What Could Be

 

Donte DiVincenzo reacts after hitting a three-pointer to put the
Knicks ahead (Nathaniel S. Butler/NBAE via Getty Images)

The lacrosse game ended and I was ready to go home.

Thanks to the kindness of a Brunswick parent, I'd already had dinner, as she picked up a chicken quesadilla from the food truck at the game.

So I just needed to come home and enjoy some hockey.

It has the chance to be a really fun spring around New York sports. The Rangers are playing in Game 2 of their first round playoff series with the Washington Capitals. As I'm typing, the Rangers lead 4-3 so there will be some nervous time.

Last night was about as epic a night of basketball as this area has seen in years. The Knicks found themselves down late but scored six points to take the lead in a blistering pace during the last minute of play.

They hit free throws and held on for the win.

Donte DiVincenzo's three-pointer off a mad scramble brought about a rare double "BANG!" from the great Mike Breen, calling the game on MSG. 

Breen is the best basketball announcer and I won't hear otherwise (though you're certainly entitled to your opinion).

But I'll admit I yelled "BANG!" as DiVincenzo's shot went through the net.

It was an intense win and the Knicks lead 2-0. 

The Garden was rocking. I sometimes roll my eyes at the marketing of "The World's Most Famous Arena" but it's truly a special place at times like last night. The level of insanity will only grow as the Knicks and Rangers win games this spring.

Oh, it reminds me so much of 1994, which was a truly treasured time around here. The Knicks got to Game 7 of a gutwrenching NBA Finals series that they lost to Houston. There are still so many "ifs" that fans torture themselves with. After O.J. Simpson's famous van ride during Game 5 of the series, the Knicks needed just one win and it was nowhere to be found.

On the other hand, the Rangers also went to a Game 7 after a thrilling series. All anyone has to say is Mike Richter/Pavel Bure and we know the image, as Richter stopped Bure's penalty shot in Game 4.

We all gnawed away at our fingernails the night of Game 7, hoping the Rangers could erase the demons of 54 years. The euphoria at the end of the night was unforgettable.

New York is a big event town. We love the World Series and the Stanley Cup Finals and will go nuts if an NBA Finals comes here for the first time in 25 years.

The Knicks haven't won a title since 1973 so there's a hunger. Beyond that, New York hasn't had a professional championship in the four major sports since the Giants won Super Bowl Super Bowl XLVI in 2012.

So, yeah, it would be fun to have that feeling of 1994 again, especially if the two Garden teams can win. There was another team that was threatening to win a title that year but lost out due to a player's strike.

The Yankees would get back on top of the world in 1996 but they were close in '94. It would have made for an epic year in New York.

We could feel that this year. I'm not saying we will but it would be fun.

*****

A quick side note about lacrosse. Brunswick won the game after initially being in a tight battle with The Hill Academy from Canada. It was a great team effort as the Bruins continue to be the best team in the country.

However, a couple of students popped in the booth at one point for the weirdest of reasons: me.

They. Wanted. To. See. Me.

They both kind of stammered, called me "the man," shook my hand, then realized I was working and they left.

I was astounded and a bit overwhelmed. It was humbling.

I'd actually like to talk more with them if only to thank them.

I'm not deserving of the attention.

Fire That Bum!

 

Yankees manager Aaron Boone
(Photo: AP/John Minchillo)

The Yankees stink right now.

Can't put it any clearer than that. 

They've been almost unwatchably bad.

It felt like it bottomed out after a horrific weekend in Texas with a 15-2 drubbing on Sunday.

In fact, last night, the Bombers came home and were having a nice evening against Cleveland. They led 2-0 into the top of the ninth behind the brilliant pitching of Domingo German who had thrown a two-hit shutout.

But therein lies the problem: the second hit.

It brought the hook as manager Aaron Boone pulled him to go to closer Clay Holmes.

Now, as I saw Boone come out of the dugout, I'll admit I was uneasy. Holmes has not been good since last July. German had only thrown 88 pitches and had plenty left in the tank. At least I thought so.

But, on the other hand, Holmes is the closer. It's his job to close the game.

There was one out and Holmes induced a bouncer to the third base side of the mound. But, he flubbed it and Cleveland had life.

It all unraveled from there for New York. When it was over, Cleveland had scored three times and took the lead. They closed it out against a beleaguered Yankees lineup in the bottom of the ninth.

The howling began immediately.

"FIRE BOONE!" the mob began.

I got into a text snit about it.

Look, I have never been a fire-the-manager/general manager/anyone type of guy. Managers basically babysit, etc. They can't make players play.

By virtually every account, Aaron Boone is well-liked by his players and that goes a long way. Joe Torre knew how to massage egos and still make decisions back during his time. Few (David Wells, for one) had problems with him

There's a lot more that goes into this stuff than the reactionary sports radio phone callers understand. A lot more than I understand.

By this morning, the heat began to get turned up on Rangers head coach Gerard Gallant following an utterly lifeless performance in Game 7 against the Devils.

Many want Gallant fired as well.

But what are you expecting and who do you want the fired manager/coach?

Is it the different voice in the room that will automatically foster winning?

The examples of that actually happening aren't that common but they certainly have happened. 

I guess my gripe here is that I get tired of the "quick fix" mentality that is firing people. It's a pet peeve of mine groomed in the late 70s and 80s as George Steinbrenner went through managers and coaches with regularity. The hirings and firings of Billy Martin were an embarrassment. Boss George did the same with Lou Piniella and drove Yogi Berra away from the organization for 14 years.

Think about that: Yogi Berra had nothing to do with the New York Yankees from 1985-1999 because he was fired early in the '85 season ... and replaced with Billy.

Those were insane times, friends.

The old saying is, "You can't fire the players, so fire the manager."

Fortunately, the chorus is a little quieter tonight

The Yankees just won, 4-2. No managerial decision seemed to impact the victory.

As for the Rangers, they have all off-season.

And, oh yeah, there are the Pittsburgh Steelers.

Who have had four coaches in my lifetime:

- Bill Austin (four losses in 1968).

- Chuck Noll

- Bill Cowher

- Mike Tomlin

And there are six Vince Lombardi Trophies spread among the last three.

I like that loyalty.

Teaching Thursday

 

Patrick Ewing and Hakeem Olajuwon

Days like this hit a little differently. 

In this slog -- this grind -- to write a post per day there are going to be times where the juggling is necessary.

I'm teaching tonight at CSB, meaning I likely won't walk in the door before 11 p.m. I'll be tired and, honestly, the last thing I'll want to do is author words about whatever is on my mind.

So, thirteen hours earlier, I've at least begun a shell of a post that I can build on.

For the first time in weeks, I'll be on "Doubleheader" today and there's so much to catch up on.

Sure, there are sports -- Aaron Rodgers, the Knicks, the Rangers, and the NFL Draft. Plus two middling baseball teams as well as the high school and prep sports.

Oh, and there's what Giannis said last night after the Bucks were eliminated. He says there is no failure in sports. I mean, I love Giannis but come on.

But I can't let today go by and not pause to discuss our own Mary Anne from WGCH. I've been simply overwhelmed by the response to the post of a few days ago, including from members of her family. 

Then I will conjure up some lessons for a group of students.

And there is no game to call. I'll get back to that tomorrow when Trinity-Pawling visits Brunswick.

Ah, but the Knicks! Go, New York, go, New York, GO!

Oh, it's great and I'm all in. I love seeing the city excited for the current cast. Finally, I'm hearing less moaning about the Garden and the blue and orange.

No, I have no intention of tempering anyone's excitement. It's been a long time and fans should be pumped up for winning this round. Now, do it again, and beat the Heat.

I have my own doubts that the Knickerbockers are going to the NBA Finals but this certainly does remind me of those crazy days of the 90s. Let's dig out the Zubaz!

