Love Songs

Welp, here we are. Valentine's Day, Presented by Hallmark. It can be so easy to detest this day in the way one might dislike another overrated "holiday."

I had other examples, but I get myself in trouble too much, and today is about love. So I'm behaving.

Digressing.

The short answer is, when one is in love and is OK with the world, St. Valentine's Day (an effort to be proper) is fine. If not, then maybe not so much.

Your mileage may vary. That's it.

But let's talk music. Yes, we can all agree that there are some amazing love songs out there. "Unchained Melody", "Can't Help Falling in Love", "Love Me Tender", "When a Man Loves a Woman", "I Will Always Love You", and so on.

I remember, in the halcyon days at Majic 105, the request list on Saturday night would be long to play "(Everything I Do) I Do It For You" by Bryan Adams. I would give the time that I'd be playing it. Get those requests in now!

But they don't always have to be slow jams, right?

You know, for instance, there happens to be this little dity...


I mean, that says a lot, right?

It don't take money. Don't take fame. Don't take no credit card to ride this train.

Granted, I have a bias. But the boys from the north of San Francisco did a few perfectly fine love songs ("Stuck With You", "Hope You Love Me Like You Say You Do", etc).

Of course, we have Frank Sinatra, who just about perfected the art of the love song. I mean, "Fly Me to the Moon" and "Just The Way You Look Tonight" can produce some of the best feels.

"Come Rain or Come Shine." The utter masculine confidence of the opening line is a killer.

"I'm gonna love you, like no one has loved you. Come rain or come shine."

Ring a ding ding.

Then again, for me, utter perfection, in the form of one of the greatest songs ever written, was a song about a deep, complicated love.

Run for cover! Run and hide!

With Count Basie, well, we've flown to the moon.

Incidentally, and we could do a whole thing on Sinatra and love songs, but "One For My Baby" is just incredible. We've all been there.

"We're drinking, my friend, to the end of a brief episode. Make it one for my baby, and one more from the road."

That song is from Sinatra's album, Frank Sinatra Sings for Only the Loney. I advise you to not be depressed when listening.

Ah but love songs can come from anywhere, and that's what we're driving at. Look at Led Zeppelin, for instance. There are people who have gotten married to "Thank You."

Then we come around to the Beach Boys. As we discussed perfection with Sinatra, well, come on...


I mean, that just about gets it right.

"If you should ever leave me, though life would still go on, believe me. The world could show nothing to me, so what good would livin' do me?"

Again. We've all been there.

Love songs can also be complicated, and we have plenty of examples of that ("Layla"). One, for instance, comes from the Lads (written, magically, by George Harrison).

Even Sinatra (who hated rock and roll) called "Something" among the greatest love songs of the past 50 years. He also credited it to Lennon and McCartney. Oh well.

Take this lyric: "You're asking me will my love grow? I don't know. I don't know." I mean, that doesn't exactly engender confidence.

Finally, we'll finish with Sir James Paul McCartney.

Yes, I know, this is the man who wrote "Silly Love Songs." But I ask you: what's wrong with that?

(ducks)

Macca also wrote "Here, There, and Everywhere", "Yesterday" (another complicated love song), "My Love", and perhaps my favorite: "Maybe I'm Amazed." Tastes change, of course, but as I sit here today, this is where my head (and I guess my heart) is.


Music needs to resonate. Whether it is in the melody or the words, it has to strike the listener. "Maybe I'm Amazed" isn't just a McCartney song, and as such it is great.

Remember, Paul committed the crime known as "Ebony and Ivory." Or whatever that thing was with Kanye West.

"Maybe I'm Amazed" is a Paul McCartney song, no doubt about it, and could never be a Beatles song. It screams of him, and of his Linda (he also openly sings of her in "The Lovely Linda").

This isn't a slow dance song. It's a mid-tempo rocker. But again, if one has truly felt anything, then they've been amazed. Amazed by everything.

McCartney isn't known for being modest, but read this and tell me if even Paul McCartney isn't vulnerable.

Maybe I'm a man and maybe I'm a lonely man
Who's in the middle of something
That he doesn't really understand
Maybe I'm a man and maybe you're the only woman
Who could ever help me
Baby won't you help me understand?

Um. Wow. Yeah. I've been there, and if there's a t-shirt, I'll take one.

Incidentally, while I love "Got to Get You Into My Life," well, that's not a love song.

It's about pot. Yup.

I know we've only scraped the top of the love song genre. We never got to "Your Song", "Crazy Little Thing Called Love", "Best of My Love" (The Eagles song), "Endless Love", and on and on and on...

We all have our love songs. Some we'd like to forget. Some are great, and we'd still prefer to forget them (not naming names or songs). Some we used as our own wedding song and...

Well you get the idea.

So Happy Valentine's Day, you crazy kids, and just remember, "Every Breath You Take" is not a love song!

Bears and Bruins! Oh my! Berkshire/Brunswick Hockey Today at 3:30

Senior Day at Brunswick

Courtesy of WGCH, Bleachers, Brunswick, and the Greenwich Sentinel, check out this link to the AUDIO ONLY of today's Berkshire/Brunswick hockey broadcast. Game time is scheduled for 3:30 pm. Here's the link!

Click here to go to the game broadcast.

Make sure to WATCH the game on gobleachers.com (you'll get the call there also).

Gunnery/Brunswick Hockey

Brunswick and Gunery warm up.

Courtesy of WGCH, Bleachers, Brunswick, and the Greenwich Sentinel, check out this link to the AUDIO ONLY of today's Gunnery/Brunswick hockey broadcast. Originally scheduled for 4:00, the game is more likely to get going around 6:00. Here's the link!

Click here to go to the game broadcast.

Make sure to WATCH the game on gobleachers.com (you'll get the call there also).

Lawrenceville/Brunswick Hockey

If it walks like a puck and quacks like a puck...

I'm trying something new here on the blog. Courtesy of WGCH, Bleachers, Brunswick, and the Greenwich Sentinel, check out this link to the AUDIO ONLY of today's Lawrenceville/Brunswick hockey broadcast. Originally scheduled for 4:00, the game is more likely to get going around 4:30. Here's the link!

Click here to go to the game broadcast.

Make sure to WATCH the game on gobleachers.com (you'll get the call there also).

The True GOAT: The Babe at 122

With all this talk about Tom Brady as the GOAT (Greatest Of All Time), today, February 6th, is a reminder that, despite the need for "instant classics," the GOAT issue has long been resolved.

Today is the 122nd birthday of George Herman Ruth, and he laughs at all of this.

George - you know, Jidge, The Sultan of Swat, The Colossus of Clout, The Great Bambino, or as most of us call him, The Babe, sort of once dominated baseball.

And sports.

