Professional Courtesy

 

Mahopac High School. It all started here.

I got to go home last night.

I was back in Mahopac at the annual Jimmy Buffett party with the same core of friends that has attended every year since the early 90s.

Save for a few years during COVID and a rare time when I couldn't get there, I've been there for all of them.

Last night was no different, save for the reality of age. Where I might have once stayed until 4 a.m. I was yawning by 10:30.

The food was great, the beverages were cold, and the laughs were raucous.

Debauchery? That's an annual thing to an extent, though it does get tempered by the presence of young children. After all, most of us are parents now.

In fact, a couple of the kids were there last night, except they're of age now.

To be honest, you wouldn't necessarily peg us all for being friends. Yes, there is sports talk, especially hockey, among that group, but there's plenty of other stuff to talk about. But, mostly, the commonality is that we went to high school together and that's the bond.

Regardless, our differences aren't a big deal. 

As I joked with a friend, "I'm boring and I always have been."

"Sometimes boring is great," came the response.

Maybe I don't know why they like me but I feel loved when I'm among them.

It also means a chance to drive past my parent's house to see how things are progressing. It was pretty dark when I drove by but it's looking great.

It's all nostalgic and familiar.

But, mostly, the night is about a certain level of ritual. The fire-breathing routine. The toast. The jokes -- not for the sensitive types. The ribbing, which could be about literally anything.

We're friends. There's loyalty. And whatever differences there are, the friendship overrides everything.

Contrast that with petty relationships. Earlier this week, Sean and I attended the 9/11 memorial ceremony at Cos Cob Park. Also in attendance was a former colleague and, at times, a friend. 

But I guess not. 

Not only does he not acknowledge my existence but, as someone who works for the town, never shares any of my work. For instance, you'd think someone who works for the first selectman and, thus, the town would share the information that WGCH -- the town's radio station -- was broadcasting the memorial event.

Or ever noting our coverage of high school football, "Meet the Beatles," "Doubleheader," etc. In fact, he'll post the work of others writing about Greenwich and Brunswick football -- games that I call.

In other words, anything I do, he wants nothing to do with.

Which, OK, so be it. He doesn't like me because, unlike many others, I don't just pat him on the head.

The term "That's just (insert name here)" doesn't really fly with me. It's generally a cop-out but I know that's how people act when it comes to him.

I laughed at his avoidance of me, telling Sean about it when we were in the car. He took note of the person also.

"Yeah. That's weird," was Sean's reaction.

But I guess it just seems petty the more I think about it.

You can't please everyone. Part of being a friend is understanding differences and, admittedly, he and I are quite different. And yet, not entirely.

But so be it.

Like Sean said, it's weird.

We could just agree to disagree.

Incidentally, this guy has been spotted being friendly online with a certain toxic fellow.

So, yeah. I've made my enemies over the years I guess.

But I know who my friends are.

Tweeting On

 

I liked the bird better

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*Even when they block you.

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

I want to see what the latest obsessions are.

Yes. Obsessions. Plural.

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

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

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

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

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

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

More likely, especially if happened years ago.

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

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

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

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

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

So, yeah.

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

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

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

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

Like I said, I'm babbling.

But I'm also keeping an eye on things.

At the End of Six

 

Stamford's excellent pinstripe uniforms

The longer days of tournament games are always the toughest and, yet, the most rewarding.

Six games (a total of 42 innings) have gone by since Saturday morning.

It's mentally taxing to come up with things to talk about and still be engaging, especially in the games that aren't as competitive. Lopsided scores have to be treated with respect because, especially in youth sports, a happy face needs to be put on it. I can't -- I won't -- dump on young athletes.

Yet my voice still feels good and, while grateful to only have three games each day, I know I could have done more.

Certainly a big tip of the cap to Shawn Sailer for riding shotgun and to everyone who stopped by to say hello. Whether offering encouragement or not, each person served as a pick me up to keep going.

I alluded to how I didn't think I was great last night but I'd like to believe I still gave accurate and appropriate broadcasts that people were proud to listen to. I loved hearing from coaches and others who said they kept up on the tournament by tuning into us when they were away from the field.

The audiences have been mixed at times and that's OK. I don't judge the success of the broadcasts off that. The larger number is certainly great to see but it's the determining factor.

What works for me is that I'm still excited to do it.

And this is just the beginning for the month.

Of course, the day can't go on without the real world still existing. With that said, there's always some way for a phone call, text, or some other communication to upset things.

We'll figure that out and keep it offline for the moment.

On the other hand, I received an alert to a notification on Facebook on a picture from a group of Mahopac memories. There were two very familiar faces.

The man in the Sinatra hat with the blue jacket is my father. My mother is just to his right.

The wonder of this is that I've never seen the picture. According to our friend Carol, who posted the snap, it was taken at a Mahopac football game in Oct 1970. 

I just love how they showed up in this in a very natural way. There's nothing posted about it. I can't read anything into their body language or faces. The whole thing is wonderful.

I mentioned it briefly while calling one of the games and that was it. Broadcasts really aren't about me but I do like being able to thread that quick mention in, thus bringing my parents into my work.

It makes me feel like they're listening.

From here, it will be two days of two games each, heading into the night. By Wednesday, it will be time for single evening games. I'll have time in the day to do some other stuff. Sean and I have a project we need to address.

Remember, we just moved in a week ago.

The Annual Reminder

 

It's July 4.

If you're keeping track, our little ol' US of A is 248 years old. Huzzah.

It's also the 85th anniversary of Lou Gehrig's speech. I've spoken so many times about what Gehrig has meant to me. He was a man of dignity, grace, power, and strength. He was fiercely loyal to his teammates, his parents, and his beloved wife Eleanor. He was everything that was great about athletes in that you loved him on and off the field.

Yet faced with the greatest battle of all -- knowing he was going to die of the disease that was ravaging his body -- the shy 36-year-old stepped to the microphone on "Lou Gehrig Day" against his better wishes. Eleanor had helped him initially with some thoughts in case he decided to speak. However, he had no desire to as the ceremony went on and he sobbed as he was presented with gifts throughout.

