Radio Test

I'm trying something out tonight, so hang in there with me.

I'm posting a widget to the new Greenwich Sentinel Radio. Give a listen if you want (and if we're live).

I repeat...this is only a test.


GreenwichSentinel is on Mixlr

One More Number 2 Note

Never saw this picture. (Credit: JOE GIZA/AP)

Interesting piece in the New York Daily News by Peter Botte about those who wore number 2 before Derek Jeter.

I own a pinstriped number 2 Yankees jersey. I know it was for Jeter when I bought it, but true Yankees uniforms don't have names on them, so I feel in my heart it's a Bobby Murcer jersey.

Granted, it's not any of his other unis, including the holy grail: the 1973 number one with the 50th anniversary Yankee Stadium patch on the sleeve, but I digress.

With number 2 being retired today, both of Bobby Ray's main numbers will be gone. I've never -- nor will I ever -- believe the Yankees should honor Murcer with a number, but for the love of Thurman Munson, how about something?

A plaque in Monument Park?

A bobble head doll or some kind of giveaway?

Maybe a nod in the press box?

Major League Baseball's B.A.T. honors teams with the Bobby Murcer Award, "whose players contribute the most amount of money to B.A.T. through the Major League Baseball Payroll Deduction Program."

There are various nods to our guy around his beloved Oklahoma City.

But nothing from the Yankees.

Here's the thing: Bobby Murcer was every bit the player, representative, and man that Billy Martin -- who also wore number 1 - was.

No, I don't want a number retired for him, but for a guy who gave everything to the Yankees from the 1964 until 2008 (missing them when he was in exile in San Francisco and Chicago from 1975-1979), the team should do something.

I'm sure the team doesn't think honoring Murcer, and a whole group of other legends who deserve to be recognized, will draw in a big crowd, and that's the bottom line. It's a business.

But they could do something about it at Old Timer's Day, which was a favorite of Bobby's, and how he made a lasting impression to a latter generation of fans.

Plus Kay Murcer -- Bobby's wonderful widow, and someone I'm proud to have spoken to -- is always at Old Timer's Day.

The Yankees are all about history. There's a museum in the Stadium. So let's get cracking. Tony Lazzeri, Bill "Moose" Skworon, Ralph Houk, Hank Bauer, and a lot of others deserve some attention.

Let's go, Yankees. Make it happen.

OK. Rant over.

Carry on, and Happy Mother's Day.

Jeetopia on National Derek Jeter Day

To my knowledge, this photo is credited to Sports Illustrated. Happy to change if wrong.

If you have an inkling of a clue about sports, then you know that Derek Jeter's number 2 is officially off the market tonight in The Bronx.

Sadly, we've reached an epidemic of attention about Jeter in the same way we've heard it about Michael Jordan, Joe Montana, Tom Brady, Muhammed Ali, and so on.

Yes -- I know someone like Ali is so highly regarded for his social value. Still my point stands.

The point is that there is a constant barrage of "greatest ever," and it's easy to be sick of being told that. Thus one gets tired of The Beatles, U2, etc.

I'll tell you without a doubt that Rolling Stone made me fully sick of U2 from roughly 1986 until 2001. Give or take.

There has been great writing all "Jeter Week" about Derek Sanderson. There has also been tons of idiocy.

Tons.

It's easy to forget the greatness of an entity when we see or hear so much. Step away from Elton John (I use this example occasionally). Forget about the Lion King stuff. Forget Princess Diana. Forget all of it and whittle it down to, say, 1970 to 1984 (1976 to 1984 weren't exactly his best years, but mine for a few nuggets and they're there).

Strip it all away and get back to the music, and you're stunned at how good it is.

Well, that can be applied to Jeter. Take away the girlfriends (oh dear God, Mariah Carey? Really?), the money, the "brand," and get back to the basics.

Don't base it on the numbers, although there's some meat on those bones. I mean, for those who think he's overrated, he's SIXTH all-time in hits. SIXTH!

Look at this:

Rank	Player	Hits
1	Pete Rose	4,256
2	Ty Cobb †[b]	4,191
3	Hank Aaron †	3,771
4	Stan Musial †	3,630
5	Tris Speaker †	3,514
6	Derek Jeter	3,465
7	Honus Wagner †	3,430

Those "crosses" indicate Hall of Famers. Someone -- in a Facebook thread -- actually said Jeter won't be a "first ballot" Hall of Famer.

