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.

Nineteen Years

 

An "interesting" Alt US 19 shield, Tarpon Springs, FL, 2024

On this date in 2006, I took the plunge into writing a blog. 

Several of my friends were doing it and I thought maybe I'd give it a try. It took me some time to come up with a name, but ultimately I thought I made the right choice.

And so we sit here 19 years later. I'm still mostly the same person at heart, but I've evolved so much and I'm pretty proud of that.

Nineteen years ago, I was living in a house that we couldn't afford, married to a person who didn't want to be married to me. As awful as that might sound, I'm long past it. I didn't think I was a bad person to spend a life with and, with hindsight, well, I'll stop there.

Nearly 4,500 posts have emerged from this blog since Aug 17, 2006. Obviously, much of it came from the not-quite six years I invested in writing daily. I wish I had that drive back but I simply felt like I had run out of gas.

More to the point, I didn't want to go on about what there was to go on about. It didn't feel compelling and frankly seemed repetitive. 

I've given every emotion possible over the years. I've told as much as I felt I could or should. I know, at times, I went too far.

To people I've hurt, I apologize. 

To people who have been positively impacted by these posts, thank you.

I've tried to remain "me." Honest, fair, rational and, yet, sometimes irrational. But I've tried to remain relatable.

That doesn't always make me the most popular guy in the room.

There are things I wish I hadn't written. There are things I wish I had written.

And I often agonize over where the line is.

But, warts and all, it has all been here. 

Perhaps the urge to write consistently will return. Perhaps that will happen when I feel better about myself and about my life.

Obsessing and repeating the same things over and over aren't things I want to do, whether it's stories or compliments I've received or anything else.

Starting a blog wasn't about attention. It wasn't about finding a job, unless it went that way.

It did introduce me to new people. Both good and bad.

But it was about wanting to find my voice as a writer and to tell stories.

I hope there are many more stories to tell.

Thank you, all.

If that fates allow, we'll reach 20 years next August 17.

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.

Four Games

 

Don't worry.

The post is here.

You're not worried. I can tell.

But, in the process of preparing for four games -- Danbury/Greenwich, Avon Old Farms/Brunswick, Elmira Impact/Rockets Hockey Club, Providence Capitals/Connecticut Roughriders -- I simply didn't get this on social media.

I suppose, to some, this breaks the streak but if a post fails to post and nobody notices, does it really matter?

So, yes, I'm here. Thanks for asking.

Thursday was (indeed) a day of preparing for four games. That, after recording and editing a new "Hanratty's Huddle" in the morning. We did the podcast from Norwalk Community College, ahem, except it's not NCC anymore.

it's CT State Norwalk. Marketing, I suppose.

But that meant Terry Hanratty, Dave Torromeo, and I got to sit in a nice podcast lab, working with shiny equipment.

And, for a moment, I thought we might not have any of the 38 minutes we recorded. My computer -- for some reason -- recorded roughly seven minutes and stopped on two different recording programs.

Fortunately, the internal SD drive of the RØDECaster Pro II saved it and, with a little figuring out of the process to get the audio on my computer, the day was saved.

One thing I often really like about most of the podcasts that I do is that there isn't much editing. What I mean by that is I work in a "live to tape" style. We do the show as if we're live. If I wanted to go to another level, I could have the theme music play as well, but I normally add that in the post-production process.

On rare occasions do I actually need to edit anything out. In those cases, it's usually someone has coughed or an audio level is too low or some other minor edit. On "Talent Talks," which I do for Hunt Scanlon, occasionally a client nitpicks a bit more and I have to see if I can work some magic. In that case, the option becomes that we leave it alone or we do it over.

When it comes to "Talent Talks" I always explain that I want the client to be happy with what they've said. Any big stumbles of mine can be fixed after the fact by me, and I've done that also, rereading statements and questions that I wasn't happy with.

But, in this case, "Hanratty's Huddle" was done without incident, despite my slightly raised blood pressure. It's posted online and can be found wherever you get your podcasts. Like anything I do, we would very much appreciate a little love. Spread the word as we're still trying to grow.

And many thanks to CT State Norwalk for having us in as we try to build a relationship with them.

Oh, but back to the four games. It's standard operating procedure at first, by creating a scoresheet for four games (two football, two hockey) with relevant information (records, last game, next game, etc) and then searching for rosters.

Four games means eight rosters. Two I have at my disposal (Greenwich and Brunswick). Five were found without too much headache.

And then there's one. I'll let you figure out which one it is.

Finding them is one thing. 

Making them look the way I want is another. I don't go crazy on the appearance but I do often copy and paste into an Excel spreadsheet. In the case of some, the copying doesn't go as planned, so there needs to be some manipulation.

I did plenty of that for games that will take place on Saturday, Sunday, and next Wednesday.

As always, I'll be ready. I'll have stats, storylines, and other items as game time approaches.

I'm calling three of these games solo, with Dan Murphy on Greenwich/Danbury joining me. He might, in fact, wind up calling part of that one but that's a different story. Lots of hurdles to jump.

And blog posts will likely follow.

Tweeting On

 

I liked the bird better

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*Even when they block you.

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

I want to see what the latest obsessions are.

Yes. Obsessions. Plural.