You think about the spring of 1994. The Rangers were scuffling through the playoffs after winning the President's Trophy. They'd have a dogfight with the Devils in the conference finals.

Huh. Rangers/Devils. Sounds familiar.

But we know how that film ends. Mark Messier gleefully raised in the Cup in the Garden and 54 years of frustration was over after a seven-game series of nailbiters. Come on -- Pavel Bure versus Mike Richter?

The Rangers won it all and, days later, following the chaos of OJ Simpson and the split screen, we thought we might see a second title at the Garden.

Well, I should say, the Garden's team would have to win it on the road.

Yet (don't read this part, loyal fans) the Knicks went to Houston and lost both games six and seven.

There was an unlikely run to the 1999 NBA Finals where the Spurs more or less ran the Knicks off the court.

Then the 21st century began and I'm guessing most Knicks fans are simply content to forget about it.

Until today.

It's a good day.

Somewhere, Patrick and Starks and Harper and Oakley and Smith and Mason and Anthony and Davis and Bonner and Williams are smiling. I'd like to think Pat Riley might have a grin at the Knicks and Heat meeting.

I don't see Riley as much as a villain anymore. I've moved on. Good grief, it was, what, 28 years ago?

It will be fun.

Maybe the Rangers can beat the Devils and the fun will only grow.

We can only hope.

* Anyway, "Doubleheader" didn't happen thanks to Connecticut traffic. So now I'll just be a bad teacher for the night.

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.

Bada Bing! (Or "A Friday Night in New Jersey")

 

Oh...New Jersey...

I tried to go get a desk again at Ikea.

Now, hear me out. I got a text alert that they had the legs to go with the tabletop that I like. A reasonably priced desk for my bedroom was exactly what I had in mind.

I decided to be spontaneous. After getting home from "Doubleheader," I told Sean about my crazy idea of just running to Paramus, NJ on a Friday night.

"Why not?" came the response. "We can go to Wawa and grab dinner."

Smart. Very smart.

I checked traffic.

I took a deep breath, knowing all too well that we'd hit some annoyances.

So we started. 

The headaches were minimal on the drive; mostly in Rockland County after crossing the bridge at Tappan Zee.

We arrived at Ikea on a mission. We would go straight to the home office area, review options, and get the number for the self-service bin to pick up the items and head out.

It was a perfect plan.

Except...you know what's coming.

No legs.

I stood there, stunned.

Then I began to seeth.

Sean was no better.

"You got a text that they had them. How were you supposed to know there'd be a rush on them? They owe you answers."

I looked at alternate options. Prices and aesthetics just didn't agree with me. Stubbornness? Sort of. But rationality also won.

Still, I consult people. A text to Susan. A moment with Sean and it was clear that I was walking away.

But before I left, I talked with Corey at the information desk. To say the least, he was understanding.

Sadly, that doesn't mean there was some kind of a hidden collection. There wasn't some great happy ending. When I told Corey we drove from Connecticut, he did what he could. From a customer service standpoint, that's a win.

We walked out empty-handed. While I was being diplomatic, Sean was mad. He wanted me to get the desk because he knows it's holding me up from truly taking the next step around the apartment. When I explained to him I just wanted to buy the desk and assemble it while watching the Rangers playoff game, he was even more bothered.

That made me feel good.

Let me pause here before we reach the denouement of our play for this evening. I'm dealing with a small space so that's an issue here. I've been offered other options but I have to be cognizant of the limitations. The thing to also keep in mind is that it gives me a story to tell.

Now, to that final act. We did drive down the road to Wawa and that's where I saw the stereotypical t-shirt in the photo atop the post. We each picked up dinner and made our way back to Mahopac, getting home before 9 p.m. All told, it wasn't a lot of time wasted, if it was even wasted at all.

And that's the thing. We both found ourselves thinking that, despite the idiocy of Ikea, we enjoyed our night out.

That's the takeaway. Making the best of whatever.

I'll take that.

A New York Moment

 

People love New York. They also hate New York.

Like, hate, New York.

Tonight we had one of our moments. It was loud and obnoxious and everything that New York always is.

Madison Square Garden -- fittingly, "The World's Most Famous Arena" -- roared as Henrik Lundqvist was honored for his distinguished career with the New York Rangers.

His number 30 was raised to the rafters, concluding a ceremony that featured an eloquent speech by former Ranger Kevin Weekes, gifts from the likes of John McEnroe and others, and the presence of Lundqvist's family. Royalty also reigned with Mike Richter, Brian Leetch, Adam Graves, and Mark Messier in attendance, decked out in their blue sweaters.

As always, The Garden did a phenomenal job putting on the ceremony. There was nothing cringeworthy or painful. There were laughs, tears, and cheers.

I've attended ceremonies honoring other athletes before and have watched plenty of others. This one was tremendous.

There are some athletes I've been tough on over the years. Bernie Williams immediately springs to mind. I love Bernie but, man, I often felt like something bad was going to happen when he stepped to the plate. Obviously, it was unfair.

Same with Lundqvist. I growled at "The King" nickname. I snorted at the PR appearances. The GQ shoots. Playing guitar on Jimmy Fallon.

I just wanted a Stanley Cup.

I must also note Harold's mom Pat. She was a great Rangers fan and a huge Hank critic. I can't help but wonder what she'd think tonight.

Personally, I was touched by everything.

Oh, I knew my criticism was silly but we expect excellence, especially from some more than others. We demand it. Was some of the criticism warranted? It probably was. Sometimes I felt the media gave him a pass but, honestly, that's all in the past (see what I did there?).

I had the opportunity to be around Hank a few times. Once was at MSG against the Columbus Blue Jackets, with Greenwich's own Cam Atkinson in the building. Henrik gave up three quick goal and was pulled late in the first period.

Columbus went on to win, 4-2. 

Late in the game, I was sitting with Paul Silverfarb in the media section of the Chase Bridge and glanced at the monitor under the clear desk where I was sitting. I spied Henrik, wearing a baseball hat, on the TV feed. I snapped a picture on my phone and, Apple being Apple, the picture turned 90 degrees.

"Sideways Sad Hank" was born.

In the locker room, Henrik tended to things quietly and wasn't speaking to the press. So was his intensity.

The next time I saw him was in an interview room at Yankee Stadium following a victory in the Stadium Series against the New Jersey Devils. He was happy, charming, and answered every question.

He never stood taller than he did just a few months later, helping to guide a Rangers team to the Stanley Cup Finals against the Los Angeles Kings. While it was a competitive series, with three games going to overtime (and two to double overtime) the Kings won the series in five games.

I sat in a hotel in Meriden, CT preparing to call three baseball championships the next day.

I yelled when Alex Martinez scored off a rebound in double overtime.

Henrik just stayed down on the ice before coming to his knees. He had given everything.

Respect. Sad, but respect.

He left for Washington -- it's a business as we all sadly are reminded -- but never played a minute. Heart surgery ended his career.

No, he never won a championship. We have those who are never able to mount that last hurdle.

Ernie Banks. Ted Williams. Dan Marino. Don Mattingly. John Stockton. Jim Kelly. Ty Cobb.

Henrik Lundqvist.

Each is a legend in one form or another that never won a title.

It doesn't take away from the quality of the man or the greatness of his achievements.

He's a New York icon.

He is beloved.

He's King Henrik.

We had a New York moment tonight to honor him.

100 years ago

 

Major J. Andrew White

History is messy. Never have we been more clear about that than now.

So let's deal with what we think we know.

One hundred years ago today, Jack Dempsey fought Georges Carpentier at an arena that was thrown together in Jersey City, NJ. Dempsey, the legendary boxer, was cast as a bit of a villain, having been seen as a draft dodger (truth: he was classified 4-F). On the other hand, Carpentier did fight in World War I for the French Army.

The bout took place at Boyle's Thirty Acres, a wooden arena concocted by Dempsey's promoter Tex Rickard, known as the man behind the New York Rangers hockey team (Tex's Rangers).

