Mr. Spielberg, Here's the Story

 

Once upon a time...

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

Oh, OK. Let's set that scene.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

to the New York Yankees.

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

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

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

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

Oh, wait, this story isn't over.

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

That's a story that needs a finale.

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

NBC SportsEngine Play.

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

Scully. Enberg. Emrick. Costas.

Adams.

This story is too far-fetched.

-----

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The story continues. May the sequel be even sweeter.

Baseball '25

(Photo: New York Yankees on X)

Tomorrow is that grandest day.

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

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

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

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

I'll feel the fire. I will.

And screw the haters. They're obsessed anyway.

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

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

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

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

*****

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Give me the Royal Rooters and the Bleacher Creatures.

Give me 27 rings.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It's Opening Day.

Play ball.

Justice for Bobby

 

Screenshot from ABC broadcast of Game 3
of the 1981 World Series

The year was 1981. 

Christopher Cross was near the top of the pop charts with "Arthur's Theme (Best That You Can Do)."

And the Yankees were playing the Dodgers in the World Series.

It's worth pausing here to note that, late last night, news broke that Fernando Valenzuela died. Fernando ties us right back to 1981 in that he was the pitching sensation in that strike-shortened year. The lefthander from Mexico went 13-7 with a 2.48 ERA and league highs in starts, complete games, shutouts, and strikeouts.

He won both the National League Cy Young Award and Rookie of the Year.

More than that, he was a cultural hero, especially to the Los Angeles Latino community, but he helped bridge the gap with people from all walks of life with a nasty screwball and a quirky windup.

He threw a no-hitter in 1990, with a double play to finish it off. In the booth at Dodger Stadium, as only he could, Vin Scully punctuated the achievement by saying, "If you have a sombrero, throw it to the sky."

Some of the magic of Fernandomania didn't last but he won 173 games with six teams over 17 seasons. That era, that supernova that he was, will never be forgotten by any baseball fan, especially those of us robbed of innocence by the strike.

But he was always a Dodger and returned to the team to be part of their Spanish-language broadcasts until late this season when he stepped away "to focus on his health."

Always an ambassador and a delight, Fernando is gone at just 63. No doubt that his passing will serve as a rallying cry for the Dodgers' faithful.

Fernando pitched a complete game in Game 3 of the 1981 World Series, beating the Yankees 5-4. 

The '81 Series was also the first time that my guy, Bobby Ray Murcer, played in the Fall Classic. As usual, said with complete bias on my part, he was misused by manager Bob Lemon, playing sparingly, including a sacrifice bunt in Game 2.

In Game 3, with two on and nobody out, Lemon went back to Bobby, this time to bunt against Fernando. Bobby, an excellent athlete, bunted a liner down the left field line that was snared by Ron Cey, who then wheeled to first to double up Larry Milbourne.

Back in New York, I listened to the radio with sheer terror in my blood. Bobby wound up 0-for-3 in the Series, including a warning track fly ball that I thought had a chance to go out at Yankee Stadium in Game 6. It was another questionable decision by Lemon, having Bobby pinch hit for Tommy John in the fourth inning with the game tied at one. The Yankees went on to lose 9-2.

I was crestfallen.

Bobby, traded from the Yankees to the Giants in Oct 1974, missed the late '70s glory years in New York, returned in time for the passing of Thurman Munson, played in the postseason in 1980-81, and never got back. He retired in Jun 1983 and immediately became a broadcaster. He did get to cover the Yankees through the 90s dynasty, but I've never quite gotten over the 1981 World Series.

I even saw that 1981 American League Championship ring that he wore in person but that's hardly the big prize.

And beginning with that October, I loathed the Dodgers in a way that I reserved for the 76 Reds and a few others of the era.

It took a certain broadcaster to help those feelings melt a little when it came to Los Angeles. By the late 80s, it no longer mattered. Chris Erway being a fan of the Chavez Ravine team didn't hurt either. I suppose the dashed dreams of a kid simply weren't worth the energy of maintaining such disdain.

But I never forgot 1981.

And so, with all due respect to Fernando Valenzuela, the 2024 World Series is "Justice for Bobby Murcer" to me.

I'm trying to remind myself that, somewhere, Vin Scully will smile if the Dodgers bring this one home. Oh, who am I kidding? I'm just preparing myself to be gracious if that's the case, and Vin is one of the few things that will make me get there.

But screw it.

Go win this thing, Yankees.

With a tip of the cap to Bobby Ray, who was robbed of his chance in 1981.

My 1981 baseball card

How About Just Focusing On the Game?

Vin Scully and Joe Garagiola

There seems to be an over-the-top obsession with broadcasting in this year's Major League Baseball playoffs.

Oof.

Let's start with the obvious. With Joe Buck happily nestled into Monday Night Football, Bob Costas has become the whipping boy for fans.

Costas, of course, is quite used to it, as the veteran of nearly 50 years has been a target of critics for years.

He's not on social media, so whatever criticism he hears is just that: hearsay.

Costas has been a lightning rod in part because he has become a commentator on various political affairs. That, obviously, is polarizing.

But, more to the point of sports, Costas brings a style perfected by Mel Allen, Red Barber, Ernie Harwell, and Vin Scully, among others. It's the basics of storytelling, reporting, glimpses of humor, and simplicity. At times, Bob can be heavy-handed in his opinions of various things.

What Bob Costas is not is a screamer. So many fans in this era want the Gus Johnson approach of busting a lung on every play. You're not going to get that on Costas. Buck dealt with the same criticism at one time. It's the same knock on Al Michaels. It's also insane.

There's a notion that Costas doesn't have passion yet I would offer that the man loves the game of baseball. Plus, and it needs to be said, he (and literally all of the national voices) does not have a rooting bias. They don't hate or like any team. They play it straight.

It seems fairly obvious that Costas doesn't care and the Ford Frick Award winner is in no danger of being fired anytime soon despite criticism that has a hint of ageism to it. I shudder to think what people would think of Vin now.

In fact, in my opinion, Costas should be doing the World Series and is perhaps the best living baseball broadcaster among Jon Miller, Dan Shulman, Joe Buck, and a few others.

Though, to be clear, Joe Davis, who will do the World Series on FOX is outstanding.

Beyond that, there also seems to be a heavy dose of whining (from one fan base in particular) about the national announcers. They want the local voices to be on these games.

To an extent, I get it, and it feels like an alternate feed would be the best way to satisfy that desire. Those things cost money so I will leave that to those smarter than I am.

There was once a time (aka "back in my day") when, for instance, ABC would have the national feed of Yankees/Royals and WPIX would have the local feed with Phil Rizzuto, Bill White, and Frank Messer. As I was fascinated, I'd flip between both. This, eventually, went away, as did using local announcers on NBC's postseason coverage.

