Catching Up

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I knew that long ago.

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

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

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

Within the past month, things have been swinging.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And people continue to notice these things.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I've got a lot of living to do.

What I Did On My Summer (Non) Vacation

 

The Electric City!

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

Jan 1 is to many people. 

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

And I think Labor Day is one as well.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Nevertheless, we had a great day.

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

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

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

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

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

Again, it has to change.

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

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

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

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

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

But let's dive into September. 

A hopeful fall and winter await.

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

Back From the Bay Break

 

The view at lunch

No, I wasn't tempted.

I took three full days off from writing here. 

Yes, I went to San Francisco but, in reality, I made my decision to take a break long before the plans for this trip were firm.

So I did a 64-hour whirlwind trip to California that included an Irish Coffee at The Buena Vista with a view of the Golden Gate Bridge, visited the three sea lions who elected to be visible at Pier 39, and rode a cable car back to our hotel after an hour wait to get on it.

We got what was supposed to be the go-to pizza in San Francisco (news flash: it wasn't New York. At all.).

We had fantastic Italian food at Sodini's in North Beach.

We saw several Waymo self-driving cars but we never took one. Maybe in 2025. 

Reviewing the conference script

We rocked another Hunt Scanlon conference.

And despite my bag being plucked twice by security, my travel woes were minimal. Overall, I just don't love flying. Especially the sketchy turbulence coming home and the hard-breaking landing upon arrival at JFK yesterday.

But I also slept like a rock, passing out at 9 p.m. (midnight Eastern) on Monday night. I had given my all, up since 3 a.m. in Greenwich and never sleeping on the train. Then we remained active from the moment we got off the plane. Then we stuffed badges and ate the tasty but not New York pizza. All that while we watched Game 3 of the World Series.

No question, I'll treasure watching Game 4 and Anthony Volpe's grand slam while crushing a chicken parm dinner at Sodini's.

I'll always be proud of every conference and this trip was no exception. The team works really hard and I try to be a good face and voice for the day. 

And I keep things on time.

San Francisco is hardly a perfect town but there's a lot about it that fits me, especially their love of sports. And, overall, there were plenty of anti-Dodgers there (not a surprise) so it was nice to have that in common, given I was obviously rooting for the Yankees. 

San Francisco is also a city of hotel protests. Last year, it was our hotel (the Omni). This year, three other hotels had protests. It was pretty interesting to say the least.

Me, Walker, Jack, Leo at dinner

And the team I worked with was the best. Walker, Leo, Sam, and Jack are great colleagues and friends. It was hard work and many laughs. 

As for the World Series, last night was horrific. Horrible. Unacceptable. Arguably the worst Yankees World Series game ever. 

The better team won. Let's be clear. But the errors, missed coverage of first base, catchers interference, etc were just bad. And there's a legion of trolls out there doing their damndest to inflict more pain, led by Mr. Toxic Positivity himself. I'm pretty much ready to just write his name and be done with it but, overall, his followers ignore him.

There reaches a point where you just say "Oh, screw it" and get it all out. I'm there with a few things.

But now it's back to the grind here in Greenwich. Another conference awaits next week and there are games to broadcast and hoops to jump through. 

Lastly, I will say that my reflexes tingled a few times during my break. There were times that I thought, "Oh, that would be a good topic" but didn't give it a second thought. There were also a few times that I needed to remind myself that I didn't need to carve in a window to write.

I'd have to say that. I didn't really miss writing. But, alas, here I am so what does that tell you?

Overall, I didn't miss my computer and was content with my iPad and iPhone for any communication. 

I'm grateful to all of you for your support and kindness about the break and the content here. 

It's nice to be back.

For Lou

 

Lou Gehrig, ca. 1925
(Charles M. Conlon / National Baseball Hall of Fame Library)

Lou Gehrig knew.

It was Sunday, Apr 30, 1939 at Yankee Stadium. Lou, a noted slow starter, was off to a particularly bad beginning. He was hitting just .143 as that Sunday ended in New York. He had only four hits in 28 at-bats. 

Of note, he had no extra base hits and there was no pop as bat hit ball. No power. Nothing.

Throughout the winter of 1938-39, Gehrig was having physical issues. The incredible biography of Lou, Luckiest Man: the Life and Death of Lou Gehrig, written by Jonathan Eig, notes that he had trouble ice skating at Playland Ice Casino in Rye, NY. Gehrig was quite a good skater.

As spring training began, the Iron Horse looked finished. The writers resisted the urge but the whispers had been prevalent. Joe McCarthy protected his star first basemen, focusing on just that: focus.

Gehrig was 35 that spring, coming off a season in which he hit .295 with 29 HRs and 107 RBIs. And those numbers, to be blunt, were pedestrian for Lou, who averaged .340/37/149. To add to that, he had just four hits in fourteen at-bats in the 1938 World Series sweep of the Cubs. He had no extra base hits.

So, eight games into 1939, Lou Gehrig knew it was time.

His streak of consecutive games had become its own thing and while Lou was a man of pride, he was about team first. He played in game number 2,130 that Sunday -- a standard that stood until Sep 1995 -- and went 0-for-4. He lifted a fly ball to center field off of Washington Senators right-hander Pete Appleton and George Case caught it. 

That was his last at-bat in the Major Leagues.

Equally concerning, but perhaps more galling to the Iron Horse, Buddy Myer hit a grounder to the right side in the top of the ninth inning. Gehrig played it but couldn't move with the speed, agility, and grace that he had demonstrated since 1925. Instead, he flipped it to pitcher Johnny Murphy, who recorded the out. Gehrig's teammates offered support that made him note that he was receiving pity.

Following an off day, the Yankees checked into the Book-Cadillac Hotel in Detroit. Gehrig asked to meet with Yankees manager Joe McCarthy in private. Gehrig told the skipper that he wanted to be taken out of the lineup. He said he was doing it for the good of the team.

McCarthy made sure that was what Gehrig wanted and Lou confirmed it.

The streak, his career, and in some ways, Lou Gehrig's life, came to an end on May 2, 1939, in Detroit. Gehrig, of course, would be diagnosed with ALS -- Amyotrophic Lateral Sclerosis -- in June at the Mayo Clinic. He would receive his "day" and offer baseball's Gettysburg Address on July 4, telling the world he was "the luckiest man on the face of the earth."

Gehrig would stay as a part of the Yankees through their World Series run in 1939 and later became a New York City parole commissioner under Mayor Fiorello La Guardia. He died on June 2, 1941, at 10:10 p.m. He was just 17 days shy of his 38th birthday.