The Babe -- he who out-homered entire teams -- was in an era with Jack Dempsey, Red Grange, Bill Tilden, Helen Wills, Gertrude Ederle, and Bobby Jones. All GOAT contenders in their own right.

I simply don't have the energy for the debate about Babe not playing against the best competition, etc. While it would be intriguing to see, I would imagine Satchel Paige (for instance) would still have been great, and Ruth would have stayed just as great.

GOAT's win out at the end of the day.

I mean, I'm not going to get into the details of how amazing he was on the field. But I'd suggest just going with 1920, 1921, and 1927 for a start. Or -- save for his horrible 1925 campaign -- how he never dipped below 29 homers and 96 runs batted in between 1919 and 1933.

Oh, and his batting average low in that spell (against, except for '25, when he had "The Bellyache Heard 'Round The World") was .301. In 1933. When he was 38.

While I'm at it -- despite saying I wouldn't do this -- he led the league in OPS (that matters to some) every year from 1918 to 1931, except for 1925, of course.

And he was the best left-handed pitcher in baseball from 1915-1918.

What if he had hit just a little bit more in those years? Think we'd be talking about Aaron or Bonds as the greatest home run hitter? No. Shot.

For you Curt Schilling-types who want to talk about the post-season, well this guy Ruth posted a .326 batting average with 15 home runs 1.214 OPS. Keep in mind he was pitcher in the 1915, 1916, and 1918 Fall Classics.

Oh, and for you Tom Brady "bruhs," Ruth won seven championships.  Seven.

GOAT.

He wasn't perfect. God, no. He wasn't the finesse and brute force of Gehrig, for instance. He stupidly tried to steal second and base and was thrown out to end the 1926 World Series. He got suspended for defying Judge Landis over a barnstorming tour in 1922. He fought with his manager, Miller Huggins (though the two seemed to love each other, and Ruth was devastated by Huggins' passing in 1929). Huggins suspended him at one point, with owner Jacob Ruppert's support.

His 1925 season was largely marred by his own arrogance and excess, including eating too much. Yes, he womanized and drank until he settled down with his second wife, Claire, in 1929. However, his first wife, Helen, who he separated from in 1925, died mysteriously in early '29.

Yes, there were plenty of flaws. Michael Jordan had flaws, and he's the GOAT of basketball, in my opinion.

Anyway, there's so much to Babe Ruth.

So as we're quick to try to anoint Tom Brady as Mr. Everything today, let this serve as a reminder that there are a lot of athletes that stand ahead of the Pats' QB.

And Babe Ruth is the best of them all.

Happy birthday, big fella.

Post Game

I'm wiped out.

If you had an interest in the Super Bowl, you probably are also.

I mean, what is there to say?

I didn't feel too bad for the Cleveland Indians in the World Series. I'm convinced they're in a good spot to get close to a World Series title. Might be tough, but they'll be OK. I felt like they got steamrolled by a machine, driven by the Chicago Cubs.

But tonight, I'm sick for the Atlanta Falcons.

The biggest comeback in Super Bowl history was ten points. Ten.

Tonight, it went from 28-3, to 28-28. Then we all knew what would happen in overtime. The Falcons never touched the ball.

Yes, Tom Brady was magnificent down the stretch. But oh my, the Falcons made some big mistakes. Let's make it clear: the Patriots earned it.

The New England Patriots are champions for the fifth time.

I can't process it.

I will tomorrow at 3pm.

I need baseball. Stat.

My 40th Super Bowl

Butch Johnson makes the circus catch in Super Bowl XII.

The first time I remember seeing the Super Bowl was in January, 1978. Super Bowl XII. I was nine.

My brother had it on in his bedroom (we shared a room until fall, 1977...poor bastard), and I either stumbled in or was invited in. I might be wrong, but I feel like it was on a black and white TV.

His missive was clear: he wanted the Denver Broncos to win that night. He wasn't a particularly big Broncos fan (he, like my dad, was a Jets fan, having watched them train at Depew Park in Peekskill in the '60s).

One thing was clear: he hated the Dallas Cowboys. That was good enough for me. A year later, in a story I've often told, thanks to my classmate and friend, Patrick Urell (a Cowboys fan), I took a twenty-five cent bet on Super Bowl XIII. I didn't know who they were playing as we spoke that day in Mr. Salvestrini's fourth grade classroom at Austen Road Elementary School

All I knew was that I was not to root for the Cowboys.

"Who are they playing?"

"The Steelers."

That was enough. There they were, in black and gold, with the quarterback driving them down the field on the opening drive. Touchdown Pittsburgh.

"I like this guy Bradshaw," I said.

Terry Bradshaw at the helm, Super Bowl XIII.

That was it. In some ways, a life was changed. I found my football team and football hero. I found my passion for football, having been at best a moderate Dolphins fan before that (we used to go Florida every year when I was a kid). It didn't hurt that this Bradshaw guy went into broadcasting, by the way.

So here I sit, wearing a Terry Bradshaw jersey, and will soon turn on the TV to watch Mr. Bradshaw on the Fox TV pregame, rooting for the hated New England Patriots (oh, I still dislike the Cowboys plenty) to lose to the Atlanta Falcons today.

Have I mentioned the Steelers have won six Lombardi Trophies?

I've seen enough bad Super Bowl games to last a lifetime. We've also been blessed with some dynamite games. We watched the halftime show go from forgettable (Up With People! Gloria Estefan!) to whatever it is now.

The whole thing has become less and less about the football fan. That train left the station, I'd say, 20 years ago or so.

Heck, even the commercials are often released before the game now, so that's changed also.

It's evolved so much. I wish we could go back to Up With People and the crowded locker room trophy presentation.

I watch for the game itself, and I've seen a lot.

Super Bowl XIII in 1979 was brilliant, and that should be a game to make anyone love football. Pittsburgh 35, Dallas 31 (Note: Patrick never paid me the quarter). After that, we went into a lull of bad games in the 80's. Even the Niners/Benagls game of 1989 was middling until the final drive.

Niners/Broncos was the worst. Only Seahawks/Broncos approaches it in my estimation.

Giants/Bills was a terrific game in 1991. Especially the fourth quarter.

The Steelers made their way back a few times as well. I don't discuss Supes XXX and XLV. Larry Brown. Rashard Mendenhall. Nope. However, I can still hear the Seahawks fans whining about XL (Get. Over. It.). XLIII was blistering, and among the most emotional nights I've known as a sports fan for a variety of reasons.

Yes we've just about seen it all. We haven't seen an overtime game yet, but we've seen a power outage. A nipple. And the most overrated halftime show ever (I mean, Prince was not...that...good).

We also saw the Black Eyed Peas and Madonna and The Who and Coldplay. Yikes.