We know that Dempsey won the fight in the fourth round and retained the Heavyweight championship. 

We also know -- and this is the big point -- that radio played a huge role in relaying the fight and helped usher in a whole new era of sports coverage.

Things get dicey after this. There were apparently other attempts to broadcast sports, with reports of a football game in 1919 and a fight on a smaller scale on KDKA in Pittsburgh earlier in 1921.

So is this really the first play-by-play? I suppose it depends and we'll truly never know.

Either way, this was different. For one thing, a temporary station -- WJY -- was established explicitly for the fight.

Still, there were hiccups. WJY needed a transmitted and those in charge of the broadcast found one built by RCA for use by the Navy. A deal was worked out with the Secretary of the Navy -- a chap named Franklin D. Roosevelt -- to have it shipped from Schenectady, NY.

But a ruse was also created.

Major J. Andrew White (a key name in early radio) was supposed to be the play-by-play announcer. And, to a degree, he was. However, AT&T wouldn't allow a telephone line to be connected to the transmitter. So, a relay system was created, in which White called the action via telephone and a high-speed telegraph operator would relay the information to J Owen Smith, who even had a bell.

Listeners wouldn't know what White's voice sounded like anyway. So White called it -- for the telegraph operator. But the audience -- some 350,000 strong (the largest at that time) -- heard Smith.

So who is the godfather of play-by-play? White, certainly, as well as Harold Arlin on KDKA and, later on, Graham McNamee and Ted Husing (who was mentored by White) and a few others.

Still, with that, whether it was the "first" or not, sports play-by-play was officially off the ground.

A month later, on Aug 5 -- the date I'm really looking forward to honoring -- Arlin went to Forbes Field and called the first baseball broadcast.

It's a shame more isn't being done to honor this momentous occasion in broadcasting history but I'm trying to do my own small part.

Incidentally, I don't have a broadcast as of now on Aug 5 (the Renegades are in Brooklyn) and I do hope to find one. If not, we'll honor the moment in another way.

You know me. I'll work it in somehow.

Why not hockey?

I've got the Bruins/Islanders playoff game on as I type, and...

WAIT! DON'T LEAVE!

I can hear the click of the mouse/touchpad already. I can sense your fingers swiping to something else. Stick with me.

In all that I do in sports, nothing is more challenging than interesting people in hockey (baseball is sadly second).

The thing -- as it is with any sport -- is that people don't understand it.

But here's the thing about understanding a sport: you don't need to know every last rule. You don't need to know the intricacies of icing or offside.

You just need to watch and listen. Take in the fact that these players are skating while controlling a puck (or battling for it) as they try to push it into a net that is 6x4.

Appreciate the physicality of it along with the gracefulness of it.

Listen to the skates on the ice and the sound of the puck hitting the stick. Pay attention to the whistles. You'll pick it up. You'll gather that (in short) if a defending player dumps the puck to the other end of the rink, passing the opposing red line (or end line) then you'll likely see an official put his hand up before blowing the whistle. You've just witnessed icing (again, I'm being very basic here).

If you're watching on TV or the internet, pay attention to the broadcaster. You might pick up a few things there also (at least from the good ones). Doc Emrick alone could make you care just through his passion alone while Ed Olczyk gave you just enough to explain the game.

For me, it started with Jiggs McDonald on Islanders broadcasts on channel 9.

I was a kid in the late 1970s when the Rangers made a run to the Stanley Cup Finals. I was too baseball mad to truly grasp it, but I cared. I cared more when the Islanders won the Cup the next year and, of course, the Miracle happened in Lake Placid.

Those Islanders/Rangers teams are the reason that I don't hate the Islanders, despite being a Rangers fan. I also have a healthy appreciation of the Devils. I know that's strange but that's my logic and I'm sticking with it.

Still, I was mostly about baseball, and my football love was growing rapidly. But I began watching more hockey on channel 9 with those Rangers and Islanders teams. Part of it was a form of peer pressure with some -- dare I say? -- FOMO. Most of it was wanting to understand more and embracing it.

I'd learn more as I watched Gretzky and Messier and those great Oilers teams after they took over from the Islanders in the 80s. Eventually, I began going to games -- we'd sit at the very top of the Nassau Coliseum which was not ideal but the tickets were cheap.

Of course, the 90s brought Mark Messier to New York (and, eventually, Brunswick) and the Stanley Cup was secured on Broadway.

Nirvana.

I can still remember someone who didn't think I'd make a good talk show host because I couldn't really talk hockey. Ouch, but, OK, so you can imagine how terrifying it was when former WGCH sports director John Connelly asked me to fill in for him on hockey call.

He called early that Monday -- Jan 24, 2000 -- and I resisted. I didn't have rosters. I was uncomfortable.

I was scared.

I went. I probably sucked. I can guarantee I wasn't particularly good but I took my lumps and learned from it. I learned from great analysts and friends like Harold and John Spang and Sean Kilkelly and others. I just listened to them. 

As a broadcaster, I did why I do. I described and reacted. I reported with passion and energy.

I'm not sure that I'm great at it but I learned I could hold my own. I didn't embarrass myself when Mike Richter was my analyst (talk about terrifying). 

Instead of trying to avoid calling hockey, I began to yearn to call it.

I've called 11 FCIAC hockey championships -- girls and boys. I've called several state championships. I've called two Worlds Selects championships. I've called the Bridgeport Sound Tigers (now the Bridgeport Islanders).

I can't skate. I can't coach hockey. But I can talk hockey.

And I love the sport.

And, especially now, during the Stanley Cup Playoffs, I'd be thrilled to see you try to love it too if you don't already.

The favorite sports broadcasters bracket!

 

Vin Scully calls the 1965 World Series.
That's the criminally underrated Ray Scott behind Vin.
Ray was the anti-Gus Johnson

"Hello again, everybody..."

"Hello, friends..."

"And a very pleasant good evening to you wherever you may be..."

Joe Manniello, who has become the master of all things brackets in my life, has done it again.

Recently, I did brackets of greatest Best Pictures, and Billy Joel songs, and Beatles songs. But today (echoing "today" Lou Gehrig-style), he brings us perhaps the most fitting of them all...

THE FAVORITE SPORTS BROADCASTERS BRACKET!

Now, look, I didn't pick those in the bracket and neither did Joe. I'm told that four people did a draft of the 32 participants.

Let's dispense with a few things here:

- Gus Johnson didn't get drafted. No further comment.

- Red Barber and Mel Allen also didn't, which is largely indicative of a need for a historian in the group, but we shall not quarrel.

- Not a single Caray to be found. 

- No Ernie Harwell. 

- No Marty Glickman.

- I can keep going but you get my point (no Phil Rizzuto, Joe Garagiola, Bill White, or basically any Yankees voices...).

Lastly, and I can't stress this enough...

Who's playing to lose to Vin Scully in the final because you all know he's winning this.

We'll start in the "I Don't Believe What I Just Saw" region.

Vin/Doris Burke -- Sigh. I'm a big Doris fan, but this isn't fair. Vin.

Bob Costas/Mike Tirico -- An all-Syracuse matchup (read: sports broadcasting elitism in the non-Fordham/Arizona State/etc division). Like Tirico. Love Costas. Bob.

Jack Buck/Joe Buck -- We will see JACK tomorrow night! (This one is just mean)

Howard Cosell/Don Criqui -- Question: How well do you all know me? Don Criqui is an all-time great PBP voice. Cosell is an all-time great mouth who stepped on countless PBP announcers. As Don Imus called him, "The Great Don Criqui." Yes. Really.

Sweet 16:

Scully/Costas -- That's rough for the second round, Bob. You deserved better. Vin.

Jack Buck/Criqui -- Damn. Sorry, Don. Jack Buck.