Please check yourself out of being a sports fan immediately. Or return to Citi Field at once for whatever it is you do there.

"Oh but Jeets has no MVP's." This, frankly, is on the cusp of the dumber arguments. MVP's are voted on. Yes, players have earned them, but it's honestly not a smart metric for defaming a player. It's great to say Mickey Mantle was a three-time MVP, but it should hardly be held against Gary Carter that he didn't win one.

Funny, over at Citi Field, Carter is held in high regard.

Plus -- not for nothing -- the Yankees don't quite win the MVPs (voted on by writers) the way they used to. ARod won two -- 2005 and 2007 -- but before that? It was Don Mattingly in 1985 and Thurman Munson in 1976. Elston Howard in 1963 was the previous answer.

However, I can mic drop the MVP talk here: 2000 World Series MVP. I'm thinking that one matters.

Oh and the notion that he'd be "a good player had he spent his career in Milwaukee" (heard that doozy on the Dan Patrick Show this week) also doesn't fly. Again -- sixth most hits.

I get it. A lot of Jeetopia was and is carefully cultivated and marketed by savvy people, including Jeter himself.

But strip it all away again and have a look, and you'll realize it's pretty damn incredible. He's in the conversation of the best five shortstops ever.

Ever.

Honus Wagner. Cal Ripken, Jr. Alex Rodriguez, Ernie Banks (before his move to first base)...Derek Jeter.

To me, it's between Wagner and Jeter. That's just me, and I saw no reason that Jeter needed to move when ARod came to New York.

I've got tons of Jeter for you, and I know there were flaws. But more often than not, all I heard was jealousy. Mostly because he rarely made a wrong move, both on and off the field.

MLB did a March Madness-style bracket looking to come up with his most iconic moment. Certainly, "The Flip Play" was incredible. I loved his speech to close the old Stadium. The final hit in 2014 at Yankee Stadium. "Mr. November." The 3000 hit/HR and the one to set the Yankees' hit record are both special to me because I watched them with Sean, and we celebrated like he actually cared about baseball for a moment.

Yet. I found myself thinking about this one: Game 4, 2000 World Series.

I was at Game 1 that year in The Bronx. It was nerve-wracking, and the Yankees won in extra innings. My heart was in my throat that whole week. The Yankees won Game 2, fairly easily (though Mo had a few issues in the ninth). The Mets won Game 3 and seemed to have momentum before Game 4 began.

Joe Torre inserted Jeter at the top of the lineup, ready to face Bobby Jones. You probably know what happened.

The Mets -- in one of the more embarrassing pregame moments ever -- had the Baja Men sing "Who Let The Dogs Out. Gary Thorne and Tommy Hutton had the call on MLB International.

Case closed.

Enjoy the ceremony tonight.

Nick Buoniconti

Nick Buoniconti (Photo: AP)

It's quite likely that, if you read this thing here -- this bloggy -- then you're a sports fan.

Or you like to bad writing.

Whatever. You're here for some reason.

Regardless of what or why, I ask you to read this fascinating piece by S.L. Price about Nick Buoniconti, the Miami Dolphins legend who played for the undefeated 1972 team.

Yes they were undefeated. Just ask them.

Buoniconti, as the headline says, is in decline. It's sad and frustrating and angering.

Exactly what do we do about football? Great sport. We know that.

I'm complicit in that I broadcast it upwards of 20 times a year, and I'm certainly not here to hate on the sport.

We've seen too many cases of CTE now. So how do we protect these athletes?

That's what I feel like: we need answers.

Now let's find them.

Here's Super Bowl VII. Curt Gowdy calls the play-by-play on NBC.

 

Up Early

My trusty South of the Border mug.

I couldn't sleep. There's work to be done.

And I'm thinking.

As Crash Davis once said in Bull Durham: "Don't think; it can only hurt the ball club."

As my friend Harold once said after watching me hit balls in a batting cage: "You're thinking too much when you go to the plate."

So yeah. Thinking.

If only it were that easy. Just "don't think about it."

Don't think about any of it.

This is where I type several different sentences and stop.

