Oh, Christmas Tree

 

Hop on Pop. I loved the book as a kid. This was from Sean.

One might say it is a Christmas miracle.

Mock it if you wish.

But the significance of a Christmas Tree in my home is no small thing.

The tree itself is a relic, dating back to a time when I was married, and it served as a second tree for us. As I recall, it came from a store where they were getting ready to throw it out.

So it got claimed.

After the various machinations of life -- relocation, etc -- it came to be Sean's while living at his mother's. Last year, he said he wanted to move it to Greenwich.

I couldn't say no. I wouldn't say no.

So he brought it here, well into the season, we lit it up, and it sat there until just after the first of the year. We didn't put ornaments on it, but there was a certain amount of joy regardless.

Oh, I've buried some stuff here, haven't I? Christmas and the season post-Thanksgiving have long been an issue for me. My dad loved Christmas, so I put on a happy face every year to keep Mom going after he died. It seemed like the right thing to do. Keep up appearances.

Eventually, I was blessed with Sean, and of course, I wanted all of his days to be merry and bright.

He grew up, and times changed. With Mom getting older and holiday events being anywhere but at her house, the tree tradition just stopped.

Sean still had a tree at his mother's house, and we were sort of OK with all of it. Plus, the holiday season just became this thing that we survived.

Of course, after Mom passed in 2020, neither one of us was in any great rush to put a tree up. The emotional weight of her loss made that an easy call, combined with the inevitability that we'd move and the living room being loaded with stuff.

Again, we'd keep up appearances, but the family part of it changed. Of course, our address would also change with the move to Greenwich.

I'd do little things each year, like put up a few holiday-related items, even if just for a chuckle. I'd work in our Waffle House Christmas mugs along with our WSNO radio station model.

A small tree -- Mom had one of those fiber optic ones, might also come out as a nod to her minimalist approach toward the end of her life.

The ornaments, however, stayed in a bin.

Finally, Sean brought the tree here last December. There would be no presents under it -- a result of economic realities -- but it was there.

What we would do is treat ourselves to a trip as a present. But, yeah, times were really tough. We're still not exactly on easy street either.

We put the tree back in our basement last December, and it stayed there. I didn't give it much thought until Sean reminded me.

With this year -- and maybe a renewed sense of life -- I said it was time to reach into the time capsule of ornaments.

Bugs Bunny, Derek Jeter, Mickey Mantle, Fred Flintstone, Goassamer the monster, The Beatles, and myriad sports ornaments dot the tree. The Hop on Pop ornament -- a gift from Sean to me when he was little -- is clipped in place. Other nostalgic trinkets, dating back before I was born, are in their rightful place.

There's even a WGCH ornament, from the brief era that we also owned WVIP out of Mount Kisco.

It's minimal. It's leaning slightly. It has an angel topper that was created, probably back in the mid-70s.

It's perfect for us.

Oh, please. Go ahead and call it a Charlie Brown tree. I've already said it.

But it's also like Mom and Dad are here.

And, you know what?

I'm here also.

And that's how it should be.

*****

I'm off to England tomorrow morning. For the first time since 1999, I won't be on a Greenwich football playoff game. I was on the semifinal win over Fairfield Prep as the sideline reporter (!) in '99, before John Connelly called the championship win over Southington.

I've called every playoff game since.

Monday night, Dan Murphy will be in the lead seat as the Cardinals play -- yup! -- Fairfield Prep. He'll also likely be solo, as no one on the roster is available. Chemistry matters, and I reached out to people I trust. 

I trust Dan. He'll be great.

I'll miss it. But I'll be in the UK.

Game time 6:00 on WGCH and -- yes! -- Robcasting.

"No" Way

 

OK, this one will turn personal. 

I have to tell you it's an art form to see people post things and then make them about themselves.

I abhor it, especially if I do it.

But, well, I'll be guilty on this one.

I just finished watching Southpaw: The Life and Legacy of Jim Abbott on ESPN. It's a documentary about the left-handed pitcher whose 10-year career produced 87 wins and some moments of brilliance.

There's a "but" here. Abbott was born without a right hand. That's right. He was a one-handed pitcher. He figured out how to spin the glove off his left hand for fielding, then put it right back on after delivering the pitch. It was stunning to watch.

It was inspiring. In fact, part of the documentary is his dealing with being seen as a "one-handed pitcher" and an inspiration, as opposed to just being a pitcher.

The documentary is astounding. It's gorgeous. It's really well done. It follows him from his early life in Michigan, understanding why he didn't have a right hand, how he adjusted, and being a stud athlete in high school and at the University of Michigan before being drafted by the California Angels.

It centers largely on the most famous day of his baseball career: Sep 4, 1993. 

Jim Abbott pitched a no-hitter.

Against the Cleveland Indians. A team that was loaded with Hall of Famers (Jim Thome), potential Hall of Famers (Kenny Lofton, Albert Belle), a damn good close-but-not-quite Hall of Famer (Carlos Baerga), and a guy that could be a Hall of Famer but, hey, steroids (Manny Ramirez).