Eventually, Yankees manager Joe McCarthy nudged his former star to the mic. An announced crowd of 61,808 leaned forward. Scribes did the same in the press box.

Finally, Gehrig spoke. And he spoke those words...

"For the past two weeks, you have been reading about the bad break.

"Today, I consider myself the luckiest man on the face of the earth."

How does one have that grace? How, then, does he conjure this to wrap up?

"...that I may have been given a bad break, but I have an awful lot to live for. Thank you."

We were lucky if we saw you or lived during your time, Lou. We're still lucky to tell your stories and know you were real.

*****

As I wrote yesterday, this great American holiday will consist of lots of burgers, dogs, beverages, gatherings, a baseball game or so, and loud noises tonight.

In fact, I'll be handling PA duties as well as producing the booth for tonight's Cyclones/Renegades game in Wappingers Falls. As I've mentioned, fireworks become a little less of a thing when you work in minor league baseball because you see them so often. Oh, don't get me wrong. It's for the fans and they love it.

It's especially for the kids and that's exactly what baseball needs to cultivate. We need the younger generation to become galvanized by the game.

Fireworks in my family weren't a big thing. Once in a while, someone would have a pack that they bought in South Carolina or Pennsylvania or whatever state would allow them. They'd get shot off on the street in front of the house and that would be that.

But, for my dad, they always came with the warning, "You be DAMN careful."

As you can see from that yellowed newspaper clipping, my father, known as "Donald" to many but always introduced himself as "Bob," dealt with the obvious bad side of fireworks when handled improperly. Based on his age (six) in this paper, I figured it had to have happened in 1936. Either way, it obviously made him very nervous around fireworks for the rest of his life.

So when I see clowns hung up on posting memes and I know they'll post something about Jason Pierre-Paul, the former Giants defensive end, I just roll my eyes. Pierre-Paul lost a finger in a fireworks mishap in 2015. 

Sorry. I have a sense of humor but maybe some dead horses need to be let go.

Or maybe I just have a problem with the person posting the memes. 

And the people who enable him.

Constantly.

The point is, be safe tonight. Have fun.

A Bunch of Brats Revisited

 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It wouldn't surprise me overall. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Or college, for that matter.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Obviously, in the end, none of it matters.

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

It doesn't have to be that difficult.

What's There to Say?

 

This could be another one of those "Rob had a long day" posts.

You know -- out early, to the Renegades game, sat through a brief rain delay, and then did the public address announcing for the game.

Then I moved on, ate lunch in Mahopac, and wasted time before heading to Mount Kisco for "The Clubhouse."

Now, I'm back home with more running around scheduled for tomorrow through Sunday.

All of that is true. Every word of it.

It was cool to be at Heritage Financial Park as the stadium welcomed the largest crowd in its history with 5,619 people passing through and sitting for a game that featured a pretty steady rain.

It was Education Day at the stadium so the schoolkids were fired up for music, food, laughs, and baseball.

Sean and I grabbed a late lunch near Mahopac after it was over. After that, Sean headed for home and I had time before "The Clubhouse." So I elected to drive through my old hometown, walk around the Ocean State Job Lot store (aka the old Caldor), and grab a cup of coffee at the Dunkin (Donuts).

That sounds lame and mundane but I enjoyed the peace of it all.

I'm sure a few people have wondered if I would just move back to Mahopac. While I have considered it, I don't think it's likely because I haven't seen many apartments offered there. Certainly, I do enough in the Hudson Valley that would justify it but it would also open me back up to a longer commute to things in Fairfield County.

In short, it's not that ideal.

But, sure, I do miss "the Pac."

That being said, going back simply could never be the same. Maybe you understand but I just think that's the way it is.

My boyhood home is no longer available obviously and time simply moves on. I'm not ruling returning to Mahopac out but it doesn't feel realistic.

Besides, Greenwich has become our home and we're trying to stay here.

I made it to Mount Kisco and Hotel MTK in plenty of time for "The Clubhouse." Tonight's show featured Bruce Beck, the outstanding sports anchor from WNBC (Channel 4) in New York. Honestly, I don't know a single person that has anything bad to say about the man. He's just that nice.

We also had Mike Eruzione on. Of course, Mike was the captain of the 1980 "Miracle" Olympic Hockey Team. I asked him if he ever gets tired of talking about that and, in short, his answer was "no." 

The Director of Junior Golf for the Metropolitan PGA, Dan Frankel, rounded out the impressive list of guests on tonight's show.

Out next show is sadly in June.

But, thankfully, I'm home for tonight, with another day ahead of me tomorrow.

So, yeah, I guess this was another "Rob had a long day post."

Sorry.

Carry on.

Twenty-One

 

No, not that kind of 21 (Paul O'Neill, of course)

So there was a thing on the social interwebs recently about shoeing a picture of yourself at the age of 21.

"Everyone tap in. Let's see you at 21."

Stubborn fool that I am, I tend to avoid such trends and just enjoy them or watch them from afar.

And yet...

I stepped up into the attic last night to see what the photo albums I own might produce.

Ah, yes, that would send us back to turning 21 in Nov 1989.

It took a bit of an effort but I found a picture of a person who, in theory, looks like me.

Yes, that is a Bart Simpson t-shirt that I bought at the Stormville Flea Market. Such was the trend at that time.

And yes, I know how I look. Duly noted. Time and various challenges do things to one's appearance.

Yes, I had hair. It was what some called "wind tunnel tested." It was sort of a knockoff on Huey Lewis, realizing my hair was far too fine to pull such a look off. But hair dryers and hair spray made this thing work for a few years before it came to an end.

I'm standing on the deck of my former in-law's pool in Yorktown Heights, NY and, according to what I could find, it's July 1990.

At that time, I still dabbled in softball, had a lawn to mow at my mother's, and was a fairly tame and -- I'll say it -- boring dude. Somehow I thought that was what I was supposed to be. I thought being someone who loved music, sports, laughter, walking, reading, and travel was a decent guy to be with.

To add to this I drove a light brown Chevrolet Cavalier, which my father helped me pick out because he thought it was a good commuter car that would serve me well. He was right.