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

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

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

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

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

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

More likely, especially if happened years ago.

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

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

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

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

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

So, yeah.

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

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

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

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

Like I said, I'm babbling.

But I'm also keeping an eye on things.

Old Enough to Vote

 

While this picture doesn't apply to this post, please know that
Alice Loxton is a wonderful follow for those interested in history
and this is her latest book.

A birthday is being celebrated today.

There will be no cake, no cards, nothing more than this post.

But now they're old enough to step into a polling place and go to college and begin to gain some independence.

They can drive, and we've aimed the car down the highway pretty consistently.

How we got to 18 is amazing. There were many times I thought it was over. It felt like the inevitable split with rebellion featuring diva behavior.

The time of birth was 7 a.m. on Aug 17, 2006.

And "Exit 55" came into existence. The first post was about breaking ground on the new Yankee Stadium the day before. I was gutted watching the ceremony.

Post number one

It's funny in hindsight that I called the first post "And Away We Go" because I often use that phrase during game broadcasts. The great Jackie Gleason would often say that during his legendary variety show on CBS and my father loved "The Great One." Thus "And Away We Go" is often said as a little nod to my dad.

I'd be remiss if I didn't mention my mother, who read posts occasionally. That's one of the amazing things about this. I never knew -- and still don't -- who was reading. I'm often surprised and mildly embarrassed when people say they're reading.

We've seen so much in these 18 years and I'm not sure I'm prepared to try to explain everything. Obviously, we've seen life roll by. There have been births and deaths and divorces and marriages and relationships and breakups and growth and bad health and storms and triumphs and deep moments and open discussions.

And I'm mostly satisfied with what I've shared.

However, I know where I was 18 years ago and how the years have impacted me. I know the changes I've seen. 

Some things, of course, have not changed. The things I've written about have evolved.

Where I worked and what I did have evolved as well. Yes, I'm still with WGCH. I'm still with the Renegades. But there's so much around that that has changed.

I had no real social media presence at that time, with the exception of starting this blog. Now I'm on MyBookXInstaSnapTok. Or whatever.

In truth, I started the blog because several friends had one and said I should try it. However, I refused to do it until I knew I was committed to it.

Now, I'm the only one still doing it.

To that end, I wrote a lot in the early days, and cranked out over 400 posts in 2009. Eventually, I scaled back. 

Way back.

My output sadly trickled down to just 35 posts in 2018.

Obviously, I've posted quite a bit since then.

Each post is (somewhat) carefully thought out. The words are often read a few times.

Still, there are regrets. There are things I wish I hadn't written and things I wish I had. I wish there were things that I wasn't bothered by. Yet I always felt it was important to talk about, especially for those dealing with similar situations.

There are things that were tough to write but needed to be written.

There are posts that I'm proud of and a few that I'm probably not.

But what this little corner of the world allowed me to discover was that I could write a bit. I wasn't just a broadcaster. My voice could be used in different ways.

I had wondered about my writing ability probably since I was in college.

The blog has helped create friendships. It's possibly damaged a few also and that makes me sad.

But here we are.

Despite thinking I might just let the "Exit 55" fade out quietly after writing a few days in a row in 2019, we are still getting together once a day for whatever comes out of my random thought generator.

I've bled for you but have always tried to keep some mystery about it all because I never wanted to be that much of an open book. But I also tried to be honest and transparent.

To those who have read every post, thank you. To those who have read even one post, thank you.

To the kind comments, thank you. To the critics and haters, thank you for the challenge.

To my inspirations and close supporters, my unending thanks.

I will continue to try to find meaningful things to write about and hopefully do it honorably.

In general, I don't write to harm. I write, if anything, to cause thought.

Sorry for whatever hurt and/or embarrassment I've caused.

I said I wanted to make sure this would last.

I don't know that I saw this carrying on for 18 years but here we are.

Ainsley's Back

 

I'm sort of dragging tonight, so forgive me if I'm not providing deep thoughts.

But, then again, we all need to check out, right? Not everything needs to be profound.

Then again, hold on. Wait a sec.

Ten years ago, I barely knew a coworker of mine named Susan. We'd chat online via instant messenger, especially if she wanted to pass along knowledge about something in Wilton, given I was a reporter in that town.

Eventually, of course, I'd start HAN Radio/Network and she was a huge sounding board for all of that.

Anyway, no need to ramble about knowing her, except to give you the foundation of how I came to know that she was an incredible reporter, editor, and writer (not necessarily in that order). I've long been dazzled by her writing talent. I've even occasionally asked her to edit this trainwreck of a blog. Generally speaking, she has demurred.

But as we got to know each other, she told me about being a published author. To that end, I learned of her book, The Blacksmith. At the time it was an ebook and I quickly downloaded it.

What you need to know is that horror and goth aren't normally my style. I'm a reader of sports, music, and travel as well as a fierce consumer of current events, which sadly means social media in 2024. But what is also my style is supporting my friends and loved ones.

So, I downloaded it and sat down one night to read it.

I was entrenched. Flabbergasted. Mesmerized. Enchanted. Titilated.

Susan created a world with her lead character, Ainsley that produced all of those emotions.

I thought it was great and nothing in my mind has changed that opinion.