In September 1995, Cal Ripken Jr broke Lou's consecutive game record. It was celebrated around the world justifiably though I admittedly struggled with it as a Lou Gehrig fan. Only life and death stopped Gehrig and I always wished Cal would stop at 2,129 games or tie the record. Unrealistic as that sounds, I still watched it and appreciated Ripken.

Today -- Oct 27, 2024 -- is the two-thousand, one-hundred twenty-ninth consecutive post in my own streak, "#Project365." It is a day that I have marked, privately, for over a year. 

Today is the final day of that streak. As fate would have it, I'm flying to San Francisco tomorrow for a Hunt Scanlon Conference. For the first time in years, my computer is staying home. I'll have an iPad and iPhone with me but I have no intention of writing.

It's time. I need a break. I feel incredibly guilty keeping this from my closest supporters, especially Susan, who kept pushing me to keep this going every time I struggled with a topic or the energy to create one more mundane post.

And that's just it. The words stopped having the meaning I wanted them to have. The comments -- the supporters -- became the same. I'm beyond grateful for Susan and Shawn and every person who backed me on this journey, and it's not over. I'm not ending "Exit 55" today. I'm just going back to writing when I want, as opposed to it being something I had to do.

I had thought about doing a daily post for years and, with the blog hovering on extinction, wrote two posts to wrap up 2018. Then John Nash said he was going to do a post-per-day and challenged me to keep up. I didn't stop for nearly six years. I wrote in London, San Francisco, Florida, Buffalo, Pittsburgh, North Carolina, and basically everywhere in between. I wrote most of it in New York and Connecticut.

I wrote in parking lots and arenas and libraries and houses. I wrote in trailers and hotel rooms and lobbies. 

I wrote while stuck in traffic on my phone, afraid I wouldn't get home in time to publish the post.

I adjusted as necessary to the clock, writing after midnight in the east but physically in California, and thus within the boundaries of writing every day. 

I gave my all. I laughed, cried, grieved, yelled, and offered as much as I could in the hope of not crossing a line.

And, sometimes, I crossed the line. I detest how much a few situations bled into this page. Damn me for letting the bastards get me down. But I suppose that's simply who I am and all I can do is live and learn.

I feel at a crossroads. A bit depleted. A bit broken. And yet hopeful but knowing I also need change.

And I need to take better care of myself. Physically and mentally.

This post has been rolling in my brain for a year. I knew the picture I would use -- Charles Conlon's fabulous shot of Gehrig taken circa 1925. It shows his innocence, his intensity, hit eyes wide-open view.

I'm not Lou Gehrig. I'm not Cal Ripken Jr. 

I'm a junior, sure. Named after my beloved father. But I'm not an athlete or anyone special. I'm a guy who talks and decided to try writing one day. Those words are all here, via thousands of posts since 2006.

It didn't take over a decade to compile a streak. It took almost six years of setting time aside. There was nothing physical -- I'm in no shape at all compared to Gehrig and Ripken -- save for the fingers to type.  It was more mental than anything.

The better posts hit me in my soul. They might cause me a hint of emotion. There hasn't been enough of that lately or, frankly, the statistics to convince me that the quality was worth continuing.

So give me tomorrow. Maybe until I get home on Wednesday. Maybe I'll have thoughts about San Francisco.

And don't think -- for a second -- that this is me hiding from the World Series. It happens. Baseball has been at the forefront of my life but it's not all that I am. I'm very proud of being called a Renaissance Man, meaning I have a varied and diverse life. 

That's what I've tried to reflect here.

After 2,129 posts, I'm doing what Cal Ripken didn't do. 

I'm taking a break. In good conscience, I couldn't pass the Iron Horse.

Tomorrow is Rob Adams's Day Off, though Cameron and Sloane won't be piling into the 1961 Ferrari 250 GT California to drive around Chicago. Instead, I'm leaving Greenwich to fly from JFK to San Francisco. I'll be free of the pressure to write.

I stuck to my belief that I would stop today. I had it marked on my calendar. It's just time. ALS isn't stopping me. I'm stopping me.

Mom was still alive when this started and Chico was our cat. They're both gone but Rascal is here and Sean, of course, is Sean.

I'll be back and I know that, unlike an airport, I don't need to announce my departure.

But I'm announcing this one.

For Lou.

Back to College

 

If there's one thing I could say about my resume, it's that it is rather diverse.

Tonight, we can add "college soccer announcer." I called the matchup between Albright College and DeSales University in Center Valley, PA on MACtv.

It was a day that wouldn't qualify as a big money maker. There was lunch, dinner, gas, tolls, and so on.

But it was a day of building relationships and enjoying experiences.

With a two-hour drive ahead of us, we got on the road to Pennsylvania a little after 10 a.m. It was just after Noon when we walked into Waffle House for our breakfast for lunch."=

We walked out happily fed and went to a nearby Sheetz to pick up drinks for the game.

We were, frankly, early for the 3:30 start of the game. Very early. Even with a road closed on our drive, we were still on site two hours before game time. That normally doesn't bother me at all, especially when it's just me, but Sean was with me and, well, there was no one at the field.

We had time to waste.

The field itself was simple. There were scoreboards in each corner and bleachers across from the benches. A small shelter served as a scorer's table. Two shelters were in place for each team. The broadcast booth was a small metal platform with a set of stairs up to it. It was stable and had a weatherproof cover on it.

There was enough room for three people, with me, a cameraman, and a person running the computer and the graphics. But, to be clear, I had to stand behind the crew to call the action, which sounds worse than it was.

In fact, I had almost no problem with the view at all. My computer, however, wouldn't be used, thus I couldn't integrate Robcasting nor could I use it for research.

Instead, I relied on my phone. A lot. I also put the rosters into my binder and just held onto that. I had no table space to work with.

It was different. But it worked really well. Or maybe I should cut myself some credit and say I made it work really well. 

As I called the game from the tower, I couldn't help but notice the baseball stadium across the street. Will I get to come back and call some DeSales University Bulldogs baseball? I would say don't count that out. I made it clear I'd be very interested in that.

It seemed the university was pleased with my work today. I likely won't do any winter sports there, which always raises the competitor in me, but calling baseball there next spring would be a blast.

Before the game, Sean and I walked into the university center and found the Campus Store where I pondered various sweatshirts and other items. I think I've decided that moving forward, any school wishing to hire me should have to throw some swag into the deal. Am I serious? Semi. What would it hurt to be given a sweatshirt, polo shirt, or a nice pullover? Heck, I'm there as your broadcaster, so why not outfit me?

Besides, like the Manning brothers, I'm a sucker for a quarter-zip.

In this case, I looked at everything and decided I would only get something once I was asked to come back. I figured, at that point, there would be a relationship. Either way, I'd be proud to wear their stuff.