At one time, there wasn't an actual "national voice." World Series broadcasters were chosen from the participating teams. Beginning in 1966, Curt Gowdy became the lead, and local announcers joined him in their home city. That continued until 1976.

I completely understand the attachment to the local voices. Believe me, it's frustrating to hear another broadcaster call a team that I cover all season. I can still hear Greenwich fans, who were angry that Chris Erway and I were not on the CIAC state championship call in 2022. However, we were on WGCH, as always.

I offered to call the 2018 title game but was offered the analyst spot. I couldn't abandon Chris like that and WGCH would have needed a play-by-play announcer.

So, yes, I do get it.

But there seems to be more noise about it than usual this year.

So it goes.

*****

I ordered a rug today. It will be here tomorrow.

Yes, there's a story there.

But we're good neighbors and good tenants.

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

For now.

Broadcasting Bites

 

My eyes popped with horror when Mikey "Clicks" of the Renegades texted me the breaking news of the day. 

WCBS, the venerable station at 880 AM, is ending its all-news format as the owner, Audacy, enters into a local marketing agreement (LMA). Good Karma Brands will take over the 880 signal, bringing with it the sports programming of ESPN Radio.

The sports broadcasts from WEPN-FM will get a boost having a strong AM signal, as 880 is a powerhouse. The new 880 will use the call letter WHSQ, thus ending a nearly 80-year run for the WCBS calls.

It's not entirely unlike WNBC's switch to WFAN in 1988.

That was sad and so is this.

Most heinous to me is the loss of jobs for many talented people. Beyond that, it's simply a bad day for radio.

I have to hear on a fairly frequent basis that radio (like newspapers, etc) is "dead." I, of course, dispute that, though I recognize we're certainly shuffling the deck chairs in the industry. Corporate ownership, voice tracking, and the overall lack of local personality/programming have greatly damaged radio as we knew it.

There are many more reasons that I read about frequently. I don't pretend to have all of the answers but I also don't think radio -- or audio -- is dead.

We need to program it better.

But the announcement about WCBS has me thinking of the myriad times I reached for 880, especially in the car. For instance, basically, any road trip, especially those heading around the area of New York City, began with me listening to "Traffic and Weather Together on the 8s" for the complete story on the highways. 

Obviously, I also tuned in for the weather.

When I headed out the door in 2012 for Charleston, I put 880 on just as I headed toward the Taconic State Parkway. They told me, at 4:28 am, that the overnight construction on the Major Deegan Expressway was causing a delay at the Cross Bronx Expressway. That was how I was going to head south -- a remnant of road trips of yore with my parents -- and quickly realized break lights trump nostalgia.

Plans scuttled, I switched over to the Garden State Parkway and never looked back.

I was listening to Imus in the Morning at 8:46 a.m. on Sep 11, 2001, when Warner Wolf called in to say a plane had hit a tower of the World Trade Center. As we all tried to figure out the severity of the situation, Imus and company went to commercial.

Right around 9 a.m., something told me to change over to WCBS. I was listening to 880 when the second tower was hit. I heard the description live.

On the plus side, I listened to a lot of sports on WCBS, as CBS Radio carried the national feed of many of the top sports events of the day, including the World Series. I'd listen to Vin Scully call the Fall Classic and feel spoiled.

The Yankees called WCBS home a few times from 1939 until 2013 and I listened to a fair share of games.

That was the power -- good and bad -- of WCBS Newsradio. When there was breaking news, I leaned on 880 immediately for information. Their collection of professionals presented the information in a comfortable manner that felt trustworthy.

Craig Allen, the outstanding weatherman, Wayne Cabot, Rich Lamb, Deborah Rodriguez, Ed Ingles on sports, and Charles Osgood were just some of the names I listened to. Of course, it was local and national, with the top stories at the top of the hour.

And I'd be completely remiss if I didn't name another reporter whose name stuck out to me. In early 2002, the time was approaching for me to become a father. "Sam" had the early lead but I just couldn't have my son be "Sam Adams." At times, his code name was "Shrek."

Then inspiration hit.

"How about Sean?" I asked. "I can't think of any Seans I dislike, plus there's Sean Adams on WCBS."

Sean ... Adams. Like the guy on the radio. It worked.

That story is 100% true though I've never found a way to introduce Sean Adams to Sean Adams.

Such is the impact.

But change does happen. WCBS was an "O&O" as an owned and operated station by CBS itself. Entercom, which would rebrand as Audacy, took over WCBS in 2017.

Business-wise, this move isn't entirely shocking.

Emotionally, it stinks.

The change will happen on Aug 26.

If you don't know, this doesn't spell the end of news radio in New York. We've been spoiled to have two all-new stations, with WINS holding down the fort at 1010 AM. The one-time Top 40 station switched to all-news in 1965 and eventually picked up an FM signal at 92.3.

The big issue for WINS is that we didn't get a strong signal in the Hudson Valley. WCBS, however, always came in loud and clear.

Beginning in a few weeks, we'll be able to listen to ESPN on that clear signal.

Obviously, I love sports, and I'll adjust, but I'll miss the availability of WCBS.

It felt like an old, trusted friend.

Times change, indeed.

That doesn't mean we have to like it.

*****

I ruffled a few feathers with my lack of genuflecting at Noah Eagle, the broadcaster who called basketball during the Olympics. At the same time, the Yankees -- the New York Yankees -- had Craig Carton call their weekend series against the Texas Rangers.

I stayed quiet on that but anyone with a brain knows that it was a stunt.

And, for my money, Carton wasn't particularly good. A few people sent me highlights but I felt I needed to hear some of the details. Maybe he could get better with practice. I don't know. What I heard had him focusing on replays as opposed to live action. I also heard him not name batters or describe pitches at all. 

Was he the worst Yankees broadcaster I've ever heard? That's a loaded question. I'll say I've heard worse.

Carton brings some baggage with him but that's part of what made him appeal to WFAN, who picks the broadcaster.

Whatever. It was a weekend. Life goes on.

But Red Barber and Mel Allen are spinning in their graves. Phil Rizzuto is wondering how such a "huckleberry" was allowed to call these games.

And, sure, I can think of another (veteran) baseball broadcaster who deserves a shot.

However, I'm watching tonight's game as I write and I've got the game on mute.

That should tell you all you need to know.

Help! They Need Somebody

 

Vin Scully, right, with his mentor Red Barber, left. 
Connie Desmond is bookended by the legends

I just finished watching a broadcast online.

I tuned in to see the score.

Now, as much as I try to avoid hearing other broadcasters, I was curious if there were any voices on the call.

So I unmuted. And there were broadcasters.

Yes, there were.

They referred to the visiting team by numbers only. 

One broadcaster was too far off the mic.

The two talked over each other.

They referred to the home team as "we" and cheered their exploits (OK, so they're homers).

They were openly critical of the opposing team's fans.

They were also critical of the players.

And, at one point, they referred to the score as low score/high score.