Then delete.

Too vague. Too direct. Too dark.

Too open. Too private.

Too honest (yes, that appears to be a crime).

Too...

Say one thing. Don't say another. Wait. Don't say the first thing!

Did I say what I wanted (or need) to say? Probably not. But I can't.

Heck, maybe I've already confused or concerned the reader.

So I stop writing.

Up since 4:30. The Sentinel needs stories.

There are guests to book. A full day ahead.

I'm babbling.

Jacob's Ladder and The South

Somewhere along NC Route 210 this morning.

Greetings from lovely Stedman, NC.

Charming town, this is. The people are pleasant in this (as of this writing) small suburb of Fayetteville.

It's growing, of course, as so many areas do, and given the way North Carolina is increasing in population, it's no surprise.

According to the 2010 census, Stedman had a population of 1,028 and that has gone up quite a bit since then.

I'm here to take care of family for the week, including driving two great nieces to and from school every day. Exhausting, but fun also.

So this morning, we listened to some tunes (overall kids just aren't interested in the stuff I listen to) as we drove. They headed off to embrace learning, and I returned to the road. As always, morning radio leaned towards blabber, so I passed*.

*There's a classic rock station, and it's not bad, but they need to be convinced that it's OK to play something other than Aerosmith. No, really. It will be OK. I'll spare you the usual "Mellencamp rant."

So I motored along, making my way to Interstate 95**.

** If my niece Kristy reads this, I have yet to take the same route to drive your daughters to school. I know you don't take 95 but, well, you know me. Your girls think I'm nuts (and I am), but there's something really cool about jumping on 95 to take them to school.

I decided I was in the mood for...wait for it...Huey Lewis and the News. The greatest hits would do.

That's when it came on: Jacob's Ladder. The song, penned by Bruce and John Hornsby, speaks of the daily struggles of life and the rejection of a lot of the hard-charging organized religion.

I don't think the Hornsby's wrote it about me (not that I'm aware of), but my God (see what I did there?) did it strike me in 1986 as I played side one, track one of Fore.

I had reasons it did so then, and I still do.

Anyway, it probably isn't a surprise that there are plenty of God-fearing types around Fayetteville. We'll not pass judgement but I couldn't help to chuckle at the juxtaposition of yours truly -- heathen am I -- in the south, in a town with a "24-Hour Prayer Marathon" sign (scheduled for next week!), blasting Jacob's Ladder.

If I could have gotten the stereo on the nifty Nissan Altima I'm driving to go to the proverbial (again, see what I did?) eleven (This is Spinal Tap reference), I would have.

It's been a mantra for a long time:

"All I want from tomorrow is to get it better than today."

It still rings true.

Incidentally, if you're going to to go all-in on such, then give me a fiery Baptist preacher, like the one I was listening to the other morning on the radio. The brimstone and organ was a nice touch.

"Sing along, send some money. Join the chosen few."

Ludlowe/Greenwich Baseball

So here's what we discovered yesterday at the GHS baseball field (aka, "Cardinal Yard"): the wifi and cell service are both unreliable.

As a result, we had a frustrating broadcast with a lot of drops, but fear not! The game has been uploaded to Archive.org (you can download it there) and will be played back in an edited form (think Cardinals in 60...well, more like 49:20) today at 3pm on WGCH (and wgch.com...anywhere).

My great friend Mick McGowan and I had the call yesterday, with the always-legendary Shawn Sailer nearby.

Oh, and here's the game in an embedded form.

Baseball Today: GHS/Ludlowe

Last Monday at GHS.

We're back at it today for baseball, as Greenwich High hosts Fairfield Ludlowe at 4pm.

Mick McGowan and I will have the call, with the broadcast starting in the 3:55 range (if all goes well).

The Cardinals won their first game last week, while the Falcons are coming off their first loss of 2017.

To listen to the game, visit wgch.com and select the sports button. If that doesn't work, visit this link: http://64.78.234.165:8000/index.html?sid=38 (or this one: http://64.78.234.165:8000/WGCH_SPORTS)

The game will air (in an edited form) tomorrow at 3pm on Greenwich Sentinel Doubleheader.

Roxy

It's been a few weeks, and it's still something that's hard to process.

