I'm Wiped Out

Not an actual picture of me

Remember when I wrote on Monday about taking the night off?

That was night one of a crazy week.

I've told some of you what is going on.

So, let's see...missed hockey game, called a hockey game, my great niece is getting ready to have a baby, I recorded two podcasts for Hunt Scanlon, got Sean to a driving lesson and visited two hospitals with my mom.

From the sports world (besides the game broadcasts) there has been the whole Derek Jeter thing (now you know why I wasn't much in the mood for the haters, trolls, and fools), Eli Manning retiring,the Mets hiring the new manager and whatever else went on.

Is that everything? I feel like I've missed something.

Oh yeah. I was supposed to leave for Virginia tomorrow. But, such is life.

Instead I'll call basketball both tomorrow and Saturday.

So, anyway, that's life.

Oh, my mom, you say?

It's her story to tell. It's her health.

But I'll tell you this: I wrote that post Monday night at Putnam Hospital Center.

So, once again, tomorrow's another day.

From a Common Sense Perspective

So there's been much talk about Derek Jeter missing on a unanimous vote by one.

That's not really what this post is about, but we'll use Jeter as the baseline.

That one voter has been revered and reviled in the past 24 hours.

Do I think the person did it for notoriety? No, not really. Generally speaking, that person probably had no idea they were the only one to not vote for Jeter.

Do I think there should be a witch hunt over it? No, but I would be curious to get an explanation. It won't assuage those outraged (ranging from Yankees Universe to Patrick Mahomes and others) but it would be interesting nevertheless.

But here's what I want to make clear: Telling me Jeter (or anyone) can't or shouldn't be unanimous because Aaron, Mays, Ruth, etc wasn't.

It. Is. A False Equivalency.

Here's the deal.

The writers receive a ballot. They are instructed to pick up to ten players. They can send back a blank ballot. They can not send a ballot at all (though that doesn't impact the percentage of votes).

Then the writers look at each player and they answer one -- ONE -- simple question.

Really. It's quite simple.

Are you ready for it?

Can you handle it?

Are you sure?

OK...

Is that player a Hall of Famer?

That's. It.

No more. No less.

Judge the individual player. Is Derek Jeter a Hall of Famer? Yes or no. Is Larry Walker a Hall of Famer? Roger Clemens? Barry Bonds?

Base your answer on whatever metrics you choose. I generally go initially with gut feeling and eye test before I dig into numbers when discussing players. Naturally I don't have a vote because I don't belong to the Baseball Writers' Association of America.

And so, let's have a look at a ballot, shall we?

This is Randy Miller's ballot from NJ.com. Read the directions. Pretty straight forward, no? Are the players on that ballot Hall of Famers? If yes, in the estimation of the voter, check the box. Pick up to ten.

Nowhere there does it say to compare Bobby Abreu, for instance, to Reggie Jackson.

Nor does it say that you can't vote for Derek Jeter because 11 people didn't vote for Babe Ruth.

In 1936.

Can you begin to see how silly that logic is? It's not a apt comparison.

Eleven people didn't vote for Ruth. Same goes for Honus Wagner. Four didn't vote for Ty Cobb. But, again, this was in 1936. The reason I've heard behind Ruth, for instance, was that some writers thought it was too soon for his inclusion. Ruth had only retired in 1935, which of course was before the creation of the five-year waiting period.

Look, I can't explain why nine writers didn't vote for Hank Aaron in 1982 or 23 passed on Willie Mays in 1979. Three didn't vote for Junior Griffey in 2016.

There were notions that there couldn't be a unanimous Hall of Famer but that finally went out the window with Mariano Rivera in 2019.

There's still the notion of a first ballot Hall of Famer, which is a supposed to be a badge of honor. It means little thought was necessary on that player, but can also be imperfect (see: Puckett, Kirby)

There, honestly, could have been anything ranging from racism to the player in question slighted the writer somewhere along the line. Given opinions are involved, the process is hardly perfect.

Twenty writers didn't vote for Ted Williams in 1966. Why? Ted had a prickly relationship with writers. They're supposed to overlook that, but opinions and biases still happen.

There is the character clause which many writers have hidden behind for one dumb reason or another.

But how a ballot was voted on in any previous year (or player) has no bearing on how this year played out.

THIS is the ballot for 2020.

Next year, voters will judge only the players on the 2021 ballot.

So to tell me Derek Jeter or Ken Griffey Jr or Sandy Koufax or Johnny Bench or Tom Seaver can't be unanimous because Babe Ruth or Willie Mays or Christy Mathewson or Ted Williams or Stan Musial weren't? Don't you see where it's sort of illogical?

Or is it just a sheer matter of basic jealousy?

Or is it you're a hater of the player/team?

This post isn't about whether or not Jeter is unanimous. I lost no sleep over that fact.  As a reminder, he's in the Hall of Fame today, so the point is irrelevant.

In reality, it's not really about Jeter at all. We could be talking about any player.