Would it shock you if I said they were students? Kids?

No. Of course, it wouldn't.

What's needed is guidance.

Something I've offered to several schools, for what it's worth.

Anyone can start a broadcast these days. It takes some equipment and a place to host the broadcast online but, overall, it can be done at a reasonable price.

But there still needs to be a critique as the rough edges are smoothed out.

"They're kids" is always the response and yes, that is often the case. That doesn't mean they're immune to criticism.

But Chris Kaelin and Chris Erway and Dan Murphy and countless others were grown adults who just needed a little smoothing out to become solid broadcasters. 

Even now, Mike Hirn and I will each discuss the nuances of our own work.

OK, Erway never needed that. How can one do anything with perfection?

The first thing I will always stress is to remember that, while they're your classmates and friends, you should eliminate the use of "we" regarding your school. Yes, there are exceptions but it always sounds best to refer to the school by the name.

For me, it's "Brunswick" or "Bruins." I'll even use "Wick" or on rare occasions things like "Bears" or "B's." Even the team colors are correct to say.

For Greenwich, besides calling them the Cardinals, "Big Red" is always an appropriate name.

You can say this is my own hangup, but there are certain standards that I believe in.

And while emotion and reactions are good, they must be controlled to an extent. Simply yelling doesn't accomplish anything. Raising the level to meet the moment is my approach. It amplifies the event.

As for criticism, especially in younger sports, it has to be tempered and can not be personal. I often describe a shot that isn't good as "off the mark" or "wild." It serves the purpose.

The words and the tone all matter.

Oh, and for the love of Scully, say the higher score first unless we're talking about tennis.

Incidentally, our man Vin Scully needed a mentor as well, and it was Red Barber, of course. Red was a taskmaster who helped guide Vin to be even better than Red himself was.

There's a lot more, and going through a broadcast to break it down is the right way.

Find the highlights and praise them but also address what doesn't go as well.

From there, it's a matter of practice and work.

It's a wonderful craft that I adore. Obviously, I have a style that I believe in.

But, overall, I think there's a baseline that should be met.

Let's help them get there.

Boring

 

Probably listening to a baseball broadcast

Once again, I've taken a deep breath.

Serenity now!

Namaste!

There are a few things that can make me nuts, and that almost manifested itself yesterday.

And, in fact, at least one reader requested #RobUnleashed. Oh, don't worry, that will happen again, though I'm normally embarrassed when it's over.

Then today, Joey Zanaboni, the viral wiz of play-by-play decided to dump on the baseball play-by-play community by calling us "kinda boring."

Yeah. That's a trigger. Much like the other one who wrote that not prepping like him was "lazy."

But yes, I'm continuing to stay above it.

Except.

For Mr. Zanaboni, who has blocked me (same as one of his supporters, who used to rip him to me), he seems to be forgetting the very copyright that we've all heard so many times.

You know the one. It mentions "any rebroadcast, retransmission, or account of this game, without the express written consent of Major League Baseball, is prohibited."

It doesn't matter if you use "royalty-free canned sound effects" as he was just mentioning.

Yes. I watched for a moment.

I was also his only viewer.

I lasted one batter.

Guess baseball broadcasting really can be boring.

Except, I called baseball today. Brunswick had a rough outing against Stony Brook from Long Island.

I'd like to think it wasn't boring. Heck, I'd like to think my broadcasts are never boring, but who can possibly say that with certainty?

Baseball broadcasting is boring? Vin? Mel? Red? Scooter? Gare? Kay? Ueck? Joe Davis? Joe and/or Jack Buck? Shall I keep going?

Some games are just going to be snoozers. We -- as the conduits -- try to keep it engaging with stories and insights while continuing to accurately report the events on the field.

From there, it's knowing how to use the voice as an instrument with inflection. Context very much matters. Freaking out when the losing team homers to make it 13-1 doesn't exactly fit. Calling it with excitement but not going over the top is my approach.

No witty one-liners written on the nearby yellow legal pad are necessary. Just react and be natural.

I'm willing to grant that some of the nearly 4,300 posts in the history of this blog have been boring. But, still, like the broadcasts, I do my best to make sure they're not.

Joey Zanaboni has made his way into MLS with St. Louis City SC. It's actually a perfect fit for his shtick. Soccer broadcasters tend to be known for some of that electricity. 

But when he makes these obnoxious and rather arrogant statements that degrade people (like me) who put on quality broadcasts, well, it tends to ruffle my feathers. That after he (and others) wrote about things that have happened to him (bullying, etc). Then they essentially do similar things.

I appreciate his confidence and his self-promotion, even if it's not my thing. But I think he overdoes it.

So he's currently on Twitch calling a broadcast that he's probably not supposed to be calling.

To that end, Mike Hirn and I are considering creating the Hirn Adams Network. 

You know, HAN.

No harm there, right?

I wish Joey well. I do. We can agree to disagree. We're stylistically different. But it would be nice if those of us who disagree could be bigger people, get over ourselves, and become a better community.

Sadly, that won't happen anytime soon.

Especially when you degrade me and others in this industry.

Matter of Fact It's All Dark

 

It was right around 2:49 when I pressed play.

I had read that if you started Pink Floyd's The Side of the Moon at the appropriate time, the final words of the song "Eclipse" would hit at the darkest moment.

So, I figured it would be fun to have a soundtrack for the moment.

I set up my mobile studio on the deck, grabbed the one pair of eclipse glasses we had, and settled in to enjoy the show.

Now, the thing to know -- as if you didn't know -- was that it really happened quickly.

It's astounding to me to consider the number of miles many traveled to have a prime space to view the eclipse.

Sean and I stepped onto our deck. I suppose we were fortunate.

We were dazzled.

Yes, we. Sean seemed to really like it and we used the protective eyewear.

The music played on a set of portable speakers in the meantime, as my Bluetooth speaker was charging up.

I know. I wasn't prepared, so the speaker wasn't charged. Last-minute decisions aren't tolerated in such situations.

Now, we were never going to see a total eclipse. I'd heard we'd get somewhere into the 90s percentage wise and that seems fair.

So, right around 3:30, we reached the peak eclipse, basically just as the song "Eclipse" was reaching that final line.

And everything under the sun is in tune

But the sun is eclipsed by the moon

Regardless of whether or not I had timed it right, I thought it was a pretty cool moment.

With that, I turned toward doing "Doubleheader" from the Bruce Park Eclipse Studio.

*****

It's also the 50th anniversary of Hank Aaron passing Babe Ruth for most home runs at that time.

There are three broadcasters who were on the call that night: Curt Gowdy, who called it on NBC; Milo Hamilton, who called it on Atlanta Braves radio; and the incomparable Vin Scully, calling it on Dodgers radio.

They're all sharp, professional calls, but Vinny's is pure perfection. I've used it for so many of my students as an example of calling a big moment.