"Dog" is gone. Roxy. Lady.

Dog.

I have to clear something up: Just like my beloved pal Scrappy, Roxy was never my dog. One difference with Roxy was that she did live with me for roughly a year. I walked her (though one didn't really "walk" her), fed her, and did lots of dog-related things with her.

From across the house, I could yell, "DOG!" and the doggy toenails could be heard on the hardwood floor.

But the truth was she wasn't my dog. She initially belonged to my niece Laura, and when Laura moved from Pennsylvania to live with me in New York, I got to hang with Roxy. Eventually, Laura would move, and soon Roxy stayed with Laura's sister Kristy in Fayetteville, NC.

To be fair, Sean and I were just as excited to see Roxy when we would visit as we were to see Kristy, husband Hector, and daughters Evelyn, Eleanor, and Izzy. Yes, even seeing cats Ghost and Crow were exciting.

Plus we'd get to see Laura, her boyfriend Kelly, and my goddaughter Emma, along with Kendall as well. Plus various other cats, dogs, and a bigass lizard.

But it was Dog who greeted us in Fayetteville.

We knew the drill. Sean and I would both talk about it in the car. It would play out like this:

Scene: House, Fayetteville, NC. A car pulls into the driveway and three people get out of it. Rob, the father, followed by Sean, devoted son, and Nancy, Rob's mother. Rob knocks on the door. It opens with Kristy (or Hector or a child) visible.

"How was the trip?"

A dog soon appears. Barking commences.

Dog: "BARK BARK BARK BARK BARK"

Rob: "Oh calm down!"

Dog: "Oh, it's you."

Every. Time. Without. Fail.

We lost Roxy in March, and we had a feeling it was coming. Kristy gave me the heads-up that the next appointment was March 17.

Yes. St. Patrick's Day. MothereffingSteffingPatricksday.

My first reaction, and I have witnesses to it, was utter dismay. Why the everloving bleep did it have to be St. Patrick's Day?

Then I thought about it a bit and realized that this is how it should be. It actually comforted me, but my initial reaction was visceral.

I wanted no part of St. Patrick's Day, 2017. While I used to do anything to celebrate it, recent years have had me wanting to find the nearest rock to hide under. I had no interest in being a part of anything that day (for those who are new here, my dad passed while watching The Quiet Man on St. Patrick's Day, 1989).

My efforts to take the day off fell apart, and so it was when my phone buzzed with the text that Roxy -- our Roxy -- the lady who I named "America's Dog," had gone to sleep.

My next move was to tell Sean, and I actually left the radio show to make sure that I told him personally. His sadness was profound.

Sean hasn't been back to North Carolina since she passed. I was there last weekend, to share in the joy of moving Kristy and Hector to a wonderful new house.

I found myself wanting to hug Kristy to thank her for taking care of our dog. I saw the kind trinkets that the vet provided, including a box that her ashes are in. I did hug Evelyn, the oldest of the children, who wrote a note, in Roxy's "voice," that was meant to provide comfort to her sisters.

Being out of the house was actually comforting in the end.

We're supposed to outlive our pets, but that doesn't make it any easier. Gone is that first reaction of the barking and the realization that it was just us, ready to pet her, hug her, run with her, and play ball with her. Gone are the moments of just looking at her. She truly was a beautiful dog. Gone is...everything.

Except for the memories, and the stories.

One to go out on: According to Laura, by definition, Roxy was a partial Red Heeler breed (to my knowledge, not a true breed). Sean and I -- ever the conspiring wise guys -- decided that a new breed be created. Thus Roxy became a "Red Heeler Hipadooda." It stuck and never left.

As Kristy would say, "Go be a dog."

As we would say, "Run free Dog."

This dog, this lady, was truly America's Dog. Tough, but tender. Sweet-natured but protective.

The sadness is strong but the memories will always bring a smile.

Twenty Years at WGCH

Sean Kilkelly, me, and Bob Small. Cardinal Stadium, Greenwich, 2000.

Twenty years ago today, I woke up on the floor of the Liberty Science Center in New Jersey. I was there for a boy scout sleepover with my nephew, Michael, and I had to leave him there.

I had a new job. It was only a part-time job (basically a freelance gig), and I didn't want to be late.

Michael would be safe with friends from his scout troop, and another family would get him home.