Anyway, away we go in a few hours. May the best team (please Falcons...you're our only hope) win.

We'll all likely talk about things other than the game tomorrow. Commercials...Lady Gaga...National Anthem...blah blah blah.

I'd like to talk about the game. We'll do that all at 3pm tomorrow afternoon on WGCH (and wgch.com).

Enjoy the show...er...game.

Pitchers and catchers report in a few days.

Tossing and Turning

I was never really one to lose sleep. With the obvious rare exception, I could always find a way to get a few hours in, and normally more. Plus I had the ability to sleep anywhere.

I could sleep on the floor of WGCH. Air mattresses. My car (too many times to count). Couches far and wide.


I'm not sleeping so well anymore.

Counting sheep? No, not my thing. Counting World Series rings? Well it doesn't hurt. Those 27 do take a while.

Seriously, there is a lot I ponder as I lay my head down. No need to explain, and I'm quite sure you get the idea.

So I toss. Turn. Flip. Flop. Occasionally, I put the TV on (or just simply stay awake). Sometimes -- not as often as I should -- I write. I'll grab my iPad and review the latest idiocy of our world, or just zone out with Angry Birds or The Simpson's Tapped Out.

Or I read. I should read my books (too many sitting on the shelf), but I'm such a periodical reader that the time gets away.

Life ain't easy. It's quite complicated, and as I stare 50 in the eye, I'm getting anxious for what's next.

Can we give peace a chance?

Thankful for Sports

I was out of the loop on Friday, and took on calling a hockey game on Saturday.

These two events made me gloriously happy, because it meant that, overall, I missed the clusterbleep (copyright, RD Adams, 2017) known as the Inauguration.

I mean, we're going to debate attendance? Does everyone realize how stupid they look doing so?

Don't get me wrong, I saw and read stuff. I watched a few things.

Then I proceeded to bang my head.

As for the women's march on Saturday, well, huzzah. Women should be equal. Pay, opportunities, etc. Stop the nastiness. Show future generations that gender, race, orientation, etc don't matter.

I mean, honestly, this isn't that hard.

My broadcast perch is above the "N"

Thankfully I had sports.

Brunswick hosted The Hill School on Saturday afternoon, and I was pleased to call it for the folks at Bleachers. The Bruins knocked off the Rams/Blues (they go by both) 4-1.

I had plenty of time to prepare, digging through the rosters and notes on both schools -- most of which almost never gets used on a broadcast -- but I had plenty of nifty items on both teams, given that each school promoted it.

I was there roughly three hours before faceoff (ah yes, things you do when you have minimal life). So I set up and worked with the great Joe Early* at Brunswick to make sure we had power and everything to get up and running.

*Special shout out to his daughter Alice for stopping by and keeping me company.

It was a nice respite. Oh sure, I always have Twitter going, in case there is breaking news to report or scores, or anything else. So I can't totally close out the world, but I'm able to largely focus on doing play-by-play.

That's a good thing.

And it let to kindness.

Thanks for the great game commentary of the @HillHockey vs. @WickPuck game @double5 !

— Beth DeBruyn (@bethasd) January 22, 2017

So there's that.

Now comes Championship Sunday, as the Steelers try to make a run to Big Game LI. I picked the Patriots to win (and the Packers over the Falcons) but there is always hope.

I'll likely be back with Brunswick on Wednesday, when the Bruins host Portledge.

Visitors sitting on the "Press Row" table

Snowy Saturday Basketball Special Part 2

Things to do in Middlebury when you're stuck.

I kept telling myself that I was in the safest place I could be.

I kept telling myself that I was prepared.

I had packed a sleeping bag. An air mattress. A change of clothes. Hats. Gloves.

I had food. Water.

It wasn't like I was in the middle of nowhere.

The point is, that if I went to Post to call the doubleheader, and the snow was as bad as they suggested, that due to my car, and I could just stay at the school.

That's what I did.

I was back at my car around 5 p.m. I cleaned it all off, warmed it up, and then went back into the gym to be indoors. It was clear though that security was getting ready to lock up.

So I went back to the car. I sat there and watched as Georgian Court got on the bus to leave.

A Mobil station with a Dunkin Donuts sat about a hundred yards in front of me. A Subway restaurant was also nearby.

We could do this. It wouldn't exactly be a game of Survivor.

I decided coffee would be great, so I walked to Dunkin Donuts. GCU's bus had moved down there to get food.

Sadly, the DD didn't have a seating area, so there would be no hanging out there. I went back to the car.

This would become the routine. Run the engine. Warm up. Pull out the sleeping bag, and cover up. Then I would turn off the car. Then I would get cold. Repeat.

I walked to a nearby shopping center/professional building. There was a restaurant there.

Which was closed. Of course.

In the meantime, the GCU bus was still at Subway. The line was too long. OK, what else to do?

I knew there was a Maggie McFly's nearby. Maybe a mile away. The road looked flat, but of course it was snow-covered. There's inherent danger in all of that, no?

Oh what the heck. You only live once.

Away I went.

Again, let's be very clear. This wasn't exactly traipsing through a blizzard.

No, I did not have a French Dip.

I ate. I drank. I watched the Texans beat the Raiders. I could have hung out there a lot longer but a) I got bored, and b) I didn't feel like dealing with people with beer muscles.

I walked back to the car. I event drifted into a light sleep at one point.

All along, I had people watching out for me, and texting me to make sure I was OK. There were those who wanted me to get a hotel room, I found that prohibitive due to a) price, and b) I'd have to drive there. (Yes, I did consider getting an Uber).

My parking spot was just to right, and above the Mobil.

After roughly five hours of all of this (and GCU's bus did finally head back towards New Jersey), the Post Hockey team bus appeared. That made me think it was time to try to drive. So I made my way out of the parking lot and turned right on Connecticut Route 63.

The road was still somewhere snow-covered, but definitely passable (for those confident in their vehicle). I tapped my brakes to make the left onto 84 West.

Nope.

Remembering the car that I saw do a "360" in front of me as I walked to Maggie McFly's, I went back and found a new parking lot to sit in.

Moments later, a Middlebury police officer stopped by to check on me. He smiled as I said I was playing it safe, and wished me well.

Finally, two plows passed by on 63. Once going south, once going north. Blacktop began to appear.

I thought maybe this was the time, but I also spun my wheels as I attempted to turn back onto 63.

OK, now it was my chance to get on Interstate 84, and deal with the hills on my way to Danbury. The ramp wasn't in great shape, but it wasn't bad, and I proceeded onto the carriageway without incident. Soon, as I suspected I might, I was doing highway speed towards Southbury.

The road wasn't perfect. At times, I could feel the give of a small patch of ice, and there were plenty of snow-covered patches between Southbury and Newtown, and especially between Exits 10 and 9. I reached Danbury and felt good about things as I crossed into New York.