Part of the exception is recognizing the voice control. The voice is a powerful instrument and it's not necessary to blast away to the outer reaches of what microphones can handle.

So, when Mike Hirn (for instance) rips away at "call of the week" types for their effervescent calls, this is what he's talking about. Scully's call on Apr 8, 1974, is a perfect example.

Vin sets the stage by presenting "the confrontation" and reminding the audience that Aaron means the tying run before Aaron takes a low pitch from Al Downing. 

Then he reminds listeners that Downing has to "ignore the sound effects" of the crowd booing.

Then the moment happens. In comes a fastball and Aaron crushes it.

"There's a high drive into deep left center field," he said. "Buckner goes back ...  to the FENCE ... it is gone!"

And then, he did what a professional does. He did what one who doesn't think the game is about him does.

He stayed quiet. In fact, he went and got a drink of water.

He watched what was playing out in front of him before finally returning to the air, recognizing the social importance of the moment.

"What a marvelous moment for baseball. What a marvelous moment for Atlanta and the state of Georgia. What a marvelous moment for the country of the world. 

"A Black man is getting a standing ovation in the Deep South for breaking a record of an all-time baseball idol."

He then became a journalist, noting the presence of Aaron's parents, particularly how Hank's mother "kissed him for all he was worth."

He also noted Aaron smiling for the first time in quite a while, remarking on the strain Aaron had felt.

But again, without anything particularly prophetic, Vin knew how to sum it up.

"It is over," he said, "at ten minutes after nine in Atlanta, Georgia, Henry Aaron has eclipsed the mark set by Babe Ruth."

Use your voice as the instrument that it is.

Use your knowledge to fill in the spaces.

But know you're the conduit.

This is a Master Class of play-by-play.

Class is dismissed.

Scully Land

 

Short of broadcasting from Dodger Stadium, this is walking among the gods.

Or, in my case, my hero, mentor, and, basically, a male adult figure who wasn't my father.

I never met Vin Scully. Never spoke to him.

But I've followed him. I've studied his whole career.

Blah blah blah. You know this.

But I'm currently sitting inside Rose Hill Gymnasium at Fordham University.

Vin Scully started his career here.

Heck, he went to high school here also, as Fordham Prep is just steps away.

Much like I did when I stood outside where The Beatles had the Rooftop Concert, I walked around and tried to hear the master calling a basketball game here back in the 1940s.

Wake up the echos, as they say at Notre Dame.

Vin never called basketball professionally so we don't have the melodious voice describing set shots and four corners defense.

But we have so many examples of baseball, football, and golf, along with talk shows, a game show, and so on.

So to walk the campus where he went to college and high school, it's a lot for me to take in. 

The man taught me so much about play-by-play. He taught me the style I wanted to mostly abide by, while remaining true to myself. That's what Red Barber taught him.

I stopped at the baseball stadium, where I was greeted by a plaque that I could see from the street. Up to the right was the Vin Scully Press Box.

I realize there's one in Los Angeles that others can tell me they've worked at and I'd love to do that also, but this will have to do from an east coast perspective.

I even worked up the nerve to visit the lobby of Fordham Prep where a kind guard allowed me to look around. He told me there had been a few artifacts there but I couldn't find any. Just his kindness to be allowed in was enough for me.

Now I sit in Rose Hill Gym -- built in 1925 -- basking in the footsteps of Scully, Mike Breen, Michael Kay, Chris Carrino, John Andariese ("Johnny Hoops"), Bob Papa, Connell McShane, Justin Shackill, John Giannone, and other sports broadcasters as well as Vince Lombardi, Charles Osgood, Denzel Washington, Alan Alda, Patricia Clarkson, and so many other well-known Fordham alums.

To some, I don't deserve to walk in these footsteps.

To me, I'm beyond thankful and I'd like to think I belong.

I'm sitting above the court, waiting for Bishop Timon/St. Jude and Msgr. McClancy start.

The tipoff is at 6pm on LocalLive (and, yes, on Robcasting).

Pull up a chair, everyone, and let's have a very good evening wherever you may be.

Searching For Some Thing to Say

 

Thursday.

I don't know why but that's how I wanted to lead this off.

Just Thursday.

Then again, I could never get the hang of Thursdays, as Arthur Dent said in The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy.

I woke up not feeling my best, which tracks with my voice feeling a bit off. Save for recording "Hanratty's Huddle" with Terry Hanratty, and "Doubleheader," I rested my voice.

In the case of "Doubleheader," I had an 18-minute interview that I recorded yesterday so that gave me even more time to rest.

With the show over, we grabbed dinner and I settled into continuing to prepare for tomorrow's basketball doubleheader (not the show) at Fordham University.

It's an honor to call two high-leverage games in New York Catholic high school basketball. One game is a semifinal while the other is a state championship.

If you're keeping score, that's a state championship call in New York to go with the New Jersey state championship calls that I'm offered and there was a chance I was going to call one in Pennsylvania also (that one isn't happening this year). 

I appreciate that.

But Fordham? The Bronx? Near the Vin Scully Pressbox? 

The same borough that produced Harold? This is hallowed ground tomorrow night.

Oh, and a baseball team plays there also. I've heard of them.

Saturday would have been a bigger monster but I'd already committed to one Rockets hockey game in New Jersey. I was offered four basketball games in Yorktown on Saturday but the timing didn't work.

These are all things to prepare for.

And now, maybe a few more games are coming to light for next week. I'll probably be able to confirm that one tomorrow.

*****

The night belonged to a music documentary, which I am a sucker for.

Tonight, I watched one about Chicago. 

So, what did I learn? 

I learned producer and songwriter David Foster is sort of an arrogant clown.

“I know I’m great,” he said. “You don’t get 16 Grammys without being great.”

Oh, OK, McCartney.

I also learned that Peter Cetera, along with Foster, began to act like the rest of the talented musicians in the band were simply Cetera's backing band in the 1980s. 

Let's just say Cetera -- who didn't participate in the documentary -- didn't come off well. Talented? Sure. Great singer? Yes. Insecure? you bet.

But the big truth -- and this is no surprise at all -- is that Chicago changed entirely after their insanely talented guitarist Terry Kath accidentally killed himself in Jan 1978.

Please note that Jimi Hendrix once said Kath was better than him.

Music was in the process of changing in the late 70s and Chicago's art/jazz rock sound was becoming passé as disco was the thing of the moment and punk was on the rise. In fact, Chicago tried to embrace disco and it didn't take.

With Foster and Cetera in charge, they found multiplatinum success in the 80s and hung on to that. They didn't emphasize the horns -- the very thing that made Chicago different -- and pushed an adult contemporary sound that was based on ballads.

Some of the songs hold up well. Others? Well...

In some ways, I find Chicago's path to be similar to that of Genesis, who worked hard to perfect prog rock up through the departure of Peter Gabriel. Hits weren't really their priority until Phil Collins took them to bigger heights.