I didn't party much. I loved being with my family and friends and that's not too far off from who I am still.

This is under a year-and-a-half after my father had passed and, while I don't look sad necessarily, I sort of feel for the sorry soul that I'm looking at.

I worked for Kraft General Foods at this time, driving to and from White Plains every day and convincing myself that I was just fine in corporate America, while I was probably anything but.

In truth, I worked in finance and had graduated from Connecticut School of Broadcasting earlier that year. Most weekends, I returned to school to practice my trade by making audition cassettes to send to potential employers. Indeed, I'd get my first job -- at Majic 105 -- that September.

It was a long way from there to sports, WGCH, and Robcasting, LocalLive, etc. I had no clue that I'd ever wind up in Greenwich.

I worked among a bunch of 20-somethings who all had degrees had gone away to college and were aiming differently than I was. I was mostly looked down on as I realize now. That's not to say I didn't have friends -- some even to this day -- but there were cliques that I just didn't fit in. 

I was sort of laughed at and mocked.

I was too naive to understand that, I guess.

I suppose I see a lot of that in the picture above.

It wasn't a bad life. I was just sort of lost but that's with hindsight being 20/20.

At the time, I thought I generally had my head on straight and my stuff sort of together.

But the kid from Mahopac standing in Yorktown Heights that day was still going to Yankees games, listening to Huey Lewis, and whatever else I was doing.

Oh, and I'd be back in college later that year if I recall correctly. I stopped going to Westchester Community College after Dad passed. Mentally and emotionally, I needed to stop. A bad accounting class in the spring of 1989 infuriated me. 

Connecticut School of Broadcasting rebuilt my confidence and made me think that I should start back up and carry on. Working full-time and going to school at night, I wouldn't finish my bachelor's degree for another seven years.

So I look at this picture and see how I wish I was still that thin, sure. I look at the picture and wish I could tell myself that the hurt of my father's passing will never end but that I'll be OK. 

I wish I could tell him a few things about the relationship I was in and be prepared. On the other hand, staying the course will produce a wonderful son who turns out better than anyone could wish.

I see a lot of promise in that guy on a sunny day in 1990. Some of it wasn't achieved and, yet, some of it went beyond.

I see me -- warts and all.

I don't necessarily look back with regret. That's not really my style. Yes, what happened with the person who took that picture was abhorrent but it's now all passed and the stories linger. I'm a better person -- and a survivor -- as a result.

Perhaps I wish I could go back and tell myself that writing will be a big part of things one day but nah. There would be a lot of things to discuss and prepare for. But like Back to the Future, why find out our destiny, even if Doc did actually read the letter? 

Jeez. This is getting heavy.

Sean and I went to the grocery store earlier today and I told him about this before showing him the picture.

Then it dawned on me.

"I should just post a picture of you," I said.

We both laughed.

He's me in so many ways.

At 21.

Powerless

Mason and Lewis Streets, Greenwich, 2012
after Superstorm Sandy

 

We're supposed to have a pretty big storm before mid-day Monday.

Rain, wind, mass hysteria, and so on.

There's at least a chance that power will be lost.

We've been fortunate that we have not lost power in the Presidential Suite since we moved in. I think there might have been a brief loss of power once when I wasn't here but Sean said it came back on quickly. So to be more accurate we haven't lost power for any long amount of time.

In fact, I think the last power outage we experienced was from tropical Storm Isaias in the summer of 2020. We were still living in Mahopac at the time and we lost power in the early afternoon. I was ready to not host my show when Bob Small at WGCH asked me to do whatever I could do to make the show happen. The station thought it would be good to have a live voice who could serve as a "local" show, despite my being 30 miles away.

So I drove to the nearby McDonalds because I thought I'd be able to ping off their wifi to get online. Cell phone towers took a big hit in the area. 

However, service wasn't possible from the parking lot, and going inside wasn't an option due to COVID regulations at the time.

Instead, I got just enough cell service to stay on the air from the parking lot via phone.

So, I hosted the show from my car. In fact, it's in my archive here. Bob thought, at worst, I could report from my perspective and pivot if news broke. At best, the show was some comfort food for listeners.

We got power back a few hours later, which tended to happen at my mom's house. If we lost power for any length of time then it was likely bad. The location of her house wasn't far from a power substation and that apparently worked in our favor.

When many were out for days or weeks following Superstorm Sandy, we were out roughly 24 hours.

Even the great power outage of 2003 wasn't too bad, despite the insane heat that night. We got power back later that night and were able to fire up air conditioning.

Things weren't quite the same when I lived in Carmel. I watched as my neighborhood stayed dark and other areas got their power back.

So far, I've seen the part of Greenwich I live in be an area that either doesn't lose power or doesn't lose it for long.

That is optimal, to say the least.

I've often said that an occasional power outage can be healthy. It's sometimes a necessary evil. It forces us to get creative. It makes us -- dare I say -- put the devices down (gotta conserve the battery) and talk to each other.

It also makes us lean on the radio since it can run via battery!

But, let's face it, nobody wants a power outage, and I'm certainly not rooting for one.

Are we ready if necessary? I think we are though you just never know.

We have food and drinks. We have batteries and flashlights and so on.

I have my Paul McCartney book and other things to occupy me.

Our cars have gas.

We have supplies for the cat and, if for some reason we'd have to leave, we'd be set as best as possible.

Of course, this is all conjecture, but one can never be too certain.

Whatever this storm is, stay safe and dry.

I'll Be Better

 

Good morning from my beloved Hudson Valley.

OK, specifically, Mahopac.

You know me. I'll say yes to doing play-by-play of almost anything. I've already said I'll do a game if needed in Orange County, NY next week.

If they needed me for more in New York -- especially going to Syracuse for the state championships, I'd be in.

But, when asked to do games at the very place I grew up, on the field I graduated from, I don't say no.

It's my pleasure to be here.

Sean and I love Greenwich but we both admit we miss Mahopac.

Though it will change, it's still "Home of the Indians"

This is all just so familiar and, despite its warts (some quite ugly), I still love and brag about it here. I smile when I see Lake Mahopac and my car is parked right outside of the middle school that I hated in hindsight and, yet, it helped make me who I am.