Yes, the Indians were stacked.

Oh, and Jim Abbott pitched a no-hitter against the Cleveland Indians on Sep 4, 1993 at Yankee Stadium. It was the first no-hitter in The Bronx since 1983, when Dave Righetti no-hit the Red Sox.

Here's where I come in. I was at Yankee Stadium that day.

I discovered Abbott while watching TV back in the 80s. In those days of flipping the channel, I came across Abbott and Michigan and became mesmerized. He was incredibly easy to root for and I became a fan.

I was thrilled to see him make it to the Angels. We didn't have the collection of games that we can watch now, so I'd follow him via the newspaper.

But then, after the roller coaster of the first part of his major league career, Abbott found himself traded in late 1992.

To the Yankees. I was overjoyed.

Success, however, wasn't automatic. He pitched the home opener at the Stadium on April 12th, firing a complete game, allowing eight hits, and one earned run as the Bombers beat the Royals 4-1. Two other things that day: new Yankee Paul O'Neill had four hits and the losing pitcher was future Yankee David Cone.

Oh, and I was at that one also.

But by Sep 4, Abbott's returns were mixed. He'd come into that game at 9-11, and he had clearly underachieved. Keep that word in mind when you watch the documentary.

In Mahopac, I pulled myself together and headed to my then-fiancé's house. Her father would drive all of us. I sat in the back of their car and wondered exactly why we were bothering to go. The day was stark. It was cloudy, dark, and misty, and it felt like the game would never happen.

Our seats were in the right field corner lower deck. The Yankees, heading back not only to respectability but to being THE YANKEES, would only draw 27,125 on this miserable day.

Abbott was sharp early, relying on offspeed pitches and breaking balls to keep the dangerous Indians on their heels.

It would take until the bottom of the third for the New York offense to generate something. A Dion James single turned into a Little League home run as the Indians committed two errors and three runs scored.

In the bottom of the fifth, we watched as Randy Velarde lined a home run over the right center field wall. It was 4-0, and that was it for the scoring.

I was keeping score and wasn't moving. Not one to overreact, I made no note of the fact that Abbott had yet to give up a hit.

It was around the middle innings when Sean's mother (yes, my fiancée) asked to go get food. Dutifully, I followed along, rolling my eyes at having to leave my seat. We found a concession stand and satisfied whatever itch she needed to scratch.

What was unusual for me was that I didn't stop keeping score, listening to the radio broadcast as it was pumped through speakers in the concourse area. At that point, a no-hitter didn't seem real to me. I'd been going to Yankee games since 1972 and had never seen one in person.

Back in our seats, the game rolled along. At the end of six innings, I allowed myself to think it. Jim Abbott -- my guy, by the way -- was pitching a no-hitter.

Eventually, as the crowd began to go nuts, I glanced at my former brother-in-law. I think he was 15 or 16 at the time. 

"Do you see what I see on the scoreboard?" I said.

"Oh yeah," came the reply.

In the broadcast booth, I acknowledge no-hitters in the process of reporting. In this case, I said little to nothing here.

Abbott got three groundouts in the top of the seventh. One of them required the usual terrific defensive play, as Wade Boggs snagged a hard grounder in the hole off the bat of Albert Belle. Suddenly, it all felt real.

I remember thinking every no-hitter has "that play." Some kind of solid or great defensive play. The baseball gods need to be in your corner.

I breathed and tried to sing "Take Me Out to the Ballgame" at the seventh inning stretch. 

He struck out Manny in the top of the eighth and, after a walk to Thome, he induced pinch hitter Sandy Alomar Jr to ground to third.

There were three outs left.

The bottom of the eighth, as the Yankees hit, felt endless.

Abbott had walked four. He also had to face the top of the Cleveland lineup in the top of the ninth.

I took a deep breath. History was on the line.

My ex-wife didn't understand why the crowd of 27,000 was losing its collective stuff. In her mind, OK, the game was likely in hand at 4-0, so what was the big deal?

"Look at the 0 in the hit column," I whispered.

"Oh."

Kenny Lofton was first. A classic leadoff tablesetter, Abbott got him to bounce to second.

Next came Felix Fermin. In the midst of a good year in 1994, he was a good contact man, which was the job of a number two hitter at that time.

In this case, Abbott left a pitch out over the plate and Fermin crushed it to left center. They call it "Death Valley" for a reason, as it was 399 feet to the alley. I held my breath as the ball climbed but, as I've taught so many to do, I kept and eye on the outfielders. Bernie Williams, not-quite 25 on that day, moved like a gazelle and caught up to it near the warning track.

Seriously, he made it look easy.

Two outs.

Carlos Baerga was next. A professional hitter, he'd bat .317 in 1993.

One out to go.

Scorecard in hand, voice wavering (very unusual for me), I watched.

Abbott delivered. Baerga swung.

Around the world, millions of people were inspired, watching this man who didn't want to be "a disabled pitcher" live up to that dream.