Regional final:

Scully/Buck -- "I don't believe what I just saw" gets steamrolled by "In a year that has been improbable, the IMPOSSIBLE has happened." Except, it's not impossible. It's Vin. All day.

To the "Do You Believe In Miracles" region.

The team of John Madden-Pat Summerall against Leslie Visser (who wasn't a PBP voice anyway) -- Unfair. Pat and John.

Jim Nantz/Ian Eagle -- This will break over certain lines. I love Nantz. 

Curt Gowdy/Kevin Harlan -- I bet Harlan wins this one big. "The Cowboy" (Gowdy) was the voice of the big games when I was a kid. I'm taking Gowdy.

Al Michaels/Tony Romo -- Al is miraculous and one of the great PBPers of all time. He's also a Scully disciple. Al.

Sweet 16:

Madden-Summerall/Nantz -- Goodbye, friends. Pat and John.

Gowdy/Michaels -- Curt hit the back nine in the 70s. Al was on the front nine and is still swinging. Al's got a lot of great calls. Curt goes all the way back to Mel Allen in the 40s. But Al is Al.

Regional Final:

Madden-Summerall/Michaels -- two against one. Telestrator against sarcasm and gambling. Summerall did tennis and golf away from football and was an early sports reporter in New York. Al has done baseball, hockey, and basketball. It's tough. The edge -- slightly -- goes to Al Michaels.

That leaves us a Final Four matchup of Al Michaels against his idol Vin Scully and let's not kid ourselves, shall we? Vin.

The "Whoa Nellie!" region.

Doc Emrick/Charlie Jones -- An inspired call with Charlie Jones but he's no match here. He's been ladled away and shuffleboarded by Doc.

Verne Lundquist/Gary Thorne -- Great first-round matchup. I could go crazy with this one but the number of great calls in Uncle Verne's career is overwhelming. YES SIR!

Brent Musburger/Tim McCarver -- "You are looking live!" at two guys who weren't initially known for play-by-play, at least nationally. T-Mac became a World Series staple doing color, and Brent is Brent. I'll give the edge to Brent.

Keith Jackson/Bill Raftery -- Oh this is just wrong! First, I'm a play-by-play guy. But Raft is one of my favorites. But Keith IS college football (even if he called so many baseball games that sounded like he'd rather be anywhere else). Can I "send it in JEROME!?" No. I just can't. "Hello, Heisman!"

Sweet 16:

Doc/Verne -- I hate to say that you know how this one is going. Doc waffle boards Uncle Verne aside.

Brent/Keith -- I love hearing Brent tell stories but Keith is Keith.

Doc/Keith -- Remember, this is my bracket. It's not who I think will win. As I said, I always felt Keith was ambivalent at best when calling baseball (and he was on the "Bobby Murcer" game when Cosell allowed him to talk). But Doc changed how I viewed hockey and definitely how I called it. "WHAT CHAOS," indeed!

Lastly we head to the "OH MY!" region.

Marv Albert/Sam Rosen -- This had to be a local pick. Marv is a New York institution that became huge nationally. YES!

Howie Rose/Mike Breen -- I was going to "Put it in the books!" but then "BANG!" Mike Breen is one of my heroes. Love Howie (really, I do) but Breen is a different level. 

Kenny Albert/Gare-Keith-Ron -- Er...what? The Mets fans will whine. Kenny will understand. GKR. 

Dick Enberg/Dan Shulman -- This is so unfair to Shulman but Dr. Enberg has been one of the voices of my life, in fact even "BV" (Before Vin). The Renaissance Man himself, Dick Enberg.

Sweet 16:

Marv/Breen -- This was a setup. A tough one. Both can claim the hand of Marty Glickman as guidance. Both worked with the irascible Imus. Both are hysterically funny. Both did local sports (Breen on WFAN and Marv on Channel 4). Breen did football at one time in addition to basketball while Marv did the NFL, Knicks, and Rangers. Plus he anchored the World Series on NBC at one time. But I've met Breen and love his style. That's literally the only edge. Breen.

G-K-R/Enberg -- Dick Enberg. Next.

Breen/Enberg -- I love you, Mike. I really do. But Dick Enberg helped me love tennis from Wimbledon. He helped me get more entrenched into the NFL with Merlin Olsen. He nudged me along with college basketball. Plus he hosted the "Sports Challenge" TV show. He goes to the Final Four with Doc Emrick, Al Michaels, and Vin Scully.

I've already moved Scully into the championship.

Now it's Doc versus Dr.

I hate that it's come to this. Each man has impacted me profoundly. I never had a chance to talk to Dr. Enberg but I did talk to Doc Emrick last year. I've made it clear how both helped guide me as a broadcaster. Dick Enberg's two edges are that he has a longer impact on me and that he did more sports, though some forget all the different things Doc Emrick called.

You know how this is going to turn out anyway, and I'd love to call a draw but I can't. Dick Enberg sashays into the final by a whisker.

I told you from the beginning who would win this all along and everyone else was fighting for second place.

Vin Scully over Dick Enberg.

Which is no crime.

Oh my!

It happens

 

"Have a nice day." -- Forrest Gump

There's too much negativity, so I won't project it.

But I am OK after last night's tire event. I got home a little after midnight.

I feel fortunate that my cousin, Kris, was able to help me with the stubborn lugnut that probably would have destroyed my back (which was already sore enough) during l'affaire du tire (which is actually "pneu" in French apparently). 

He doesn't live too far from where I hung out on the side of Interstate 84 and I'm grateful for his help.

After he showed up, we were done in no time and spent more time catching up and talking than anything else.

Now I have to figure out how and where to get a tire. I also have to find the time to go sit in a tire shop. That means a likely lost day of work.

There are a ton of "what-ifs" I've considered, among them the simple version of getting off 84 at that exact exit, leading to the pothole. What if I had just stayed for the night in Milford, PA like I was considering? 

In fact, at one point, I was going to stay in Milford and then head to New Jersey Sunday morning for wrestling. That, however, changed. At another point, I was going to meet my niece Kristy somewhere around the Milford area and crash with her and her kids. That changed also.

But that thinking can make one crazy. It's the luck of the draw.

I know I don't need four tires but you know how these things work. That being said, if you have suggestions of a trusted tire source not too far from Mahopac, feel free to let me know.

But I see the blessings in all of it. Things can always be a lot worse.

Still, it's often so hard to stay upbeat, as I'm sure you can agree. No need to review the laundry list of why.

So I thought I'd just pop on and say hello. I have nothing profound to offer.

There will be a new podcast in my life soon.

I mowed part of the lawn today for the first time in 2021. So begins roughly six-plus months and that's actually a great thing.

The Yankees are bad. The Knicks are good. The Rangers are meh. The Mets have already won the World Series.

The Red Sox uniforms this weekend were not worth saying anything about.

What was a bright and sunny day has turned cloudy.

Honestly, that's about it.

Sideways Sad Hank

 

News broke just a short time ago that Henrik Lundqvist's contract will be bought out by the Rangers.

That means the 38-year-old goalies career with the Blueshirts is over.

Honestly, it was time, but it's never easy.

Hank and I have had a tough relationship. I equate it to Bernie Williams -- whom I love -- in that he could drive me crazy at times.

"King Henrik" did the same. The great Hank was remarkable. The not-so-great Hank? Meh. Where does he rank in team history? I'm really not sure. 

Mike Richter? Eddie Giacomin? John Vanbiesbrouck? Gump Worsley? It's not an easy answer, but I'll say this: Richter got the ultimate prize, and the iconic penalty shot save against Pavel Bure in 1994.

The Rangers went to one Stanley Cup Final with the "King" but were nearly swept away by the Los Angeles Kings. That, however, shouldn't deter from his legacy.

Henrik stood on his head in the clinching loss in Game 5. He made 48 saves in a double-overtime effort before Alex Martinez broke New York's hearts from near the slot in the left circle.