For the record, I've already been asked to come back but no date has been set.

While in the University Center, we also found WDSR, the campus radio station. The small studio had a tinted window with equipment inside and, while nobody was at the controls, I just liked seeing that a station existed.

With DeSales' 2-0 victory complete, I climbed down the stairs from the tower (which wasn't that high) and headed back to the car where Sean was waiting.

A nearby Wawa was our dinner place. 

The drive took a bit longer on the return trip thanks to some ill-timed construction on I-78 in New Jersey but we made it home and considered the day a big success.

A four-hour round trip isn't necessarily ideal but I think it can be done occasionally. 

And it gets me back to doing some college sports. 

We felt like we were welcomed to their campus and the experience was good.

I'm listening to the audio right now at home and I'm mostly content with the broadcast. It was my first soccer call in roughly a year and I know there was some rust but I'd like to think the audience enjoyed it.

So, yes, let's do it again.

The "E" is For Enjoyable

 

Vermont building at The Big E (@TheBigEFair on X)

I chose to honor tradition and be good to myself today.

While we're watching costs during this time, I'm being very cautious about everything.

That being said, Sean and I went to The Big E today. The event is a large fair that I went to annually for roughly 20 years. But as life changed I backed away from it. Every fall I'd glance towards it, decide it wasn't something I needed to do, and figured that part of my life might be over.

Then Sean and I went a few years ago and the magic was still there. Plus, Sean and I do things our way.

We go, do what we want, and leave. We don't tend to linger.

While the fair is huge, we were in and out in just over three hours. 

We are fairly predictable in our routine. We go to the state houses, pick up maple cream cones in Vermont, look at everything, and think about what we want to come back to.

Then we walk the rest of the fair.

Some years, things grab us. Some years, they just don't. This was a year where we were content to just walk.

And walk. 

We saw everything.

We grabbed food here and there, with a bacon cheeseburger on a waffle being a big winner outside the Massachusetts house. We grabbed cider donuts in Vermont and he had a whoopie pie in Maine.

And, of course, the maple cones in Vermont. This is when Sean normally makes fun of my love of maple. He also makes fun of my habit of picking up road maps and other literature, which I had traditionally put in a backpack I carried all day.

Today, I did not carry one. I allowed myself exactly one map, from Maine. Because I do love that state.

Each New England state has its own state house and they are, in fact, extensions of their state or commonwealth. In Connecticut, for instance, the beer stand couldn't open until 11 a.m.

So, if we were ranking each of the houses for the content of each, I'm guessing we'd go like this:

- Vermont (maple, Ben & Jerry's, though points lost because the wood-fired pizza we used to eat is gone)

- Massachusetts (good cross-section of items, though points deducted for Boston sports)

- Maine (the Maine potato and the whoopie pies)

- Rhode Island (a solid selection of seafood items, Del's lemonade, and a candy stand)

- New Hampshire (it's sort of a house of "meh")

- Connecticut (it's a train wreck, quite honestly, plus their desperate need for attention -- see picture)

Yeah. This.
Maybe spend money on fixing roads and not on pithy signs?

They're all great to walk through but it's certainly a variety of wares to purchase, some displays to look at, and a whole lot of foot traffic.

We did nothing extravagant. We gassed up the car, paid for parking and admission, got our food, and made a grocery store stop on the way home.

So, for what it's worth, it was a reasonable day. But it also gave us a chance to walk around and just talk. He is always playing his Pokémon GO game and I'm a willing participant in helping him however possible, even if normally by walking to a certain place. I understand none of it but I try to help.

The day also allowed me some time to check out and think a bit. It will be a busy week.

And, as for the ride home, allow me to once again say that Connecticut can afford signs that trumpet things unnecessarily, but can't do anything about the roads in the state. It should not have taken us nearly three hours to get home from just outside Springfield, MA.

I-95. Merritt Parkway. Wilbur Cross Parkway. I-84. I-91. It doesn't matter. All had some form of slowdown.

This is in addition to the 45 minutes to drive the last mile to where we parked for the fair.

That's more than enough.

But if the fates allow, we'll do it all over again next year.

Let the Photos Only Resurrect Good Vibes

 

A small part of every day is spent with an app called Timehop.

It pulls together memories from various parts of my social media footprint and presents them in a clean, concise order.

This morning, the collection included snaps from a getaway to Maine in 2004. Sean and I drove up along with his mother and my mother.

The thing about that is life forces you to process such memories. Yes, my ex-wife was in the passenger seat for that trip and you have to assess that. In this case, I don't have anything good or bad to say. She was there. That's it.

I don't recall anything particularly positive or negative pertaining to her.

I've learned to accept the reality that who I traveled with mattered for the purposes of chemistry and, to an extent, survival, but their presence can indeed be swept aside.

It's not preferable but it's better than wishing none of it had ever happened.

Instead, it's a reminder of Sean and I hanging out.

It's also a reminder of the bond between Sean and my mother.

I always liked Maine from the very first time I visited it in 1994. It just felt comfortable. I liked driving there. I liked the shopping, especially walking around Freeport. I liked the New England charm.

I think it should say "Home of John Nash" at the state line but I digress.

I haven't been in nearly two decades and I think about driving back up there often, especially to complete that portion of Interstate 95 to the Canadian border. Our trips there didn't have much time to drive over three hours to the border, just to turn around and come back.

Now, on my own, I could do such a thing but I need the wheels and the money to allow that kind of trip.

I also need good weather as I don't recommend doing such a thing in winter. I've been trapped in Freeport a few times due to snow and it's a lovely town. I'd rather not be trapped on 95 out past, say, Bangor.

In fact, there were times when we -- yes, this is crazy -- day-tripped from Mahopac to Freeport. Admittedly, I'd be begging my ex for a hotel on the way back because I was exhausted and always got shot down. 

If you've ever driven I-495 in Massachusetts, it gets a little boring after a while.

But as I looked through these pictures this morning, I was immediately grabbed by the one at the top of the post.

That's always been a favorite of mine. Sean was always a trooper when doing stuff but, let's be honest, he was two in this picture and he needed a break. He and I stepped away from the occasional monotony of shopping* and he sat on the rocks to watch the fish in the in-store pond. 

*Seriously, there were stores he would complain about going to, especially with his mother. The Gap was one of them. Daddy, he learned, walked in, looked around, and walked out. I'm a quick browser.

Anyway, I took his picture next to the pond and although I don't think he was actually feeling well, he was his usual smiley boy for me. His hand curled around his sippy cup in his look of a polo shirt and khaki cargo shorts. He was almost a stereotype at that moment.