I had to fly to Greenwich, and fly I did.

The radio gods smiled at me as I whizzed across the George Washington Bridge and the Cross Bronx Expressway (these are words that never get uttered). Radio station WGCH awaited, and I got there in time for my first shift.

It would not be a day of commentary, but of running the controls for church services and religious programming and so on. But it was a gig. A paycheck.

Most of all, I was right back in radio.

It was only a few months prior, in the fall of 1996, that I had come to work at WREF in Ridgefield, and despite having been laid off from Kraft Foods at the end of '96, I felt like things were looking up at REF.

Then they were sold, and I was (essentially) turning out the lights, as the last live on-air host at 850 am in Ridgefield.

Fortunately, I had made two friends there -- Steve Goodwin and Luke Michaels -- who both spoke highly of WGCH, and recommended me for some board work. I did my training on March 30 and my first shift a week later: April 6, 1997.

Steve would move on, and Luke? Well, rest his soul. He was a good man who I had many good times with on the air. I'm thinking of him a lot this week. I recall when he called me, still suffering from cancer, but hopeful to return to the airwaves, and with me as a side kick. That was our last conversation.

Cancer sucks.

*****
WGCH has been my main broadcasting home ever since that fateful day in '97. I would become a larger presence on the station (and our-then sister station, WVIP*) in 1998 as the board-op du jour for whatever they needed.

* WVIP-AM was the first station I ever heard my name said on. I won a trivia contest in 1984 because nobody (except me) knew who the first teams were to play on Monday Night Football. They asked the question while I was in the car with my mom, and the question went unanswered, for probably a good half-hour. That is...until I got home. (It was Jets/Browns, by the way).

The sports director at the time, John Connelly, liked me enough to create a model in which I was the studio host for sports, and not just a board-op. So I did all of the pregame and postgame segments, along with intermission/halftime reports and more. Plus I introduced them coming out of each commercial break.

By 2000, John had stepped away, and I became sports director. I still hold that title.

We've done it all since then. You know about the football games, plus baseball, basketball, hockey, softball, lacrosse, and so on. There have been the talk shows: The Press Box, Coach's Corner, Spotlight on Sports, Doubleheader, Tee Time, The Clubhouse, The Rob Adams Show, and more. There have been 2am wakeup calls for the morning shift, and 3am departures because I had finished up whatever I was doing.

There were nights -- lots of them -- when I simply didn't want to leave. Sure, they old Dayton Ave building could be creepy (believe me, I slept there one night) but I was still in heaven.

There were conversations. Lots of them. Simply talking about the joy of the business, or debating sports. They weren't, despite assumptions, gripe sessions. It was something I would do after a lot of games just because my adrenaline had run out and I didn't want to drive home.

Those chat sessions evolved from Sean Kilkelly and Mark Rosen to Dave Rothenberg to Chris Erway, Chris Kaelin, and Ryan DeMaria to Shawn Sailer and AJ Szymanowski, and a whole lot of others.

I carry 20 years of stories with me. Of election nights, early morning newscasts, technical issues, equipment failures, and laughter.

Oh my, the laughter.

I carry with me the memory of finishing a Bluefish game, driving back to GCH, and the crew spontaneously going on the air to do a sports talk show -- at midnight.

Would we have been in trouble? Perhaps, though I don't think many people missed whatever show we pre-empted.

But we had listeners!

And we still do.

I know. Two politicians both recently said they're "WGCH junkies" who know my voice and listen to Doubleheader.

Two of many.

I can't name everyone who has passed through the doors with me, but I'm so grateful for the efforts of every single one.

I'm so grateful for the athletes, coaches, newsmakers, celebrities, and everyday people who have joined me on the air.

I'm beyond grateful for the listeners. I'm pleased with the comments (even the negative ones). I still remember the email that bluntly told me to "STEP DOWN."

No dice. For even when I wasn't "Voice of the Cardinals," I was still around WGCH. I still did my Friday morning visit (6:50 am) with Tony Savino.

I'm thrilled that WGCH didn't send me packing. I've always felt a loyalty to the little radio station at the corner of Lewis and Mason Streets.

We'll keep laughing and doing it "my way." I'll keep driving management crazy with my ideas and passion for doing right for the listeners (and always wanting more games on the air).