It's meant to attack the bogus logic I've seen flying around since around 6:15 last night.

The hot takes and hatred have just been wonderful. Thanks for all of it.

YEAH, JEETS!

Along with "27 Rings," "Yeah, Jeets!" might be our most obnoxious quote. Yankees fans -- like any successful sports franchise -- certainly have that tendency.

Like a party trick, it makes haters flip out. Fun for the whole family!

And, oh my, are they flipping out tonight as Derek Jeter enters Cooper2town.

Sorry. I couldn't resist.

You see, here's the thing. The one thing -- the ONLY thing -- that the Derek Jeter haters (read: Mets fans, Red Sox fans, and, well, haters in general) can hold on to is that he wasn't unanimously elected to the National Baseball Hall of Fame.

He missed out by one vote. Let the games begin!

Well, OK, yes, there's the thing of now breaking him down. You know: "He's not a Hall of Famer." Then there are the comparisons and the "overrated" comments and, my personal favorite, the "crappy defense" argument.

But, make no mistake: he's going to Cooperstown. He's the featured attraction this summer. Get ready for a "YUGE" crowd this summer, with a lot of pinstripes to be seen.

(And by the way, big congrats to Lary Walker. Who doesn't like Larry Walker, eh?)

Truth: Derek Sanderson Jeter was never my favorite Yankees player. It was always Paul O'Neill or someone else.

But, he was there. Mr. Clutch. Mr. November. Mr. Whatever-the-hell-he-wanted-to-be.

He was that good. We knew it.

I was there for a ton of it. My son -- noted as not a big sports fan -- jumped in my arms when he got the hit that put him as tops in the history of the New York Yankees. We were both there on a rainy Friday night to watch it.

He and I watched Jeter hit DJ3K (aka, his 3,000th hit) from our living room a few years later. Again, he jumped in my arms. Special. Father. Son.

Hate Jeter all you want. I'll hold onto those moments.

In need of a big hit on Mickey Mantle Day when he was a rookie? Bang. Walk off hit.

Game 6, 1996? Bang. Base hit off Greg Maddox, who spurned the Bronx for the burning of Atlanta.

The Mets climbing back into the 2000 World Series? Ha, I say. First pitch. Game four. Bobby Jones. One-nothing, New York Yankees. Series basically over.

Go into the stands against the A's in '01 or the Red Sox in '04? Sure.

He's also Mr. November, of course.

The Flip Play.

The last at-bat in the Bronx, followed by the last AB in Boston.

Every fist pump. Ever win.

Yankees win. You know the rest.

I get it. You think he's overrated. Because how could a guy by THIS good?

He was never the best...doesn't deserve to be unanimous because Ruth, Aaron, Mantle, Mays, Musial, Junior, Cobb or Piazza weren't. It's flawed logic, but you do you, I suppose.

He was that good, and he would have been anywhere. But, in New York, he found the right combination. The bright lights. The big city.

Bernie and Jorge and Coney and Paulie and Mr. Torre and Zim and Andy and Mo and Tino and SupercalifragilisticexpialiBrosius all played parts in those four rings from 1996-2000.

But, it could have been Shelly Duncan or Shane Spencer or Aaron Small. It didn't matter.

Five rings overall. Endless playoff appearances.

And, arguably, the greatest shortstop ever. Yes, I said arguably.

I got to be around him once, in the Yankees locker room following a win against the Blue Jays in a makeup game in 2003.

It was surreal. He said everything and nothing. He was respectful and in control. It was masterful.

No athlete I've covered has impressed me more.

Yeah, I know. "Rob's biased." "Man crush." Whatever. You'd be impressively wrong with that take.

He's not on the Yankees' Mount Rushmore. Those spots sit clearly with Mssrs. Ruth, Gehrig, DiMaggio, and Mantle. Yogi is probably next.

But 3,465 hits are hard to ignore.

He has hurt his image in Miami, no doubt. He's following in Michael Jordan's footsteps as an executive. But he's Derek-freaking-Jeter, and I have no reason to doubt him.

No athlete has kept himself more squeaky clean in the limelight, despite involving himself with Mariah Carey (I told you so at the time).

So, no. Unanimous happened last year with Mo. Game over with the closer. As it should be.

I didn't need to see 100% next to DJ's name tonight.

He's in.

Yeah, Jeets.

Just Taking Tonight Off

" Well, here's another nice mess you've gotten me into!"

I'm hoping you'll cut me a break tonight.

Today was...um...a day.

I produced a new podcast for Hunt Scanlon, talking to someone from London this morning.

But the day had started falling apart before that.

I got to hang out with Sean, and that's always a good thing.

But the rest of today? No.

We keep it real around these parts, and we always have.


The options were to do this or not write a post at all, so here we are.

All is fine. Or as fine as it can be.

See you tomorrow.

Duh

"Mr. Official, let me ask you something. How can six of you miss a play like that, huh?"