Hank stayed on his knees after the goal, a combination of heartbreak and exhaustion on his face.

I'm surprised I didn't hear from the front desk at the the Hampton Inn in Meriden, CT where I was staying as I prepped for the baseball state championships the next day. I will admit I sort of yelled.

Paul Silverfarb still can't watch it and can barely talk about that goal. But, the truth was, the Kings were the better team, despite three overtime victories in which the Rangers played their hearts out (two in double OT). That didn't make the hurt any easier.

John Kovach, Paul and I all texted each other that night. Each one of us had a broadcast to prep for. We all wanted to go to sleep. Then that goal happened. We were all pretty tired the next day.

Oh, about that picture. Well, my mom plays a role in that one. You see, Mom had gone to the hospital to have a stent put in in Dec 2013. Pretty routine, she was told. My sister and niece took her the hospital in New Haven, allowing me to focus on work, as we had just began putting HAN Radio on the air.

I also had a credential to go Madison Square Garden that night as Cam Atkinson -- Greenwich's very own -- was in town to play Hank and the Rangers. Paul and I were both going.

Then I got a call that Mom was going to have open heart surgery. My family told me to go on with work anyway -- there was no need for me in New Haven.

Paul said the same.

"Go to the Garden," he said. It will occupy your mind.

So there we were, sitting in the media section on the Chase Bridge, and Henrik got shelled. He was yanked down 3-1 after 11 minutes were gone in the first period. We watch the rest of the game, and there were TV monitors embedded in the desks we were sitting at.

As the game got over, I aimed my iPhone at the shot of Henrik, a Rangers hat on his head, making his way off the bench following the 4-2 loss.

For whatever reason that Apple products do this, the picture turned sideways. Something about it made us laugh as it was a fitting end to the night for the King.

The legend of #SidewaysSadHank was born.

Sorry, Henrik, but thanks for the great memories you did provide. For whatever I thought, I fully expect number 30 to fly from the rafters of Madison Square Garden soon. In the meantime, go the Ray Borque route and win a Cup somewhere else.

You have the respect of a fan base forever.

The Next Day

Trace amounts of carnage outside the Robcasting command center

"This guy wants a f***ing tent."

We were making the best of it, and I went back out to see if I could get dinner for the family. Sean waited in the car while I went into Peppino's, one of the probably 15 or so pizzerias around us.

Yes, really, there are easily 15 pizzerias in Mahopac and just across the town/county line in Baldwin Place.

And that's where I heard that quote. The owner and staff were working via generator. No lights were on. The pizza maker was wearing a headlamp as he ladled sauce onto the crust of someone's large pie. Extra crispy, please.

The owner was taking orders in between bouncing to the oven.

It was chaos. Controlled, but still.

"Peppino?...Peppino?...Yeah, sure, we'll have tables tomorrow. We're very busy. Yeah, sure. We'll make it happen. All right."

Click.

"This guy wants a f***ing tent."

I'm still not sure if he was serious.

I saw no way we'd have power back. We've often been fortunate on this side of the Pac. Yet, something felt different about this power outage. But we were prepared.

Having seen the explosion in Beirut and, truly, having basic human decency, I have enough of a clue to know that this was an inconvenience at best. But it makes for (hopefully) a good post on an irrelevant blog.

After the power went out, I took a walk and ran into my neighbor, Sharon, who was waiting to hear from her adult son. We both shook our heads. This was a little different and, we felt, worse than the initial reports.

Storms fascinate me. My inner "weather chaser" will come out, even it it's just to walk to the main road and see what's going on. But, duty called.

I went out to put gas in my car. The gas stations of Baldwin Place were buzzing, but not crazy. Others had gas tanks out of their trunks for generators.

Cell service seemed dicey at best but I felt I could find a signal to do "Doubleheader" on my computer, as opposed to via phone. I parked outside of the McDonald's in Mahopac and did the show. I had hoped maybe we'd get some calls or tweets, but the audience was quiet. The whole reason Bob Small wanted me on yesterday -- and I agreed with him -- was so that we could do our public service. I didn't really want to babble about sports. I wanted to be helpful and talk about anything.

I wanted to do pretty much what I did during Superstorm Sandy (2012), yet only for one hour, as opposed to seven.

Maybe I did help, even if it was to entertain and inform.

On the way back home, I noticed the gas stations now had "energy crisis" level backups of cars looking to fill tank. I sat in those 1970s lines with my mom at these same gas stations.

I had barely walked in the house when dinner duty called. So, I went back out to see if I could find food, and that's when I got some of my favorite chicken parm on the planet, at Peppino's.

Where there weren't, to my knowledge, any "f***ing tents."

Sean and I ordered in person and sat in the parking lot. He is a patient soul, thankfully.

All the while, I'd either let the car run a little or keep the battery on so that we could charge anything that needed charging.

Still, his patience boiled when he couldn't get so much as a passable cell signal at home. Cell towers seemed to be messed up.

With dinner finished, I still wanted to post Tuesday's "Doubleheader" online. I wanted to get it out there for Jonathan Rios and WON 920 The Apple/WEAF 9240 The Liberty (I'm stubborn* that way). Oh, and there was the blog.

*Or dedicated, as Doug Kerr wrote online. In all honesty it's part dedication, part stubbornness, part insanity. We all go a little mad sometimes. Or at least Norman Bates says so.

Back out I went.

I thought -- I really did -- that we wouldn't see power again last night. I assumed we would be out for a day or more. This one just seemed bad.

It had the feeling of being worse than Superstorm Sandy.

So I drove up the road, just looking for a passable signal that would let me jump online, check in on things around the world, and get back home. But nothing was strong enough up to the Taconic Parkway, even if the nearby gas station had power.

Then I went down the Parkway to Jefferson Valley. The Taconic seemed to be OK and JV -- or, "The Valley," as my dad called it (nobody else did or does) -- had a few traffic lights working, but not much else.

I sat in the empty parking lot of a small grocery store plaza (DeCicco's). Only the pizza place and the Chinese restaurant were open.

And I got online.

And that, friends, is where I got the blog online from.

I returned home, detoured at one point back to where I had just driven from after I came across another tree in the middle of the road, and settled into an easy chair for what I thought would be a long night.

I grabbed my trusty Radio Shack shortwave/AM/FM radio, put some AA batteries in it, and started listening to the Rangers.

Baseball and the Yankees would have also been great, because baseball on the radio is life, but there was no way I was going to listen to the Mets over the Rangers at this point.

And, allow me to say, radio for the win in these moments. I love online broadcasting and certainly love TV, and all forms of broadcasting, but in a time like that, there's a battery-operated radio FOR THE WIN! Go buy one if you don't have one already!

As Kenny Albert called the action, I realized that I couldn't keep running to Jefferson Valley or McDonald's just to put a blog online. That's the equivalent of Cal Ripken staying in the lineup everyday while hitting .250 just to keep The Streak alive.

All good things must end.

So I started to talk to Sean about ideas for a getaway. A day trip or an overnight or two. Anything to pass the time.

And, then?

LET THERE BE LIGHT!

We looked at each other.

"Don't jinx it," he said.

We were out for a little over six hours.

And so, my dear readers, rumors of the demise have been exaggerated.

I can't express with enough certainty how fortunate I feel. Nearly 700,000 are out in Connecticut.

Many are saying this is worse, power-wise, than Sandy, which was a more dangerous storm (my opinion).

So, I count my blessings, knowing that a lot will be "normal" today in my life.

I might -- just might -- even broadcast Greenwich/Westport baseball today.

Who known?

Maybe I'll have a f***ing tent.

Simply Happy

Courtesy The Week

I was getting ready to walk into a store today when, in a fit of being silly, I stepped on a yellow circular sticker.

"SOCIAL DISTANCING! Please stand six feet apart," it said.