He was just a pitcher. Baerga rolled a grounder to shortstop Mike Gallego, who threw across to Don Mattingly (another possible Hall of Famer) and it was over.

Jim Abbott was the pitcher of a no-hitter.

Abbott and catcher Matt Nokes had worked together like a charm. The disappointments of the season didn't matter at that point. They won the game.

And Jim Abbott -- a truly lovely, sweet man -- was a hero to millions.

And I was almost without a voice. It was as great a moment as I had ever known in Yankee Stadium.

I still have the scorecard tucked away. I treasure the memories of witnessing it, even if it comes from an entirely different lifetime.

I watched this beautiful documentary with the joy of remembering that game.

Jim Abbott won't have a plaque in Cooperstown. He doesn't need one.

But watch the documentary and you'll understand that, to many, he's already there.

I couldn't find my scorecard tonight, but this is my copy
of the NewYork Daily News from the next morning.

Last note: thank you to the many who reached out following my last post. I know I worried some, but I guess I needed to write what I wrote, no matter how much it embarrassed me. For the record, nothing has changed. But I know I'm loved and I'm grateful.

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.

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.

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

Onto the Fall Classic

 

That sure looks like joy to me

The ball settled into Juan Soto's glove and it was over.

I sat back and smiled.

Sean sat down next to The Cat. There was much laughter.

The Yankees were back in the World Series for the first time since 2009.

It's their 41st American League Pennant and, somehow, the 12th in my lifetime.

In that moment, I wanted to see Sean's reaction, recalling how he was only seven the last time they were in the Series. In fact, I had to wake him up for the last out when they beat the Phillies.

I felt fortunate. Spoiled. And yet, unafraid to be greedy. I recall being a few outs away in 2001 from a four-peat. I always wondered what it was like to live through the 1936-1939 and 1949-1953 Yankee runs. Of course, the 2001 Series imploded in the bottom of the ninth in Arizona at a time when we needed sports as much as ever.

That loss hurts more now than it did then.

In an era in which a fanbase thinks they're the only one who ever experiences happiness (you know: humor, whimsy, and joy), I'm here to say that winning is fun. That was basically the point of a tweet I sent out a few hours ago that I'm being eviscerated for.

No, seriously.  As I'm writing in the early afternoon, the tweet has over 76,000 impressions, and Mets fans are just foaming as opposed to, you know, focusing on Game 6. They absolutely missed the point but they're also uptight and are taking it out on me.

For those wondering, sports is especially full of whimy, humor, and joy when you win. Pop songs and secondary fast food mascots aren't necessary. There are myriad ways to have fun in sports but, ultimately, it's about winning at that level.

It's baseball. It's supposed to be fun.

I never said they were the smartest fan base in the world. They're not.

The replies, frankly, are hysterical. I've been laughing for probably a solid five hours now.

Regardless of them, the New York Yankees are back in the World Series. In truth, I'll be watching two games in San Francisco. Let's face it, if it's against the Dodgers, the Yankees will be the more popular team since they hate Los Angeles there.

The good news, of course, is that those games will likely be over by 9 p.m. Pacific time.

There was once a time when this felt like a birthright but I soon learned it wasn't. The Yankees of the early 70s were fun but were also, mostly, mediocre. At least until 1976.

Then 1977.

Then 1978.

Three pennants. Two titles. It felt like it would happen every year. 

Then came 1979. The Orioles were better and Thurman Munson died. 

And then came the 80s. After 1981 came one year after another. Some great players. Some great moments. Lots of fun. Watching games. Listening to games. But no playoffs.

The early 90s were the bottom.

But with expanded playoffs and a better approach to creating a team, the Yankees became a dynasty once more.

The last title was the 2009 one. Lots of playoffs followed. Lots of disappointment. And then a train wreck of a season in 2023.

But they're back.

In the World Series.

Where they belong.

They await an opponent. Either the Dodgers or the Mets.

But today, despite the misguided vitriol being aimed at me by Mets fans, today is a day to smile. 

With more work to be done.

*****

Today's "Meet the Beatles" featured Sun Kings -- A Beatles Tribute and they were outstanding. The show is in my Mixlr archive so please give it a listen. It wasn't an easy show to mix due to mics not working and the challenge of blending the vocals and instruments properly but I'm still pretty happy with it.

They were amazing and they'll be back.

The Day is Done

 

It's just before midnight and I'm fried.

The Yankees made us sweat through a second straight game before finally winning Game 4 of the American League Championship Series. Last night, of course, was a gutwrenching loss.

But they're now up three games to one and are a win away from their 41st league pennant.

There was also football tonight and I was at Cardinal Stadium for Wilton/Greenwich.

Final score: Wilton 20, Greenwich 17. I'm fairly stunned.

But that's why they lace them up and play. Greenwich had their struggles and the Warriors played an outstanding game.

Big Red falls to 4-1. They play again next Friday at Trumbull.

In the booth, Dan and I had a very good call. We were talking later about my assessment of things and I think he's been outstanding. He's been everything I could hope for.