Susan has added to her Tales From the Graveyard series since then and has also published two books of poetry. I have such admiration for her because I know how personal this is.

She also remains a fierce lover of storytelling, though her journalism has evolved into the marketing side of things. Still, she has interviewed a wide range of people. 

Since then, she has given Ainsley a reboot, publishing a physical copy of The Blacksmith and I'm so proud to say I have a copy.

Of course, I'm sort of afraid to sleep now with Ainsley in the house but I don't sleep much anyway.

Still, I have to watch my back.

I know Susan would be thrilled if you brought Ainsley into your world. I purchased it on Amazon and I've also seen Barnes and Noble has it as well.

I guarantee you'll enjoy it.

Error on the Author

 

"I enjoyed your post," came the note from a beloved reader, one who generally reads them all.

I was pleased to get that, and it sent me back to read the post again. I'm always curious if there was a particular passage or theme that was the cause for the feedback.

Within five seconds, I found a typo.

Then, I found another.

I quickly fixed them both, blood pressure elevating and sighs sighing.

I edit every post myself. I reread them but am often bleary-eyed as I do.

So I catch things often hours, days, months, and even years later.

And it drives me crazy.

Of course, it does given I lean towards being a perfectionist. Naturally, that's simply not possible.

It used to really make me insane but as I've learned over these nearly 18 years on "Exit 55," I'm not alone. There is a certain level of appreciation in knowing that.

I've discovered errors on "professional" sites. Plenty of them, in fact. I always assume those have editors checking every punctuation, dotted i, and crossed t.

I would be wrong.

So I've seen them all. I've seen them in emails and blog posts and stories and more.

Thus no matter how annoyed I get at myself, I take solace in the understanding that I'm human.

As is often said, editing oneself is difficult. Overall, I do a passable job at that, but things slip through for myriad reasons. 

There's exhaustion, distraction, time, and other reasons that really are just poor excuses.

Once upon a time, a fellow writer asked how I found the time to write blog posts. The funny thing is that this was said long before the "Project 365" era began.

Yes, like Ms. Swift, I have eras. No, I will not be going on a worldwide tour to perform them. She has talent. Me? Meh.

To me, sitting down to write for a few minutes is a habit, though there are nights that I'd love to not do it. But, commitment nut that I am, I don't find it difficult to carve out a few minutes. Also, I don't sleep a lot. Unless there is research involved, most posts can be assembled within an hour or less. In fact, most of the time drag for me can be...

Oh, look, a cookie!

(Sorry, that was a joke. I crack myself up.)

Now, where was I?

Oh yeah, the biggest time suck for me is 1) naming the damn posts (and my post names aren't good at all) and, more, 2) finding a suitable picture.

Thus begins the search for pictures that aren't copyrighted, are the right size, and correctly attributed.

For instance, I have no idea what picture I'll use on this post. To that point, I came up with an idea as I was typing just now but it's super-frustrating when a Google search doesn't find that shot.

Narrator: Rob did not find the image he wanted.

I suppose what I'm saying in all of this, beyond the inner frustrations of my own errors, is that I don't just sit down and write. I mean, I do, but like "Doubleheader" or game broadcasts, there is a level of preparation that does go into all of this.

It isn't like I'm lazy and unprepared. Nor would I accuse others of being so. Oh, sure, I can ad-lib a lot, but there's an effort into that.

So, much like "Where's Waldo," enjoy looking for my errors.

I'd say consider it a drinking game but that might be dangerous.

Is It Just Time?

 

I'm trying, folks.

Every day for the past five-plus years, I've sat down and scribbled roughly 500 words of gobbledegook in the hopes that readers enjoy it. 

When I've crashed into the wall known as writer's block a few close to me have urged me to keep going.

And I have. I have to the point where I've sat in parking lots and adjusted days to make sure I carved out a few minutes to write.

I've tried hard to not cheat, at least based on my standards. Some of you might think I already have and so be it.

But I also know I've recycled topics and talked about sports broadcasting until the point of it being more overplayed than "Jack and Diane."

I'm sitting here with a few minutes before running to the next thing and the only thing on my mind is that we are almost to the fourth anniversary of things shutting down due to a virus.

Even that I walk with carefully for fear of it turning into "vaccines and masks were a joke" political commentary (aka "nonsense").

I got the vaccines. I wore the masks as needed. I have no regrets. It seemed like the right thing. To you, it might not have been. OK, cool.

But my COVID shutdown story includes game broadcasts (because of course), my mother, "The Clubhouse," and a creepy empty Stamford, CT. 

Haven't I told that already? Does anyone want to hear about it again?

And, sure, I'm finalizing probably at least two baseball tournaments in July. Well, those stories can also wait until July!

I realize I'm loaded with stories but my brain is always arguing over what's interesting, what's not, and what's just obnoxious. Does anyone want to hear the same social media breakdown stories about narcissism, hypocrisy, enabling, and 100,000 pictures of the same kid?

For the record, that is neither me or Sean. In fact, I post enough about Sean and, because of that, didn't even mention him on "National Son's Day" yesterday.

There are also topics that draw nobody to the site. Sadly, writing about things like roads, the Yankees, and promising broadcasters bring minimal reads. Yesterday's post -- about a dog! -- drew nothing.

It's not a failure to just call it a day. 