A few weeks ago, I was chatting with a friend about current music. I mentioned Billie Eilish, the 18-year-old pop sensation.

He looked at me and shrugged. He'd never heard of her.

We'll return to this.

Quite a Sunday.

If you're in Kansas City, you're euphoric over the Chiefs making the Super Bowl for the first time since 1970. As I type, San Francisco is raising their collective wine glasses and cheese plates (except for the gang at the 2am Club in Mill Valley. Those are beer swillers there!).

And the Chiefs have a Mahopac High Grad on their staff. Dave Toub graduated six years before me and is the assistant head coach and special teams coordinator. So, that's cool.

Anyway, it looks like it's Chiefs and Niners in two weeks when they slot in a football game between awful concerts.*

* John Nash: AVERT YOUR EYES! There will be music criticism within this post!

Anywho, prepare yourself for two weeks of hearing stories of Joe Montana (must not opine...must not opine...), Jerry Rice, Dwight Clark (RIP), and Steve Young (Greenwich High, of course) as well as Hank Stram, Len Dawson, Willie Lanier, and Buck Buchanan.

And that's just the historical side of it.

I just saw FOX is having an extended pregame show, which isn't unusual. What's also not unusual is the collection of acts that I'll spend no time watching. The only name I remember seeing is Pitbull and I'm wondering, as I have for roughly ten years, why is that guy relevant, let alone popular?

Mr. 305/Mr. Worldwide is basically a musical cartoon character in the theme of Right Said Fred.

I'd need massive amounts of Fireball to hear him warble about Fireball.

Of course, the halftime show is pleasing because I'll barely pay attention to it. Pass me some wings!

I mean...Shakira? Jennifer Lopez?

Was Nelly Furtado not available? Kylie Minogue (who was once on Doctor Who and was quite good)? Maybe The Cover Girls, Taylor Dayne, The Pussycat Dolls, and Exposé can take part!

I know. The days of McCartney, etc. are over as halftime shows, and maybe they should be. At least we've mostly forgotten the disaster that was Imagine Dragons at the National Championship last year. In fact, it was so bad, the game didn't have a pop act play halftime this year.

If only the NFL would do the same.

I've also been seeing commercials for the upcoming Grammy's broadcast. As a result, I can't get one of Billie Eilish's (yes, back to her) big hits out of my mind because the goth synth pop beat is featured in the promo.

I think she wrote it about me. You know: "Bad Guy."

Doo doo do do do do do...

Also, with all due respect to Ms. Eilish (I promise, there is no knocking or mocking here), I have just one line from "Bad Guy" in my brain. It's the title of the post.

"Duh."

Doo doo do do do do do...

In terms of the Grammy's (my running Twitter commentary has become a thing of legend to literally two people...maybe), the rest of the lineup they're promising is about as exciting as...well, it's not exciting.

Before you (and John) begin sharpening your pitchforks, let me tell you that the Grammy's can serve as an opportunity to pick up something...anything.

But, mostly, it's a bit of a collection of moments meant to outrage and be seen.

Duh.

The Naysayer

I'm a realist. I'm honest and have opinions.

Trust me, those get me in trouble on a daily basis -- both personally and professionally.

And it's amazing how much I've actually backed off into a place where it's bordering on ambivalence.

But I'm quickly getting off-topic here, so let me explain.

Earlier this week, iHeart Radio laid off a lot of talented broadcasters as they "restructure" or whatever they want to call it. The layoffs went from coast to coast and around many markets of varying sizes.

iHeart is continuing the trend of corporate radio losing its local flavor. It's sad how few places have a presence close to their city of license and further how few have any presence 24 hours a day. It feels like iHeart and others are trying to homogenize it.

Many of us in the business expressed our sadness over what happened this week and wished those out of work well. One site I frequent posted a request on Facebook for any advice to be given to those now looking for work.

"Get out while u can. lol," came one smart ass response.

I gripped the computer and tried to not launch it across the room. Instead, fellow understanding broadcasters (and "VOICES" of high school sports in Ohio) Nate Stidham and Mike Hirn caught my rage.

They weren't pleased, either.

I replied to the post with encouragement, as did Mike. Really. What more can we do right now? The very point is to not get out (lol) but to, more importantly, not let the bastards get you down (lol).

"Don't let this deter you or run you out of the business," I wrote.

Even if the poster was kidding (lol) it wasn't the right time for it. Don't kick a soul when they're down.

But I see this a lot. I see it in the play-by-play group. In the public address announcer group. In the AM Radio group and other places.

It's the person who insists on saying that radio is dead or to get out of the industry that you're in or whatever. It's that the sky is falling (and, sure, maybe it is).

Look, I'm all for blunt honesty and realism (back to that again) but, sometimes, it's best to just simply shut your microphone hole.

You know, "If you can't say something nice, don't say nothing at all," as spoken by noted philosopher Thumper.

