"Mini...it is GONE!"

It wasn't Eric Mini. It was Anthony Ferraro.

F***. And I knew it immediately. I corrected myself.

"Ferraro turned and looked at it! It's a walk-off (some hate that expression), two-run homer in the bottom of the eighth and New Canaan knocks off Greenwich 8-7."

I wouldn't normally do any of that. I'd probably lay out more (let the crowd noise rule).

John, at that point, was literally stunned. Hell, we all were. We were standing just off to the side of the Greenwich dugout (I later heard someone was mad at me from Greenwich but never knew why).

Finally, John spoke.

"Just bedlam in front of us, Rob!"

I don't know that there was anything else to add, at least not until we had a chance to get our heads back on straight. It was a wacky game.

A little bonus "Easter Egg" nugget: if you listen closely, someone standing nearby (I won't say who it was) exclaimed, "Holy s*it. He just hit a home run to win it!" (That's a paraphrase as it is not entirely clear what was said). We all laughed about it later.

As these are moments that live through time, it's obviously important to get them right. Screwing up (I stumbled on "standing straight towards home plate" before the last pitch) and saying the wrong players name will always gnaw at me.

As for me, I'm a hard judge and I hold myself to a high standard. Not like, you know, Michael Jordan or whatever but in that same concept of always giving my best.

As for Chuck Thompson, after the Mazeroski home run, he said the final score was 10-0 before correcting himself to 10-9. It happens, I guess.

*****
Day 11: A song you never get tired of

To me, this is the same as the song that makes you happy, but I won't use the same one over again. I've also not repeated artists through the first 10 days. So, I'm going somewhere else.

There are tons of songs by my favorite artists that I never tire of. That's too easy.

But, is it possible to not get tired of a song? I know of a guy who strolls (well, used to stroll) into a place and see someone sitting at a nearby table. Without fail, the countdown would be on to the playing of a particular song. Pretty soon, that song became a little tiring.

I digress.

My choice here is a 1967 song by Procol Harum called "Conquistador." The most famous version is a live one from 1972 (the studio version is incredibly different). It's only slightly obscure, but not really if you know classic rock. I put it on one day when I was driving to Ridgefield for work. Four minutes and fourteen seconds later, I replayed it. And again. And again.

And didn't stop until I turned off the engine in Ridgefield.

I'm still not sick of it.

"And though I hoped for something to find I could see no maze to unwind..."

All Things Must Pass

I love the smell of freshly-cut grass.

It signifies warmth to me and BBQs and longer stretches of daylight.

It also means I've mowed the lawn and I'm finished.

That happened for the first time in 2020 today. It doesn't mean that I did the whole yard. Only the part that grows the most needed it.

So while my back hurts from pushing the mower, my pride is satisfied.

Plus it's another day -- and another sign -- that we're getting closer.

Perhaps most of all, the smell of freshly-cut grass reminds me of baseball. Five years ago, I was in Cooperstown at Doubleday Field with (then) HAN Radio.

I was tour guide in my home state, leading a group of cars to our hotel 45 minutes away in Herkimer. (Truth: I'd never been to Herkimer, save for passing by on the New York State Thruway. This fact is making at least a few of you smile).

Five years ago today, we called the game at Doubleday between Norwalk and Brien McMahon. As I listened back to the little part that exists in my archive, I can hear how excited I am. I was probably talking too much though.

It's also the last game Paul Silverfarb and I called together at HAN.

There's a much-longer story to all of this, but I will tell you my son will occasionally halt a conversation and say, "Everybody STOP. Where are the extension cords?!?"

It's an homage to this very weekend, when it appeared (correctly) we didn't have any power cords. That happened at the end of the long weekend of power outages and heavy rain.

Truth: Sean wasn't even there that weekend, but my telling of the story stayed with him.

I was the first to get to Cooperstown and the last to leave.

Such is the power of stories and memories. Happy memories. Some of the happiest of my time working at the HAN Network.

I was thinking about this song today. We're getting there. Slowly. Believe it. In the darkness, just remember to face another day.

Remember The Good

These two young bucks called the 2014 FCIAC Football Championship

I'm editing away at various games to run as part of my Robcasting Replay series.

Some have been hits. Some have not.

It's the nature of the beast.