My next concern was the ramp from Interstate 84 to 684, but I rolled through that without incident. So was I home free? No. Not yet.

The right lane before Exit 8 -- Hardscrabble Road (my exit) -- was quite snowy, and I felt my trusty TARDIS (yes, that's what Sean and I call the car) begin to wander slightly. Not badly, mind you, but I definitely had to slow down significantly. The ramp wasn't in good shape, and my preparation for all of this had served me well.

Once onto the streets of Croton Falls (and eventually Carmel and Mahopac), I got home without incident.

It was quite the day. With more confidence in my car, it wouldn't have been so bad. But I have a story to tell, for sure.

That's why we write and broadcast. To tell stories.

AJ Szymanowski had told me to not be a hero when he decided to not go. In some ways, I suppose I am guilty of being one because of my dedication to calling the games and getting the job done. Conversely, not driving and being cautious to a fault was the best decision I could have made.

I slept well. In my own bed.

I'm grateful to everyone who made sure I would do so.

Snowy Saturday Basketball Special Part 1

I called my first college basketball game since 2010, and it was exciting to be back. As events go, it wasn't easy, but it was memorable.

The last time I called college hoops was when I was with Mount Saint Mary College in Newburgh, NY. Those days were quite fun, and I miss them.

Anyway, through the excellent Kevin Halpenny, I connected with Kyle Crooks, the "voice" of Georgian Court University basketball. Kyle needed a fill-in for yesterday's GCU doubleheader at Post University, just outside of Waterbury, CT.

I was back in the college game.

I enlisted AJ Szymanowski and Shawn Sailer to join me for a day of hoops, food, and fun.

As the week progressed, there were rumblings of a storm churning into the area. At one point, we'd get a dusting. No big deal. Then we'd get a little more. Then it became a winter storm warning.

By yesterday morning, within minutes of each other, AJ and Shawn both said they would be staying home. Now it was up to me to decide if I would risk it.

Oh, have I mentioned my car, er, isn't great in snow?

Well, I've given it away. You know I went. I mean, you know me, right?

I was at Post within an hour. The snow was imminent, and began to fall just as I got out of the car. As setups go, well, Post isn't used to have broadcasts. I was nice and early (about 2.5 hours early, to be exact), but not everyone was on-site yet. Kyle said the team would be bringing me his broadcast equipment.

So first, Post had to figure out where to set me up. This took time, but they could have been more accommodating. They were wonderful, to be exact. I got a small table next to scorer's table. The gym, in fact, isn't very big to begin with.

GCU showed up around 11:45 (tip off was scheduled for 1 p.m.). An assistant coach introduced himself and said he'd get the equipment to me. I watched as a team member brought over what looked like a first aid kit.

I waited.

I bought a small bag of pretzels (starving, of course).

I waited some more.

I finally decided I would go get my equipment and set up. No big deal. The team has better things to do than worry about a substitute broadcaster. I had everything ready, with minor hiccups that wouldn't be noticeable to the listener. At first, I couldn't get the broadcast online, but there mifis and other options ready.

Seriously, Post was wonderful. If they ever need a broadcaster...

I began to get nervous as time was ticking down. First college hoops game in nearly seven years. First basketball broadcast in ten months. Flying solo (that doesn't really bother me). Strange place, names, teams I just met. Plus I needed to find Kyle's equipment, if only so I had his iPod to play music, commercials, etc.

I looked back at the assistant with about fifteen minutes to go before gametime.

"Where's the equipment?"

"What equipment?"

"The broadcast stuff."

He pointed. To what I thought was the first aid stuff.

I could have banged my head on the wall.

Again. Nobody knew the difference.

OK, from there it was just basketball. Don't try to reinvent the wheel.

I fumbled with getting used to Kyle's iPod as a way to play audio elements, but eventually pulled it together.

I know I messed up names. I know my call was off.

I know that AJ and Shawn and others listened, and their reviews were kind.

I know me. I'm better than that, but I'll take it.

The GCU women won by 10. Things didn't go so well for the men.

I hoped the broadcasts sounded passable at the very least as I packed up.

Hanging out at the gym wasn't an option.

I continued to watch the snow fall.

1/1/17

Bobby Murcer, Billy Joel, Jim Spencer, Ron Guidry.

And here we are.

I'd like a do-over already, but no dice.

It's a day of football, hockey, and maybe a little relaxing.

Also a day of prepping for college basketball next Saturday, as AJ Szymanowski and I call a double-header between Georgian Court University and Post University in Waterbury, CT. I'm trying to get Shawn Sailer to round out our crew for the day.

We'll laugh. We'll talk hoops. Then we'll hopefully have dinner.

I'm excited.

And a little nervous.

Incidentally, is there anything more glorious than watching Mariah Carey...well...whatever it was that she did?

Just saying. Bad things happening to good people and all.

These NFL games today are sleepers. Pack and Lions tonight. I'll wait for that (so will the aforementioned Mssrs. Szymanowski and Sailer -- both Packers fans).

Oh, so why are Bobby Murcer, Billy Joel, Jim Spencer, and Bobby Murcer in a picture together? Apparently the story is that Joel was presented with a Golden Ticket Award at Madison Square Garden in 1980. That doesn't entirely explain why the three Yankees were on-hand. Paul Simon was also there, and Joel and Simon are Yankees fans, so maybe that explains it.

So why am I using it on this post? Well Bobby Murcer wore uniform number 17 as a rookie (1965-66). I Googled that, looking for a picture of Bobby Ray in his number 17 jersey and found this.

In the end, this was the best I could find (and you can barely see that's a 7).

Anyway. There's that.

Man of the Year (and goodnight, 2016)

Honestly, in my world, who else could it be? The sweetest swan song of all.

Thanks, Vin Scully, for everything you taught me, and for demonstrating grace. Long may you live and may a microphone wind up in your hand again.

We'll see you in 2017...wherever you may be.

It's Just Another Day

Onto '17 we go (Charleston, SC. 2012)

We've dealt with our hatred of this night many times, so no point in dwelling.

There's also no point in dwelling on 2016. It had highs. It had lows.

I mean, that's simply life.

I'm saddened that I only posted 44 times this year, but all I can do is just move on.

I'd rather just look forward. To that end, I have a resolution!

I'm going to wake up tomorrow.

That's probably the best approach.

When you get right down to it, this is a similar post to what I wrote a year ago tonight.

In a lot of ways, not a thing changed. In others, they most certainly did. I wish for the same things that I've been wishing for some time. I wished the same when I blew out the candle on my 48th birthday cake in November (of which I was touched by).

But I learned more about myself. I learned more about how I have to be in certain ways.