With that, we call it a night.

Onto Brunswick tomorrow.

This is Not a Baseball Post

  

Whitey Ford delivers to Bill Virdon during
1960 World Series at Yankee Stadium

I was going to write about baseball tonight because it is so prominent right now.

You know, playoffs and all, with the Mets playing.

Oh, you say another team is playing? I should check that out.

OK, seriously, I'm probably not going to write a lot about baseball because, sometimes, I just don't feel like posting about stuff that no one reads.

I'm not kidding. The lowest-read posts are generally baseball-related for some reason.

Sometimes, I just write and don't worry about it. Tonight, I'm not feeling it.

So, baseball is on. The Yankees (you know, that other team) are winning. That pleases me.

But I'll spare you any words of wisdom about any of that.

On the other hand, I started something new tonight, helping to get a show off the ground. Rick Zolzer -- you know, "The Zolz" -- and I have been talking about doing a show for a few months. He did one on Z93 in Poughkeepsie and I joined in 2021-2022.

He has since moved over to the Pamal radio cluster and the process began to put a new show on the air. Of course, it's viewed as a "Zolz" show when, in reality, it's Zolz, me, and Sheriff Kirk Imperati.

It will air every Monday night at 6 on "The Beacon," a six-frequency group led by WGHQ, along with WBNR and WLNA. We're on AM and FM as well as the internet and, of course, Robcasting. "The Beacon" is part of the old Hudson Valley Talk Radio that I used to do the Renegades on.

I realize I'm often involved in shows because I'm the glue. What I mean by that is I keep things on the air, run equipment as needed, and act as a voice at times. It's essentially the role I play on "The Clubhouse." In that case, I'm the lead in that I open and close the show, as well as take us into and out of breaks. 

"The Clubhouse," by the way, returns Wednesday night on WGCH. While I'm at it, this is my entire schedule this week:

Mon, 6pm: Zolz's Are You Kidding Me...Again

Tue, 11:30: CT Roughriders/HC Hockey Club

Tue, 4pm: Doubleheader

Wed, 7p: The Clubhouse

Thu, 4pm: Doubleheader

Fri, 6pm: Wilton/Greenwich Football

Sat, 3pm: Phillips Andover/Brunswick Football

Sun, 9p: Meet the Beatles

So, if you're keeping score, I'm (still) on WGCH, fill in on football on WALL, do occasional interviews on WICC, appear on this group, and of course, do Robcasting, LocalLive, FloHockey, and so on. Did I miss anyone?

If only it, you know, paid, but those are minor details.

In the case of tonight's premier show, I got a crash course in running the studio* before we went live at 6 p.m. We had a few hiccups -- including 30 seconds of dead air -- but the content and chemistry were all solid.

*I ran Renegades games and worked in that very studio on and off for a bunch of years. The equipment is mostly the same. However, the automation that runs the commercials has evolved over the years and that's the part I needed training on.

As for the dead air, apparently, there was a hiccup within the automation software. Beyond that, things ran well.

It's a show that will evolve as we move forward. 

And it will be fun.

That's what sports talk should be.

We'll be back next Monday night at 6. 

No Football Tonight

 

Greenwich football has a bye week and, as a result, it's a quiet Friday night.

Brunswick plays tomorrow at Suffield Academy and I plan on being at that one. However, I'm told the setup is a little wonky. I'm going to see it for myself unless I'm told to not go.

I don't do well with byes. For whatever reason, other games are otherwise quiet with the exception of last night's Newburgh/Middletown game. Last year, I picked up a few games at Stepinac but, alas, that's not the case this year.

Instead, today was a day for "Doubleheader" and laundry.

Otherwise, I'm trying to just relax and watch baseball.

And write, of course.

Oh, and catch up on the very little TV/streaming I commit to.

There are other games going on around the region and a night like this reminds me of how I've thought about doing my own "Game of the Week" concept that would be a true one. 

The CIAC, working with WELI Radio and the NFHS Network, has a "Game" in name only. It goes to what appears to be the best option for the crew, which tends to keep everything centered around the New Haven area. This is fair enough, but for the state to have a "Game of the Week" then it needs to go everywhere.

Back in the HAN Network days, I crawled through all of the FCIAC schedules to make sure we were being fair to the entire region. I tried hard to schedule a game involving every FCIAC team because we were the "voice" of the FCIAC at that time. Some games would get postponed or canceled and the goal would be difficult to achieve but we tried hard. I realize we couldn't make everyone happy.

So, in a state like Connecticut, a true "Game of the Week" needs to go Norwich and Danbury and Torrington. It needs to move around. I suppose it could come to Greenwich as well, although GHS does get what I think is sufficient coverage for every game. I'm legally required to say that.

In fact, Greenwich has been on the CIAC "Game of the Week" just once, at Maloney in Meriden last year. That, of course, is in the regional "sweet spot" off I-91 not far from New Haven.