But he was happy and I was relaxed. It can only be described as a nice moment as we no doubt talked about the fish, with me likely making up some story about the fish and how they were behaving.

I know I've told you the story of walking to LL Bean from a nearby inn where I was staying just a few years after this picture was taken. Oh, yeah, it was in a driving snowstorm at four in the morning and it's a favorite memory of mine. Seeing this picture of Sean reminded me of that.

In this case, it was a very warm day in August.

The other picture that stuck out to me was one of two numbered road signs.

I was most definitely taking a picture of the I-295 and US 1 signs but I liked that Mom was walking Sean in his stroller at the same time. I saw it as a slice-of-life shot.

My mother often used strollers and grocery carts to lean on as she aged, feeling that it was comfortable for her, especially in her latter years when she didn't want to use a cane. Plus this gave her a way to spend time with her grandchildren.

In this case, she's still getting around pretty well and looks good as she makes her way down the incline on Bow St. 

Sean, of course, is nonplussed, sipping away on whatever beverage has been prepared for him. He wasn't always just an orange juice man, preferring a nice 2004 milk or water or perhaps some other time of juice.

I'm sure I came away from this quest with some wares though I don't remember what. I recall I used to find some good bargains at various stores in both Freeport and Kittery but LL Bean was always the star for me. 

If we stayed anywhere on this trip, and we did, it was down near Portland as hotels and inns in Freeport were too pricey for us. I think, as I said, Sean wasn't feeling well, and, believe it or not, I was having a hard time finding the hotel I had booked in Portland.

Sean, by that point, melted down, repeatedly saying he wanted to go to the hotel. Repeatedly. That lasted for some time as I tried to figure out my mistake.

Yes, I couldn't find the blasted place. Keep in mind that our other hotel of that era was in South Portland, a few miles away and in a totally different area. I think it was sold out.

The takeaways from this post are missing the sweet memories of my son, missing the presence of my mom, and how much I love to travel. The pictures, of course, are keepsakes of the time.

And that's how you parse those memories.

And maybe it's time to get back to Maine.

Washed Out and Yet They Played

 

CT Route 34 near Lake Zoar (Photo: Dawn Schmedlin)

I woke up to rain.

A lot of rain.

It poured. Bad.

The yard next to us flooded to the point that there was a lake created in their backyard.

But, duty called, and we had to go.

First up was "Meet the Beatles" though walking to WGCH wasn't an option. I made the short drive and did the show.

I didn't rush home, thinking that we might not head to Dutchess County for the Renegades game.

Oh, I was quite wrong about that. We left a little after 11 a.m.

The plan was to work our way down to I-95 and then eventually to the Taconic State Parkway.

As we approached Railroad Ave, I noticed flashing lights and a police officer in the middle of the intersection. He waved me through but then I noticed the traffic.

It headed towards Hamilton Ave -- a two-lane road and it was bumper to bumper.

A moment later, I reached the entrance to I-95 South, where I found a Greenwich police cruiser blocking the entrance.

Road closed.

I adjusted and took us back past WGCH and literally back to our front door. We continued on, left Greenwich via Glenville, and jumped on I-684.

It poured as we drove. It didn't seem possible -- or even probable -- that there would be baseball at Heritage Financial Park today.

Passing Purdy's on 684, I noticed a lot of cars exiting at Exit 7. My immediate reaction was, "Oh no."

I saw the same as we approached Croton Falls and Exit 8.

That told me that the last stretch up to I-84 would be bumper to bumper and it was.

Somehow, we survived the traffic started west on 84. Coming down Stormville Mountain, as we got close to the intersection with the Taconic State Parkway, I saw flashing lights.

We were up against the clock in our effort to get to the stadium in time for our call time and it would be thwarted by a car off in the trees on the left side of the westbound lanes.

Quickly, thoughts moved from being on time to being safe. How anyone survived that accident is beyond my pay grade.

We reached the stadium literally on time for the meeting, and I snuck into the booth to catch up.

We also grabbed some lunch before the game.

Somehow there was a window for the Renegades and Crawdads to play, and they did so without a drop of rain. In fact, there were even stretches of sunshine.

I'm fascinated by such decision-making, and I'd love to sit in on the process to understand how it all works. I know everyone tries to be smart and safe about these things. 

But, in the end, there was nothing to talk about. Our drive was interesting and I had no idea what I was going back to but it had no concern whatsoever on the baseball game.

The game happened, we had fun in the booth and wrapped things up. The Renegades lost a close game and they'll back to it in the stretch run of the playoff race on Tuesday night.

As we got ready to leave, we watched as baseball and softball players from Bhutan -- yes, seriously -- started taking batting practice long after the crowd had filed out.

Once again, the great game of baseball bonds us all.

The drive home lacked much drama, and we came home to peace and quiet. Thankfully, things are dry here for us but there are many dealing with headaches all over Connecticut.

I've seen pictures and videos from Wilton, Ridgefield, Redding, Newtown, and Southbury. Part of Connecticut Route 34 -- a main thoroughfare from Newtown to New Haven -- had washed out in a few places. For reference, I used 34 on my daily drive from Mahopac to Newotown back in the HAN Network days.

There will be massive headaches as the work week begins tomorrow.

Accidents on 95 caused the road to be closed earlier today.

The biggest concern is health and I hope everyone is safe.

Back Home

Holiday Inn Express, Warwick, RI (Photo: IHG)

People were milling around the lobby of the hotel last night when I decided to slip out.

We'd had a nice dinner of wings, nachos, and other kid-friendly finger foods, and I was tired.

Some began to head outside to play Kan Jam, while the No Fun Policeman was yelling at people.

Seriously, this dude was clearly the captain of the Holiday Inn Express & Suites Warwick-Providence (Airport) No Fun Police.

He only needed a badge.

Let's see, beers needed to be consumed in a cup.

Kids were constantly being lectured about the furniture. OK, granted, they shouldn't be climbing on it, but one would think he'd have some better things to do.

I'm sure there was a judgment on our having food in the area in which people tend to, you know, eat.

In short, his constant presence and observation of us got exhausting. If I didn't just leave and head for home, I figured the best I could do was to go to bed.

I knew if I continued to sit there, I'd say something to him, either causing embarrassment or getting thrown out. Or both.

Given we almost got thrown out of the baseball game earlier, I opted to remain silent. To be clear, the umpires ultimately didn't have a problem with me or our broadcast but they objected to fans complaining about ball-strike calls (which were frankly bad). Incidentally, develop some rabbit ears and let it go. Ejecting people in the first inning wouldn't be necessary. In any event, it calmed down.

So, with sunburned arms and neck from yesterday, I disappeared and went to bed.