Yes, this has been a pretty good habit to have but I'm never happy when I know it's 500 words of nothing that I don't feel that good about.

I can only write about my schedule so many times. I was offered two games today and turned them down for reasons including my throat being a little raw. Then again, I have two more tomorrow and a podcast on Thursday (and another one this morning) and two more games on Friday and another on Saturday.

Now, Friday? I can see that being a post, especially given I'm calling the games from Fordham. If you don't know, that's where Vin Scully went to college. So, yeah, that's sort of important.

But otherwise? Probably not.

I've carried my computer to London, San Francisco, North Carolina, Pittsburgh, and Florida to stay on top of this schedule. In all likelihood, I'm bringing it with me to Florida in two weeks.

In other words, I've brought it everywhere because my iPad just isn't sufficient to write a blog on.

But it's also possible it's just time to stop. 

Take a break.

Know when to say when.

For now, I'm here.

But, for how much longer?

Project 1,827

Me. The Cat. Dec 30, 2023

 

It was Dec 30, 2018, and this little corner of the interwebs had run out of steam.

I had only posted 33 times on "Exit 55" that year and I was just about convinced to walk away.

The blog had dwindled to no more than 81 posts a year from 2014 to 2018. 

Every year, right around Dec 30, I'd get a creative nudge to pull it together and write more. By early January, the nudge was gone.

When I started this back in 2006, I didn't want it to just die (much like my podcast did). I had several friends try their hand at blog writing and it was ultimately them who gave me the push into trying it.

Their blogs lasted a short time. I wanted to avoid that. I knew it would be a commitment and for seven years, I was pretty good about creating posts.

But by 2014, I was working as a broadcaster and writer with the HAN Network. The inspiration had just changed.

By late 2018, I wasn't working as a writer anymore, for what it's worth.

And so I wrote a post five years ago today about the classic radio baseball broadcasts you can find on the internet. 

It was hardly To Kill A Mockingbird but it was a start. Or a restart.

A day later, I wrote about John Nash's encouragement to do a post per day, something I'd been trying to do for years.

Those were the first two posts and I haven't stopped since. It's now 1,827 days in a row.

There have been a few near misses and a few spots in which I suppose I could be accused of cheating. The cheats have been when I have written the next day's post ahead of time to stay on schedule.

The near misses mostly involved travel with time zone changes, when I flew to San Francisco as well as to London. I wrote one post late at night in California and posted it after midnight in New York. But, as I was in California and before midnight, I counted it.

There was another time where I wouldn't have been home before midnight, so I used my phone as a hotspot and data in a shopping center parking lot in Norwalk. I wrote. I posted. Done.

There have been other instances of that as well. I've done everything I can to adhere to the rules and keep this daily habit of posting something.

I've tried to make this authentic and honest. I've tried to tell stories but not tell everything. I think it's important to find the line and not cross it.

Yes, the line has occasionally been crossed and that means people have been hurt by things written here. I apologize for that.

People have also been confused because writing sometimes means being vague.

This was also meant to be an outlet.

I've heard someone once question why I needed to write a blog. I didn't need it. I wanted it. A college professor suggested that I should mentor students in writing and I was always stunned by that. Writing was never expected to be something I would do and I don't know that I still consider myself a writer.

But I wanted to try it. I wanted to see if I was any good at it.

I also didn't want to make a mockery of it. Too many people can just walk in and try things (you know, like broadcasting) and it can be at best awkward. 

I didn't want that.

The blog didn't end after those posts to end 2018. Instead, it revitalized it. I suppose, if I have any concern, it's that the quality has dropped off as I often struggle for words on a nightly basis.

That's something I'll think about another time.

Tonight, I get to smile at the notion that I've written a post every day for five years.

It's not heavy lifting. Like broadcasting, it's heavy thinking, I suppose.

Thanks for reading.

I'd Really Like You to Read This

 

When you are creative and put your work out for the world to see, you're hoping people will somehow invest in it.

In my case, that means writing day after day. It means creating radio shows and game broadcasts and putting things on social media and hosting conferences and podcasts and doing anything else that I do.

Often, I don't know what the feedback is and, to be honest, I don't crave it. I don't look for comments and pats on the back and criticism. I don't know who listens to the WGCH broadcasts or watches LocalLive. I get statistics for Robcasting but I generally don't worry about them because most of the broadcasts are simulcast to another outlet and there's also an archive.

In short, I don't get a lot of metrics.

I do, however, get to see numbers for the blog every day. Unfortunately.

Sometimes, it's an indictment of the time of year. School is back or getting ready to come back. A few are fitting in one last summer getaway. So finding time to read my nonsense isn't a priority.

So, frankly, it's sometimes me. It's what I wrote and whatever I wrote wasn't exactly the top beef. It's been sort of flank steak. Hardly my best work.

The last four posts haven't landed at all. I thought the one about Veteran's Night with the Renegades would but I was wrong. So it goes. 

But I feel for anyone who does put heart and soul out there and, in many cases, is hoping their work sells. Many take that stuff personally. Whether it's words or music or broadcasts or some other kind of art, we view this stuff like they're kids.

Painting. Photography. Cooking. Music. Talking. Writing. Sculpture. Abstract. These are all forms of creativity.