I drove out last night remembering how raw and naive and uncomfortable I was in high school. How the kid from Austin Road Elementary School couldn't be the same. I became an easy target for bullies.

And, well, Sean gets it.

I'd always hoped I'd be able to call games from here and while I've never called a Mahopac football game (home or away) I'm here for the sixth and seventh games I've broadcast from this field.

I did numbers four and five last night and, frankly, I wasn't good.

I stumbled. I made mistakes. I kept saying the name of the outlet I was broadcasting for wrong (NFHS Network). I eventually got a text and that embarrassed me.

I promise you I was prepared. I had stats, homework, and storylines, including a player who had just lost his father in a car accident last weekend.

The thing about a story like that is you can't "Taylor Swift" it. You can't keep going back to it. You report it, and I did -- once. While the team he was playing for (Haldane) won and moved onto the state semifinals, he got injured and didn't return.

The scriptwriters often aren't fair.

But, yeah, I thought I wasn't good. Not up to my standards. I told a few trusted souls afterward and got what I expected. 

They thought I wasn't being fair to myself. Too hard on myself. Too high of a standard.

And, yes, I do have high standards. Thus I want people to ask me to come back. 

So why did I, frankly, suck?

I think I was overtired. That's not an excuse. Like everything I do, I put my all into the Old Timers Awards Dinner. Now combine that with a head cold that, somehow, mostly disappeared. It's not unfair to say I was stressed. 

So, despite all my efforts, I sat here last night and was tired. I could feel it. The mistakes I made were that of exhaustion (thanks to a 5 a.m. wakeup).

Maybe to some, I sounded fine. But to others, I probably sounded like I didn't belong here. That bothers me but critics are going to critique.

I didn't harp on it after it was over. I thought the second broadcast was better than the first.

I said what I needed to say to my friends and then I slept it off, having to just resolve to get 'em on the next calls.

And so, here we are. Ready for O'Neill and Bronxville, who are warming up in front of me. Shenendehowa and Carmel play later.

I've been here almost two hours already, happy to soak up some time in the early Mahopac sun.

Happy to think about winning that Mahopac Sports Association baseball title in 1984 on the field behind me, and scoring the winning run after working out a walk in extra innings there in 1986.

Then came the time I scored four touchdowns for Polk High. Oh, wait, that was Al Bundy on Married with Children.

OK, I'm awake and ready. I'm also alone.

Join me (if you know where) and let's do this.

King of the Roadcast

 

Jefferson Valley, NY 2001

I got to talk about something tonight that I don't get to talk about very often.

It's a topic that, without fail, generally draws the smallest audience to the blog.

It's roads.

My friend Dan Murphy wanted to have me on the Gribblenation Roadcast for a couple of different topics. I've been on a few times to talk sports but never about the actual main topic. 

Dan's idea was to talk about the roads, bridges, and other travel interests of the Hudson Valley.

We connected at the last minute tonight and recorded for well over an hour. We both seem to find it very easy to just talk to each other, as evidenced by our recent two-hour recording session for football back in late August.

Obviously, the Hudson Valley will always be important to me and I grew up on those roads.

I learned to drive on the back roads of the Town of Carmel, especially Mahopac.

But I also learned by traveling all over the region. I was the navigator for my mom and co-pilot for my dad.

The Taconic State Parkway, of course, will always probably be the closest to my heart, though I suppose the same could be said about Interstate 95. Except 95 doesn't really hit much of the Hudson Valley, touching the region in Westchester County. 

But the Taconic? The TSP? I knew (and know) each curve and ramp.

I grew up riding in the back seat on the Taconic and, eventually, learned to navigate its narrow lanes and tight turns.

I still remember convincing my mother to let me drive from Plattekill -- in Ulster County -- back down and across the Newburgh-Beacon Bridge, out Interstate 84, and then down the Taconic.

I was 16.

I was nervous but I took a deep breath and we were fine.

While I didn't tell Dan that story, I shared other tales that you can hear when the podcast is released. 

One thing I will tell is that, in a time in which being one's authentic self is so important, I can recall feeling sort of weird about my fascination with roads. I never felt ostracized or anything like that but I always felt like it was just a "me" thing.

Then I discovered one day that I was anything but alone and have made a large group of friends as a result.

Including Dan, who has hosted gatherings that I have attended in Philadelphia and Buffalo.

He's next hosting one in New Orleans and, at least as of now, flights are too expensive.

But I very much enjoyed talking about the many roads that meant so much to me and give me pure feelings of nostalgia when I drive them now.

We also hit on some of our favorite scenic drives. I realized at one point that I had taken the Hudson Valley for granted and didn't realize how beautiful it was.

I hope you listen when it comes out and you hear for yourself just how easy the conversation is.

Coming soon wherever you get your podcasts.

Shouting From the Roof

 

Baseball! The teams have been introduced

As I've mentioned, I picked up one more Renegades game.

The bad news is the Gades could muster no offense today and lost to the Greenville Drive 2-0. They trail in the best-of-three South Atlantic League Championship Series one game to none.

Looking at the bright side (selfishly) I was honored to be the public address announcer for the game. The loss dampens that spirit of course.

I wrote my thoughts about the season with the Gades last Sunday so I won't rehash it. Heading into 2024, assuming I'm back, I think we can do some things better. 

But the relationships there mean so much to me.

Plus, baseball.

The Gades can still win the title but they now have to go to South Carolina to do so. 

*****

I got my chance to call Stepinac football yesterday in White Plains for LocalLive.

It's a legacy football program in the area and a highly regarded one in New York Catholic School football lore.

I've only called an event there once, but it was basketball in their gym and it didn't even involve Stepinac. 

This, on the other hand, was a real-deal matchup between two strong teams.

Upon arrival, I surveyed things to realize that I was a stranger in a strange land.

Kevin Devaney Jr. warned me that the setup would be different. That's all I knew.

As I stood in the parking lot, reality set in. There was no press box. There were a couple of scissor lifts across the way. There were stands on the side where I was standing.

Kevin called and gave me the rundown. He said, with detailed instructions, to go into the school and head upstairs.