It was an eye-opening year. It is what it is, as the saying goes.

I'll endeavor to keep waking up every day. Simply put, as always, to keep moving forward.

We need unity. We need peace. I'm quite doubtful we'll find either, so getting excited and optimistic about the flip of the calendar is sort of difficult.

My apologies for the cynicism, but I'm a realist.

Sean and I wish you well - tomorrow and each ensuing tomorrow.

I'd like 2017 to be a big year.

Beyond that, it's just another day.

Celebrities and Grief (RIP, Carrie Fisher)

Tough but tender. Princess Leia. Though there was that "kiss her brother" thing.

We don't know these people. I know that.

Carrie Fisher, the iconic Princess Leia of my youth, died today at the age of 60, after suffering a heart attack last week.

And we grieve for these people. Many don't understand why.

Look, I get seriously tired of the martyrdom for Prince, George Michael, etc.

But I get why it happens. I get why there are those who mourn.

Because it's a loss of our innocence. It's a reminder of our past, to a large degree.

For me, Carrie Fisher takes me back to being a kid. It takes me back to the first move I ever saw twice -- called Star Wars (not "Episode IV" or "A New Hope" or whatever). It reminds me of driving down the Taconic Parkway with my cousins -- me, the oldest of the kids in the car -- as my dad teased us about the names of the Star Wars characters.

Princess Leia was Princess Lulu.

This is why we mourn. Not because we think we know them. We don't. I'm somewhat certain I've never been in the same zip code as Harrison Ford, Mark Hamill, or Carrie Fisher.

But I think my point is clear.

Anyway, I'm babbling.

Without being cheesy, may the force be with Ms. Fisher.

Mel Stottlemyre is 'Fighting For His Life'

Off the news of Carrie Fisher having a massive heart attack (USA Today) comes word that Mel Stottlemyre, once the heart and soul of the Yankees' late-60's/early 70's pitching staff is "fighting for his life."

Mel's son, Todd Stottlemyre, passed along the news early today on social media (ESPN).

Mel came to the Yankees in 1964 and went 9-3 before losing to Bob Gibson (hardly a crime) in game 7 of the World Series. Gibson pitched on two-days rest and went the distance. Different times. Stottlemyre threw a complete effort to win game 2, beating Gibson 8-3.

Sadly that would be Mel's only postseason, as the Yankees faded badly over the next decade.

Mel would remain the ace of the staff, and become a five-time All-Star. In 11 seasons, he pitched to a 2.97 ERA, while winning 164 games. Unfortunately, he led the league in losses twice (1966, when he dropped 20 decisions, and 1972, when he lost 18).

His best years were clearly 1968 (the year of the pitcher), when he went 21-12 with a 2.45 ERA. But 1969, with the change in mound height, was his absolute best. Mel went 20-14 with a 2.82 ERA and a league-high 24 complete games.

Mel had arm problems that ended his career at just 33. He was released in early 1975, and eventually reemerged as one of the best pitching coaches in the game. It was Stottlemyre who was alongside Davey Johnson as the Mets won it all in '86. Then Mel went to the Astros and before he rejoined the Yankees. There, with Joe Torre, the Yankees had one of their best runs in history, grasping four more rings between 1996 and 2000.

Mel was a favorite of mine, along with that Murcer guy in the early 70's.

Mel and Bobby Murcer, Old Timer's Day.

I don't have words without being trite, other than best wishes. I wish I had more.

Public Service Announcement

The County Line (courtesy Google)

The intersection of US 6, Baldwin Place Road, and NY Route 118 at the Westchester/Putnam County line has evolved over the years.

I can remember - barely - when there weren't traffic lights there. That would be in the early 1970's. Then they put lights up, and the movement meant leaving Baldwin Place Road, making a left onto US 6, and then bearing right onto NY 118.

That's just an example, and this stayed as so for a long time. Minor adjustments were made over the years, but the problems remained.

I remember the family friend who got knocked off his motorcycle in an accident there.

Of course, commerce necessitated the measures to keep things safe. Our "mall," THE Baldwin Place Mall was right there. Our McDonald's was there. The Mobil station that, so long as your horn worked, you passed your NY state inspection (minor exaggeration, but not by much). The County Line Pub (now PJ's) was nearby. Kinney Shoes, Robert Hall, Sears (the catalog store!), Book and Record, Studio Deli, Embassy, ah...the memories!

Up the road was another shopping center, with Shopwell, Arthur Treacher's, King's (a brief Caldor-type knockoff), and more.

The shopping centers are all still around, but things have changed.

And so has the corner of Baldwin Place/6/118.

Including the pattern of the traffic lights.

The intersection was reconstructed over the summer, eliminating the necessity to make the left from Baldwin Place Road before turning onto NY 118. It's now a straight movement. New traffic lights were installed.

And a new traffic light pattern was put in place last Monday.

So as I'm driving to Greenwich this morning, I moved along Baldwin Place Road, and had the foresight to recognize that not everyone got the traffic light change memo.

It's a simple concept: for you to turn left on US 6 West (from 118), you need an arrow. Or no oncoming traffic.

Like me.

Had I not been at least a little smart, a young lady driving a small SUV would have given me a holiday gift. The sound of my horn (a rarity) did nothing to deter her.

I growled and moved on.

She's undoubtedly impervious to her utter stupidity.

Thankfully, all is well.

But look out, should you travel through the area.

The preceding has been a public service announcement.

An Embarrassing Admission

Thanks to the snow, freezing rain, and anything else hitting the Pac, I'm chilling out.

I've shoveled the snow, and I can hear the ramblings of Sean and his friend Will, who are playing some computer game...and have been since yesterday.

With Sean and Will both here, I decided to give my up room to them. So that has me in a room of a distant lifetime. Or a glass case of emotion.

With no TV, but of course, in modern-day times, if one has technology, one can survive nicely.

(Or read a book, but let's not lose the point.)

OK, I'm burying the lede (or lead - your call).

So onto Netflix I went. I looked around and came across a classic.

Jaws.

Which I've never totally seen.

And that embarrasses me.

I thought about why. For one, horror never did a thing for me. Until I read the great works of Susan whats-her-name, horror wasn't something I'd read. Like. Ever. It normally took friends to get me to watch a horror flick. So, sure. I've seen Freddie and Jason, etc. I remember having a sleepover at Jeff Terranova's house, circa 1984, and we watched...something.

We also watched Scarface. "Say hello to my little friend," indeed!

More than that, the movie came out in 1975. My siblings, assuming they saw it, were both teenagers, and they wouldn't have dragged their dopey little (six-year-old) brother.

Therefore, a combo of circumstances led us to this.

So let's grab out bigger boat, and jump in the water while listening to Olivia Newtown-John sing "I Honestly Love You!"