Nobody else was around, so I started (almost) to treat it like hopscotch.

I paused, preened, and acted like I was going to jump to the next circle, when I took one giant step, reaching it in two.

Except, someone was around. I often think I'm invisible, but of course I'm not.

He was laughing as he enjoyed a break from working at the very store I was about to walk into.

"Thank you," he said. "You just made my day."

Undaunted (but probably blushing) I laughed with him.

"I couldn't resist," I said.

Isn't that the point? To make the best of what we're dealing with? That, laughter is the best medicine?

It was a moment of levity, even behind the green mask I was wearing and I privately felt great for bringing him that moment.

John Nash gave us some perspective over on his great blog this morning. It was a reminder that life is short. Way too short, and stupid bickering and squabbles aren't worth it. Whether I and an unnamed individual named to remind one of a a traditional Mexican dish consisting of a small hand-sized corn or wheat tortilla topped with a filling (thanks, Wikipedia) had anything to do with inspiring his post is immaterial.

It struck me. Life is too short. I considered various (and sundry) versions of this post tonight and might still use some of those ideas in future posts, but the point sits that today was just a happy day.

Now, look, this picture is hardly happy, but it also indicates how fleeting all of this is. Reports indicate four people were hurt in that car fire that I happened upon at one point today, and please don't take my overall joy as being tone-deaf. In fact, the exact opposite. It reminded me to be grateful.

I hope for good health -- no, great health -- for those involved. It was an intense scene.

Today was one of those days where the bullets of the world weren't going to bring me down. John's post and this picture reminded me to make the best of everything.

So, I did.

That's why the continued whining about baseball (and sports) playing is just making me nuts. If you're a sports fan, kick back and enjoy it.

Seriously. I beg you. Grab a beverage. Have some wings. Order a pizza. Keep a scorecard. Call a friend and debate something.

Last night was glorious, and it's only going to get better. I had Yankees/Orioles, Mets/Red Sox, and Rangers/Islanders all the touch a remote control apart. Now, the NBA is ready to join the party. It's a wonderful smorgasboard that we should be embracing instead of lamenting.

If I -- ME! -- can enjoy Mets/Red Sox, can't you stop complaining and remember that sports are supposed to be fun (and a business)?

My new hashtag is #TheyWillPlay because they're going to. You're incessant complaining isn't going to change it!

Today, I was able to go do "Doubleheader" from the WGCH studios. I was able to talk portable broadcasting mixers and other minutiae with Bob Small.

I had a good lunch, and kept adjusting to whatever life threw at me.

I felt helpful and useful.

I also got to just drive in my (new to me but used) car, and even that felt good.

And, I received a text from Sean telling me that he got his driver's license today. That's my boy!

Yes, the "Mexican dish" and I argue about utter idiocy but, sometimes, it's a welcome respite from the big, bad world. Soon, it dissolves into pure tediousness, and that's when I should really walk away.

That's when it's silly bickering.

Yet, there are moments when it is cathartic.

So, I treasure days like today. It reminds me of Jim Valvano's famous words:

"If you laugh, you think, and you cry, that's a full day. That's a heck of a day. You do that seven days a week, you're going to have something special."

Today was one of those days.

Ten Athletes I've Enjoyed Watching

I didn't see the guy on the left play but I saw plenty of the guy on the right

There are so many challenges that float around the social interwebs.

You might recall we did the "30 Day Song Challenge" a few months back. Then there are the ten movies, ten TV shows and so on.

Dave Torromeo challenged me to post 10 athletes on Facebook. The deal is you post a picture with no further explanation.

Well, there's no rule against a blog post about it.

Goodness knows keeping it to 10 is tough (truth: I've done just nine with number ten to hit tomorrow but I needed a topic so here we are).

I realize part of the challenge is to then forward it onto others. So, if anyone wants to dive in, have at it. You know who you are. Go for it.

Besides, I'm getting myself in trouble too much these days. Sheesh.

Anywho...these are the nine, as of tonight:

1) Bobby Murcer -- because, duh. Before I was old enough to do basically anything, there was Bobby Ray. I can still see him in the first game I was at in 1972, and he homered. Even after he was traded to San Francisco (bleep you, Gabe Paul), I still paid attention as best as I could to him and was thrilled when he returned in 1979. He went into broadcasting...do you see where this is going?

2) Terry Bradshaw -- I wasn't as quick to become a football nut. I wore Dolphins stuff when I was little because we went to Florida every year and, come on, whose uniform and colors were cooler? But then along came my understanding of Bradshaw and the Steelers. Plus they beat the Cowboys. I really liked that. He also went into broadcasting...hmm...

3) Dan Marino -- There wasn't much to do on weekends in the early 80s as a teenager. Saturdays in the fall meant college football. There wasn't the insane amount games there are now (or, were). But, in our world in Mahopac, on channel 7, there was college football with Keith Jackson and Frank Broyles.  And they called a lot of Pitt games. Pitt...Steelers...Panthers...Dan Marino. Damn, I loved watching the guy play. Then he went to the St...nope...Dolphins. I knew the Dolphins had a great on their hands. I wasn't even troubled when he torched Pittsburgh in the AFC Championship Game (the Steelers weren't going to win that Super Bowl).

4) Chris Mullin -- Again, the early to mid-80s. St. John's Redmen basketball stood toe-to-toe with the pro teams of the time. Madison Square Garden rocked with the battles of Patrick Ewing (still thinking about him on this list) and Chris Mullin. The floppy-haired city kid became my guy. The gym rat showed up and practiced his shooting, and he kept shooting all the way to the Final Four before a very good NBA career.

5) Wille Stargell -- The Yankees won the American League in 1976. They won the World Series in 1977 and 1978. It seemed like they'd be there every year but 1979 wasn't kind, and Thurman Munson's passing just destroyed New York. The Orioles rolled through the AL. But, by then, this funky group from Pittsburgh in gaudy uniforms, singing the Sister Sledge anthem "We Are Family" were galvanizing fans. Huh. And they were from Pittsburgh. Hmm. And they were led by Willie Stargell, the true leftover from the "Lumber Company" days of the early 70s with Roberto Clemente. Pops was the boss. Pops was cool. Pops won the World Series with a Game 7 home run. We miss him.

6) Mark Messier -- Few athletes have ever made me think, "A title is coming," when they joined a team like "The Messiah" did with the Rangers. Messier came to a team that had talent -- no question. Brian Leetch. Mark Richter (we'll get back to him), Adam Graves, etc. But Mess was the Captain. We've seen few leaders like that. Ever. Despite all of the guarantees in sports, there are two that matter -- Joe Namath and Mark Messier. Mess said the Rangers would win Game 6 against New Jersey. They won that and, eventually, the Stanley Cup. Plus, he held the door for me at Brunswick one day.

7) Paul O'Neill -- I tried hard to not make this just ten Yankees (and day 10 will be tough) but O'Neill helped change the culture of a franchise that become a mess. I loved his passion and dedication. I loved how every at bat was a war. I appreciated that fire. You saw whining and being a crybaby. I saw a drive for perfection and, once things went right, there were few misfires. Paulie helped get the Yankees to titles in 1996, 1998, 1999, and 2000. Plus they were close in '01 and were playoff teams in '95 and '97. The Warrior, indeed.

8) Don Mattingly -- this is Yankees 101 for any fan of my age range. Donnie was Bobby Murcer of a different era. There were times when it felt like Donnie Baseball was all we had. But, he was also the Everyman, with his mustache and dirty uniform. He felt like he left his lunch pail in the locker and hit rockets before heading back to the quarry. For a brief moment, Don Mattingly was the best player in  baseball, and we will all lament that he never won a ring and he will likely miss the Hall of Fame.