And go as far as I could go.

Then I saw where the LocalLive camera was positioned. It was installed at the top of the school.

Yup. That's where I was going.

I reached a narrow path on the roof after climbing out a side door. A videographer was positioned there and he had advanced knowledge that someone would be joining him. He was there to film for Stepinac while I was there to plug my audio into LocalLive's camera and call the game.

I prepared my brain to deal with the heights. In the end, it was no big deal.

In fact, except for the wind and sun, I loved it.

I just wasn't prepared for the likely sunburn, though I'm fine. As for the wind, I was prepared for that as I was able to tape things down.

I felt safe up there and, thus, no problems with the heights.

Stepinac mostly controlled the game and won 34-21. I noticed I picked up a few followers on social media so I'm hoping that meant viewers didn't have a problem with me.

Oh, I wasn't perfect. Far from it. But it was an enjoyable experience. It had that feeling of community that resonates so strongly with high school sports.

Plus the unique booth situation came with access to a nearby restroom and the chance to step inside if needed. It all worked fantastically.

I don't know if I'll ever have another chance to call a game there but I'd likely jump at it if ever offered.

Not every broadcast perch has to be indoors. Not every one needs to be Cardinal Stadium. Some can be very unique and this one qualified.

Look, it would be problematic if the weather was bad but that's why preparation for a broadcaster means having rain gear of some kind -- even ponchos from a recent visit to Maid of the Mist in Niagara Falls.

Fortunately, none of that was needed yesterday. Once settled in, I focused on trying to call a game featuring teams I'd never seen before.

I hope it worked.

*****

A last note with a great debt of thanks. As I wrote yesterday, I was going to my friend Scott's house for his annual party following the DePaul/Stapinac game.

I did the drive from White Plains to Mahopac following the game -- one that I'm very familiar with.

I was sorry to have missed a few people who left before I arrived, but grateful to see dear friends whom I've known since I was in first grade (at least that's what we think).

We picked on each other, hugged each other, made each other laugh, and I watched them blow fire. You just have to be there to understand,.

I caught up with everyone, from Sue and Matt's trip to Europe to Greg and JoAnn's new home away from home to Scott and Monica's wedding.

That night served as a great reminder that life is complicated so getting together is always tough due to other commitments but that we're all great friends and we're here for each other.

Last night's party was the 30th edition. We're all getting a little older (none older than I am) and that adds a touch of reality that time is precious.

The laughter is also precious.

So let's do it again next year.

(and thanks to loyal reader JoAnn for the photos)

John, Scott, Matt, Ron, and some other dude
who graduated from Mahopac High in 1987.

JoAnn always reminds me that my mom was her favorite
class mother. That's meaningful.

Egg and Cheese

 

A classic ham, egg, and cheese 

Saturday morning, Greenwich.

Time for grocery shopping hasn't been abundant so I've had to improvise a bit.

I'm out of cereal and, well, it's been a busy (and, obviously, stressful) stretch.

So I ran out this morning. OK, wait. Ran? Run? Walk?

OK, sorry. Too tired and too much to do. I drove over the hill and into town to grab a sandwich at Plaza Restaurant.

Though I've seen the restaurant for years, we discovered it almost by accident. Sean and I were walking to the Greenwich Town Party a year ago and we both needed something to eat.

Enter Plaza Restaurant. We took a risk that they'd make a couple of sandwiches to go.

A classic Greek breakfast/luncheonette, they were business-like, and, thus, of course, they'd be happy to make us a couple of egg and cheese sandwiches to go.

And it's among the best egg and cheese sandwiches out there. Now make mine a ham, egg, and cheese with a hash brown patty and we're good to go.

Plus they're right across from the train station, so it's a solid choice.

Except, like much of town, you're out of luck if you need anything before six or seven in the morning.

But we'll take what we can get.

So we look towards this weekend, in which I'll continue to keep buzzing.

We'll start in a few hours at Archbishop Stepinac High School in White Plains for football between the Crusaders (1-1) and the Spartans of DePaul Catholic (1-1). Game time is 1:30 and I was asked to do it by Kevin Devaney Jr. at LocalLive.

There's an inherent anxiety to being the fill-in for a variety of reasons, including the unknown. Plus it's a fill-in, thus the audience is used to someone else. So it's like Thursday's hockey game in Stamford in that way.

But I also look at it as exciting because I'm pleased to be trusted. I know how important Stepinac football is as a legacy program. They had a longtime Thanksgiving Day rivalry with White Plains High School which ended in 2017 over concerns of students who wanted to play both fall and winter sports. The Thanksgiving game would be a crossover between seasons and, as such, not allowed.

The two teams met 44 times between 1971 and 2017. If you know me, I hate when bureaucratic nonsense gets in the way of tradition. In other words: adults ruin everything.

I saw the same happen when the great Rye/Harrison rivalry took a brief break. Sometimes we need to understand how important these events are to players and families as well as alums. 

Yes, that includes the FCIAC football championship.

But, I'm babbling. 

After the game, I'm going home.

OK, to Mahopac, where I no longer live.

Scott's 30th annual Jimmy Buffett Party is today/tonight back on the mean streets of the Lake Secor area.

I've been, most likely, to 25 or so. The past couple of years have been a toned-down affair with the close inner circle of my friends. 

I'm not quite in that circle for a variety of reasons and I get it. But I'll be there tonight to renew acquaintances with friends that I've had for 40 or more years.

Any rumors of debauchery will be unfounded.

Maybe.

At least at our ages.

After a chance to, dare I say, sleep for a few hours, I'll handle public address duties for my first South Atlantic League Championship as the Renegades meet the Greenville Drive tomorrow at Heritage Financial Park.

If you're paying attention, that means it's Yankees/Red Sox for the title.

The Gades, who lost Game 1 of the semifinals in New Jersey, returned to the HV and swept the last two games.

Now, they get to play for the title. Tickets are still available (they start at $5) and parking is free. Come on out, sit near us in the PA booth, and get ready to have fun.

Oh, and I'm doing soccer on Monday and Wednesday.

And a conference in New York (albeit a half day) later in the week.

And football next Friday. Then I might be away next weekend.