Incidentally, I did have the 45 (and still do) of Mr. Jaws. So I've got that.

Write The Story, Rob

I'm sitting here with a story to write for the Greenwich Sentinel. It's nice and pleasant and will (hopefully) be enjoyable to read.

And I can't seem to get started.

I will -- I always get the job done -- but I'm dragging.

The Rangers lost.

Alan Thicke died.

Paul is texting me and we're reciting Big Bang Theory lines to each other.

So I thought I'd throw a blog post together.

Back in the days of writing for the Wilton Bulletin, I would write a blog post to get my creative juices going. Someone I knew questioned why I would do so, and where did I find the time? The truth though is that the blog gave me the kick to get the story done.

It was a win-win.

Anyway, back to the story. I've conducted my interviews, sent a picture in to be used, and have my quotes ready.

Now I just need to write.

In other news, John Nash posted a heartbreaking story.

We still see, all too often, that life is way to unfair. Constantly.

OK, now I have a story to write.

2016 CTHSFB: Fin

Greenwich warms up before their tilt with Darien in September.

High school football came to a conclusion in Connecticut on Saturday. Locally, Darien and New Canaan were the only two teams to bring the top prize home (not surprisingly). Kudos to Ridgefield and St. Joseph for reaching the title game. Hillhouse and Ansonia (only their 20th title) round out the champions.

Chris Erway and I were back in Greenwich on WGCH and, with the help of Shawn Sailer, Matt Hamilton, Sean Kilkelly, Ian Barto, Phil Giubileo and others, we brought the sounds of Cardinals football to the radio. I'm grateful to each person who helped make the broadcasts palatable. It's always been a labor of love.

Thanks to GHS head coach John Marinelli and his team for welcoming us, and coming on the air whenever I asked. A special nod to Connor Langan, who I talked to off the air a few times, especially after hearing a knucklehead bad-mouthing him. Not cool.

I also did a bunch of games for Brunswick, and thank Joe Early, coach Jarrett Shine, and their team (and fans) for welcoming me -- along with the aforementioned Shawn Sailer, as well as Sean Adams, and AJ Szymanowski. A shout out to Camille and Carlos, who ran things for us from Bleachers.

We battled bad wifi, lack of internet connections, occasionally failing equipment, cold weather, rainy weather, a wobbly scissor lift, and so on. In other words, it was an average season.

In the end, Darien won a thrilling FCIAC...er...Turkey Bowl* game. New Canaan raced back to tie that game. I only wish they could have met again for a state title, like they did in 2014.

* I still think it should have been called the FCIAC Championship Game because, in the end, they really were the two best teams. But I like traditions.

Once again we saw countless outstanding athletes, and really good people. We laughed with the fans and hopefully demonstrated that we love what we do.

As always, every broadcast went through the ringer that is my brain. Overall, I walked away content from 2016.

Onto winter.

Happy 87th

Father and son. Best Western Tahitian Gardens, Holiday, Fl. Feb. 1986.

I was going to write about my father's 87th birthday yesterday.

Then yesterday happened. The less said, the better.

Then yesterday afternoon/evening happened, and I attended my cousin Ron's 70th birthday party (his birthday is actually in January, but oh well). Ron's father -- my Uncle Bill -- would have been 92 today.

We wound up spending just a moment talking about it, and pondering how strange it would be. To us, my dad ("Uncle Don" to him) is always going to be frozen in time in his late 50's. My Uncle Bill will be frozen in his 60s, at least to me.

It was a passing thing. Then he began looking forward to strawberry shortcake.

Which I don't eat. Not surprisingly.

Anyway, I digress. No matter what, they would have enjoyed the party. At least I think so.

We never really know, do we?

Thanks, Shawn

A Sailer Selfie at WGCH.

My friend Shawn Sailer tweeted a few minutes ago...

Writing/blogging would be easy and fun if I could figure out what to write about.

— Shawn Sailer (@ShawnSailer) December 12, 2016

Yes. I quite get that.

Shawn started his own blog a few weeks ago and, in the grand Exit 55 tradition, we will write about it here. Now we hope that, unlike myriad other blogs that we've promoted here, Shawn will stay with it.

I've needed to remind myself that there are no rules about how many times one must post when doing this, unless you're getting paid for it. I'm not -- and have never made a dime off this effort -- so I shouldn't put the pressure on me that I have in the past.

Therefore if, oh I don't know, a blog (Creative Conjurings, for example) is quiet for a stretch, fear not. They'll be back. Too smart. Too talented. Too many things to say still.

The creation of Shawn's blog, coupled with his writing over at The Spectrum (Sacred Heart University's newspaper) has encouraged me to ramp things back up here. Every now and then, we get a friendly reminder. I'm glad.

Oh. Wait. I didn't use the "ramp" line with the intention of it being a road metaphor. You know: ramp. Exit 55.

No. I'm not that smart.

OK, digressing badly.

Getting into this kind of writing -- the very kind I've always wanted to do (that is, columnist-style writing) -- is fraught with peril. When I started here in August, 2007, I was largely fearless. I used (generally) common sense and had a lot of fun with it. The topics were all over the place, because I wanted to be more than a one-note band.

We're still that way, but things have changed. The topics are often running around in my cranium. Steelers, Yankees, music, politics (very little politics, but still), roads (and travel), pop culture, and on and on and on.

Along the way, my voice has had to adjust. I realized that that more people read this than I ever thought, and while I want discussion and even debate, I left things open to interpretation.

Am I still willing to tell you that, for instance, American Idol destroyed American popular music? Why yes. Yes I am, though I don't know if I want it to be at the cost of hurting those close to me. Anyway, that's the minefield we traverse.

Early on, I got a private message from someone who thought I was writing about...someone else. Truthfully, I wasn't. In fact, whenever I really wanted to dig in with something, I posted a video. Thus Rule 55 was created (thanks, Sean Kilkelly, for the name).

But back to Shawn (Sailer, that is). This guy has a voice (and he's among the best Twitter follows you'll find), and he's figuring out that he's not afraid to use it. We have talked various and sundry topics, and I hope he starts writing things like that for you. Yes, that's me in the picture on his Nov. 30 entry, but this is not about me.

I promise.

OK, so we need to ramp up Shawn's non-sports interests (he knows I'm slightly kidding as I write this), but I know you will enjoy his thoughts.

Once he starts writing them.

And boom. As I write, he has just posted something about his beloved Packers.

In which he referenced Green Bay's Super Bowl XLV victory.

Over the Steelers.

My Steelers.

Forget everything I just wrote.

What a Picture Says

The meeting point of three states. Sort of. Not really. But go with it.

I'm in the WGCH nerve center (or broadcast center), finishing a few things up before I head for home.