9) Mike Richter -- As I wrote on Facebook tonight, "There are a ton of players I could put here and haven't. But only one has ever been an analyst on a broadcast of mine. That matters." It's true, as you know. Mike and I did indeed call The Gunnery and Brunswick and he has since called me, "The Voice of Reason." So, when you add that to a great career that included the Olympics (I watched him play against the Russians the day after Sean was born), stopping Pavel Bure on THE penalty shot in the Stanley Cup Finals in 1994, winning a Cup, and add in that his number is hanging in the rafters at MSG, wouldn't you include him?

10) Tomorrow -- So many to choose from. Many obvious. Some not. I might go the easy route or I might go with something different. I might choose someone from my broadcasting career (and I've obviously seen a lot) or someone unexpected.

I have a gut feeling (it won't be rocket science) but we'll see what tomorrow's mood brings.

Who are your ten?

It's Opening Day but It's Not

The first pitch of 1993 -- Jim Abbott to Brian McRae

It's always on the calendar.

OPENING DAY.

Not description needed. Not Opening Day of a new Wal Mart or Opening Day of school or Opening Day of other sports.

No. They get their own description. Opening Day needs no qualifier.

It's Madonna. It's Cher.

It's The Babe. It's The Mick.

It's Opening Day.

Of baseball season.

Yes, I know it's a bit early this year. Er. Wait. It WAS a bit early this year.

And I was resigned to it not happening. Nothing we can do and we'll get things going...um...eventually.

But today -- THE day -- it hit home.

The sun is shining (in New York) and it would have been 60 degrees in Baltimore for Gerrit Cole's first pitch against the Orioles (or whomever you were looking forward to watching)

It would have been baseball.

The best openers have a touch of a chill and the sun shining. Yes, there are exceptions, like when Hideki Matsui electrified Yankee Stadium with a grand slam a day after a snow storm dumped on New York.


It's Bob Feller pitching a no-hitter. It's Tuffy Rhodes hitting three home runs. It's Derek Jeter homering in his first opener (holy cow!). It's Andy Pettitte in the snow. There are others, of course.

Like Raul Mondesi in 1999 (and listen to the sweet sounds of Vinny on the call).


It was April 9, 1981 and the Texas Rangers were in New York to face the Yankees. It was a day game. It should ALWAYS be a day game (yes, that's a rule of mine). I rushed home from Austin Road Elementary School to watch the game on channel 11.

By the time I was in high school, I was working the ear phone move, not caring what Mrs. Rundle in English class thought. Besides, she gave me a hard time for writing too much about baseball. Hmm. How's that worked out?

A scan of the lineup: Willie Randolph, Jerry Mumphrey, Dave Winfield (first game as a Yankee), Bob Watson, Lou Piniella, Rick Cerone, Graig Nettles, Dennis Werth, Bucky Dent.

Crap. No Bobby Murcer since a left-hander, former Met Jon Matlack, was pitching.

Another note of interest: my Facebook friend Billy Sample had a sacrifice fly for the Rangers.

But the Yankees built a 6-3 heading into the seventh.

The Yankees loaded the bases, and who did manager Gene Michael (in his first game) send to pinch hit? Bobby Ray Murcer, of course.

Watch him flick his wrists at the Stever Comer offering.

Boom (Phil Rizzuto and Frank Messer on WPIX).



I bounced out of the house, bat and ball in hand. Didn't care who wanted to play. It was time to go hit so Wiffle balls.

I would go to several openers. I saw the World Championship banner get raised after 18 long years in 1997. I saw a 17-13 slugfest in the Bronx between the Yankees and Athletics in '98.

You always knew you were likely getting a great pitching matchup, especially if it was the real first game of the season (as opposed to the home opener, depending on the year). So, in the 90s, that meant you might see Roger Clemens for the Red Sox while the Yankees might have Andy Pettitte or Jimmy Key.

Or Charles Hudson (in 1987).

In 1993 (the picture above), the Yankees came back to the Bronx for the home opener after a 3-3 road trip in Cleveland and Chicago (the White Sox -- not stupid interleague play). Newly-acquired Paul O'Neill had four hits to beat his current broadcast partner David Cone as the Bombers won 4-1.

In 1994, the opener at Yankee Stadium felt like it was on a rocket ship. With no pennants or playoffs since 1981 and no championships since 1978, the natives were a bit restless.

In the bottom of the first, facing Kevin Brown and the Rangers, Luis Polonia and Wade Boggs both singled. I remember thinking that if Don Mattingly did literally anything, we would launch into orbit.

He flied to left, but Danny Tartabull delivered a sacrifice fly. One-nothing after one.

Tartabull and Mike Stanley homered and the Yankees cruised to a 5-3 win, beginning what we thought was a magical summer after the Rangers won the Stanley Cup and Knicks came within a shot of a NBA title.

Then came the baseball strike and it was all over.

Each Opening Day is special. I love the introduction of the starting lineups along the base paths. A marching band might play (I remember Brien McMahon High School from Norwalk was frequently there). The bunting is hanging off the upper decks. The grass looks extra green, as if it's the first time you've seen green grass since last October.

The national anthem feels different because there is always a live singer and it just feels like it was time to play ball. The anticipation is reaching a crescendo with the "Oh, say does that star-spangled banner yet wave" line.

Then comes the ceremonial first pitch. It could be Joe DiMaggio (or now it's guys like Mariano Rivera and Paul O'Neill). But, it could be someone different, like North Carolina head coach Dean Smith, days after winning a national championship in '93. Smith did the honors at the request of former NC State coach Jim Valvano, who considered doing so a bucket list item, but was too sick to do so. Valvano died a little over two weeks later.

There's a different energy in the air. Every team has a chance (yes, even the Mets, despite the "Family Guy" joke). The smells are just right. Hot dogs, burgers, those roasted nuts out underneath the elevated train tracks. Things are just...right.

The bars are buzzing. The souvenir shops are packed. Everyone seems happy.

You're back with 50,000 of your closest allies -- many of whom you don't know but might become lifelong friends with (Mick, Steve, Eddie...). It's a bonding experience (save for the fist fights, which I never got involved in).

Finally, after all of the pomp and circumstance (and the various and sundry), it's game on.

The first pitch? Ball? Strike? Fastball? Curve? Low and outside? Belt high?

We won't know for probably a few months.

That's the hardest part of today. We're still trying to convince ourselves this is an endless rain delay.

"Play ball" will sound out soon.

I need it.

This is May?

I'm still dry at that point (Photo courtesy Joe Early)

It's May 14, and it's 47 degrees.

We've just finished our third straight day of heavy rain showers.

Did I mention it's May and it's 47 degrees?

It messes with the baseball season, and the FAA quarterfinal game that I was supposed to call yesterday got moved to today. But we made it work for the matchup between Brunswick and St Luke's. Joe Early grabbed a Brunswick Cross Country tent that kept us pretty dry. The Bruins won 12-2.

I'll shift back to lacrosse tomorrow as the Bruins host Darien in a long-awaited matchup. I'm happy to say that my former HAN Network colleague Dan Arestia is joining me for the call and that I'll be a part of the Darien Athletic Foundation (as well as Local Live) tomorrow night.

Thursday brings me back to Mahopac for the (likely) final time for baseball this season, though I'd also love to see Mahopac softball. It's cool to say I was aware of their superstar pitcher Shannon Becker before she became all the rage last week. CBS News has more on Shannon and her "perfect perfect" game.

Friday will possibly take me back to Brunswick or Trumbull for baseball.

There might be something on Saturday, and then?

Well, I hope the FCIACs with Local Live. After that, it's hard to say, though I'm kicking a few tires to see what else.

There's plenty of baseball if people are interested.

June, July, and August (especially August) can be dicey.

And, believe it or not, I'm already chomping at the bit for football schedules.

But I'm getting ahead of myself.

Back here at the nerve center of Exit 55 mayhem, I found myself taking a really active interest in this basketball team called the Knicks. Truth be told, I've been a Knicks fan for roughly 40 years, though it's not the Yankees-level fandom.