For the record, that was a true "game of the week" ending on a field goal as time expired. NFHS/WELI and WGCH/Robcasting each called it.

So, just saying, if the CIAC wants another "Game of the Week," I know a guy who is willing to drive.

Let's think about it, in fact. In the last 10 days alone I've called games in Pennsylvania, New Jersey, Connecticut, and New York. Before the season is over I will likely call one in Massachusetts as well. Let's not forget working in Rhode Island back in August.

Oh, yes, I'll travel.

Since I'm on that path, I still want to call a game at my niece's high school in North Carolina. Plus Chris Erway and I have discussed the same in his new homeland of "New ErJuania."

Heck, I've even pondered a game in Florida.

As a road enthusiast, I think that would be pretty fun. It also supports my mantra of "Have headset, will travel."

Not everyone thinks that way.

But these are the random things that roll through my mind during a bye week on a (too) quiet Friday night while watching Padres/Dodgers.

Oh, hey, I'm not sure if you know but the Yankees are heading into the American League Championship Series. The past five appearances have not gone well for the Yankees, losing the ALCS in 2010, 2012, 2017, 2019, and 2022. I'm hoping it leads to a World Series appearance this time.

There are, of course, other teams that have that same dream.

But it's worth mentioning again that the Yankees -- considered bereft of humor, whimsy, and joy -- made the ALCS.

It's funny, I think the Yankees have all of that. 

Winning creates that.

*****

Last thing tonight. I saw a recent tweet asking about how long broadcasters take to prepare for a game. To me, there is no set answer. My first concern is rosters and a space to broadcast from. Then it's looking for stats as a way to identify key players and storylines. Then I try to find players who have committed or are being looked at.

It's fun detective work.

Of course, our friend Msgr. Toxic had to weigh in via his sanctimonious, heavy-handed away after he took a break from his obsession with hating Bob Costas. Pretty amazing, given his "positive" nonsense.

Anyway, another responder wrote: "Print up the rosters and let’s go. Preparation destroys improvisation. I would tell younglings to prepare way less and trust their ability to tell the story way more. We’re not broadcasters we’re narrators, we’re hosts. I strongly advise against it."

Read that again: "Preparation destroys improvisation." That's perhaps the most ridiculous thing I've read. Thus that's a broadcaster that's hard to take seriously.

Again, I have the ability to get rosters and go because sometimes it's all I can do, especially when the game comes to me at the last minute. Others can't do that.

I'll be prepared tomorrow. With notes and equipment. And I'll be thinking about it as I drive to Suffield.

Hopefully, it doesn't destroy my improvisation. 

Because it never has.

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.

Games Over ... Almost

 

The Yankees just finished a 6-4 win over the Pittsburgh Pirates.

The Bombers finished the year with 94 wins. They have the best record in the American League and the third-best record in all of baseball.

Hard to believe that this team, which was considered to be such a bust at one point, heads into the postseason in this shape. They watched their lead in the American League East whittle to nothing and saw the Baltimore Orioles briefly overtake them.

And then? The Orioles had their own struggles and the Yankees did just enough.

The Yankees won the division and are the top seed in the AL.

I mean, in Yankees Universe, fifteen years between rings is considered bad. I know it's an entitled attitude but so I have no further answer for it. The hunger to win doesn't stop.

Sadly, short of winning the World Series (or even if they do win it), Aaron Boone and Brian Cashman will still hear calls for their jobs from the fanbase.

I'm not among those voices. 

I can't wait to see how Juan Soto, Anthony Volpe, Jazz Chisholm Jr and others perform for the first time under the October lights in New York.

Ah, but the baseball regular season is not finished yet. 

The Atlanta Braves will host a lovable collection of scamps tomorrow featuring humor, whimsy, and joy. They'll play a doubleheader to finish the season for the right to advance to the playoffs. 

Indeed, the New York Mets are the only team in the history of sports to have humor, whimsy, and joy.

Especially when compared to the dastardly New York Yankees.

Is my sarcasm clear enough?

For the love of Tom Seaver, spare me.

As I speak, I'm currently arguing about who will win the National League MVP because that's the kind of thing Mets fans focus on. That, along with humor, whimsy, and joy, who has the best broadcasters, fast food characters, "OMG," and literally everything other than the game itself.

For the record, like it or not, Shohei Ohtani will win the MVP going away. I realize the guy is shaky with his interpreter and gambling getting swept under the rug but he had a season that was beyond few things we've rarely seen.

Also, Babe Ruth is still the GOAT. I'm content to die on that hill.

And Francisco Lindor of the Mets has become every bit the player that I thought he'd become in New York. He's great to watch and perfect for the spotlight. But the MVP will be Ohtani

Anyway, I'm hoping we have chaos tomorrow to finish the season. The Arizona Diamondbacks will be watching with great interest as their own playoff hopes hinge on what happens in these two games.

After that? The playoffs begin. 

I know who I'm rooting for.

Stadium Comings and Goings

 

Joe DiMaggio and Catfish Hunter. 

Where had Joe DiMaggio gone?