My mother and sister wanted to do a shopping trip over the weekend in Pennsylvania, and as I enjoy such things (and like to drive), I was drafted as chauffeur. It's a good gig. Rounding out our foursome was the always-affable Sean Adams. Yes, a fourteen year-old boy enjoys such goofiness.

We went last year and had just a great time. We grabbed a hotel room at the last minute off of Priceline and made a weekend of it. To be honest, a repeat in 2016 looked unlikely, mostly due to the still-not-so-grand economy (yes, I understand the unemployment rate has dropped. That doesn't mean we're all rolling in money). To be honest, things are...well...that's not why you're here.

However, things improved enough to where, with some savvy budgeting, the trip could take place. We shopped, we Christkindlmarkted (if I can create such a word), we laughed, we ate.

Later in the day, one of us would be happen (answer: me)

We teased Sean. Lovingly.

My boy continues to grow and, truth be told, I suspect he will surpass me in height if there is a 2017 trip. To that end, I had to buy him no jeans to replace the ones that had become "capri-length."

We meandered a bit over the two days, going through a few different antique stores before moving back towards New York. For Sean, our beloved son, grandson, nephew, I made good on a tradition: visiting the old Erie Turntable in Port Jervis, NY.

It's a small thing, but something that train fans like. It costs nothing and sits in back of a Rite Aid, Burger King and (currently) abandoned plaza. But there's always hope!

To an extent, I think Sean liked playing tour guide to his aunt. He also wanted to check on his rock that he left outside of one of the old trains that sits on site (he's convinced it's still there, and I think he's right).

Then we moved over to Tri-States Monument, a spot where an honorary marker notes the meeting place of New York, Pennsylvania, and New Jersey.

No, it's not the actual tri-state point (that would be in the Delaware River, but why ruin this with facts?). Still, after driving through a cemetery and parking underneath the dual bridges of Interstate 84, and weaving around the trash, can you blame us for wanting the monument to be THE point?

Anyway, I'm babbling along. I've taken Sean a few times to the point, and I've been there on my own as well. I find it enjoyable, especially when it's quiet. Laura wandered around, taking pictures, and Sean and I found ourselves in our own world.

In fact, I realized that I didn't take a picture of him "standing in all three states," as I did in previous trips, dating back to when he was quite young. So, a failure on Dad.

As Laura returned to the car to rejoin Mom, Sean and I stood on the edge of the Delaware, skimming stones. Sean struggled to find the arm angle, but instead of getting frustrated, he took some of my instructions and practiced.

Years of imitating Dan Quisenberry and Kent Tekulve paid off for me.

Unknown to us (until later), Laura took two pictures of us as we finished up by throwing larger rocks into the river. The goal, of course, was to have a large splash as we climbed back to the car (and reality).

The anatomy of the picture is basic: father hurls rock into river. Makes fool of himself (as usual) by mock-showboating for his son to further mock him. Thus the outstretched arms in the first photo, and the fully-victorious "touchdown" pose in the second. Also, the boy reaches for another rock in the second photo so that he may try to create his own splash (while saying "Kobe" as an exclamation point, even if he has no clue who Kobe is).

Oh but there's so much more. There's an entire father-son relationship in there. There's a bond of two "pals" (yes, we know that the one wearing number 84 is supposed to be the respected authority figure). This is, honestly, about the closest to athletics that we share between us here. But wait -- there is more. There's love and the enjoyment of the splash (visible in both photos). There is simplicity. There's no pressure here. It's nature, and it's natural. It's water and earth. There's the setting sun. You can't hear the trucks rumbling overhead.

It's the very essence of Sean and his proud/loving dad, with the hope that the sun isn't setting on anything.

Yet.

300 Football Games

I will call my 300th football game later today, as Williston Northampton takes on Brunswick at Cosby Field in Greenwich. The game is available via the Brunswick School and Go Bleachers.

This actually means nothing, nor should it. It means something to me because I've tracked this stuff since 1999. It also means I'm 30 games away from 1000 total, between all sports (and yes, I'm including Cheerleading, so deal).

Anyway, it's always been kind of staggering to me that I've gotten here. As we might discuss when (or if) we reach 1000, I didn't call my first game as a professional broadcaster until I was 30. So I'm not exactly jaded. I'd love to have the opportunities that have presented themselves to the young broadcasters of today, but it just didn't happen that way for me. Again, another post for another time.

I wasn't necessarily sure I'd survive game 299 last night, as Greenwich fell to Ridgefield 30-21. The game time temp was 38 degrees at Tiger Hollow, and we weren't in a toasty press box. Chris Erway, Ian Barto, and I were outside. That's the way that it is at Ridgefield. The press box is simply too small for any media.

My back tightened up and, even today, I still feel pain. But obviously, we do what we love, so there's no complaining. Plus I can still taste that postgame chicken and rice soup from Orem's Diner in Wilton, so there's that.

Three hundred. A lot of partners. From Ron Lyons to Sean Kilkelly to Mark Rosen to Tom Kane to Ricky Fritsch to Chris Kaelin to Chris Erway to Ryan DeMaria to Paul Silverfarb to John Kovach to AJ Szymanowski.

Wait. There are more names. Ian Handwerger, Tommy Dee, Tom Pollina, Dave Rothenberg (yeah, that one from ESPN), Matt Hamilton, Ron Warzoha, John Collins, Amanda Romaniello, Nick Angotto, Zach Fisher, Tim Parry, Jason Intrieri, Rob Crowley, Nick Fox, Scott Gentile, Max Barefoot, Tom Prizeman, Eric Gendron, Mike Suppe, Phil Giubileo, Kevin Coleman, and Shawn Sailer.

I think - I hope - that's everyone. At least that's what my spreadsheet says (for football).

We've had countless special guests, from my own son to John Sullivan to Sam Rutigliano and many more. I remember interviewing the late David Theis on opening day in 2000 as they dedicated the Cardinal Stadium scoreboard.

To many, 300 isn't a big number. Nor will 1000 be eventually. To me, it's just a moment to reflect and say thanks to everyone who have supported the broadcasts, and gave me the opportunity to do the one thing I love (and am hopefully halfway good at).

We've gone from Cardinal Stadium to Staten Island to the Carrier Dome to Ken Strong Stadium to Arute Stadium to Boyle Stadium and to Naples, Florida.

And more.

As Shawn Sailer always reminds me, one of my favorite sayings is "Have headset. Will travel."

I have a game to call.

It's Almost Over: Election 2016

Just having a little fun. Thanks to Shawn Sailer for the nomination.

I've been pondering a lot about writing, and whether or not to do an Election Day post. Well here we are.

About a month ago, I was scorned by a few* (and lauded by others) for reposting an article from another writer on Facebook. In it, the writer suggested that everyone just stop with the social media rhetoric.