STOP!

One day at a time.

One event at a time.

Football at 1:30.

Join me.

Night 4: Providence at Night

Today's games ended just past 2 p.m. in North Providence.

I soon packed up and departed, heading down into the capital of Rhode Island.

However, I decided to take a ride.

Onto RI 146 to I-95 to I-195.

Into Massachusetts.

I figured, heck, I was so close, I should say hello to The Bay State.

Lizzie Borden House. No hatchets anywhere.

I only went as far (fah) as Fall River, where I drove by the Lizzie Borden House.

No 40 whacks to be found (thankfully).

But, to me, Fall River, MA will always be about Battleship Cove. I first visited it with my family in probably 1977 or 1978, fascinated by this giant ship, submarine, and other vessels that we were allowed to tour. I've been back several times since.

On this day, I found it sort of a bummer to visit alone so I opted to not do the tour, simply grabbing a photo and heading back to my car.

Battleship Cove with the USS Massachusetts on the right

With that, I did a very "Rob" thing and drove U.S. Route 6 out of Fall River west into Rhode Island where it routed onto Interstate 195.

You might know that Route 6 begins its journey at Provincetown -- the very tip of Cape Code. From there, it winds around the Cape and makes its way eventually to Fall River and onto Providence before heading off into Connecticut.

It also crosses numerous other states before ending in Bishop, CA.

And it goes right through the heart of a little hamlet known as Mahopac, NY. 

Providence is I-95 and U.S. 6. Those are two of the primary roads in my life.

Not wanting to drive all over, I returned to Providence to come back to the hotel. In the process, I went through the area around Brown University before settling back into my room.

I could have driven down to Newport and walked around or done something else but Saturday beach traffic made me opt for staying close and taking it easy.

It's time to go out and get some food. (Note: Written before I obviously went out. I'm back from dinner as well as a walk to the nearby Providence Place mall.)

Tomorrow, with virtually no shock, we'll see good friends Trumbull and Waterford face off for the third time since this Babe Ruth Baseball journey began earlier this month. Waterford has won the first two. The coaches are no doubt pondering scenarios and lining up their pitchers.

I get to call it. I'm thrilled.

I'm sad the result means one of them will be done.

The winner of this semifinal match gets to hang around and wait for the winner of Braintree and Pittsfield. They play at 1 p.m. with the championship scheduled for 4 p.m. The winner of that game is off to the World Seris in Virginia in early August.

The road will guide me back towards Connecticut sometime Sunday night and I can promise you that I'll likely be on 95 (unless traffic conditions say otherwise).

I won't be on U.S. 6.

What a ride it has been regardless of the final outcome.

Thanks, Mother Nature

 

The weather looks fine...for now

Once again, plans get scuttled.

The FCIAC baseball championship was scheduled for tonight at 7 p.m. in Stamford.

I woke up all set to prep for the game when I got a message that the game had been moved to tomorrow.

A 70% chance of rain is in the forecast and I guess there's a chance of thunder as well.

As I write (2:04 p.m.) there has been no sign of either. It's clear with a bit of a haze but we know how quickly things can change.

It's a no-win for those making such decisions but certainly, coaches don't want to warm up pitchers and, as such, waste them if the game doesn't happen.

So no game tonight.

That means no softball for me tomorrow and I truly apologize.

Robcasting is a one-man band. I like it that way though there are others who are willing to help out. You know the names -- Chris Erway, Shawn Sailer, Chris Kaelin, Jake Zimmer, Dan Gardella, etc -- who have all helped make this a little engine that can.

Sean Adams would help also but he's not a play-by-play person. 

The point is I know there are people who would jump in but I simply don't have a way to get both baseball and softball on the air tomorrow. I also can't run from one game to the other because the games are staggered far enough apart. 

With the proper pieces in place, I could probably use our YouTube channel but there are just too many roadblocks for this.

It reminded me of the rare times we did this at HAN Radio. For instance, we decided to cover state football games hosted by Darien and New Canaan on the same day. We had two channels available to us so it allowed me to send Chris Kaelin and John Kovach to New Canaan while Paul Silverfarb and I went to Darien.

I bounced between the two before the games started to help set up equipment and make sure everything was working. As Darien kicked off first, I called that game, packed up, and ran back to New Canaan, jumping on the air there briefly before breaking it all down.

It was a fun challenge and we succeeded.

We'd do a similar thing for the state championships that year, as we handled all three hockey games in New Haven. Then we set up at Mohegan Sun. I finished up the hockey calls and then drove to the Sun to be a part of the nightcap (I was encouraged to sit one of the five broadcasts out much to my consternation).

So, yeah, five games. Two sites. Pretty cool.

But back to softball. I apologize. I really do. Before anyone makes this about gender, I please ask that you know me a little better. I've pushed for all sports to get coverage. I could line up all of the women's sports that I've called -- from New Jersey girls across and soccer championships to D-III college basketball at Mount Saine Mary College -- but there's no need to. I've called a few Connecticut girls hockey championships (rather famously, I might add).

This is just bad luck. I committed to the baseball championship first and I called the semifinals on Monday. As such, I'm going to see baseball through to the end while keeping an eye on the softball games as best as possible.

Best of luck to Ludlowe and St. Joseph tomorrow. Have a great game and may the best team win.

The girls deserve better. Sorry, I can't provide it.

*****

One year ago today, a door closed and I prepared to open a new one. And I took this picture.

Rascal wasn't being fierce. He was scared out of his brain as we were driving from Mahopac to Greenwich. I found him cowering behind the toilet at home -- the last thing I needed to move.

We've been here ever since.

*****

RIP, Tina Turner. Simply the best. She never ever did nothing nice and easy.

The Next Baseball Call and Other Saturday Stuff

 

(Photo: National Baseball Hall of Fame and Museum)

I'm happy to say I'm not done with baseball yet.

Through a series of conversations this morning, I became the play-by-play announcer for this week's FCIAC baseball semifinals and championship game. The games will be carried on Robcasting at robcasting.mixlr.com live from Cubeta Stadium in Stamford, CT beginning with the semis on Monday.