What it has allowed me to do is review some of the work I've been a part of.

I learn things, of course.

Sometimes it brings up some painful memories or I get to hear voices of people who don't talk to me anymore.

But, when I allow myself to listen and enjoy it, I hear some good things.

Some really good things.

And I'm not talking about me. I'm talking about the whole product.

I edited the famous girls state championship hockey tie and it reminded me of how Eric Gendron, Jake Zimmer, and Chris Kaelin each donated their time to the broadcast of a girls hockey game involving two teams that weren't located anywhere near our listening area.

I also edited the 2014 FCIAC football championship between Darien and New Canaan (aka the Turkey Bowl). Gendron and Kaelin were again part of the broadcast, with Chris Erway and I working up in the booth.

We all went through hell at times with a lot of the "off the air" stuff (and maybe one day it will be worth telling the war stories) but hearing the actual final product reminded me of just how good it was. That 2014 game had to be pinpoint in terms of the newspapers and the radio working together.

Everyone worked their collective tails off.

A great game helps, of course, and the two that I've mentioned here each had their moments of enormous drama.

These are just two of the games that I plan to play this weekend on Robcasting.

And I'll be able to smile and feel proud of what we accomplished.

The Archive

Fairfield Prep wins Div I 3/22/14

One of my favorite, most challenging days in broadcasting was six years ago today and I was combing through my collection of old games to look it all over.

It started in Shelton, CT where I was staying at the Hampton Inn. I was allowed to stay there during that time to avoid driving back and forth from home to go cover games in New Haven at Ingalls Rink.

So, I was in New Haven that Saturday morning for the first of four games to air on HAN Radio. But that was part of a great week that began with Greenwich/New Britain basketball on Monday followed by hockey semifinal games on Tuesday and Wednesday (two each night). On Friday, we called the D-II hockey championship between Daniel Hand and Amity.

The total was ten games between Monday and Saturday, with me on the call for nine of them.

Saturday started with the Newtown against Smith-Tolland (the Bucks co-op) in the D-III hockey championship. We cranked through a gut-wrenching game that went to overtime before the Nighthawks won the state title. It served as a forerunner of the celebration that exploded when Newtown won the football title last December.

Darien and Fairfield Prep also gave us a great show before the Jesuits won in OT.

We aired a girls basketball championship, won by Laurelton Hall and called by John Kovach at Mohegan Sun while I drove from New Haven to Uncasville. I had a hotel room near Groton but felt like I didn't have enough time to check in so I flew to the casino.

It was weird to be listening to HAN as I drove. This thing -- my baby -- had been my obsession for roughly a year and this day was a triumph for us.

I got booted from joining that Laurelton Hall game and sat outside the arena sipping a cup of Krispy Kreme coffee like a wayward child who was too sick to join the other kids at recess. That night, I got back on the air and called a classic boys basketball game as Bridgeport Central came from behind to beat Fairfield Prep.

Oh, what a night indeed.

Since we're all (basically) quarantined, I thought it might be nice to start playing some old games, including these. So I combed through the HAN games. For the most part, they're straight audio broadcasts (until we switched to video) with little editing to be done.

But I discovered some off-air banter (clean and mostly harmless) in the video/audio simulcast games as well as the games in which I still recorded audio. There's a little editing to be done so that nobody is embarrassed.

I wish I recorded audio for all of them but I didn't.

That's where I'd love to see HAN return the games that they put in private back to being public on YouTube. It would be perfect for all of us to watch, especially during this time.

Sadly, there are games that I don't even have in the archive, like the 2015 FCIAC Championship/Turkey Bowl football game between Darien and New Canaan.

So, while I didn't air those games that took place six years ago today, I'm going through to see what can run. There are plenty of games that I can choose from!

They brought back a flood of memories for me. Some good. Some bad. Some...ugh.

I listened to part of a baseball game I called in 2015 in Norwich. My analyst (when he felt like joining me)? Sean. That's right -- my hasn't-a-clue-really-about-sports son. It was absolutely priceless.

I look forward to sharing all of these memories with you.

I hope you want to hear them.

The Old Account

I've used Mixlr as a broadcasting outlet for years. It was the first home of Hersam Acorn Radio, then HAN Radio. Then I used it for Greenwich Sentinel Radio (for, what, a month?) and it's been the home of Robcasting ever since.