Yes, we get it. Radio is in flux at the moment. This iHeart news rattled the industry a bit. I'm dealing with questions all the time on the future of WGCH (which is, you know, a RADIO station...on AM RADIO).

Yes, I further understand that play-by-play is an often low-paying gig. I explain that to my students. Why do you think I beg for EVERY game that I can possibly get? Why do you think I go nuts over the games that I lose out on?

So don't tell me about low-pay and so on.

But, and yes, this is me saying this, sometimes the honesty can be taken too far, especially in an arena like social media. If your goal is to look like a cynic or, worse, a "tough guy," then well done ol' chap! A bottle of Aqua Velva for you!

Otherwise, maybe just say nothing.

In Need of a Kick

Paula Cole

I recently had to do something I really didn't want to do. I finished it this morning.

We've visited this place before.

And in the middle of this, I began to feel guilty.

It was at that moment, I put a "Kick Me" sign on my back.

I told someone what I was thinking.

"You better not be feeling that," was a paraphrase of what was said.

I needed that.

Yes, I can be soft on occasion. Too nice, I've been told.

So I was grateful for the reminder.

As for what went on this morning, it wasn't that big of a deal. It was just a procedural thing, but it still weighed on my mind.

I'm glad it's over.

And after that, I heard Paula Cole. Yeah. Paula Cole of "Where Have All the Cowboys Gone" and that Dawson's Creek song.

Tell me: Exactly when was the last time you heard Paula Cole?

In a span of, oh, two hours (maybe), I heard Paula-freaking-Cole three times. In three different places.

It doesn't appear that there was any reason to hear Paula Cole. It was just random.

And so, that was the kind of day it was.

Yippie ki, yippie ay.

Momentum is Tomorrow's Starting Pitcher

Cubeta Stadium -- Stamford, CT. July 21, 2019

The one constant through all the years, Ray, has been baseball.

I love baseball.

I'm sure that comes as no surprise. Yes, I love all sports. Football, hockey, and basketball for sure. I've grown with soccer. I've broadcast field hockey and water polo and lacrosse and cheerleading and wrestling and more. Honestly, more than I can remember.

That's a lot of sports over the years.

I'd go with any team that would like me in any sport. Hire me. I'll love it.

But, when you get right down to it, maybe it was because it was my first love, I'm a baseball person.

And today was a terrible baseball day.

We know what happened: Mike Axisa's parsing of the Rob Manfred report on the Astros' cheating scandal says, essentially, that AJ Hinch and Jeff Luhnow took the fall because Manfred is afraid of the Players Union. Then Jessica Mendoza said some really silly stuff. Then Carlos Beltran was...er...fired by the Mets (there's such weak attempts at wiggle room, as in "it was mutually agreed upon").

Then -- perhaps most egregiously -- rumors began to surface that the Astros players were wearing buzzers under their uniforms. The video of Jose Altuve, following his ALCS-winning home run seems quite damning.

Here’s the clip of Altuve screaming at his teammates not to rip his jersey off including audio from the interview with @Ken_Rosenthal. pic.twitter.com/y7Lv76QFpX

— ً (@NYYDJ2) January 14, 2020

Supposedly, Beltran's niece had some sketchy tweets about more stuff, but it turned out it was NOT Beltran's niece and, at last check, might be a player using a burner account.

By night, Scott Brosius's son was on Instagram saying that Mike Trout is using HGH.

As of now, Major League Baseball is saying there's nothing to the Altuve rumor, but nobody is buying it, except Astros fans.

Even the Mets of a different time are sort of quietly in the news for what went on a few years later. This story is bad, so be forewarned.

Is that everything?

For the love of Christy Mathewson, stop.

Just. Stop.

I realize there are some conspiracy theories in this stew, and I struggled with reporting it, and even got called out on Twitter for doing so. Fair enough. But there just feels like there's a shooter in the Houston grassy knoll tonight (Yes, I realize the grassy knoll was in Dallas, but work with me here).

I'm here to tell you we'll survive.

I don't see this as darker than the awfulness of what the Black Sox scandal was like from 1919-1921, but I realize it's pretty bleak, given baseball's "weakened status."

It will take people to help our grand old game.

We're out here. We need to get people interested. Not through pithy narcissism but through fun, enthusiasm, and passion. It's out there. It's what I'll be doing, most notably when I call games for Brunswick, the FCIAC, Little League Baseball, Babe Ruth Baseball, and the Hudson Valley Renegades.

For what it's worth, even those who don't understand or like baseball have said it gets conveyed during my broadcasts, and I'm going to bring all of that.

People need to understand why this game is so great. I've had to listen to the soccer loyalists explain why it's not boring. Well, they can listen to me.

The history matters. The strategy matters. The drama matters. But the integrity and purity matters also.

America has rolled by like an army of steamrollers. It's been erased like a blackboard, rebuilt, and erased again. But baseball has marked the time.

It also needs the right people. That matters a lot.