No. 3 Staples vs. No. 2 Warde will begin our coverage at 4 p.m., followed by No. 8 Westhill vs. No. 5 Trumbull at 6:30 p.m. I'd suspect the broadcasts will start with a five-minute pregame show but I'm still working those things out.

The winners will meet in the championship game Wednesday night at 7 p.m. At a quick glance, I think it will be my sixth baseball championship call.

Unless I download some public address announcements the games will run commercial-free.

Ah, the last time I called the championship was in 2021. I was sitting in Fairfield sipping a cup of coffee that Friday morning, expecting to head to Hudson Valley that night to call a Renegades game. Then I got a text from Kevin Devaney, Jr saying that LocalLive needed a broadcaster in Stamford that day.

Yes, that day. As in the game was roughly 2.5 hours away from starting. My initial reaction was that it was a tall ask, especially having to get to what is now Heritage Financial Park that night.

Also, how would I prepare? I didn't have the 20 hours that are apparently required! I did, however, have equipment, my computer, and my scorebook binder with me.

But, this is me. I got nudged to do the game -- Greenwich versus Fairfield Warde. I fired off a couple of quick messages on Twitter to the two teams, hoping for any help with rosters and notes. Warde didn't respond (they would eventually) but Greenwich did and loaded me up.

Now, with a 1 p.m. game, I had to hope to be wrapped up shortly after 3 p.m. to begin the drive to Fishkill.

To Stamford, I went. Fortunately, I had a blank scorecard with me, and the lineups were delivered to the booth.

Oh, one thing to know about the booth at Cubeta Stadium: there is no soundproofing so any chatter will get picked up on the mic. I can still hear broadcasters from WWPT on my call of the game-winner in 2019 (don't read this, Shawn Sailer!) when the Wreckers rallied to win over Shawn's Fairfield Ludlowe team.

We avoided that in 2021 and I suggest we try to avoid it again this year. Trust me, I like the guys from WWPT and they promised they wouldn't step on the FCIAC call in 2019 (I'm sort of there in the "official" capacity) but, yeah. They're high school students calling games of their friends and classmates and haven't quite developed that neutral stance quite yet.

So, think of it this way: I'm like the national broadcaster. Even with Greenwich in the game in 2021, I only focused on keeping the call fair and when the Mustangs of Fairfield Warde secured a decisive title, I proclaimed they were the definitive champions.

It doesn't matter who I'm "affiliated" with.

So, yeah, 2019. Not long after I got to Cubeta Stadium, I got a text from Joe Ausanio, my boss with the Gades at the time, telling me the game was postponed due to impending storms later that night. I heaved a sigh of relief. Now, the pressure of the game length was off and I could also go to honor our dear friend Susan as she departed from the Darien Times. The town hosted a sendoff for her and I wound being asked to speak at it. 

As for these games, I'm pleased that I've already seen Warde play and I know enough of the other three teams heading into the broadcasts on Monday. It should be a blast.

While we're on the broadcasting bug, tomorrow's Prep Nationals Championship lacrosse game is the rematch that I thought might happen. Brunswick will play Lawrenceville for the title. The Big Red beat the Bruins back in April and it really set them on a tear to be the number-one team in North America.

Now, the Bruins have revenge on their minds. Technically, they're the lower seed and will be the visiting team but don't fool yourself. They'll have the home crowd.

The game is at 2 p.m. tomorrow and Dan Arestia will join me for the call.

I was overwhelmed by the number of people who stopped in the booth last night during the semifinals to say hello from all of the teams to say how much they enjoy the broadcasts. One person called it "better than most college broadcasts" and that's a testament to the people behind the scenes that make it look good. For me, it's humbling and a great reminder to keep grinding at this stuff.

As I've noted many times, confidence can be so fleeting for a variety of reasons. But to have people stop in the booth to say how their mom stays home "just to listen to you" is overwhelming. 

I worked with the weight of knowing what the broadcasts mean to viewers and the last thing I want to be is annoying or a negative aspect of the experience.

*****

Aaron Hicks is a former Yankee today, designated for assignment by the team after a rare trade with the Boston Red Sox to acquire outfielder Greg Allen.

Hicks had become a mess and that happens. He signed a huge contract a few years back, dealt with injuries, and never found himself again.

Fans were, of course, brutal. Heck, even I knew he had to go.

But, still, he is human and, much like the Joey Gallo fiasco, nobody looks good when it becomes personal. Personally, I wish Hicks well wherever he goes. If it's to another team then so be it. If he retires, well, again, I hold no malice.

Thanks for the good memories and best wishes.

*****

I've read that Mahopac, under pressure and scrutiny from New York Governor Kathy Hochul, will indeed be changing their mascot -- the one they've had since 1937. Many of us proud Mahopac -- gulp -- "Indians" will have to get used to the new moniker: the "Wolf Pac."

Yes. "Wolf Pac" as in "Pac" as in Mahopac.

For those thinking "old (white) man will be screaming at cloud" I only say that, sure, I'm sorry to see the mascot that I grew up with go away. I've never been a fan of renaming. I also thought "Lakers" would have been a great name, given our pride in Lake Mahopac as well as Kirk Lake, Lake Casse, Lake MacGregor (where I spent many summer days) and most of all, Lake Secor, where my grandparents had a house.

So, sure, I'm bummed. But wasting the energy of the anger simply isn't worth it to me. We'll evolve and move on.

But I'll always be a proud Mahopac Indian and should I ever get the chance to broadcast their games again, I'll do the professional thing by calling them the "Wolf Pac."

Time moves on.

Like it or not.

*****

We finish with a tip of the cap and microphone to Bobby Ray Murcer on what would have been his 77th birthday. We lost him far too soon and I still see the details with perfect clarity of the moment I found out he had passed.

He was a wonderful baseball player who became a wonderfully charming broadcaster. Like the other heroes of my youth, he had a profound impact on me.

I watched part of his Yankeeography today and his five-RBI game the night of Thurman Munson's funeral is still the stuff of mystique and aura.

I wish the Yankees would honor him in Monument Park for nearly 50 years of service and that's all I have to say about that.

He's missed.

Baseball Eve

 

Brunswick, 2022

I say this in preparation.