Joltin' Joe had left and gone away, retiring from baseball as a player following the 1951 season. A kid named Mantle would replace him in center field in New York and debates about who was better have raged ever since.

Regardless of that, DiMaggio spent the 50s briefly married to Marlyn Monroe, doing some broadcasting, and simply being Joe DiMaggio. He coached in spring training, did commercials, and lived his life.

By 1968, baseball was shifting around. The team known as the Braves had moved from Boston to Milwaukee to eventually settle in Atlanta. The Dodgers and Giants both left New York for the west coast, replaced by some other squad in 1962. The Washington Senators moved to Minnesota before a second Senators team sprung up.

These were just some of the moves of the era, and in 1968, the Kansas City Athletics, once of Philadelphia, relocated to the California Bay Area.

They became the Oakland Athletics, "The Swingin' A's!"

And Joe DiMaggio -- San Francisco's own, who still owned a restaurant across the bay -- was hired by A's owner Charlie Finley to be a coach.

Initially, Joe was a front office person but accepted the opportunity to put a uniform on.

Joe DiMaggio -- forever number five in pinstripes (save for his rook year when he wore nine) -- donned the green, white, and gold of Oakland.

It was...an interesting site.

DiMag was out of the dugout by 1969 and eventually off to live out the rest of his life promoting Mr. Coffee, the Bowery Savings Bank, and simply being Joe DiMaggio.

The A's -- on the verge of a dynasty -- spoke glowingly of the tutelage of baseball's then "Greatest Living Player."

*****

The Oakland Athletics will cease to exist in a few hours. In one of baseball's truly dark hours, the A's will depart the Oakland-Alameda County Coliseum following today's game against the Texas Rangers. They have a series in Seattle to finish the season.

The reason they're leaving Oakland, of course, is money. The A's owner, John Fisher, wants a new stadium. He and the city of Oakland could not come to an agreement about a new building. Instead, Fisher will first move the team to Sacramento for three years before a new stadium is supposed to be ready in Las Vegas.

All of that makes me need a shower. It's just dirty. Dirty business. Dirty politics. With a clueless owner and commissioner of baseball leading the way.

As usual, it's the fans who are suffering. Today's game is sold out in Oakland, which will help their season average of just 11,081 fans.

The distance from Oakland to Sacramento is under 100 miles so it's curious how many fans will follow them to the California capital.

The trip from Oakland to Las Vegas is closer to 600 miles.

It's the fans who are always forgotten. There are still people in Brooklyn who are angry over the departure of the Dodgers. The A's fans will feel a large chunk of that same venom. They had an overall proud history, winning four titles (1972, 73, 74, 89), along with myriad playoff appearances, as well as being the basis of "Moneyball."

Both the concept and the movie, which I have some issues with.

I can't help but watch and read about the end of this era and how shameful it all is. Keep in mind that not a single shovel has gone into the ground for a stadium in Las Vegas, which is slated to hold only 33,000 fans and open in 2028.

The Sacramento stadium will have a capacity of just 14,014. It will be the smallest attention by far in MLB.

Will any of it be reality? Who cares? It all stinks.

Fans deserve better.

It's sad and, once again, shame on Major League Baseball.

*****

I'm heading to The Bronx shortly for tonight's Yankees/Orioles game.

Watching the Oakland situation reminded me in the slightest way when the old Yankee Stadium closed. The Yankees, of course, weren't leaving New York, but they were moving across the street, and away from the iconic address that they'd called home since 1923.

I'm still sad and, no, I'll never get over it.

But, look, I like the current Yankee Stadium. It's still epic and has good site lines, a museum, and a huge team store. 

Yes, it's been called a shopping mall. Whatever. That's stadium building in the 21st century.

I like it.

But, of course, it's not the old place. Even the "remodeled" Stadium of 1976-2008 was maligned because it wasn't the original 1923 building.

That remodeled stadium was my home though. And it was on the site of the original stadium with some of the infrastructure of 1923.

The old Yankee Stadium didn't have the amenities. If you went to the bathroom or concession stand you were completely separated from the game.

Oh, but I loved those concourses. Those ramps. Those escalators. 

Those smells.

That explosion of color. The blues of the stands and the green of the field.

The only stadium I ever went to with my dad was the original Yankee Stadium. I made so many friends in the remodeled one. I carry all of those memories.

And, most of all, that sound. That roar. Whether it was 27,000 or 57,000, it was a sound you never forgot.

But I enjoy the new building. I love not taking my car to it and we'll be on the train.

We'll have a blast.

Even if it rains, we'll be dry and watching the game.

We'll have fun.

And baseball is supposed to be fun.

And my heart hurts for Oakland, CA today.

You deserve better.

Honor Has Different Emotions

 

There are two entirely different thoughts in this post but honor is the theme.

To start, it is always an honor but it's wrong to say it.

But, stay with me, and I think it will make sense.

I anchored WGCH's coverage of the Sept 11 memorial ceremony at Cos Cob Park this morning. Sean joined me on his own doing and I was really proud of that.