Saying goodbye to everyone is difficult when the season ends and people disperse kind of quickly. To that end, I was in the lobby before 7 a.m. The NFP were thankfully nowhere to be found. 

I'm also terrible at goodbyes.

So I grabbed a quick breakfast and departed Rhode Island.

I simply can't thank everyone enough. Heck, Mike Buswell and Bob Gerbert were trying to convince me to join them on vacation to say thank you for the broadcasts. In truth, I thank them for everything.

No, I don't get rich doing these games, but I feel loved and appreciated. Thus the honor is mine.

They gave me a place to stay, fed me, and fully supported the broadcasts.

While I can't root on the air, my heart always hurts when a season comes to an end, as it did with Trumbull falling to Rhode Island yesterday. It breaks my heart to watch the players and parents cry. I feel for the coaches who agonize over the decisions. 

But sports is winning and losing. And there are wonderful lessons to be learned. Trumbull is too good. They'll be back (and maybe I'll be there with them).

Today's East Regional Championship was moved to Noon and I decided I was just going home. In truth, had anyone asked me to stay and call the championship, you can bet that I would have.

Instead, I was home by 9:30. I had laundry running by 10.

The Cat has been next to me the entire time since I walked in.

Sean is on the way home from South Carolina so I'll have to go meet him and his friends in a bit.

With that, travel is over for now. I've pondered a day trip before high school football season but we'll see how realistic that is.

A lot of things are on my plate this week, so I'll be busy here. Of course, the week begins with a very expensive fuel pump replacement on Monday morning.

Then it's back to the Renegades, "Doubleheader," and so on. 

I didn't expect this journey to happen.

I'm glad it did.

And I'm already looking forward to 2025.

Focus on the Cat

He was in the middle of a meow

I was going to write about something a bit serious.

Something that's bothering me.

But, here's the thing. Hang in there with me for a moment.

I've made the mistake -- too many times -- of coming to this space to write such things. The mistake is that I write, treating this as a safe space. 

When I've needed to blow off steam.

When I just have to yell a bit.

I'm not even necessarily writing to be seen. I'm not looking for attention. It's just that I need to say it.

And people -- well-meaning, I know -- give me the ol' "everything will be fine" when I've literally asked to not receive that.

So, this time, I'm not doing it. I'm fine. All is well. If I need to write about such things, I'll do a private diary or seek therapy.

Oh, wait. I don't have nor can I afford benefits.

Shall I tell you about the latest form letter kiss-off I received? Nah. Let it go, right?

So, instead, it's International Cat Day and I'm here in Rhode Island with the Trumbull baseball families who have welcomed me as one of their own. A mom told me last night that she thinks we'll all be spending the next few summers together.

I shouldn't make vacation plans.

And it's weird to not be broadcasting every game of the tournament but it seems only Trumbull cares about if the games have coverage. That's sort of sad but I think it's just a matter of the other teams not knowing they can have coverage. Only people from Braintree, MA inquired about us.

So, yes, International Cat Day it is. I'm sure our Rascal Squeaky is back home, chilling on my bed or on my floor as the temperature has come down from the flaming numbers we've had for a few weeks.

It's quite cool actually. I'm pleased I brought a hoodie and a windbreaker. 

We are quite grateful for The Cat, who has provided us with companionship and pet therapy since joining us nearly four years ago.

Maybe I should talk about things to him.

Anyway, Trumbull plays a team from New Hampshire today at 5 p.m. They are 3-for-3 in wins of 10+ runs or more.

I need to go find some lunch before the game.

I took a ride to Newport this morning. It was crowded and too expensive to park and their bridges can bit white-knuckling. 

And that's all I have to say about that.

Mount Hope Bridge coming out of Bristol this morning

Trumbull Wins ... I Lose

 

See the blue poncho? That was today's "booth."

We try.

Oh, we try hard every time.

And I go through the safety checks.

Is this plugged into that? Is the whatchamacallit connected to the doohickey?

In truth, is the mixer making the connection with the computer? Does the computer have enough battery strength? Are the microphones loud enough? Are we on the air?

Most of the time, it is. And it all works.

But a little bad weather can impact everything.

On the plus side of this tale, Trumbull is now 3-0 in the Little League 10U East Regional. They roared past Colchester, VT today 10-0. I was happy to be back on the call in Cranston, RI.

OK, first things first. I missed breakfast at the hotel and, well, I wound up at McDonald's. I'm not proud of that fact, to be clear. I'll try to do better tomorrow, but Sean and I texted each other about this. He's in the land of Waffle House and I'm not.

There's an IHOP near our hotel. So there's that.

But, breakfast procured, I took a walk around the Warwick Mall to stretch my legs and get a little exercise.

Then, it was onto the field.

We're going to battle rain all week, and the game that was supposed to be played at 11 this morning was moved to 1 p.m. due to heavy rain last night.

The crew at the park was still mowing and preparing the field as I walked over.

Soon, I was set up, using the Apache hard-sided case to keep the equipment dry.

Bob Gerbert was a surprise at the field and was able to join me for the broadcast. Only minutes earlier, I thought I'd be "Scullying" the call (aka working solo).

All seemed set. I passed our audio to Chris Anderson for the Gamechanger broadcast feed.

Yes, all was well. The internet signal was good and Mixlr had our audio.

A steady rain fell so I had to close the case to keep things dry. We went live as I played the opening music and aired the live feed of the lineup introductions.

Following the national anthem, I adjusted the volume, began talking, and closed the Apache case.

And, in the process, I must have closed the computer, thus taking us off the air on Robcasting.

I had no idea.

Of course, Gamechanger had the audience and I gather we could be heard loud and clear. But it took me reopening the case to check on things to make the discovery and get back on Robcasting.

The audio -- now archived -- has some of our audio but then there's a short gap before it picks up again later on.

I'll own the mistake and live and learn from it. I don't have an engineer to monitor the feed.

The weather and the setup of the fields don't make using the pod possible. It would block the view of someone and people don't take too kindly to that.

There is simply no opportunity to be in the "press" (ha ha ha) box.

So we'll adjust. We'll live and learn.

If you want to hear the full broadcast from today, you'll need to go to Gamechanger. 

If you want what we were able to record, it's in the Robcasting archive.

Tomorrow is another day.

And Right Back to RI

 

"Wait. You interrupted your trip to Rhode Island to teach?"

It was as if he was surprised. If this person truly knew me, it wouldn't be a shock.

"Yeah. I mean, I made the commitment, and I know how much we switch things around. I didn't want to do that again so I dealt with it."

Getting on the same page with me when it comes to my schedule is quite a trick. There's baseball, depositions, the Renegades, "Doubleheader," and whatever else. I wish it wasn't like that (as in having a home base, aka #HireRob) but it comes down to weighing all of the options and doing right by my commitments.