In a tweet today, I mentioned people who I think help spread the word, but it is more than just Mike Hirn, Nate Stidham, Dan Gardella, Jake Zimmer, Mike Genaro and Alex LoParco. It's Mike Buswell and Mike Scott and Shaun McGee and Myckie Lugbauer and Shawn Sailer and AJ Szymanowski and Paul Silverfarb.

Coaches. Broadcasters. Fans.

It's my beloved coach, Lou D'Aliso, who knows so much about this game that it's scary.

It's my cousin Kris. It's even my son -- if only to explain his dad's passion.

It's even my mom who, at 82, can tell me about my baseball-crazy grandfather who played semi-pro ball in New Jersey and Peekskill.

I can't possibly name everyone (Mick and Steve and the Section 5 gang and Dave Torromeo and Mark Jeffers and Kato and...my God, I can just keep going). It's Jon, who was always this closet baseball fan in some ways that surprised me.

It's Sacha and a whole lot of other women who can more than hold their own talking about it. With Susan comes Lucy and Annabelle, who have both wowed in talent and passion on the softball field (even if Lucy has retired).

It's people. Race, religion, gender, etc does not matter. It's open to all.

It wasn't always. That's part of our history. We need to explain that history.

We -- hell, I -- need all of these people. Then I need it passed on.

Yes, all of this news stinks, but don't buy into silly narratives that the game isn't fun. There are plenty of voices -- mine included -- that will tell you how great it is by simply describing it.

The game is still great. We just all need to get back on the field. More than ever.

Let's learn from this -- expose this -- and get back to playing ball.

We need a rhubarb in the catbird seat.

We need the sounds and the smells.

I need a chili dog or a bratwurst or some nachos or some other stadium concoction. Stat.

Let's argue over all of it. Try to convince Ruth isn't the GOAT (you won't win, but proceed at your own peril).

Or that Derek Jeter (yeah, Jeets!) is overrated.

Or that Tom Seaver is the greatest pitcher ever.

Do you prefer Mantle or DiMaggio?

Teddy Ballgame or Ty Cobb?

Tonight is about the Yankees and Mets and Red Sox and Astros and Rays and Twins and Renegades and literally every other team. It's about the Greenwich Cardinals and the Montgomery Biscuits and the Greenwich Cannons and the Cal Ripken League.

It's about the Mahopac Indians and the John Jay (East Fishkill) Patriots.

It's the whole sport.

Tonight stinks. I get it. I sat in my car, almost paralyzed, as I watched baseball explode today.

Now, I want an uprising.

This is still our game in that it is a motley combination of other games that we dropped into a melting pot.

I realize I sound like the Cooperstown Chamber of Commerce. Understood. The cynic can decry my "Rah! Rah! Baseball!" approach. They can mock my quoting Field of Dreams and "Take Me Out to the Ballgame."

I don't care if I ever get back. Let me root root root...

I want to have a catch. I haven't swung a bat against so much as a hitting machine in years.

Let's. Go.

People will come, Ray.

People will most definitely come.

A Hall of Fame Post

Alex Karras closes in on Sonny Jurgenson

Before I get to the meat of this post, allow me to express my sadness over what iHeart Radio has done, putting many talented people out of work as they do a mass reorganization. Scott Fybush, the master of NERW at fybush.com, has more -- along with a growing list of names. I'm saddened to see the business take such a massive hit.

And now, back to our regularly-scheduled program...

Halls of Fame were all the rage today.

(Incidentally, Derek Jeter will be making his way to Cooperstown next week, so we'll deal with that then)

The Rock and Roll Hall of Fame named their latest class, and frankly, I don't care. I feel no anger or pleasure at the announcement. I suppose, to an extent, that's a good thing.

The inductees are Depeche Mode, The Doobie Brothers, Whitney Houston, Nine Inch Nails, The Notorious B.I.G. and T-Rex. Jon Landau and Irving Azoff are the recipients of the Ahmet Ertegun Award.

I mean, OK. Sure.

I have nothing against any of these acts. I liked a few and didn't care about the others. We can skip the "Whitney Houston and Biggie aren't rock" discussions, because that debate is long gone. She had one of the great voices ever and he was hugely influential on rap.

Maybe someone else would have excited me, but I'm content to feel nothing over this, so there will be no Harold Baines-esque meltdown.

The Pro Football Hall of Fame also named a new collection of inductees. Bill Cowher and Jimmy Johnson were both announced over the weekend. Earlier today, Steve Sabol, Paul Tagliabue, and George Young were named as contributors. The players named are Harold Carmichael, Jim Covert, Bobby Dillon, Cliff Harris, Winston Hill, Alex Karras, Donnie Shell, Duke Slater, Mac Speedie, and Ed Sprinkle.

I'm particularly pleased about Sabol, Young, Cowher, and Shell.

Plus Alex-freaking-Karras! We're talking about George Papadapolis -- Webster's Dad!