I thank all of my colleagues, the ownership, and my Greenwich Sentinel family. I realize I'm just a small cog in this machine, but I'm proud to still be doing this.

I'm still around.

I owe you a very heartfelt "Goodnight from Greenwich."

And thank you.

Babbling Part 2

Hopefully tomorrow?

As things will go bump in the night, so will I.

I don't really know what that means, but it seemed apropos. So. Yeah.

The other night, while struggling to sleep, I wrote a (typically) snarky piece about looking for quotes, playing for second place, etc.

And I'll leave it up. I've only deleted a few posts over time, and I really can't remember many at that.

But I guess I was wrong. That's what I'm trying to say.

Oh I should write -- always write, and write more. There's an inherent down side of writing (or talking or broadcasting or simply breathing) but so it goes.

You might not understand any of this, and that's good. On occasion, being vague is best and a worthwhile weapon in the arsenal of a writer. I mean, go figure out what "I Am The Walrus" is about.*

*Trick question. It's about nothing. That's the entire point.

So there you have it.

I have to help family move in North Carolina. It's really early.

I need Waffle House.

And coffee.

Babbling and Looking For Quotes

I Googled "babbling" and this came up. OK then.

It's early.

I'm awake. I don't want to be awake.

But I can't sleep either. Therefore we have an issue.

I'm looking for a quote about knowing you're always going to be playing for second place, and I can't find it.

Maybe that is my quote: "I'll always be playing for second place." -- Adams (hardly a philosopher or one worth quoting)

There are often times I'm looking for a quote for -- something...anything -- and I can't find it.

And thus here we are.

The vicious cycle goes on.

But let's spin it positive.

Always.

I'm babbling.

And wide awake.

I'm going to get coffee.

GAME ON! Baseball Today!

It might not be pretty now...but it's beautiful to me.

Selfishly, I'm ready. So so ready.

Let's play ball. Finally.

Ignore the chilly temps (though we'll hit the 50s today). Ignore the mud and muck.

Baseball is back and I can't wait.

Thanks to Joe Early and the folks at Brunswick, I've been asked to call today's opener as the Bruins host the Blue Devils of Poly Prep from Brooklyn, and given tomorrow is the 20th anniversary of my arrival at WGCH (I trained on March 30, 1997; my first on-air shift was April 6), I can't think of a better thing to do.

Thanks to happenstance, my friend Mick McGowan will be on the call with me.

So here's how to listen:

3pm: Mick and I will be live on WGCH Radio (1490 am/wgch.com) for Greenwich Sentinel Doubleheader with a special pregame show from Brunswick.

3:30: First pitch of Brunswick/Poly Prep on WGCH.

4pm: The on-air radio portion will end, but Mick and I will be live here: http://64.78.234.165:8000/index.html?sid=38

*** I'll have this stream live before 3pm if you just want to listen there. Keep in mind there is a certain element of trial and error with all of this. We're experimenting with this web steam.

After that, Mick and I will head to Grand Prix New York in Mount Kisco, where our friend Steve Laux will join us, for The Clubhouse. Mark Jeffers and I (with our special guests) will overwhelm you with lots of fun from 7-8 on WGCH.

Avon Old Farms/Brunswick Coming Up at 2:30

Courtesy of WGCH, Brunswick, NSN and the Greenwich Sentinel, check out this link to the AUDIO ONLY of today's Avon Old Farms/Brunswick hockey broadcast. Face off is 2:30pm. Here's the link!
Click here (or here) to go to the game broadcast.

Milton/Brunswick Coming Up at 4:30

My setup in Wallingford.

Courtesy of WGCH, Brunswick, NSN and the Greenwich Sentinel, check out this link to the AUDIO ONLY of today's Milton/Brunswick hockey broadcast. Face off is 4:30pm. Here's the link!
Click here (or here) to go to the game broadcast.

Northwood/Brunswick Link: Sat at 1p

Ready to go at the Hartong Rink

Courtesy of WGCH, Brunswick, and the Greenwich Sentinel, check out this link to the AUDIO ONLY of today's Northwood School/Brunswick hockey broadcast. Face off is 1pm. Here's the link!
Click here to go to the game broadcast.

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.