Whether actually investing financially or emotionally it's all still an investment. To an extent, it's a performance of some kind. Here it's an investment of lots of words; almost all from the heart as I try to make sense of life.

Most of the time, I'm writing for me, but when writing every day for almost five years it's easy to feel the malaise that "nobody cares."

Now, I know I have a collection of people who do, indeed, care, so there's an inherent exaggeration in that statement.

This, by the way, isn't begging for everyone to say how much they love my work, but then again it would hardly be the first time that the point of a post has been missed since I didn't express it correctly.

I have friends and loved ones who create in myriad ways and they put their work out. How they measure the success of that work is up to them.

How I measure it I suppose is in that I hope it lands. I hope it resonates. So it's not always in reads but the quality of the reads, I guess.

It's an eye-opener when I see likes on a post and realize people are responding to the picture that I've used versus what I've written.

Then again, I often think that the statistics are flawed. 

But people do create. Let them know you appreciate that.

Read their stuff. Like their posts. Buy their product. Support them. Tell them you support them.

Trust me. It means more than you know.

(And buy Susan's latest book. It's emotional and deep and wonderful. I actually have a signed copy!)

At Seventeen

 

Sean and his dad, Aug 2006

Somehow, for reasons I don't understand, we're still here.

It was on this day in 2006, after prodding, encouragement, and inspiration from several friends, that I started this train wreck of a writing exercise.

My only rule was that if I started it I wanted it to last.

Well, 17 years later, here we are.

Of note on that date in 2006: 

- I owned a house.

- I was married.

- I had a pool in the backyard.

- Sean was four.

- I was sports director at WGCH, preparing for another football season.

- As I prepared to write the first post, ground was being broken on the new Yankee Stadium.

Us. July, 2006

Since then, obviously much of the above has changed and, frankly, for the better. We could do an analysis of then versus now but I'd absolutely say I'm happier and a better person now than I was then.

At that time, I had certain delusions. A certain naivete. Now, I'm more world-weary, less trusting, and dare I say even smarter. These things are frankly for the better.

Yet, overall, I'm still me.

Seventeen years and over 4,000 posts have washed by. There have been wonderful triumphs. There have also been horrible lows. I've never quite figured out the lowest point. Deep financial woes a few times, especially in late 2017/early 2018 come to mind.

The pandemic of 2020 to 2021 also impacted me much more than I've ever spoken about.

But the highs have been full of laughter and love and friendship and whittling down exactly who belongs in the circle that I want around me.

And just when I thought I was about to end this journey here, I elected to jump into writing a post per day. Save for very few exceptions where time zones have come into play (San Francisco, London) I've honorably done that very thing.

And I suppose that's an interesting thought: where I've written from. OK, maybe I haven't typed away from the Great Pyramid of Giza but I've brought you to places that were meaningful and interesting to me.

- North Carolina

- Florida (in fact, a few locations in the Sunshine State)

- Rhode Island

- San Francisco

- London

- Virginia

- Stuck in traffic in the middle of Interstate 95 in Bridgeport while I typed on my phone

- A parking lot in Norwalk, CT

and wherever else. I know there are others whose datelines I've forgotten.

I haven't loved every story I've written. Heck, I can give you examples from this week alone. But I've loved plenty of others.

Heck, I can give you examples from this week alone!

I actually really enjoyed researching and presenting Arctic Outpost Radio to you last night. Sometimes, the writing is a joy even if the reaction isn't.

But, mostly, I find it all to be cathartic. Discussing the divorce and the heartache and the battles and the insanity of life and my own bouts of being down and the fun with friends, family, and especially Sean.

Even introducing The Cat and telling stories about him. Almost three years into his living with us and I truly realize that we needed him mostly for the company but also for the diversion he provided after Mom died.

I've learned to not live in the past but certainly honor it, understanding everything that I've seen and heard. A lot of things have damaged me for sure but I like to think I'm a survivor.

I'm not where I thought I would be in a lot of ways. I just have to accept that and keep striving.

As a writer, I've continued to be a reporter, in that every detail of life doesn't need to be shared. I share enough. I can't explain my philosophy much better than that. I constantly worry about oversharing.

You didn't need a post about every baseball game or practice of Sean's. There's a line.

So you don't know a lot of stuff through these posts.

But, no matter what, it's always honest.

And to each person that has read, I say thanks. To Susan, Shawn, Harold, and Jon, who I know have read basically everything, profound thanks. To others I've missed, please note there's a reason I tend to not name names and I apologize if I missed you!

With that, we start the 18th year here. I'm not planning to shut down the blog anytime soon.

If anything, I ponder how to keep growing. I've often contemplated changing the website, which is why I share the posts on WordPress.

Of course, I'll keep grinding. No dream necessarily dies. It all just has healthy doses of reality.

Real. 

That's me.

We keep moving forward.

Aug 17, 2023

4K

 

By chance, I was looking at the dashboard page here at Exit 55 headquarters when I noticed the total number of published posts.

It said 3,997.

That was a few days ago.

Thus, friends, this is post number 4,000.

It's not 4,000 days in a row but is the total since we first signed into this thing almost 17 years ago.

Pete Rose and Ty Cobb both collected well over 4,000 hits. The great Ichiro did as well, with over 1,200 of them occurring in his native Japan.