For Chicago, they didn't worry about the hits but wow were they a machine with Kath in the 70s as a touring and hit-making band.

It's not a perfect comparison but I'm going with it.

So if you need something to watch, give Now More Than Ever: The History of Chicago a view.

You'll enjoy it for 25...or 6...to 4.

I hate myself for finishing on that line.

It did not make me smile.

That's better.

The Homer Homer

 

Not this Homer (Photo: FOX)

* First, I appreciate the kind words from yesterday's post. I don't believe in announcing my departure a la an airplane but the grind of the posts and, sometimes, lack of response makes me wonder if this exercise has run its course. I didn't plan to leave completely but wondered if maybe it was time to just take a day off. I'm grateful for the words but it wasn't a plea for attention either. Many thanks.

I saw a post in one of the groups I belong to with a video of a broadcaster calling a home run.

I've done the in-booth camera thing and I'm cautious about it. To me, it's a way to get the audio of the call to another audience without violating any video agreements. But it's not about me.

The broadcaster in this case was doing fist pumps and high-fiving people in the next booth.

That's his style and that's great. He's broadcasting for a particular team, school, or group and he prefers to go the full bias route. He knows what his employers and audience want.

They're not wrong, of course.

Stylistically, it's not for me. It's not beneath me but I'm very careful about that. It's a fine line and, believe me, I've been to many postgame events with fans in my career. Even then I avoid having a rooting interest.

But high-fiving people in the booth when the team does well? Fist-pumping? 

Generally, no. 

For those who want to say that I'm *clears throat* "AP Style" (that is to say: boring) I hardly think I'm that.

I love, love, love scoring plays, regardless of whom. 

I bring passion and energy. At least, I hope I do.

And I understand context. I remember the last game of the 2021 Renegades season, I called a home run for the Greensboro Grasshoppers and I remember it was completely flat.

I was mad at myself. I played off the crowd, who were down, and allowed that to impact me. In that moment, I feared I sounded like a homer for the Renegades.

And, look, I was working for them, so fair enough. But I still shouldn't sound like it personally offended me. It didn't.

The player, the Grasshoppers, and their fans deserved better in that moment. Then again, they clinched a playoff spot the night before and I thought I took pretty good care of them. In fact, I expected Renegades fans to be mad at me for that call.

Maybe they were.

But that's the integrity I put into this.

Look, I don't have the answers. I think I know what it takes to do a professional broadcast but that doesn't mean I'm right. I certainly have no high horse or pulpit on this stuff.

I have an opinion. At times, a strong one.

But I don't consider myself to be lord and ruler of this stuff. I also accept and embrace conversation on it.

I don't just delete years of conversations and recommendations before blocking on all accounts. I think I'm better than that, actually.

My feeling as a team broadcaster is to respect the other team's fans (as in that example with the Grasshoppers) and give every call energy.

The only time you'll catch people high-fiving in a booth of mine is before airtime as a sign of encouragement. Maybe, after a call that someone liked or after we get off the air.

Again, there are exceptions.

But there's a professionalism and integrity that I believe in. It's a personal thing for me.

It's not being some old fossil but it is honoring those who came before me in this business.

Remember, I've never had a true mentor. My mentors were those I grew up watching. Especially Vin Scully. 

So I learned from him and gleaned what I felt worked for me.

Then, as he learned from Red Barber, I made sure that I was myself.

High-fiving and fist-pumping because someone made a good play isn't me bring me.

Then again, like Scully, I work alone a lot. Thus I'd look pretty weird high-fiving myself.

Speaking of working, I'm back in the saddle again today. I needed a few days to not do the grind of a game broadcast as my throat felt a little raw on Sunday. It even sounded a little off yesterday during a podcast recording session. 

Ultimately, I passed on two broadcasts in New Jersey to rest up and honor a commitment to go out last night. 

Now, I'm back with a challenge.

First is a New York state playoff game in Yorktown Heights. Admittedly, I thought my face might be plastered in the post office as I once spent too much time there. If you don't know, my ex is from there.

But I have a 3:30 game on NFHS calling Haldane and Millbrook basketball in a playoff contest.

Then, ready?

I have to get to Trumbull High School by 6:30 for Fairfield Warde and the Eagles in a Connecticut first round game.

The odds are meh but I'll take the chance because I have support. Jeff Alterman will have his TEN Network ready to go and Mike Buswell will be along as well. The two of them will start the broadcast if I'm not there on time.

As soon I show up, I'll plug in and get Robcasting cooking. I'll take over play-by-play and Jeff is going to rove to do interviews.

It should be a good production all around.

But first, I have to record an interview in a few minutes.

Then a podcast tomorrow.

Then two games in the Bronx on Friday.

Then hockey in New Jersey on Saturday.

There will be no fist-pumping.

Vacation is coming.

Honest.

It's World Series Time

(Photo: NBC5 DFW -- https://www.nbcdfw.com/)

 

It happens every October.

OK, except 1994, and I'm still bitter about it.

But the World Series is on my TV.

I've watched it as long as I can remember. I distinctly remember the 1975 Fall Classic between the Reds and Red Sox.

I'm sure I saw some of the action before 1975 as well.

Of course, I remember 1976 because the Yankees were in it for the first time in my life. Then again, given the result, I'd rather not remember it.

Oh, 1977. Understanding what it means to win a World Series. The same went for 1978.

Then came 1979 and the "We Are Family" Pirates. Man, I loved that team.

And the Phillies of 1980.

Then 1981. Yeah, that's not a happy memory. It would take until 1996 before all was right in the world again.

Then 1998 and 1999 and 2000 and 2009.

But I've watched them. All of them.

I'm a baseball fan. That's the important thing. So the teams playing are of little consequence. At least until those teams matter.

I think, immediately, of 1986, when hell would have been a better option, despite how great Red Sox/Mets was. 

Incidentally, 1991 -- Twins/Braves -- was the best series I've seen. It featured five one-run games, three extra-inning games, and a nailbiting Game 7 that ended with a walk-off hit in the 10th inning. Plus, Vin Scully called it on radio.

Oh yeah, the voices. I've spent many nights listening to them. Curt Gowdy, Joe Garagiola, Tony Kubek, Al Michaels, Keith Jackson, Dick Enberg, Scully, Tim McCarver, Bob Costas, Joe Morgan, Bob Uecker, Jack Buck, Sean McDonough, and others immediately spring to mind. Joe Davis and John Smoltz will keep me company for the next four to seven games.

For the record, I like Davis and Smoltz.

Those are just the TV broadcasters. We're not even getting to the radio voices though I will highlight Dan Shulman, who is my choice to win the 2024 Ford Frick Award from the Hall of Fame. His calls are always so smooth and effortless.

I also have to highlight John Sterling and Michael Kay for the numerous Yankees calls I listened to and collected.

The sad thing is the 2023 World Series needs me.