And more importantly...MONGO from Blazing Saddles. Mongo liked candy and was only a pawn in the game of life.




 

No Dissertation Necessary

Jayne Kamin-Oncea-USA TODAY Sports

I'm not going to give you a rundown on why baseball did what they did.

I'm not going to tell you that baseball did the right thing over the past two days.

Cheating -- doing anything to gain an edge -- has existed forever. Gaylord Perry's doctoring of baseballs was so charming that he's in the Hall of Fame.

But I'll tell you this: it's illegal to steal signs using technology.

And that's the problem.

That's why AJ Hinch and Alex Cora are out of managing jobs today, and why Jeff Luhnow is not a general manager today.

Let me hit a few thoughts in here, and I'll keep it simple:

- The Astros (and the Red Sox) will not be giving up their championships. Unlike the NCAA, pro teams don't take banners down. The court of public opinion will recognize things for what they are: tainted.

- The Dodgers aren't getting any titles and, seriously, would you want it? To that end...

- The Yankees aren't getting anything either. They lost the ALCS in '17 and '19 to Houston and the ALDS in '18 to Boston. Sure, it stinks to lose like that, but I don't want to win like that either. No fan should.

So, we're here.

My concern remains how much deeper this goes. Thus I see no point in celebrating because your team -- my team -- could just as easily be guilty.

Then there's the question of new Mets manager Carlos Beltran. What will become of him? Will the groundswell be enough to get him fired before he ever manages a game? Honestly, I don't know. I keep thinking "no" because players (which he was in 2017) have been immune so far. That being said, he's not a player anymore and, thus, isn't protected by the union.

One internet genius thought it was brilliant of baseball to break this story on the morning of the National Championship in college football. Except the story dominated Monday and has now rolled into Tuesday.

Much as you might expect me to revel in this Boston downfall, I find myself feeling sad for baseball tonight.

And sports.

These are black eyes that just aren't needed.

We're still talking about the Black Sox 101 years later and the stigma of that has never gone away.

Hopefully this is where it ends.

But I'm dubious.

Greenwich Family Ties

Scooter Braun Instagram page

There's a lot of Greenwich in that picture.

Scooter Braun is a media mogul who has found ridiculous success in music and more. He's second from left in that picture.

I knew him as Scott Braun.

That's his father Ervin -- a dentist -- on the right.

In the back are three more Braun boys: Sam, Adam, and Cornelio.

At one time, I knew them all.

Scott -- sorry, Scooter -- Sam, Adam, and Cornelio each played basketball at Greenwich High School and I was their broadcaster.

Sam Manhanga and Cornelio Guibunda were brought to Greenwich by Dr. Braun to join the family and play basketball. That season was interesting, as the Cardinals went 22-3, making their way to the FCIAC championship, and producing my "Insanity" call, as GHS fell to Trinity Catholic on a buzzer-beater by Dave McClure, who would go on and play at Duke.

I'm sure (oh, who I am kidding? I know)  if I were to dig through the the archives, I'd find plenty of scoresheets and programs featuring these guys.

Sam and Cornelio brought attention (not all of it great) wherever they went. Their arrival was considered a controversial. For the record, they were great with me and our broadcasts.

From what I've seen, the Braun family has done very well in their lives. Congratulations to all. They were each always nice to me in any interaction I had with them, so I wish them well.

A quick side story: Greenwich played Bridgeport Central in the state tournament in that 01-02 year. I was approached by two people from ESPN who were doing a story on Cornelio and Sam. They connected into our WGCH broadcast for audio to use during the story.

The Cardinals lost that night and the season came to an end. I gather that squashed the story.

It was back in the day when WGCH did everything. Every game.

It was just one piece of what made for a crazy winter of 2001-2002.

Oh yeah. I also became a father that season, but that's a story for another time.

Like next month.

Sunday Musings

This view of Times Square from an airplane didn't bother me

I don't mind heights. Really, I don't.

I've stood at the top of many buildings, mountains, bridges and other places with great views. I've enjoyed window seats on airplanes, such as last September.

I've strolled across Hoover Dam.

Beavis: Is this a God dam? (Sorry, I'm still 12 somewhere)

But, and I can't stress this enough, if I don't feel safe, then I do not like heights.

I can handle part of my roof, but I needed help cleaning the rest of the gutters, for instance.

And so, it didn't go well when I tried to saunter up a ladder to change a flood light on the corner of the house today.

With temperatures in the 60s, I looked up at the light and convinced myself to try. I went and got a trusty metal ladder and began climbing. I got a few rungs off the ground and stopped.

I came back down.

I can do this!

I tried again. The ladder shook as I got higher. It just didn't feel sturdy.

My body is getting queasy as I'm typing.

Nope.

I feel so...um...weak admitting this. Like I'm a failure. But, in this instance, I am.

Damn.

*****
It occurred to me as I was teaching on Thursday that the college football national championship hasn't been played yet.

It's tomorrow.