As these are 4,000 posts they're hardly hits. Even if they were, most of them are little rollers that may have been placed where an infielder bobbled it and the official scorer took mercy.

Thus, a hit.

Oh, I suppose there have been a few ringing doubles and, even with my speed (or lack thereof) a triple. Perhaps even a long ball that passed the 314 marker in right field.

I'd like to think there's been a no-doubter or two but I'm not that confident nor full of myself.

So here we are.

RA4K, if I may.

I've sat down at a computer over 4,000 times to write on this bloggity. There are, still, three posts that are in draft form. Very few have ever been deleted. 

With a day full of baseball ahead of me (first pitch: 1 p.m., weather permitting) this made for an easy post to start the day.

I've prepped as best as I can for these games considering there's nothing on these teams yet. Hope the gatekeepers will still allow me to do my job.

I'll still do my best.

I thank you -- the people who keep driving me to write.

Thank you.

Four-thousand times.

Why Does He Have a Blog?

You know people talk about you behind your back.

Well, I know it.

But it's when I hear it that I officially get put off.

So it once got back to me that someone asked, mockingly, about why I have a blog.

OK, so let's dig into it.

The short answer is that this was not meant to be some ego-driven narcissistic mess. That being said, it was definitely meant to be an outlet for me.

The first, and simplest reason, was that I wanted to try my hand at writing. I'd always had the voice of a college professor in my head from when I was a freshman at Westchester Community College. She had been impressed by my work in English 101 and thought I'd make a good tutor.

As has often been the case with me, I simply had too much going on to do that but it also begged the question ... 

"You think I'm a good writer? You're not confusing me with someone else?"

So that's item number one: I like to write and always wanted to try it. I'd long admired the work of writers like Mike Lupica and others and thought I'd like to use my voice in a different way.

Beyond that, I'm a storyteller. That's what a play-by-play announcer is. At least, the ones that I like are storytellers.

Incidentally, the Yankees are playing the Dodgers this weekend and something is definitely missing. Of course, Vin had retired in 2016 but he would still come around and visit Dodger Stadium for certain games. I feel like we might have seen him but, alas, the GOAT is no longer with us of course.

So, yes, storytelling. It's been fun to dig into things all around my world. I never wanted the blog to be single-minded. I didn't want to just tell sports stories. I hoped to show that I was more than a one-trick pony. 

That meant talking music and travel and my love of roads and living honestly. You learned about love and loss and hurt and anger and triumph.

Sometimes I also wanted to use it as an outlet to scream into the void.

I hoped the blog would find an audience and become a place where we could have respectful conversations.

To that end, I've taken the slings and arrows when necessary but, overall, the comments have been pleasant.

When I began, blogs were pretty common. But I also knew that many ended almost as quickly as they started. 

I didn't want to be like that.

Still, I was at the end about 12 years in when I took one last shot at writing more consistently. This time, it worked and we're still here.

One other thing to note: blog writing can be free. And, thus, via both Blogger and WordPress, I've had a home that didn't cost me anything.

That mattered, especially in the darkest moments. 

Why do I keep doing it? Because while it won't make me financially rich it has made me rich in other ways. It has enriched me personally and has created relationships.

It also will never dazzle in terms of reads. I know what statistics I see and they're rarely overwhelming. But it's wonderful to know that a collection of people actually wait for new posts every day. I hear "I read your blog" from people quite often and I'm often shocked to hear it.

On the other hand, I think it has also damaged some relationships. I don't like that and I take it seriously. There have been times when I know I've hurt people and that's not something I'm proud of. Yet, there are simply times that I've needed to say what I had to say.

Still, all of that allowed me to grow. It taught me how to use my words effectively (not that I've succeeded). It's also a document of how I've evolved as a person.

And, to that end, it's a document of events. I can go back to that very first post of Aug 2006. I can pull up my thoughts after a variety of things to remember where I was.

I didn't need to explain why I started a blog nearly 17 years ago. I don't need to explain why I keep doing it. But I figured I'd go there anyway.

Yet, in truth, I don't owe anyone an answer.

I started writing a blog and continue to do so because I want to.

That's why.

No Need To Talk

 

Tampa Bay from the Sunshine Skyway Bridge

OK, that picture has nothing to do with the post but I booked plane tickets to Tampa for the first time in 11 years while I was writing so yeah. 

I know the drill.

Let's face it. So do you.

For the past few years, I've used the #BellLetsTalk day to try to get us, well, talking about mental health.

And, basically, the words land with a thud.

Before you say, "Oh, but we read it!" I see the stats and, trust me, most of you didn't.

And it's OK.

We still struggle to talk about mental health and well-being for the very reasons I highlighted yesterday. Some of it is fear and some of it is in the "I'm fine! There's nothing to talk about" mentality. That is to say, nobody wants to talk about it. Or they're hiding.

So, yeah. I get it. 

Writing this blog every day means bleeding to an extent. I've done my fair share but, no, I haven't revealed everything in my life. No, I didn't need anyone to feed my ego but respond to the post. The post -- while including my own stories -- really wasn't meant to be about me. 

If anything, I only want to inspire and support in any way I can. So, in the small number of people who did read the post, if those words landed, then great. That's my hope.