And you.

And many others.

Because let's be honest, this series isn't exactly tickling the fancy of the public. The Texas Rangers and the Arizona Diamondbacks?

Yup.

There's no question I'm sorry the Yankees aren't in it because I miss that energy but that doesn't stop me from watching this series.

The game is bigger than any one team.

But the game is great. It's still great. 

So I'll keep watching the Fall Classic. Baseball needs advocates. Even an "older" guy like me.

So, play ball, Rangers and Diamondbacks.

Give us seven games.

Let's make this fall classic.

The Trumbull Broadcasts Are Over

 

We played Mario Kart today and, instead of using our faces in
the game, we used pictures of the cat. 
Because of course, we did.

We interrupt our regularly-scheduled good news/vacation/positivity post for a bit of a bummer.

Damn you, reality, but I expected this.

I found out today -- and it's truly no surprise -- that the Babe Ruth World Series in Stratford/Fredericksburg, VA won't allow me to call any games.

The reason? They have contracted it out to a company to do a video broadcast with commentary.

Audio only/radio is not welcome.

Once again, video kills the radio dude.

Oh, I'm completely confident that our broadcasts on Robcasting would have been good. They would have been appreciated in Trumbull and no doubt in a few other places. They would have bothered the people producing the video broadcast because I wouldn't charge for my efforts.

But they're a business and thus (contract or not) they see me as a threat.

Am I? I don't see it that way but, as I said, my broadcasts on Robcasting would be free. Still, I don't provide video to go with the audio call.

I'll admit that it (frankly) pissed me off as I was playing mini-golf and arcade games and stepping in a batting cage for the first time in over a decade.

But even as the steam emanated from my ears, I knew this was the deal.

And yet, Trumbull still wants me in Fredericksburg. Mike Buswell thinks I could still do a podcast. Maybe I could do "Doubleheader." Maybe I could be useful in other ways. That's something I'll consider.

The people of Trumbull have been amazing. They see me as one of them and while I'm careful when walking that line, I'm beyond grateful for how they've made me feel. So why wouldn't I consider driving back next week?

But I'll also say this: I'm not good in spots where I know I should be in the broadcast booth. It's why I don't go to many sports events unless I know I can remain completely occupied.

I know, in my heart, that I belong in the booth in Fredericksburg next week. I know that my audio would be a fairly useful (and smart) thing to add to fans who can't be there to watch the games in person.

The audio is good for the person in the car or working around the house or mowing their lawn or hanging out on the beach.

I know that. All of it. I have years of experience with this.

But it's not meant to be.

I was fully prepared to leave Fayetteville, NC on Saturday, drive Sean to Ocean City, MD for the next phase of his vacation, and cruise to Greenwich. Then I'd spend Sunday at home before having to teach Monday in Stratford.

Then I was going to leave for Virginia as soon as class was over. I was fairly excited about the whole thing.

But I knew in my heart all along that it was a long shot and I was right.

So, eventually, the fog lifted in my brain and I continued with my day. I watched Sean and his cousins drive go-karts and continued to hear promising results from my niece about her recovery. 

The day had plenty of happiness. We were all together as a group sharing laughs and dinner.

Speed bumps happen.

Also, there are quite possibly 1-2 more game broadcasts on the summer docket, but I'll share details on that once it's all locked in.

Then?

Onto football.

*****

Lastly, we pause to remember two important people in our lives: Thurman Munson and Vin Scully. 

We lost Thurman on this day in 1979 and Vin passed a year ago tonight. I remember where I was when I heard the news of each man's death and the profound feelings it produced.

Each man was an integral part of Major League Baseball in their own way. Vin is still impacting broadcasters and fans around the world while fathers and grandfathers tell stories of Munson's leadership, hitting, and tenacity.

They're both missed and forever tied to August 2.

The No-Hitter

 

We had a no-hitter on the air last night.

Waterford, backed by the pitching of two dynamic hurlers, shut out New Milford 8-0.

First, let's deal with New Milford. That's a team that I really like. There's talent but there's also heart. That will always be my kind of team. The late 90s Yankees were such a blast because, while they had Jeter and Mariano, they also had the lunchpail guys like Paul O'Neill and Joe Girardi and a lot of not-quite Hall of Famers like David Cone and Jorge Posada and Bernie Williams.

But they never gave up. They just kept coming at you and found a way to win four titles in five years.

I still have nightmares over basically everything since the beginning of 2001 but I disagree.

New Milford's second pitcher of the night, Ryan Lyons, kept the game steady at 5-0 before allowing three runs in the top of the sixth. To his credit, he settled his team down, striking out eight over 5.1 innings.

So, while I also called a no-hitter (of sorts) on Sunday night in the Trumbull win over Norwalk, this was different. Sure, it was 8-0 but bad innings happen.

Yet Waterford had exceptional pitching. While much attention has been paid to Matt Shampine of Waterford, right-hander Colby Sheehan was just waiting for his moment to shine.

Boy, did he find it.

According to my count, he threw 91 pitches over five innings, walking five and allowing no runs. Only one New Milford hitter got past first base and that was due to a wild pitch by Sheehan.

Oh, and Sheehan struck out 13.

Sheehan walked back out for the sixth inning and I knew his time was short to remain on the mound. A complete game no-hitter wouldn't be in the cards for him.

There are rules to protect young arms and a pitch count is that rule. After he walked the first batter of the sixth inning, Waterford head coach Lucas Beaney walked out to the mound to remove him. Of course, rules permit Sheehan to remain in the game as a fielder and still hit. He just can't pitch.

He could have faced probably one more batter but, at that point, there's still a game to win and rules to obey.

We can moan all we want about such things -- advertising patches on sleeves and pitch counts and pitch clocks -- but there's really nothing we can do about them.

Sadly, strikeouts are great but they also drive up pitch counts. So do walks.

Sheehan walked to right field and crouched down.

He had dominated this game. Incidentally, he was 3-for-4 at the plate with two doubles, a sacrifice fly, and three runs batted in. 

Player of the game, indeed.

Another right-hander, Thomas Flanagan, came on to turn out the lights. With his catcher Kian Gordy, they picked off the runner on first and then Flanagan struck out the next two batters.

The game moved to the seventh. In the booth, Shawn Sailer and I had limited any no-hitter talk. Honestly, I didn't do that to honor superstitions. I just don't get involved in such hype until necessary. I believe I mentioned New Milford's lack of hits in the sixth inning in passing.

Now, with three outs remaining, it was my job to report it. No, I don't believe in the announcer jinx but I knew if New Milford got a hit I'd hear about it.

So be it.

"What would Vin do" always rings in my ears. To that end, I allowed myself a few Scully references in the seventh.

I worked in a mention of "Twenty-nine thousand and a million butterflies," as an homage to Vin's quote in the Sandy Koufax perfect game of 1965. Indeed there weren't 29,000 at Unity Park and that was my point. 