I'd already changed my dates with CSB so I honored the commitment and held classes yesterday and today. As I wrote last night, it gave me the chance to run home, see The Cat, etc.

So, yes, I have made it back to the hotel where I am happy to see my key still works.

But, wow, the temperature has dropped as the weather gets uglier. It's in the low 70s and I actually have a sweatshirt ready if necessary.

I want to like the drive from Stratford to here but it's just too much traffic on I-95 for only two lanes, especially when a lane was closed. Unfortunately, traffic doesn't flow. So, mix that together and it makes for a grind to the RI border.

Ever fascinated, I stopped by the memorial to those lost in a massive fire at the Station nightclub on Feb 20, 2003. One hundred lives were lost 230 more were injured when a pyrotechnic display ignited flammable acoustic foam in the walls and ceilings surrounding the stage. Jack Russell's Great White was getting ready to perform at the club in West Warwick.

The park was dedicated in 2017 and each victim is lovingly remembered with personal memorials. I remember when the fire occurred and I was honored to pay my respects today before moving on to the hotel. What struck me was how many of the victims were in the same age range as me.

Sad. All of it. May they rest in peace. It is said many survivors have dealt with post-traumatic stress since.

I'm back in my room now and the weather is quite gray as we keep our eye on Tropical Storm Debby, who is cruising up the east coast.

I've heard from Sean in Myrtle Beach and he is fine, if somewhat wet I suppose. Rain has been intense but, at last check, he was sending me pictures of Steelers items in stores down there. I'm happy to see each picture, serving as an indication of all being well.

I've also texted with Kristy, my niece in North Carolina, who said the rain is heavy as she had to drive to Raleigh. She said the storm was notable but they were OK.

I'll take those answers.

Of course, it's worth noting that it's supposed to eventually reach Greenwich (you know, there's a cat there) and, well, Rhode Island, where there's a baseball tournament to be played. I'm happily not in the shoes of those running the Little League tournament here who have to make decisions based on the weather.

I want what's best for the kids.

And these Trumbull kids are playing outstanding baseball. Their next game is tomorrow morning at 11* against a team from Vermont. Weather permitting the game will air on Robcasting and Gamechanger.

I have plenty of things to keep the equipment (hopefully) dry.

(*Update: Here we go with the weather. Tomorrow's game has been backed up from 11:00 am to 1:00 pm due to overnight rain)

We Interrupt This Baseball Trip to Return Home

 

Not a sign I wanted to see

I honored my commitment today.

As I usually do. 

It's sort of one of my better qualities.

I was up and out of the hotel by 7:30 and on my way from Rhode Island back to Connecticut. I probably should have left a little earlier but it didn't worry me.

The hotel breakfast didn't do it for me this morning so I hit the road hoping for something better. Good lord, people, but where do you go?

In my case, I opted for the golden arches. Short-staffed as they were, I had a suitable Egg McMuffin that was too small and a coffee. But people were getting impatient as they waited. I just look at my phone.

And I tweet about customers helping themselves to a soda cup by walking behind the counter.

Fighting the inconsistent speeds on 95, I made it to Stratford with time to spare before class began at 10.

Teaching is the usual. It's a new group so the stories, videos, and sound bites are fresh to them. I tell them all, doing my best to assure them that I'm not a brag or a name-dropper. The idea is to recognize that you too can interview the players you've admired and broadcast their games.

It takes a lot of things. Fate, hard work, connections, some luck, and other factors help achieve those goals. Talent? It's overrated!

Honestly, does talent win out? I don't think it does.

But it also takes trust in the people who are guiding you along that road.

And making sure you're not being taken advantage of by "mentors."

Class was over shortly after 1:30 and I buzzed from Stratford to Fairfield to make keys for my sister to visit Rascal later in the week. I also grabbed lunch.

Then I came home, emptied the car out, and got to work on a small load of laundry before I hosted "Doubleheader." Oh, yeah, and The Cat was waiting.

With laundry done, I took it mostly easy.

The great shame is that Trumbull played back in Rhode Island tonight, and the game was on the Gamechanger app. The problem -- thus, the shame -- is that you can't watch it if you don't have a subscription. 

I was tempted -- yes, indeed -- to try calling the game from home off the Gamechanger feed. I mean, why not?

But, alas, I do not have a subscription, so I got scoring updates and that was it. The final was a 17-4 for Trumbull over the team from North Providence, RI.

This Trumbull is scary good. They play smart, fundamental baseball.

Tomorrow is their off day so they can enjoy themselves. The hotel has a pool and there are some things to do in the Providence area. The beaches are nearby, Newport is a great town, and a day trip to Boston is possible.

Me?

Oh, I'll be teaching again. The students are good and they're nice and that matters. It gets my grumbling quickly into the background. They deserve my best regardless of whatever circumstances in life so I gave them my all today and I'll do the same tomorrow.

As soon as class is over, I'll get right back in the car and return to Rhode Island, perhaps stopping for lunch if I can find anything to eat.

The next broadcast is Wednesday morning at 11 a.m.

Today is the 103rd anniversary of the first baseball broadcast as Harold Arlin called the Pirates/Phillies game on KDKA. The Pirates won 8-5 and the broadcast was rudimentary but successful. Arlin called tennis the next day and college football that fall before doing boxing.

Sports play-by-play was officially underway, beginning on Aug 5, 1921.

As always, a tip of the headset to Mr. Arlin.

Host With a Certain Level of Most

 

On the field in the 94 jersey
(Photo: Mike "Clicks" Newell)

WARWICK, RI -- Sometimes, crazy plans turn out just fine.

Yes, first of all, I made it to Rhode Island, after Mother Nature (remember, it's not nice to fool her) did her best to thwart all efforts.

Let's return to yesterday, shall we? 

I was packed, and ready, said farewell to Rascal (The Cat), and hit the road to work with Rascal (The Mascot). I stopped and picked up water and seltzer for the hotel room (and, let's face it, I'll drink it at home). I grabbed lunch and then went to Heritage Financial Park.

In the end, was I nervous for my first time as the on-field host? Sure, but it wasn't paralyzing. I probably looked more anxious than I actually was. I'm certain I looked clueless, especially to the group of interns on the Fun Team that I'd be around all night.

Jamie Goerke, Manager, Game Day Promotions & Programming, was the rock star for me. She was supportive and patient with me all night, and I couldn't have asked for more. 

But, as I said, Mother Nature did some damage to the evening, bringing us a delay that resulted in the first pitch being thrown two hours later than scheduled.