Initially, I had a separate account that I created for the possibility of personal use. It was free and I just sort of left it alone.

Mixlr has changed some business practices, eliminating their free tier (shocking, I know) and is preparing to delete all old broadcasts on accounts that aren't paid.

Thus, I deleted my "Rob Adams 1" account earlier this morning.

To you, this means nothing. In the long run, it doesn't mean a lot to me beyond today.

But, sitting there in my archive of this old account, were six broadcasts. They were all tests, including a game that Paul Silverfarb and I called in early Nov, 2013.

Still, it's a time capsule.

We needed a place to try things as the idea of Hersam Acorn Radio/HAN Radio percolated through the latter half of 2013, so I created a free account.

The "broadcasts" are literally just talking about nothing. It's me and my colleagues testing our Bluetooth equipment, a mixer, microphones, and seeing how things sound. The broadcasts were heard by a select few (and I mean that. You needed to be given the OK to listen to this "top secret" project).

I would often be holed up in a closet in our old Ridgefield office, with some wondering where I was, until -- golly, how did that happen? -- an office gadfly just happened to open the door and "stumble" in to see me.

I mean, what were the odds?

Thus opening up the official gossip mill.

The next thing was to try out a game, and Paul and I went to Brunswick to call the Bruins' game against Berkshire. Again, the audience was maybe 5 people as we did not promote. In fact, we told Brunswick to essentially ignore us. We were there to test things.

Our radio project officially went live on Nov 21, 2013 with our first game (our grand opening) a night later -- my 45th birthday, for what it's worth -- as New Canaan beat St. Joe's for the football FCIAC Championship.

I thought the whole thing might collapse that night.

But that's a story for another time.

**Please know that I'm still on Mixlr and that nothing has changed. Robcasting is still at http://mixlr.com/robcasting-radio.

Explaining the Nerves

2015 -- Lots of nerves that day (HAN Network screen shot. Wish these games were available online)

Nerves can be a good thing. I guess I didn't make that clear.

Before the start of each school athletic year (which is normally the first Greenwich football game for me), I get this run of emotions.

I miss lost loved ones. I hope the audience is excited. I hope I make them all proud on the broadcast. I hope we have technical issues, and so on.

I felt it on the Darien/Greenwich football game last year that I thought Chris Erway and I, along with the remarkable DAF Media crew, slayed.

A similar thing happens before a championship game. I've called World Championships in hockey, plus titles in the Atlantic League, the FCIAC, FAA, NEPSAC, Section 1, New York State, Ner Jersey, Connecticut, the GYFL, Little League Baseball and Babe Ruth Baseball (regionally), the Philip Morris/Kraft Softball League and, honestly, I can't remember them all. Probably well over 100, I would guess.

In this case, I was talking about the upcoming run that will hopefully take me to four more FCIAC Championship calls.

It's not that I need lessons or advice on how to call them. I actually love the nerves that kick in. It means I still have a solid level of humility.

I can tell you about how I stepped into the bathroom at Harbor Yard to give myself a small pep talk before the FCIAC baseball championship -- probably 2015 or 2016. Likely both.

"You're here because you have earned this," I said, hoping I would listen. "It's your baby and you drive this bus. This crew and the viewers are counting on you for a great call."

It's not that I need it. It's a loving dose of adrenaline kicking in.

The 2015 FCIAC Championship/Turkey Bowl was a explosion of nerves due to one piece of missing equipment. Because of that, I turned into the calming force.

"It's going to happen," I kept saying. "We're going to be fine."

We were. Then I allowed my nerves to kick in and, in that case, I realized I was a little too amped up early on.

It's the exact reason that every time I do something with AJ Szymanowski, he'll look at me before we go on the air, hold his fist out and say, "Take us there, Skitch." It's a reference to That Thing You Do, a movie AJ and I have quoted several times to each other.

(Another quote being, "I led you here, sir, for I am Spartacus.")

From there, it always becomes another game. Another broadcast. It becomes ball meets bat or ball meets tackler or whatever.

Do I really need to explain this? I mean, those first Philip Morris/Kraft games were 25 years ago.

Tonight, it's basketball. Semis tonight. Championship on Thursday.