Honestly, he just wanted to be there. He didn't even expect to be on the air but I had him co-anchor with me. I realize he didn't live through that day but I felt he would have an interesting perspective as someone who has seen it through the eyes of history.

The thing I mentioned and I said so a few times on the air was that nobody actively wanted to be there this morning. We'd all like to go back to 2001 and not have that experience. 

Of course, that's not how it works and thus it's an honor to be asked to anchor coverage of something that I think is really important.

It's been 23 years and it's still emotional. I still watch the footage and listen to the coverage. I spend time reliving it again and again.

I wish -- truly, truly, truly wish -- that we still had audio from WGCH but our archive up until the mid-2000s is pretty woeful, save for things I've collected. I have audio of the show I co-hosted on Sep 12, 2001 but that's it. None of the work of Jim Thompson, Dima Joseph, John Iannuzzi, and the other very talented hosts on WGCH that day exists. 

I was there that morning but never got on the air. There was honestly no need for me to do so and, by 10 a.m. we had switched over to using a network news feed. I think we were a CNN affiliate at the time.

So, as I said, I wasn't on the air until I co-hosted Tee Time with Michael Breed on the night of the 12th.

I've written so many thoughts down since that day and you can find them all here on the blog in the archive. At this point, I wish we could act like we did on Sep 12 that year but sadly it appears that time has passed. We're too divided.

Heck, I don't even remember the same way anymore. I had a tradition of what I played every year on Sep 11 but time changes people and I just don't want to hear the music I used to play.

The focus, as always, must be on the nearly 3,000 lives lost that day in Shanksville PA, as well as at the Pentagon, and the World Trade Center. The number, of course, is much higher due to the loss of people since then thanks to air quality-related disease.

And the loss of innocence. We all lost someone or something that day, and time has certainly taught me that.

We'll never forget. I never will and, I'm proud to say, that my son will make sure to never forget.

*****

Staying with the theme of being honored, please excuse the awkward transition. I wanted to mention that I enjoyed what was probably my finest moment as a public address announcer last night.

I've watched so many sporting events. I've watched countless starting lineup introductions.

In fact, I get angry when those introductions are not broadcast. 

Last night, the Renegades played Game 1 of the North Division Championship against the Greensboro Grasshoppers. It was decided that both teams would be introduced on the field before the game, just as you'd see in a playoff game or on Opening Day in MLB.

For whatever reason, the duty didn't fall to Fish on the field, who would have done an excellent job. I got the honor.

I'll add this: I think Fish and I would have been great together, introducing both teams on the field. We would have had the place in a frenzy.

It was overwhelming, knowing that I was introducing some 60 people between the two squads. Pronunciations and accuracy were paramount. In fact, we jumped the gun initially before it was actually time to start.

I read slowly but moved quickly between people, ensuring I enunciated every name.

As I completed introducing the Grasshoppers, I remembered that it was OK to ramp things up a little higher for the Renegades. My dogged nature to not be a homer could actually take a back seat.

I enjoyed saying that the Gades are "the High A affiliate of the 27-time World Champion New York Yankees."

And I gave a little zest to introducing each coach and player before beginning the starting lineup. Suddenly, I heard a roar from the over 4,000 in attendance at Heritage Financial Park. I also felt my face get red, beaming with a hint of pride.

Leading OFF, the second basement, number two, Roc ... REEEE-ZHEE-OHH!

Oh, damn, this was great. A wave of emotion rolled over me. 

Clicks had the music pumping, Anthony made it look great on the video board, and Tom stayed out of the way. Yes, I could hear the chaos over the walkie-talkie and I won't deny that was distracting but I worked around it. Too many cooks were stirring the stew and I'd be damned if anyone was going to screw this up.

And it all aired on the broadcast. Remember, that's also a family affair with Sean on camera.

One thing I didn't do was look at the field. I found myself in a zone with the paperwork of the hastily arranged rosters.

The Gades won the game, ultimately cruising to a 6-0 conquest. If they win tomorrow in Greensboro, they'll come home next week for the South Atlantic League Championship. They'll have to play a third game for me to be back on the mic.

It's possible that last night was my finale and, if it was, what a way to go out.

But I'll walk away with my head held high and perhaps my most enjoyable moment.

We'll wait before truly assessing everything otherwise.

Old Timers' Day

The Mick, Yogi, Whitey, the Yankee Clipper, and Casey

Oh, I know.

"Twenty-seven rings!"

Well, yeah.

You're damn right.

It's Old Timers' Day at Yankee Stadium today.

I'd love to be there but duty calls elsewhere and I just found out I'll be on the field tonight for Blue Rocks/Renegades.

But I love the nostalgia of Old Timers' Day.

I remember it being a highlight when I was little. That's where I began to learn about DiMaggio, Mantle, Ford, Yogi, and so on. Mrs. Babe Ruth and Mrs. Lou Gehrig were also there. It was baseball royalty.

That's probably where five-year-old me decided I wanted to be number five. 