* Those few were of one side of the aisle, for what it's worth (yes, we sports people like stats).

Let me elaborate. I like discussion and debate. Hell, as a sports broadcaster, and more so, as a sports talk show host, I have to welcome it. There are a lot of people that I politely bite my tongue with, and those who I like and respect (and can handle it) get my two cents. Thus if you tell me, for instance, that Game 7 of the 2016 World Series was "The Greatest Baseball Game of ALL TIME!," you're likely to get rebuked.

Game 6, 1975...Game 6, 2011...Game 7, 1960...almost any game in the 1991 World Series. Plus games in 1912 and 1924 and on and on. I mean...just...do...not.

With regard to the political stuff on Facebook, I frankly gritted my teeth a lot, ignored all, blocked some, and just kept pressing on. I would welcome the discussion, but few are willing to do so without it turning into mud-slinging. So I posted that and got slightly insulted in the process (you know, as in "you can't handle this, so here's a rainbow"). Ergo, point proven.

Let me tell ya something, nobody despises rainbows and unicorns more than I do. But you didn't ask. So we digress.

Anyway, that brings us back to Election Day. As I'm a broadcaster once again Election Night, I don't feel right telling you who I'm voting for or against. However I will tell that I'm with...

a person.

That's right. Although I could write in Mickey Mouse or Bugs Bunny, or something else, when I vote, it will be for a person. Might be male or female. There will be none of that gender-driven agenda.

I'll vote - as always - with my conscience.

And yet, despite what you're seeing, voting is a choice. What I mean here is that, if you CHOOSE to not vote, then you have voted. If you're too lazy, well then we're done here.

What I'm saying is, if Trump or Clinton aren't what you want -  or Johnson or Stein - then you're doing your duty by saying, "None of the Above."


I'll be at Greenwich Democratic Headquarters tonight, with Shawn Sailer, watching it all unfold. Follow me all day on Twitter, Facebook, in the Greenwich Sentinel, and on WGCH.

In fact, I'll be on WGCH several times, including a Greenwich Sentinel Doubleheader at 3 p.m., visiting the Lisa Wexler Show sometime between 4-8 p.m., and as part of the Election Night coverage beginning at 8 p.m.

Let's keep it civil. Is that possible?

I'll see you in print and on the air.

Thank You, Vin

We're beginning to say our farewells in the final inning of Vin Scully's career. Tonight, the Dodgers held a ceremony to honor our hero in the fading twilight of the 67th year. We are now faced with oncoming reality of 1 A.V. (After Vin, of course).

For one thing, I won't be watching Dodgers games anymore, but I digress.

He's been everything. Mentor to too many broadcasters to count (that's me raising my hand). He's been friend to fans everywhere -- most of whom will never so much as be in the same room as him. He's been dad to those who have lost. Or grandfather. Or uncle.

We think he belongs to us, and we're not entirely wrong. From Brooklyn to Los Angeles and the transistor radios, he's been a part of the world of the Dodgers.

We nearly brought him back to New York in 1965 as a replacement for Mel Allen, but we were able to hear him on each of the major networks at one point or another. He showed up on NBC for a few World Series before becoming the lead baseball voice in the 1980s.

He was on CBS for golf (including the Masters). Check out this funkalicious bit from 1978.



He also did tennis on CBS (yes, tennis). Of course, he called football, including a little something called "The Catch." Incidentally, he's brilliant (duh) and has the great Hank Stram alongside of him.



It all turned out well, but his road nearly changed. If CBS didn't pair Pat Summerall with John Madden, it would have been Vin. Oh my indeed. But we were the lucky ones, and Vinny moved onto NBC.

The icon and legend grew.

Vin and I were once in the same ballpark. It was Old Timer's Day at Yankee Stadium in 1983, and wouldn't you know it - I found video of the opening of that broadcast!


Yes, young Rob was in there, in the right field seats, for Bobby Murcer's first Old Timer's Day (my first also), and for the Yankees and Rangers to meet in the regular game.

We didn't meet that day, though I did take a picture of the booth (yup, even then).

Joe Garagiola, Vin, Phil Rizzuto, Frank Messer, Bobby Murcer, John Gordon, and Bill White (RA photo).

Anyway, at this point I don't ever expect to meet him or interview him, but I am grateful to him. Grateful for everything he has taught me. In a time when we need heroes (however insignificant), this red-headed kid originally from The Bronx and then Washington Heights taught me the most about sculpting the narrative of a whole lot of sporting events for listeners and viewers.

But there's more to Vin.

He hosted a game show in the 1970s. Yes. A game show.


There was also a talk show. And later, on ABC (this was in the 90s) he was back to doing golf.

Oh wait. Did I mention the Tournament of Roses Parade?



Of course the top calls are being ranked. Shall we rank the work Oscar Wilde or Emily Dickinson or Stephen King? I suppose that's what we do. Most are going to say number one is the Kirk Gibson home run, and I don't blame them.



Oh it's brilliant, of course. Heck, the back story is that Scully himself unknowingly propelled Gibson to hit because the latter heard the former say that Gibson wouldn't play. There are a litany of great lines in it "Not a bad opening act," "You talk about a roll of the dice," and the best of all: "In a year that has been so improbable, the impossible has happened."

I love it. But for me, technically, it's simply not the best ever.

That, of course, is saved for "Twenty-nine thousand and a million butterflies."



"You can almost taste the pressure."

I've explained it to students. It's been reprinted verbatim. It's not a single moment like the Miacle on Ice or the The Shot Heard Round the World. But it is everything. It's perfect. Vin and Sandy - forever intertwined in that regard.

Oh my there are others. Hank Aaron's 715th. Fernando's no-hitter. The Twins walking off against the Braves in 1991. Larsen in '56. The comments following September 11th. Mookie Wilson in '86.

Countless moments -- big and small. The narration of a brawl or an argument with an umpire. The little moments of watching children in the stands. The meticulous preparation and the use of such things like explaining Socrates (the philosopher) while Socrates (Brito, the Diamondback) was at home plate.

Yet sometimes it's the brilliant subtlety, where nothing needs to be said. Until tonight, I've never heard his call of Joe Carter's World Series-winner in 1993.


"Home run!" Then silence. Wonderful.

Perhaps my favorite, past Koufax, is the last out of the 1996 World Series. The crowd noise. The utterly insane euphoria. Vin's inner-child saying "Is this something? I mean do you loooooove baseball? There's not a thing the Yankees can do. They can't the quarterback kneel down on the ground. They can't freeze the ball. Sooner or later, they've gotta throw it."

That's on my collection of highlights that I put on my archive page several years ago. That's how we'll finish here. Thanks, Vin.