Tomorrow, it's hockey semis with the championship on Saturday. (EDIT: Not for me, so there's that)

I was wrong, by the way. A quick look this morning in my database reveals this will push my FCIAC Championship total up to 35 for my career.

I get wound up because I take the honor seriously. Because I take this craft seriously. Because there are people -- to this day -- that can quote my calls or tell me that they still have a copy (even on cassette).

So I want it to be done right.

Failure, of course, is not an option.

Bell-Bottom Blues

I saw the above picture in my memories today and immediately cringed.

Among the myriad things during my time at HAN, this was a standout.

It seemed at times like I could do nothing right, and then came the day of Sep 18, 2014.

As we figured out exactly what we were, the Hersam Acorn Radio/HAN Network team would go to different things.

We'd do street fairs and sidewalk sales and news and sports and lots of things.

Really, our potential was endless.

I digress.

On this morning, we were to go to a country club for interviews, chat, and so on.

It was one of those late summer/fall days. Pretty, and even just right for shorts.

But I worried shorts wouldn't be the right look to be on the air.

So I opted for a nice crisp pair of jeans.

The thing to know about me is that I care about how I look.

No, I don't spend time in front of a mirror anymore, but comfort, function, and appearance sort of matters.

So when money was less of an option, I'd shoot for classic, and so on.

Trendy? Not really. Occasionally, I suppose.

Anyway, for me to wear jeans, they had to be neat and nice-looking.

I drove to the broadcast feeling OK.

I turned into the parking lot, ahead of literally everyone else in our crew.

There was to be a golf tournament there and we'd be conducting interviews.

I got closer to where the golfers were to check in when it suddenly hit me.

"Uh oh," I mused. "I wonder if they have a no denim policy."

Yup. They did.

I got us all set at our broadcast site, and eventually, I was told the bad news.

"So, you have to stay seated, behind the table the whole time," I was told. "You can stay, but you can't wear jeans here. Had you worn shorts, you'd be fine."

I just figured I'd be fired then and there. Or mocked forever.

I'm sure the talking behind my back was off the charts. Thus my ears rang for hours.

Honestly, I couldn't win. I thought about running into town and buying shorts.

It was Caddyshack.

I wonder if you get a free bowl of soup with that hat.

I was waiting for Ted Knight to hunt me down, and for Rodney Dangerfield to tell everyone to calm down.

It was mortifying, given that I had actually put thought into it that morning. Just not enough thought.

My embarrassment was off the charts. My colleagues even had to bring me food. I couldn't wait to get out of there (lovely place, to be quite clear).

I always try to be invisible and, that day, I was part of the story.

The following year? Oh yeah, I wore shorts without a doubt.

Live and learn, I guess.

Broadcast Alert (NOTE!)

I'm very pleased to say Robcasting Radio will be back in action tomorrow at Unity Park in Trumbull, as Fairfield American Little League (FALL) plays Westport.

Game time is 2 p.m and I'll have the call. Shawn Sailer will also be along.

However, please take note! 

Mixlr -- our trusted broadcast provider -- is having issues with service as we speak. While they're describing it as "Intermittent Issues," I'm describing it as "I can't log in."

So if I can fire up Mixlr tomorrow, then the broadcast will air online at http://mixlr.com/robcasting-radio and on the Mixlr app. Just search for Robcasting Radio.

However, if Mixlr does not work, I will put the broadcast on YouTube's Robcasting channel (following the link or search Robcasting on YouTube).

Please follow me on Twitter at double5 (and at RobcastingRadio) for updates. I'll also tag FALL_news and District 2 Little League.

We'll do our best to make sure everything goes off without a hitch. Some things, sadly, are out of my control (such as Mixlr and internet problems).

*****
While we're talking, a shout out to fellow play-by-play announcer Michael Kay tonight. Michael is having issues with his voice to the point that his YES Network colleagues are doing all of the commercial reads. Paul O'Neill jokingly said that if any other Yankees homered tonight, that he'd take over the play-by-play.

You'd think that YES could get somebody to relieve him, and goodness knows I'm a mere 50 miles away!

Seriously, I've been there. I once had a really bad night with a cold during the HAN days when I was calling game after game. I know I handed to reigns off to John Kovach and Chris Kaelin a few times, and I stood nearby.