So, I hung out. I walked to the PA booth. I walked down and talked to Lori. I stepped onto the field a few times, including making a brief opening statement that, for some reason, brought applause.

I chatted with fans. 

I walked. Walked. And Walked.

Call it a form of pacing.

I was mixed about playing as the rain fell. If we didn't, I'd lose that first try at hosting but could head to Rhode Island at a reasonable hour.

And Mike Buswell was asking for my ETA (Narrator: it would be late).

But, alas, the decision was made to play. I asked if I should make an announcement, headed to the field, and ... play-by-play announcer (and fill-in on PA) Joe Vasile did the honors. OK. There's that.

I grumbled about communication and carried on.

Oh, and keep in mind that Sean (aka "Junior") wasn't there.

Screenshot from the game broadcast

Eventually, we got down to the real business of the night. I just had to be me. I was passionate and energetic and excited. At times, I worked in some sarcasm.

I made sure to shout out Joe and Clicks and Anthony and Rass.

I chatted with contestants for the games.

I talked with fans.

What can I do better? I screwed up one of the intros, skipping a name on the lineup card (Lori said I made up for it well). I was too slow on a few games and I'll get better timing down.

I'll also learn how to shoot a T-shirt gun eventually.

But, more than anything, I'll continue to relax and let more of the sarcasm come out.

Energy in a crowd dissipates on a night of weather delays. People leave and things thin out. But those who stay are the troopers and are fantastic. Those are the fans I played to. I've learned from years of conference and event hosting to find friendly faces in the crowd and work with them.

When it was over, I walked back out to the field and said a final goodnight. As always, I shouted out the team I worked with, especially the crew in the PA booth.

First, I made sure the crowd cheered the Renegades for their win and, always promoted, reminded fans to come back for Sunday's game.

"For, Anthony, Clicks, Joe, and Rass, I'm Rob Adams. Get home safe everyone, and good night!"

With that, there was applause. Cheers. People calling my name.

And, from what I heard, there might be a second chance to do this again.

I got to see things from a different angle. I was able to watch the faces of the fans, the throwing of the T-shirts, the interaction with the mascots, and occasionally, the game itself. I was even able to break into some goofy play-by-play of the on-field games, like Tic-Tac-Toe.

(Photo: Clicks)

As opposed to what I usually do, this is pure entertainment, and more than anything, it's about making people smile and be happy they're there.

I'd like to think I did that. It's a level of customer service, such as assuaging concerns over the rain.

I walked with Lori to her car after the game, said goodnight, and began the trip to Rhode Island. More than anything, I tried to not think about it too much. The only thing that occurred to me was that I was hungry.

I just drove, focusing on the road and the still-falling rain.

And I found an open McDonald's in Middletown, CT that I ran into near 11:30.

From there, the race was on. All along, Waze told me I'd get to the hotel at 12:45 a.m.

Yup. I pulled off I-95, into the parking lot of this Holiday In Express, and joined Mike and company.

Beverages were waiting. I didn't even go to my room until nearly 2 a.m.

With that, I've shifted right back into broadcaster mode. People from Braintree, MA -- Trumbull's opponent today -- are excited that I'm here.

Oh, my body is sore and I know I could use some sleep. And for the last 28 weeks, I've created new episodes of "Meet the Beatles." Today, for the first time, I let a show rerun. It's summer, people are away, and I gave myself a break. A new episode will air next week. I already know the topic.

But for today, it's time to play ball and put the headset back on. I'm told other teams are interested in hearing me.

Bring it on.

Blood, Sweat, and Tears...But Mostly Sweat

 

Water...seltzer...anything to stay hydrated

I walked into WGCH today and stopped to chat with two of my colleagues.

"You look like you've lost weight," one of them said.

I'm never comfortable with weight talk though I'm hardly immune to it. There's no question I've struggled, especially over the last few years post-COVID. We can downplay what happened, the shots, the masks, etc, but there was a mental, emotional, and physical impact that can't be ignored.

And that's where I come in. There was food during the many lows of that time.

But if I've shed some weight recently, that would be good.

The reason? Well, frankly, I've had sweat falling off of me every day.

And it really started on July 1.

We had warm days before 7/1/24 but that was the day that we moved to the new apartment.

Even if it wasn't a hot day, we were constantly in motion. I was at it, as you might remember, from waking up at 4 a.m. until later that night.

The days began getting hotter from there. Things went from the low to mid-80s to the high 90s with real feel temperatures over 100.

And each day, whether I was moving things, packing things, hanging things, lifting things, or broadcasting things, I was sweating. I normally had a towel next to me so that I could mop off and looked forward to any moment I could get in air conditioning.

Sean -- who prefers the cold weather -- would grumble at me about how I could possibly like warmer days.

In truth, I'll always take Fall and Spring first, then Summer. 

I like Winter sports. I don't like Winter weather.

I suppose I'd like it just fine if I was in Florida.

It's been 30 days of activity. Constant moving and shaking. 

And so, while I don't like discussing weight, that's what has been going on.

The move, obviously, started it. Then we had to go into the basement and reorganize our stuff.

Then there were over 30 baseball games of setup and breakdown and walking to and from the broadcast site. Plus, of course, was the broadcasts themselves.

There were multiple missed meals, though they kept me well-fed in Oxford during the Cal Ripken tourney.

There was walking to and from trains in Greenwich and Brooklyn on Sunday.

And there have been multiple trips back into the basement to drop things off and bring things out. Plus, lots of walks to the garbage can as well as back into the basement for laundry.

Certainly, it has been exercise with a touch of diet. However, let's not ignore the mental exercises of the month, from calling games to everyone's good old friend, stress.

But it's also been a hot month where simply sitting and watching TV, sans air conditioning, could produce droplets running down my face.

I get embarrassed by all of this for a few reasons, including sweat being part gross and part "TMI."

But it is what it is. Most people do it, though some do it more than others.

I keep joking with myself that I'll stop sweating on Aug 1 though I hardly think that's true.

And, given I'm working for the Renegades tomorrow for a game starting at Noon, I think I'll achieve 31-for-31 sweaty days.

I'll still take this over winter weather. I mean, really. I don't miss the cold and the snow and the ice. 

So, yes, I'll take sweat and staying active, thanks very much.

A few quickies before we wrap this one up:

- I've been asked to serve as field host for the first time at a Renegades game. If you want to see me do something completely outside of the box, come out to the stadium on Saturday. I'm only sorry that Sean won't be there to see it. It will mean embracing a different side of my personality. My goal isn't to be better than anyone else. My goal is to be a viable option if needed. And to not embarrass myself or the team.

- A trip to Rhode Island is completely in play for the Little League Regional beginning this weekend. I'm figuring out how to navigate the issues I presented about teaching and The Cat. I'm trying to make it all work, but...