I realize we love college football in this country. I realize parts of the U.S. are just college football nuts.

The northeast is not. As such, excitement for the game has dwindled or been forgotten.

Let's be honest, it rarely gets brought up on "Doubleheader," and you don't hear a lot of college talk on the local sports stations. I'd talk about it if anyone cares but, at least based on what I see and hear, the interest really isn't there.

Oh, don't get me wrong. People will get fired up again tomorrow night, and I'll no doubt put it on TV (where there are roughly 15 different options for a broadcast*), but I can't tell you I'm galvanized by it.

*That's not an exaggeration.

Look, I'm not knocking college football at all. I like it, though I really don't have a team (and maybe that hurts me). But I think it doesn't help to have a regular season that ended a while ago, and a bunch of bowl games that are meh at best. Even the "big" bowl games have lost luster. January 1 has become more about hockey (for me) and only now -- Jan 13 -- will we resolve the national championship.

It doesn't work for me.

Nothing Fancy

My broadcast setup today

This will drive those in the play-by-play group that I belong to on Facebook crazy.

As you can see from the picture above, I worked today's basketball game from two team chairs several feet behind the scorers table from the game floor. Sometimes it's one chair. Sometimes it's a table.

And it works just fine.

I've had a table there in the past, and while that's nice -- it gives me more room -- there hasn't been a table for me so far this season.

I never want to be a problem for anyone, and the people at Brunswick are all great -- literally, everyone that I have worked with there has been first class -- so I make do.

This setup works just fine. The audio port that I use to send sound back to Local Live is nearby (on the wall in the right of that picture), and I have a pretty good view of the floor from where I stand. I can see the officials indications for the most part, and can walk to the scorers table if I need any interpretation or to glance at the scorebook for any issues.

The players will screen me sometimes, but I also get to linger in on team conversations and relay anything that I think is pertinent to the audience.

I respect anything private and use discretion.

I love it. Literally all of it.

So I laugh when I hear my brethren in the business growling about work conditions, poor views, crazy press boxes, and limited work space.

I'm content.

My scoresheet. I designed myself 20 years ago and have adjusted as needed

This is why I normally don't work with myriad colored pens and fancy spotting charts. My score sheet is just enough to give me what I need. I glance at the computer and two rosters I have propped up for more info.

I'll say this approach seems to work because Brunswick fans seem to be happy. More so, the Hopkins head coach approached me out of the blue before today's game.

"I just wanted to say hello and tell you do a great job," he said. "We watched the game last year after we played and really enjoyed everything you do."

Both sides are happy. Sometimes both are unhappy. That tells me I'm doing something right.

And I mean what I say: "Have headset. Will travel."

Otherwise, I'm free until Friday.

Voice Issues and Farewell, Neil Peart

Neil Peart

I've been fighting a cold, essentially, since Sep 26.

I woke up that morning in San Francisco, after a great day of sightseeing and traveling, to the usual suspects: sore throat, cough, sniffles, etc.

With the support of my friends at Hunt Scanlon, I ran to a nearby CVS, loaded up on supplies, and soldiered through that days conference, where I served as moderator.

I've had a slightly persistent cough since that day and, earlier this week, began the trappings of another cold.

Perfectly suited for a week in which I have five broadcasts.

I did fine on Tuesday and Wednesday. Thursday also.

All seemed well this morning. Then, around 2 p.m., I began to notice a bit of a rasp as I spoke. It quickly got worse.

It's my worst nightmare because a voice is, you know, sort of important to a broadcaster.

But it seemed to rally also at times.

So I wrote what I wanted to say. Then I'd whisper. Then I'd talk softly. Then I'd talk.

I drove to Brunswick in silence, with only my phone lighting up with texts about a pretty big Fairfield County sports story (see tweet below). I didn't make any calls and I saved my voice.

BREAKING: Long time Darien High School football coach Rob Trifone will retire at the end of this school year in June, as confirmed by Darien Schools Superintendent Alan Addley. More to follow. @DHSBWfootball

— The Darien Times (@DarienTimes) January 10, 2020

That story was broken by Susan, I might add.

I walked into Brunswick's Hartong Rink knowing my voice would be an issue. Thankfully, AJ Szymanowski was there to take some pressure off of me. Michael Breed stopped by to say hello and, thankfully, couldn't stay and talk.

I'm thankful because I needed to save every word for the broadcast.

I thought my voice was a wreck and it cracked during the opening, and I apologized for how I sounded during the call. But Joe Early and Susan both texted me to say I sounded fine, and AJ told me the same thing. Still, I know I wasn't right. My brain couldn't comprehend things as well as normal and my throat hurt. I could hear the rasp, and it got worse late in the third period.

Still, I got through it. I'm now resting it and getting ready for basketball tomorrow at 1 p.m.

Duty calls. I'll be there.

*****
Rush isn't a critical favorite, and I know that.

They came out of the prog rock scene in Canada and emerged as a class rock favorite.