Trust me: I didn't like it, but I knew it was the right thing to do. It gave my voice a break, but it also gave JK and Kato some reps on play-by-play.

Kato was with me another time, back on WGCH, in Middletown for a Greenwich/Xavier hockey game (yes, that would make me The VOICE of Greenwich Hockey!). I felt my voice failing late in the first period and, sure enough, things were bad for the latter two. I pulled myself through it and survived, but it wasn't fun. The higher register in my voice was gone, and I had to call things at a lower volume.

So while I'm babbling here, I understand what Michael Kay is dealing with tonight.

Oh, last note: part of my North Carolina family is there tonight. With a Gary Sanchez home run, they're happy at the moment.

*****
So -- again -- aim to listen to Mixlr tomorrow, but be prepared for YouTube as a backup for FALL/Westport. Game time is 2 p.m.

Missing The Whale

It's championship week in Connecticut. In other years, that meant I was really busy.

Tonight, I'm home.

So it goes.

They played the Division III hockey championship tonight at David S Ingalls Rink at Yale University tonight.

Better known as "The Yale Whale." Or just "The Whale," due to its unique shape.

Due to scheduling circumstances, they're playing the title games over three nights, as opposed to one game on Friday and tow on Saturday.

The Lyman Hall co-op beat Sheehan 6-2 for the crown tonight.

Had it been 2014-2015, I would have been on the call, meaning I got to hang out in that magnificent building.

I love everything about it. The intimacy of the seating bowl, the sound of the crowd, the lower level with the history of Yale hockey, the two press rows -- one on each side.

I loved it enough that I went and covered it another year with Shawn Sailer, and was able to hang out with guys like Pete Paguaga. While I was working, I watched and enjoyed the game. I rarely do that.

Last year, Greenwich went to the championship against Fairfield Prep. Shawn called it "The Adams Cup" (or maybe it was the bowl) since I had broadcast for both teams. I begged WGCH to put the game on. We did, and I called with (with Chris Kaelin and Shawn). Greenwich built up a 2-0 lead before losing 4-2.

But there's more. Whenever I got to work at the Whale, I'd drink it all in. I'd stay as long as I could. I normally had to be told it was time to leave.

We also got to do the semifinal games there in 2014 and 2015, so I got my fill of the place. I even had a hotel room in nearby Shelton, so I was almost living in The Whale.

We got thrills. In 2014, John Kovach and I were running literally on fumes. Nasty colds had sapped both of us of our voices -- especially John -- at one time or another. Paul Silverfarb, Chris Kaelin, and Ryan DeMaria were among those that helped drag us through the madness that week, as we went from Greenwich on Monday (basketball) to the Whale for two games each on Tuesday and Wednesday, before hitting the Whale Friday night for the DII championship.

Saturday, March 22, 2014, was one of my favorite days in broadcasting. Ever.

A full crew, with John and I on the call, handled the emotional Newtown/Smith-Tolland overtime nailbiter in DIII. Newtown needed a chance to smile, and they got it, winning in the extra session.

John and Paul (who rescued our banner from Ingalls Rink security, who told us we weren't allowed to hang it up), then headed to Mohegan Sun (!) for girls basketball. Chris Kaelin and I stayed behind for another nailbiter, as Fairfield Prep knocked off Darien in overtime for the DI title.

Then I jumped in the car and flew up I-95 (and 395 and Route 2A) to Mohegan Sun. I listened to some of the girls game on my phone in the car and walked hurriedly into the arena. I could have gotten on the air for the second half, but John and Paul had the call under control, so it was suggested that I go take a seat.

So I sat and ate a Krispy Kreme donut, sipped some coffee (Imus Brothers, of course), and waited to get back on the mic.

I'm not good at that.

But I was back on for the Fairfield Prep/Bridgeport Central boys basketball championship game that night.

We were this upstart group of newspaper people and me (though I was also a newspaper person at that point).

But we cranked out a collection of games with good people, and I was proud and exhausted. I remember having a celebratory drink that night before collapsing in my hotel room.

We were back in 2015, but politics and contracts reared their ugly heads by then, keeping us to only the hockey at the Whale. Yet the semifinals produced what some have called a favorite call (and they know it in Greenwich).


Check this out on Chirbit

I've gotten off-topic.

But, then again, maybe I haven't.

I miss the whole scene.