Not wanting to overdo it I stopped there. I knew just saying the butterfly line would make Shawn smile next to me as he steadied himself.

I've called no-hitters. They can be absolutely nerve-wracking. This one wasn't.

New Milford's left field, JJ Wassong, was the last hope after Flanagan struck out the first two batters of the seventh.

I had nothing prepared in my mind to say. Gosh, no preparation?

Hardly. I simply didn't want anything to sound rehearsed. The moment needed to be reported naturally, regardless of what happened.

But, don't fool yourself. Wassong wasn't going down without a fight. While it felt like a strikeout was coming, Wassong kept making contact over an eight-pitch at bat.

Finally, Flanagan dealt and Wassong swung.

"And a line drive to short and it's put away by Matt Shampine," I said, "and Waterford has no-hit New Milford."

My voice was raised but I didn't yell. This wasn't a moment to go over the top. This wasn't about being zany. It was about recognizing the glimpse of history and respecting the efforts of both teams.

Remember, one group of 14-year-olds was just no-hit. There's always the thrill of victory and the agony of defeat to consider, especially where kids are concerned.

But, still, Vin. I thought of his awesome habit of adding the time to such calls for posterity and I decided to stamp it.

I let the moment play out in front of me before speaking.

"They have no-hit New Milford at 10:05 on a Tuesday night, July 11, 2023, and they win this game eight to nothing."

We wrapped up the broadcast and went home.

I came home to edit the broadcast and take it all in.

The broadcast is in the archive.

We'll get right back to business tonight, and so will New Milford, as they play Trumbull in an elimination game at 8 p.m. The winner moves onto the championship round to face ... 

Waterford.

However -- and this is huge -- both champion and runner-up are going to the New England tournament in Rhode Island next week. The drama will be muted just a hair because of that.

As I look back on the call all I can hope is that Shawn and I did our jobs honorably. As this is a blog, and it's mine, it comes off more "about me" than I want it to and that's the last thing I want.

The kids are the stars. 

Always.

We just talk and try to stay out of the way.

And we'll try to do so again tonight.

No-hitter or otherwise.

Imperfectly Perfect

 

Domingo Germán and catcher Kyle Higashioka celebrate
the fourth perfect game in Yankees history
(Photo: USATSI)

For the second time, I missed an entire perfect game.

David Wells' masterpiece was thrown while I was at a convention in Las Vegas. In that pre-smartphone era, I didn't learn about it until I returned to my hotel room at the Riviera and turned on SportsCenter.

I figured it out during the opening tease and yelled.

The first perfect game by a Yankees pitcher since 1956 and I saw none of it.

I listened to a large chunk of David Cone's perfecto on the radio in 1999.

Last night, I fell asleep, waking up to deal with Mr. Rascal when I glanced at my phone. Sneaking a peak at Facebook, I saw Kathy Dempsey's (she's forever "The Queen of Yacht Rock") post.

"Yankee fans weren’t booing him tonight like they did last week," she wrote. "Glad I stayed up for this!"

Then I saw that Domingo Germán had pitched a perfect game.

And I knew the haters would be out in force.

The easy knock is that he shut down the Oakland Athletics, which are in the middle of a historically bad season. But, here's the thing: you can only play the schedule in front of you.

Sandy Koufax no-hit the Mets in 1962. It still counted. Matt Cain threw a perfect game against a Houston Astros team that would lose 107 games in 2012. It still counted. 

So, yeah, Germán's perfect game is real. 

Then there's the big problem: Germán was suspended for violating MLB's and Players Association's Joint Domestic Violence, Sexual Assault and Child Abuse Policy.

He slapped his then-girlfriend at a party hosted by CC Sabathia in 2019 before becoming violent later on per news reports at that time. His girlfriend hid from him and was removed from the scene. While the police were not called and thus no report was filed, MLB suspended Germán for 81 games.

The charges were disgusting and he got what he absolutely deserved. I, frankly, wanted him out of The Bronx and said so at the time.

I do, for what it's worth, believe in second chances and redemption but that is much easier said than done.

Still, Germán was not someone that I wanted on the Yankees, further intensified when he was suspended for 10 games for excess rosin on his hands.

So, there's that to process, but there's also the historian in me. That side of me sees only the 24th perfect game in history and, regardless of everything else, that's pretty remarkable.

But the woman Germán hit that night is now his wife and the mother of his three children. She has forgiven him and they seem to be blissful. 

Now, of course, we know there is a long history of women in bad situations who make it seem like everything is great. I can only take Mara Germán at her word.

So the takeaway for me is excitement at history while still being outraged at his behavior. Both can be true.

If, however, he's cleaned himself up then all the better. I don't live in their house. I don't know them.

I'm willing to bet you don't know them either.

So I'll separate the two items. The person might not be great. The achievement is.

One last item about the perfect game: the broadcast.

"Three times in his sensational career has Sandy Koufax walked out to the mound to pitch a fateful ninth where he turned in a no-hitter. But tonight, September the 9th, nineteen hundred and 65, he made the toughest walk of his career, I'm sure, because through eight innings he has pitched a perfect game." -- Vin Scully, Sep 9, 1965.

In a piece written by Brendan Kuty on The Athletic, Kuty writes: "But he (Ryan Ruocco) was avoiding one thing. Out of concern he might jinx Germán, he made sure all night not to use the word 'perfect."

In a quote to Kuty, Ruocco added that he used the word "forever" instead. 

What an absolute cop-out.

I'm seeing people fawn over the call today but, to me, if you're buying into jinxes and superstitions, you're not doing your job.

For the record, Scully (who called 23 no-hitters and perfect games combined) said the word "perfect" three times in the ninth inning before the last out of Koufax's masterpiece in 1965.

So, no. Don't tell me what an "epic" call it was when you can't bring yourself to actually report what's going on. Though I will say that Ruocco did the right thing by laying out after the last out. I think fellow Fordham grad Scully would at least approve of that.

Since I've gone this far, let me add that there have been four Yankees perfect games. Of the broadcasts I've heard:

Don Larsen's 1956 World Series masterpiece was called by Mel Allen and Vin Scully on NBC and Bob Wolff and Bob Neal on Mutual Radio. Scully and Wolff each called the final out.

David Wells' 1998 game was called by Jim Kaat and Ken Singleton on MSG and John Sterling and Michael Kay on WABC Radio. Kaat and Sterling each received the honor of calling the last out.

David Cone's 1999 perfect game was called by Bobby Murcer and Tim McCarver on WNYW (FOX 5) and Sterling and Kay on WABC. McCarver and Sterling called the final out.

Domingo Germán's perfect game was called by Ryan Ruocco and Jeff Nelson on YES. John Sterling didn't make this trip so Justin Shackil and Suzyn Waldman handled radio duties on WFAN, with Ruocco and Shackil handling the final out calls.