But that bleeding can make me feel a bit raw. I'm a bit of an open wound at that point. 

It's not like I put out a poll to find out what content you want to read or what makes you click. This process is very inexact. Certain posts connect and others don't for whatever reason.

So I had a feeling last night was a swing and a miss.

"Bell? Is that the old telephone company?"

"Oh, they're a Canadian company? Well, you write an American blog!"

"Mental health? Oh, hells no!"

Those aren't real quotes. They're sort of how I see any conversation playing out.

While I make light of this, what I don't make light of is there are too many people hiding because they think they don't need help.

Help, of course, is best handled by a professional but sometimes it's as simple as speaking out and admitting you have a concern whatever it may be.

So my offer remains available. If you need someone to talk to, I'm here.

I did basketball today. I'll call more tomorrow.

Two more on Sunday.

Erotica with a Sense of Humor

 

Alice Levine, Jamie Morton, James Cooper

The following podcast contains adult themes, sexual content, and strong language. Basically, all the good stuff. -- My Dad Wrote a Porno disclaimer

My niece and I were on the train into New York City one Sunday a few years ago when we got to talking about podcasts.

I had developed a slight interest in podcasts and was beginning to establish what I liked to listen to.

The train came to a stop and we sat for a while in Valhalla, NY waiting for the delay to subside. 

Stephanie and I have similar senses of humor so as our podcast discussion carried on, she enlightened me about a favorite of hers.

She told me the title and I sat there, sort of stunned.

So, imagine your father has retired from his career but, instead of living a mundane life, elects to sit quietly and write a book. Then you discover your father's genre is, er, erotic literature. You're horrified but, for entertainment, you sit down with your mates and read a new chapter of your father's erotic novel.

Well, then, welcome to My Dad Wrote a Porno. The podcast debuted in Oct 2015 with Jamie Morton serving as the host of the show. It's Jamie's dad, writing under the pen name Rocky Flintstone, who is the author in question.

The books that Rocky wrote are part of a series that began with Belinda Blinked and evolved to Belinda Blinked 6.

Joining Jamie as hosts are his friends James Cooper and Alice Levine. The format of the show was always pretty simple. During each episode, Jamie would generally open and close the show as well as serve as the reader of his father's creation. Alice and James reacted with shock and hysterics as each chapter was dispersed.

Their hysterics were normally enough to reduce me to the same.

The creation of the podcast -- at least in theory -- seemed easy enough. There was a great theme song that literally every fan knows by heart and certainly, some editing was needed but, beyond that, there were never any "bells and whistles" to MDWAP.

Jamie would conjure up different voices for each character with varying results, especially when it came to accents. Alice and James would mock Rocky's writing skills, grammar, and punctuation and go down whatever rabbit hole they saw to add to the laughs. Also, Alice and James were known for making up little songs at times.

Now, here's the thing. As I've written, I'm hardly a prude (listening to this podcast should solidify that) but I tend to not write that kind of stuff on the blog. So I'll likely not be quoting much of the podcast here due to language and content. I also don't want to give away any spoilers.

Besides, if you're going to listen, you need to hear it fresh.

Normally, as each season reached its conclusion, Jamie would note that he'd open the next book and when the next podcast season would begin. As Belinda Blinked 6 came to a close, nothing was said about a new book.

Oh, there will be a new book but it will proceed without a podcast. Each host announced via social media that the end had arrived for the podcast.

The series, in fact, concluded a week ago. Jame, James, and Alice announced that the podcast had reached a point that, they felt, was a natural stopping point.

The show that I had come to call "The Porno Podcast" was over. The three hosts said that there is a future for My Dad Wrote a Porno but they can't announce what that next step is yet.

Indeed, what had started as an audio podcast had certainly evolved with over 430 million downloads. The books actually generated physical copies and merchandise before a stage show was created and even an HBO Special, which aired in 2019.

Fans had become known as "Belinkers" in honor of Belinda Blumenthal, the heroine of the books.

In fact, the stage show was on tour in London and had its first night there when I was in town in April 2022. I considered getting a ticket for myself but, considering I was in London with my Hunt Scanlon family, I didn't think it was appropriate. I settled for walking by the theater and smiling at the knowledge that the show was there.

Emma Thompson keeps the hosts honest

Along with the new chapters, the podcast included episodes called "Footnotes" which often had the hosts reading fan emails and chatting with some celebrities as well. Dan Levy and Emma Thompson were just two of the celebs to talk with Jamie, Alice, and James.

Following the final chapter reading, the trio released one last "Footnotes" episode with the author and legend himself, Rocky Flintstone. It was an enjoyable coda to listen to the creator of all of the ridiculousness discuss how it all came together.

In the end, the books and the podcast helped make father and son even closer and I'll always applaud that.

When you invest in listening to such a thing, the people involved become a part of your life. Alice was a BBC Radio DJ when I started listening to MDWAP so, of course, we have a certain kinship, though Levine has since moved on to TV.

But you get to know these people to an extent and they help you through long drives to and from work or while mowing the lawn or doing something else.

The laughs they generated won't be forgotten and, of course, the podcast itself will live on in archive form wherever you get your podcasts. It's not too late to start listening.