They've so ripped my soul that I try to not get too invested in them.

I watched with hope that they'd get the number one pick in the draft lottery tonight.

They got the third pick.

There's still talent at the third pick, so I guess there's hope. New York hardly defines "long-suffering" though you might feel differently if you knew your history around these parts.

Jets: last title, 1969
Knicks: 1973
Nets: Er...they won an ABA title in 1976
Islanders: 1983
Mets: 1986
Rangers: 1994

If you wish to expand further, there are the Buffalo Sabres and Buffalo Bills to include.

The Devils, Giants and the ... ahem ... Yankees have seen a little more recent success, though ten years since the Bombers' last title feels like an eternity.

Anyway, this is sort of a babbling-type of a post. Sorry for that.

The NBA playoffs are on.

The Yankees (who have done a terrible job with weather-related changes) are not.

But the NHL playoffs are on. The Bruins are playing the Hurricanes. Doc and Edzo are on the call.

I'm all set.

Hockey And Stuff

The Brunswick play-by-play ream (Photo courtesy Joe Early)

It's been a rather hectic past couple of months around the Exit 55 lair.

Wait. There's no need to go into details.

No. Really.

So much of my life isn't on Facebook. Or Twitter. Or Instagram. Or Snapchat (I don't really "snap" a lot).

Really, it's not on the blog either. Guess I do keep a few things to myself after all.

Maybe one day I can tell the stories. Maybe by the time I do, they won't matter.

Maybe I'd like to get paid to tell them.

Paid. Hmm.

I digress.

I called two hockey games sandwiched around a recent weekend. On Friday, I handled the call as The Gunnery came to Brunswick. Then on Monday, I called Greenwich and Northwest Catholic.

For the record, Brunswick won on Friday in a good, but otherwise normal game. In the Monday tilt, NWC came back to tie the Cardinals in the third, before their legit star Alex Mozian gave Big Red a 4-3 overtime win.

It was a joy to call the game at Dorothy Hamill Rink. For starters, Greenwich hockey was back on WGCH Radio. Beyond that, I got to laugh and call a game with Paul Silverfarb. Paul and I had much bigger plans for more calls, so now we relish the ones we actually get to do.


Again. Perhaps another blog post for another time.

But it was more. It was being back in our old corner -- right above the office at the Dorothy Hamill Rink. I always enjoy seeing friendly faces, and I was treated well by the Hamill staff, not to mention the people that I know.

Teams evolve, and faces change. What might have been a consistent for 20 years can easily be replaced. It's just how it is. One voice evolves into another, without ever knowing that it happened.

Well this voice -- the one that called Greenwich hockey in regular season games, playoff games, a state championship game, and a few FCIAC championship games -- enjoyed being back in the drivers seat.

"Don't take money. Don't take fame. Don't need no credit card to ride this train." -- said a wise man (OK, so it's Huey Lewis, Chris Hayes, and Johnny Colla).

Now back to Friday. If you follow me on social media, I promoted that I'd have a special guest on the broadcast, and he was indeed special.

Mike Richter. Stanley Cup Champion. New York Rangers goalie.

Mike is a father of a Brunswick player (Tom Richter) and is often at games. However, no matter how many times I saw him (or Martin St. Louis or even Mark Messier), I've left him alone.

Sure, it's cool and all, but I'm just not into harassing these people. They want to see their kids play. Their guards are up (rightfully so). They just want to be dads.

So I would nod or smile or say hello if we caught eyes. Otherwise, that was it. Then the idea was hatched to have Mike and/or Martin join me on the air for a senior day interview.

My friend Joe Early (Brunswick communications guru and all-around good dude) along with athletic director/hockey coach Ron VanBelle made it happen, and the next thing I knew, I was supposed to reach out to Mike Richter.

I emailed him, and the response was immediate.

Yes.

While it was no average broadcast, it became average. It had to. OK, there were times I thought my heart would explode because of the respect I have for his knowledge of the game. My own self-doubt said, "Dude. This guys games were called by Sam Rosen. Marv Albert. Gary Thorne.

"And Doc...freaking...Emrick.

"Let's face I'm a schlub."

Yes. I used those words.

He couldn't have been kinder. He was complimentary of my skills (just as I later reminded Messier also once said the same).

Well, in the end, with lots of prep work, stringing of cables for the Local Live video feed to link with our audio, and the support of good people, we did it.

We laughed, and he seemed to enjoy it. I became "Robbo."

Joe: "You picked up a nickname from a former NHL goalie."

It's just another game. But it was cool.

Cool. That's why I still love calling these games.



Whether it's Brunswick, Greenwich High, Fairfield Prep, Fairfield Ludlowe, Cal Ripken League baseball for the OGRCC, Babe Ruth baseball for Trumbull, the Renegades, Sound Tigers, or anyone else, I love doing it.

Surprisingly, we're just over a year away from the 20th anniversary of my first call as a "paid" sports broadcaster.

Ah, the stories.

We can add this one to the list.

Onto '18

We could use a time machine. The TARDIS will do nicely (plus Peter Capaldi works his way into this post).

I feel like I have more to write tonight.

I probably should.

I will remember 2017. We can look back at all of the bad, but no. Take those as lessons.

Challenges.

Memories.

Inspiration.

But to "keep moving forward," we need to move on.

So let's look at the positive.

We're still here. That's one thing.

I have the best son. I'm crazy proud of him.

We only traveled twice in '17 -- both times to North Carolina, and both within the span of under a month. But it's still twice more than not traveling at all.

I only called 69 games in 2017, but you know what? I had a blast on each game. Sometimes it's not about quantity. I surrounded myself with the best collection of colleagues who are also friends. Chris, Kato, Jake, Dan, Shawn, AJ, Paul, Josh, Ian, Mick. Thank you, all.

I stuck my toe back into college basketball again, and can say I've called Div. I, III, and now II. Plus I survived the snowstorm that day and night, and made it home alive.

I was invited back to call Renegades games. I never thought that would happen.

I've created new relationships, including Fairfield Prep, and furthered my relationship with Brunswick. Plus Babe Ruth Baseball.

The Clubhouse. Mark and Dave.

And Greenwich High football gave us thrills galore. They were really just two points shy (even if the final tally was nine).

My family is my family. We're all still here also.

I have an amazing collection of friends. I can't list them all. They know who they are.

There are people who have my back. I know that.

I also see the truth, and remain truthful to myself. Integrity means something, and that's meant to to be obnoxious. It's one of many virtues that I treasure.

What I'm saying is that there are myriad positives. Let's focus on that.

We'll muddle through the rest of it.

So let's get going with 2018 already.

Incidentally, the Yankees have known great success in years ending in "8." As in 1928, 1938, 1958, 1978, and 1998.

Tonight, I watched Peter Capaldi depart Doctor Who. I waited almost a week, so I could watch it with Sean. Sadly, I knew a few of the surprises. No matter. The experience was wonderful.

Now, Jodie Whittaker, go make the 13th Doctor great. We'll be watching.


The Winter Classic is tomorrow in Queens. That means the Rangers, and Doc Emrick. Perfect.

I'm hopeful for the future, though it's not like life will immediately get easier as soon as we hit midnight.

I'm nervous -- very much so -- that I'm feeling hopeful. But I'll adjust. I love those who survive.

Then thrive.

I'd like to think maybe I'm one after all.

It's all going to take time, and I have to remind myself of that very thing. I can't let a hiccup throw the whole thing off course.

"Hope smiles from the threshold of the year to come, whispering, 'It will be happier.'" --Alfred Lord Tennyson

I wish you all peace and health tonight, tomorrow, and the day after.

And so on.

You don't need a flip of the calendar to do so. Do it now.

Imagine that, indeed.

We know tonight is overrated.

What 2018 will be is unknown.

Let's start finding out.