I'm ready to be disappointed.

Tomorrow is my first scheduled baseball broadcast of 2023 as Brunswick hosts Winchendon for a doubleheader. I expect it to be rained out and thus the disappointment.

It's my first scheduled baseball call since *checks notes* July 27, 2022.

That's so sad and shameful but that's out of my control so we move forward.

Let me try to explain this if you don't know it already.

I've wanted to broadcast baseball since I was maybe 10 or 11. Maybe earlier but I can tell you that I was probably 11 when I lugged a small tape recorder and a lousy microphone to Sycamore Park in Mahopac for an all-star game. I tried to dabble in play-by-play that June afternoon.

I can assure you I was bad because, among many things, I didn't have lineups or rosters. While I've improved in surviving there's still only so much you can do if you don't know who the participants are. Oh, I knew some of the players but not everyone.

I eventually became a huge fan of the "major" pro sports of that time. So I thought broadcasting football would also be great but baseball was my focus.

I also studied so many different broadcasting styles to understand what I wanted to be.

Baseball is the storytellers' game. I wanted to leisurely tell tales from some ballpark while sipping lemonade on a hot summer night.

But I never thought I'd just do baseball. Like I said, I definitely wanted to do football and had practiced a few basketball games as well off TV. In fact, the first time I ever had to do play-by-play with an audience was in school at CSB. In front of a group of strangers, I called a Celtics/Knicks game off a TV in the classroom. 

Apparently, I scared a few of the students somehow. So began over 30 years of doing that.

I did OK -- enough so that I floated home that night. I survived.

Eventually, it was men's softball while working at Kraft General Foods in 1995 when I actually led a broadcast. It was taped and replayed on the in-house TVs at our building in White Plains. I didn't embarrass myself and had a blast doing it.

Then, finally, I called my first game for WGCH on Apr 10, 1999, when Greenwich hosted Port Chester. I've never looked back despite every glimpse of doubt that I've had.

I joined the Renegades in 2001 and, suddenly, I found that maybe I really could do this. That, I suppose, is still a point of debate but it brought me joy to do the number of games I did over the years with the Gades, no matter how sporadically. It culminated in the fun ride of 2021 and I'd be lying if I didn't say I miss it a lot.

I've had broadcasters over the years tell me that by the final game of a season they are just done. They're burned out and can't wait for it to be over. I can tell you that after all of these years and all of these games I've never experienced that feeling.

Especially not with baseball. Oh, sure, it's a grind. Each Babe Ruth tournament that I've called has me worn out by the end of each night, let alone the entire tournament. Still, come the next morning, I'm ready to do it again.

I often feel bad when I drone on about my love of broadcasting baseball. I don't want any other sport to misunderstand that I love calling your teams also. But I'm here because of baseball.

I'm very proud of the work I've done in each sport. I still love calling football for instance, especially when there's a big crowd and there's a different energy. But despite any misgivings mostly due to nerves, I've come to appreciate the nuances of soccer, field hockey, water polo, track and field, volleyball, cheerleading, wrestling, lacrosse, and of course hockey and basketball.

Oh, I've also done golf but that was just phone-in reports from the Greenwich town tournament years ago. Sadly, we haven't covered it since.

Let me repeat: sadly.

Have I missed any sports that I've covered? I'll apologize in advance but I don't think I have.

That's where what we did on HAN was so wonderful. Selfishly, it made me do things that I probably would never get a chance to do, like field hockey and soccer but even unified basketball which was among the most rewarding events I've ever participated in. It was more interview-based than play-by-play but there were still elements of "calling" games and it made a lot of people happy.

And I love covering any age. I've committed to being with Boomslang basketball again, beginning Sunday afternoon, and will make whatever games I can.

But my first love will always be at a baseball field. It's where I can still hear the echoes of Frank Messer on Yankees broadcasts and, of course, Vin. 

Not Vin Diesel or Vince Lombardi, to be clear.

But both Vin (Scully) and Dick Enberg both helped me know that I should do more sports, as they each did football. Enberg was a wonderful basketball announcer while Vin apparently did Fordham hoops back in the 40s. No proof of it exists, sadly. 

Let's not forget Al Michaels, of course, who has called the four major sports, including that little hockey game in Lake Placid in 1980.

No miracles will be necessary to make baseball happen tomorrow. Just crossing of a few fingers I suppose.

I'll go with my Pelican hard-sided case (a gift a few years back from Hector) and maybe my pop-up pod tent in an effort to keep things dry if they play in the rain.

I'll bundle up for the doubleheader. A heavier jacket since the temperature is supposed to be in the 40s.

It's just part of the preparation.

To some of you, this sounds insane and not very appealing. I get it. 

To me, it's part of the story. The weather becomes a chapter in the book.

I'll be learning the 2023 Bruins on the fly tomorrow but I have a good relationship with the coaches so they'll bring me up to speed. I'll also try to ramp up some on Winchendon.

Then -- if they play -- it will be the same as ever. Balls, strikes, infield positions, pitch movement, base-running, and stories.

Somewhere, down in my soul, I still think this is something I was born to do. Somewhere I still think I'm fair at it. So many think they can do it. But there is so much that goes into being a broadcaster. It's more than just balls and strikes. It's opening, closing, transitioning, engineering, describing, analyzing, organizing, engaging, explaining, elaborating, troubleshooting, juggling, and, yes, entertaining.

It's making the broadcast happen until everything else fails and it's literally out of your control. You exhaust all options.

In the case of the weather, I can't fool Mother Nature. She (and the teams) get the final say.

Then, if allowed, I become the conduit by describing the action.

If it happens, I'll talk to you at noon tomorrow on LocalLive and Robcasting.

Bowled Over

 

(Photo: Rob Mazzei)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

We were good. Sometimes very good.

Sometimes great and, in this case, a champion.

But no one had more fun than we did.

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

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

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

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

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

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

I guarantee they were great.

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

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

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

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

It didn't happen.

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

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

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

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

But I loved it. Literally every minute of it.

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

Thank you, Mahopac.

Thank you, Rob, for the picture.

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

I'll be happy to explain.