These notes are obviously incomplete as I haven't listed each pre and postgame crew and any stadium reporters, such as Meredith Marakovich on YES. I've also not included the opposing team broadcasts. There would likely be, for instance, a French call of Cone's game from the Montreal Expos broadcast. There are also Spanish broadcasts, such as Rickie Ricardo for the Yankees last night.

These voices will be attached to this forever. It's an extremely cool honor and not one taken lightly.

All part of a special moment.

Chasing the Attention

 

(Found online, Designed by: Alexia Teo)

I really want to go off about people who suck up and are clout chasers.

But I'm trying not to.

You know the type. Perhaps you've even been the type. I'm sure I've had my moments.

Those who do it habitually are simply the worst. They're not always the same thing but they tend to run together.

Maybe a big-name person made a mistake and you write some kind of pandering comment to grovel for attention. You're hoping that big name will see what you wrote and pat you on the head or even give you a job or some such far-fetched idea.

Or, simply, you like the same thing on social media.

One chased clout. The other did the brown-nosing.

And, perhaps just as nefariously, is the clout chaser of social issues.

Just because I firmly believe that love is love doesn't mean everyone shares that belief. It also doesn't mean everyone buys into, say, sports teams having Pride events or honoring Juneteenth.

I saw a high school student post on Twitter his disappointment in the Dodgers for acknowledging Juneteenth. Keep in mind, of course, that Jackie Robinson broke the color barrier with the Dodgers in 1947.

Yet the only reason I saw it was that some stranger (Mets fan) retweet it with a critical comment of her own about the high school student. 

Still, how did I see it? Someone I know -- clout chasing as always -- retweeted it.

So, if you're scoring at home, instead of asking the high school student what they had against the Dodgers honoring Juneteenth, instead shame and point scoring (especially in the Mets world) was the rule of the day.

And, sometimes, we're simply allowed to have a different opinion. Further, when it comes to sports, some simply want the game to go on without anything other than balls, strikes, and the score.

Yet, let's be honest, that cat is long out of the bag.

I work for an organization in the Renegades that has a Pride Night. It also has various COPA nights, honoring different Hispanic/Latino countries. Those games are harmless and the crowd seems to enjoy it. 

The Dodgers had further issues when they recently held a Pride ceremony that involved bringing in a charitable group that has been seen as mocking Catholics.

Los Angeles has a large Catholic population. Thus the Pride ceremony got far more attention.

Regardless of what side you were on it was a clout chasers delight!

In the end, Catholics and other Christians protested outside of Dodger Stadium while the ceremony went on. The offending group -- the Sisters of Perpetual Indulgence -- received an award from the Dodgers on the field in front of a mostly empty stadium. Eventually, over 49,000 spectators made their way into the building on Vin Scully Ave and life went on.

Imagine that?

Oh, the question of "What would Vin Do?" was brought up. How would our Mr. Scully handle the situation as a faithful Catholic, which he most certainly was?

Of course, we'll never know, but it says here that Vinny would have shown up and broadcast the game. He would have done his job. Perhaps, if asked about it, he might have expressed disdain, but he was also a man of great faith and charity. Further, he was a man who didn't like attention beyond being that of a great sports broadcaster.

So, again, much ado about nothing.

The game went on. So does life.

In the end, when I addressed this with a friend and why nobody goes after the clout chaser and suck-up, my friend said the following: "Nobody cares enough about (them) to do it."

Indeed.

And thus I've addressed suck-ups and clout chasing in a manner that I can sleep well.

The Semis

 

Greetings from Robert L. Cosby Memorial Field.

On the Edwards Campus of the Brunswick School.

It's a delightful 67 degrees with the wind out of the northeast at 9 MPH.

In just under an hour, Lawrenceville -- the number one team in North America, according to Inside Lacrosse -- will play Deerfield.

It's the Big Red versus the Big Green.

Later tonight, Brunswick plays Salisbury. There is no love lost between the two and the Bruins get the home-field advantage. The two teams met last Friday with Brunswick getting the win.

These are the semifinals of the 2023 Prep Nationals. The winners meet Sunday. All four teams have played once this year already so there is a lot of familiarity.

I'm calling the semis tonight and it looks like I'm flying solo. Dan Arestia, Darien Times legend, and incredible lacrosse reporter, can't make it tonight. He'll join me on Sunday.

So we're all set. Keith, Mike, and Gustavo are setting up cameras and switchers and mixers. My audio setup is ready as well with the trusty Zoom PodTrak P4 next to my computer and my Sennheiser headset ready to party.

I'd love a new headset one of these days but it's not a priority. The Sennheisers that I have are still pretty good.

So we're all set. Bring it on! Quick setup and the games will start soon and ...

...

Oh.

(This is the SPECIAL REPORT from Robcasting News)

This just into the Robcasting Newsroom. The bus carrying one of the teams making their way to the Prep Nationals in Greenwich, CT has broken down. Repeating that bulletin, a bus with players from a school that rhymes with "Fear Dield" has broken down. Both games of tonight's tournament have been pushed back.

As of now, game one between, ahem, Deerfield and Lawrenceville will begin at 6:15. The second game -- between Brunswick and Salisbury, will begin at 8:15.

Stay tuned to your local Robcasting station for more details or follow us on social media. 

We now return you to your regularly-scheduled program.

(Play dramatic music and fade to black)

*****

I can't ignore the fact that Jim Brown has died. In fact, I wish I could have pivoted to host "Doubleheader" during the delay before lacrosse.

How to sum him up?

Well, we could simply call him the greatest football player ever.

We could call him a Civil Rights activist.

We could say he was an actor.

We could say he was once Vin Scully's partner on CBS football broadcasts.

Lastly, on this day for lacrosse, we could call him the greatest lacrosse player ever.

There are no lies in any of those statements.

Jim Brown was a bad man in every single positive use of the word bad.

Condolences to his family and loved ones.

*****

Lacrosse will happen soon. I'll be sitting here waiting for the teams to arrive.

In the meantime, congratulations to the Brunswick baseball team. In a year in which they lost their beloved pitching coach a few months before the season started and played inconsistent baseball, they rose above all to win the FAA Championship.

I would have loved to call the championship game at Hamden Hall yesterday but I had the Hunt Scanlon conference and I wasn't scheduled to call it.

You won't find me in any team pictures celebrating the title. You won't find me posing with a trophy or plaque as if I've won anything. Not that I'm against posing with the trophy or plaque. But I'm a broadcaster. I'm not part of the team. I don't work out with the team. I'm not on the sideline or field. I show up and call the game.

I've never joined Greenwich or Brunswick or anyone else for any of their postgame celebrations other than interviews. Oh sure, we stood on the field in East Hartford last December with Greenwich football and congratulated them. 

But it's their moment. Not mine.

I'm very happy for the coaches and players who become a family and now enjoy the success of the season.