Prudes need not apply though. The language is salty and sharp though the content isn't quite as filthy as "erotic literature" might imply. There's a whole story to each book and, if anything, the "eroticism" is more comical than anything else.

Still, I can assure you that if you blush easily then you need to be prepared. I'm positive I blushed and uttered my fair share of groans at the more painful passages in each book.

I was grateful for each season of MDWAP and I'm sorry that they've stopped the podcast. Still, time moves on.

I look forward to whatever they do next.

Thursday Thoughts

 

Time is winding down and so is my energy tonight.

- I'm so proud of our dear Susan. I mean, I am for a lot of reasons including her dignity and humor in the face of life, but tonight I think it's because of a story about an artist she truly admires. She got an interview with Emily Sailers of the Indigo Girls and it went really well. 

The story, of course, is great and has also done really well. The social media team for the duo of Sailers and Amy Ray seem to get it because they shared Susan's completed story on their Facebook page. As I write, the story is approaching 1,000 likes and receiving praise from fans of the band.

I know what this means to Susan. Look, it's not about attention for her but it can be about respect. Someone she admires gave the story well-deserved extra attention. 

She and I have compared notes many times on these kinds of interviews. She has done a remarkable job with all of them, including the one or two that didn't quite go as planned. I'll withhold names since that's Susan's story to tell.

Anyway, I can always babble about her. She rocks and her work is getting nice attention tonight. I'm happy about that.

- It was back to hockey for me today. Oh, that first call after months away can often be raw. I knew today would have an emotional touch given the official dedication of the Balkind Balcony.

It was a poignant way to open the season and I'm moved to be broadcasting from up there.

Sports, of course, always get the last say. The scriptwriters weren't with Brunswick today, as the Bruins fell to Loomis Chafee 3-2. Brunswick's senior goalie, Brendan Holohan, basically stood on his head at times. His mates just couldn't answer offensively.

I'm thinking I'll see the Bruins on the ice again next Wednesday though we haven't set the full broadcast schedule yet.

The first game back often feels like a reunion. I hadn't called Brunswick in a couple of weeks and hadn't been in the Sampson Athletic Center since probably last March. Besides the plaque honoring Teddy Balkind, the rink has new lights and two new scoreboards along with some other cosmetic changes that I noticed.

The place looked great.

It was nice to see those I haven't seen in months. It was also nice to get back to calling hockey. Yes, I had rust and I feel like I'm stumbling at times but hopefully, viewers found it all smooth.

I'll be back there to call basketball on Saturday.

- Baseball Hall of Famer Gaylord Perry died today. He was a noted character who had a jersey with the multiple teams that he played for on it. I remember him first with the Giants and then with the Indians but he also had a brief stay with the Yankees.

While he was a seemingly enjoyable soul, whenever I think of him, I immediately think of Bobby Ray Murcer. Oh, did they have a rivalry at one point in the 70s! For more, I'll point you to this biography of Murcer on SABR, written by Clifford Blau (no, not by me). The key passage is this:

Murcer had a running feud with Gaylord Perry, the AL Cy Young Award winner in 1972. Perry had held Murcer to 2 hits in 20 at bats that year, mainly (Bobby thought) by throwing a greaseball. Murcer had some fun with Gaylord; he once caught a fly for the last out of an inning and spit on the ball before tossing it to Perry. Another time he sent Perry a gallon of lard. Perry retaliated by having a mutual acquaintance cover his hand with grease before shaking hands with Murcer and saying “Gaylord says hello.” Despite having better success with Perry in 1973 (nine hits in twenty-four at bats), Murcer’s complaints about the greaseball got him into trouble in late June when he commented that neither AL President Joe Cronin nor Commissioner Bowie Kuhn had the guts to stop Perry from throwing the pitch. Kuhn then proved Murcer correct by fining Bobby for telling the truth while doing nothing to stop Perry from throwing his illegal pitch.

Yeah. So forgive me if I scowl when someone mentions Perry and, of course, Bowie Kuhn. For further reading, Bobby's book Yankee For Life has more details of the feud between the two ballplayers.

I wish Gaylord Perry no ill will and may certainly rest in peace (or pitching). He was, though, a notorious cheater that we all turned a blind eye to -- a point that I've noted many times over the years yet he's in Cooperstown. I'm fine with that but it does sort of muddy the water a bit (Barry Bonds? Roger Clemens? Anyone?).

Either way, whether funny or not, he did my guy Bobby Ray dirty.

- The other night, after Chris Erway and I wrapped up the Greenwich/Hamden broadcast, I saw the above tweet from John Scarlata. John was an outstanding, dominant Greenwich player and, as an alum, he's now tuning in to stay up on the Cardinals.

As with what I wrote about Susan above, you can't put on price on this kind of thing. It means we've had an impact. Over 20 years of Greenwich students have been covered by me and my fellow broadcasters. We often wonder who is listening and watching and reading. The important thing is that the game is getting covered and, for fans, they have "voices" they can trust. They're used to my cadence. They're used to the byplay between the boys in the booth.

We're the comfy pillow for them, like their varsity jacket, after they leave GHS. So to know that John and other alums and other listeners not only count -- nay, expect -- to hear us but are pleased to do so really means a lot.

And they'll hear us all again on Sunday.