- I'm having car work done on Thursday so that I can pass the emissions test in Connecticut so a lot hinges on that.

Stay tuned, as always.

Paul the Photographer

 

The credit for this one belongs to Sean.

A photography exhibit by a certain Sir Paul McCartney debuted at the National Portrait Gallery in London in June 2023.

It opened a week after I left London, where I had been for a Hunt Scanlon conference.

Figuring it was a case of "Oh, well, sucks to be me," I laughed at the tough break and moved on.

But then it turned out that the exhibit was going to tour.

In late 2023, it stopped in Norfolk, VA. I considered taking a trip in January for a weekend to visit it. Sean and I discussed a fun getaway for Waffle House and Beatles photos, knowing we also had a drive to Florida in March. So common sense and financial responsibility won out.

Then I saw a post from Macca's Instagram page.

The tour was coming to Brooklyn.

Brooklyn, NY is certainly reachable but can also be a bit of a trip. Any longtime reader of this blog knows I frequented Brooklyn quite a bit at one time. You can drive but, well, it's New York City. You can use mass transit but be prepared for changing trains.

As I said, this story belongs to Sean. He insisted that we go because "I don't want you to miss this." Once in a while, he takes a stand and, in this case, he was resolute.

Obviously, we've had some things to deal with over the past few months. We've worked for the Renegades and I've worked multiple sporting events and so on. Then, of course, the move occupied our minds and time.

Our schedules have just been crazy.

The exhibit, Paul McCartney Photographs 1963–64: Eyes of the Storm, arrived at the Brooklyn Museum on May 3. 

It closes on Aug 18.

Time was ticking away. Or, to put it another way, "Life is very short and there's no time for fussing and fighting, my friends."

I had to include a song quote, even if it's from the wrong era.

But I promised we would go. I didn't want to miss it. It would simply be a shame to have this within reach and not see it. So I marked today as the day.

In the end, it became an adventure for father and son as we made good on the promise.

With that said, the day began with "Meet the Beatles," because it's Sunday. We left immediately after I got home, walking from the new apartment to the Greenwich train station. It's a roughly 30-minute commitment for those wondering. I'll have to consider that in the wee morning hours of a September day when the next conference comes around.

It's best, however, to not worry about time in this case. The train took us from Greenwich to Grand Central and we boarded the shuttle to Times Square before taking the 3 train to the museum. 

I call this "Two Selfies." Also, I need a Beatles T-shirt

With all due respect to the Brooklyn Museum and the other fine works of art therein, we were there for Sir Paul, and we went straight to the fifth floor.

Now, Sean thought this was an art exhibit and didn't realize that it was a photography display with some artifacts. For him, that turned out to be a pleasant surprise as he is into photography.

For me, it didn't matter. It was Paul. John. George. Ringo. It was those in their world in 1963-1964.

And it was magnificent.

While it covered just a brief stretch of Beatlemania, it was a look at the insanity as the lads took over the world.

There are portraits and action shots. There are behind-the-scenes vignettes. There are views of Liverpool and London and New York and Washington and Miami. 

There are the four Beatles but also George Martin and Mal Evans and Neil Aspinall and Cilla Black and Brian Epstein and the other wonderful characters that participated in this seminal time. Also included were pictures of Jim McCartney and Mike McCartney (Paul's father and brother) as well as Jane and Peter Asher (Paul's one-time girlfriend and her brother) and George Harrison's parents as well as George's sister, who lived in the US.

There was plenty from the Plaza Hotel, where The Beatles stayed for their appearance on The Ed Sullivan Show.

There were also some glimpses of other photographers, including album covers such as With the Beatles. Of course, with some changes, it was known as, ahem, Meet the Beatles here in the US.

There was a Beatle wig.

It was truly wonderful, especially for a fan of the band.

Sean was dazzled and I was overwhelmed.

And I'm beyond grateful to him for making sure this happened.

I wish I could say we came away with a souvenir but, alas, the options were sort of meh and a bit overpriced. I really liked the exhibit poster but couldn't justify plunking down $35, knowing I'd want to frame it also. The idea of carrying that home wasn't appealing to me either.

I looked at a few things but, hey, it's OK. I saw it. I took a few pictures. Not everything has to have a trinket.

I'll take the memories as a souvenir.

As we walked out of the museum, a band was playing jazz and I had to remark that I loved it but I came to Brooklyn for The Beatles. We both laughed.

Shake Shack said to pick a number. How'd I do?

With the day being warm but comfortable, we enjoyed a walk through Grand Army Plaza and out Flatbush Ave to find some food. We settled for Shake Shack, though admittedly it wasn't my first choice.

But the subway was across the street and the journey to Greenwich was awaiting.

Oh, but first we had to get black and white cookies at Zaro's in Grand Central.

With minutes to spare, we found two seats and chilled out on the train.

Nearby, four teenage girls giggled and talked about clothes and whatever else teenage girls discuss. 

Despite their occasional shrieks, I laughed at them. Sean didn't find them quite as amusing.

Maybe it's the dad in me.

Our journey ended a little over a half-hour after stepping off the train in Greenwich.

Sean is upstairs talking with friends online.

I'm watching the Yankees and Red Sox, with the Bronx Bombers reminding me of the roller coaster that is a baseball season.

But today was about Sean and Paul McCartney.

A day -- an adventure -- that I will be forever grateful for.

Yeah yeah yeah.

Truly In the Booth

 

Greetings from the Unity Park press box. I am currently typing away while on the air.

Yes. That is correct.

Waterford has already beaten Trumbull tonight and Wolcott and Ridgefield are two hours into a goofy game that has the score at 15-10 in the bottom of the sixth.

Again, that is correct.

It is now heading into the seventh inning. Incidentally, this is the eighth game of the tournament and the scoreboard just started working. Why? Because Mike Buswell's son Bryce grabbed the remote control and pressed the power button.

Yes. It has been that kind of night.

Maybe it's the ghost of Babe Ruth.

OK, I'm now off the air and sitting in a rest area at the side of the Merritt Parkway.

Or CT State Route 15. 

Your call.

Ridgefield won that game and they will play Waterford tomorrow at 5:30, followed by Easton and Stamford at 8 pm.

The second broadcast tonight was admittedly goofy and had a bite to it. Apologies to those who caught strays from me as I was having fun.

It was mostly harmless. 

The danger in such a thing is that it becomes too much of "inside jokes" though I do try to explain things as possible.

Anyway, it was all in good fun tonight because that's what sports broadcasting should be.

Of course, there are still games to report and we did that.

Mission accomplished.

Now, I'm going home.