Then I found out DiMaggio -- who I revered -- would have that number forever.

Eventually, I made my way to my first Old Timers' Day. It was 1983 and my guy had just hung up his uniform and grabbed a microphone. Yet, on that glorious day in The Bronx, Bobby Murcer patrolled center field once again.

My picture of Bobby Murcer in center, 1983

 

I've been many times over the years. I got to see all of the greats. One year, Willie Mays was on hand and how could anyone not love that?

The game was always fun. It used to be a short exhibition game and sometimes, Mantle would hit a home run. Maybe DiMaggio, though he had stopped playing by the time I was a kid. Maybe it would be Joe Pepitone or Willie Randolph or Hector Lopez or some other name of the past.

There were always the introductions that produced all of those great memories. Scooter, Goose, Guidry, Bucky, Nettles, and so many others.

Admittedly, it is a very long day if you go and I've had kids go who quickly lost interest, but I sit there and love every minute of it.

The eras, of course, have changed for the annual celebration. Today, they'll celebrate 15 years since that last title, in 2009, and the those on-hand will tell stories and bring smiles. I've already seen Derek Jeter (you know, "The Overrated Shortstop"), CC Sabathia, and Mariano Rivera. 

Nick Swisher is there and who has more fun than he does?

Alex Rodriguez is making his first OTD appearance and, look, he's a controversial figure. I'll always struggle with how to talk about him but the guy was such a great player. He's always, like it or not, a pariah.

Many others will be introduced, though Brett Gardner has elected to stay away. Old Timers' Day was always for the fans, and Gardy was a fan favorite, so one hopes that he will reconsider.

Old Timers' Day wasn't just about the players but it was the personalities also. Mel Allen, the revered and true "Voice of the Yankees" would be present as a host and play-by-play announcer for the exhibition game.

When I was a kid, Frank Messer -- the first play-by-play voice I took note of -- hosted the ceremony. Partners Phil Rizzuto and Bill White were former players and so Messer was the right person to preside over the day.

Since then, John Sterling and Michael Kay have served as co-MCs. Kay is hosting on his own today.

I alluded to Claire Ruth and Eleanor Gehrig -- representing the Yankees wives. Today, those who touch our hearts include Diana Munson (Thurman), Jill Martin (Billy), and of course, Kay Murcer (Bobby).

It's a day for nostalgia, and nobody does it like baseball.

Nobody has the history the Yankees do.

Hate them for living in the past. Hate me if you want.

But I eat all of this up. 

It's a reminder of what we've seen. 

What has been.

And what can be again.

Today

Laundry in the Hood

 

Note: NOT my laundry room

It's laundry and mute night here.

Come on, who has it better than I do?

But seriously, Sean is working for the Renegades and I have the night off. So it was my night to get some things done around here, including laundry.

I also purged some clothes and I'm a big fan of cleaning things out.

But, at one point, I stepped outside to check the clothes in the dryer when I was struck by the weather. We're at the time of year when it's warmer and more uncomfortable inside as opposed to outside.

It's currently 73 degrees outside and closer to 80 inside. It's not bad as I sit on the couch and watch the Yankees.

However, it's gorgeous outside.

Boy does that make me miss my balcony. I haven't used my chair once this summer and I'm only making a note of that. Beyond that, it's hardly a big deal.

Let's face it, at this point, I'd need bug spray on and I'm just getting over a bout of bug bites from Rhode Island.

So, if you're keeping score, I dealt with a collection of mosquito bites and sunburn.

In other news, I'm an idiot for not putting either sunscreen or repellent on.

So it goes.

As for the Yankees game, well, they won and Aaron Judge hit his 301st home run. But former Renegade Oswald Peraza homered as well, and that will always make me smile.

Peraza was part of the early success of the 2021 team that I got to broadcast. He electrified then-Dutchess Stadium with his power explosion.

Those were wonderful times and it's funny how many of the crew from that year I still talk to say the same thing. 

As for tonight's Yankees broadcast, well, I had it on mute. I'm sure Ryan Ruocco is a nice guy.

And there was no "Hawk Tuah" girl. Oh, wait, that wasn't the Yankees.

But more to the point about tonight was how much I was enjoying the weather outside. With the laundry going around I couldn't afford to take a walk but that's the kind of night it felt like.

Sean and I have met a few of the neighbors and characters who populate this area and it's a nice group so far. The neighborhood is more flat and walkable than Bruce Park, but it was also nice to have the park nearby as well as the train station.

Plus Bruce Park Grill is across the street.

Conversely, the train station is a longer walk from here but we have pizza, a bank, a grocery store, and other businesses within a 20-minute walk.

I've been enjoying walking around and look forward to investigating more of the area. There are plenty of intriguing houses to stroll past.

I don't miss the hill on Bruce Park Ave. Or, as you know, the parking.

Though I miss having a washer and dryer in our apartment, along with an attic for our storage and, of course, the balcony.

But, as always, so it goes.

We're happy here.

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.