But they played a role in my youth as I developed my taste.

Their drummer and lyricist, Neil Peart, died today of cancer. Rolling Stone contributed an obituary to one of the greatest drummers.

Rush was also my very first concert, on Sep 19, 1984 at Madison Square Garden. I was 15 and it opened my eyes.

Peart was amazing behind his drum kit.

I got to hear Rush again years later, when Mick and Gretchen and I sat outside the Jones Beach Amphitheater on Long Island. We sat in the parking lot on folding chairs, talked, listened, and didn't deal with any of the trappings of being at a concert. It was blissful.

So while, to some, it's not groundbreaking to be a fan of Rush, it still evokes happy memories of those I went to the concerts with, and listening to the music in my own time.

As I did tonight.

Hoping to Inspire

My "broadcast booth" at Brunswick for hockey

I taught sports reporting today at the Connecticut School of Broadcasting.

It's hard to believe that I've done this for roughly fifteen years now, but I once saw where they were recruiting instructors and I decided to give it a try. It's important to me to give back to the place that helped get me into broadcasting back in 1990.

I know the drill. Every time I walk in there, I can just the feel the...er...lack of enthusiasm.

"Oh yay. The sports guy is here."

It can be a touch daunting and a little soul-sucking, but I see it as a challenge.

So, working with the great Andy Madison, I set about trying to win the class over.

It's usually a small group -- only a smattering of people for both the day and night classes -- but that means we can give the students the attention that they deserve.

Inevitably, there are one or two sports fans and the others are...meh.

Ninety-nine percent of the time they are still respectful but students are all different. I once had a student who listened to music under headphones while I was teaching and said she wasn't interested in talking sports. I've had others who talked over me. Then there are the students who think they know more than I do.

Today, I had a few students that looked like they rather be in a police lineup, but again they were respectful and listened and participated. That's, honestly, all I can ask for.

One student took a different approach to the project in question (a one-minute sports report) but I tend to go easier on students who are clearly not there for sports. So I wasn't bothered that he did this. Besides, I wasn't sure he was grasping the project but he surprised me with his report, which was more like a vignette than a report. It was quite good.

Still, I figured these people were just content to be done with me after 3.5 hours. But I do my best to show them the passion and energy that I have for sports media, and radio and TV overall. Plus new media and, yes, newspapers.

I try to get them to understand that they can take the skills that I teach them and use it in whatever they do. It's reporting and writing and storytelling and describing and so on. These are transferable skills.

I tell stories. Lots of stories. Of where I started and where I've been. Of Majic 105 and WREF and WGCH and HAN and the Renegades and Sound Tigers and Yale and St. John's and Local Live.

I tell them whatever I can remember.

I tell them about Jeter and Mariano and Dan Marino and Kay Murcer and Loretta Swit and Terry Bradshaw and countless other interviews.

I tell them about the great partners I've called games with.

I let them watch Boom Goes the Dynamite and let them know what Eat a Sandwich, Catch a Touchdown is.

I tell them about Scully. Oh you bet I do.

I tell them I won't lose them. They don't have to be sports people, but so long as they try, they'll have an ally in me.

At the end of the day, out of nowhere, the student who took the different approach to the sports report spoke up.

"I was dreading today since I'm not a sports person," he said. "But you made it engaging. I really enjoyed it."

The others agreed.

These words matter. A lot.

*****
AJ and I are on for hockey tomorrow. Salisbury and Brunswick -- two of the best programs around -- meet at 5pm. I suggest you join us for the broadcast.

Oh, and remember all of the unique original broadcasters I listed the other night? I forgot Mike Lange of the Pittsburgh Penguins. You want pithy, silly lines? Then go watch this.

I repeat: the wheel has already been invented.

Silence Can Be Golden

I wrote about basketball last night.

It was a safe post.

It wasn't profound or funny. It was a post about covering basketball, and the joy I felt in it.

It was just safe, and the best way for me to avoid spouting off about politics and the potential for war with Iran and other nonsense.

I've long tried to give you a no-holds barred look at my world and yet there are times when it is good to hold back.

I'm never been dishonest with you. But, truth be told, I don't tell everything. I know that's shocking but I do stay quiet sometimes.

So I decided that I didn't quite have it in me to write a post on those topics that I would be proud of in the hope that it would make you think and create conversation.

Instead, I thought it would create unnecessary discourse.

The left would be mad at me.

The right would be mad at me.

Which is fine and all, but I just didn't want it last night.

I just see and hear too much of what some of my friends say and it bums me out. So I elected to not join in last night. I've watched friendships get destroyed over this and it's just not worth it.

Just talking about Don Imus -- one of the most influential people in my life -- might have cost me personally.

So I kept quiet. I won't always. I did last night.

The sad part is I'm never going to make the hard left and the hard right think or have an appropriate conversation anyway (yes, I'm generalizing).

One side will say "BUT HER EMAILS!" and the other side will hit me with some MAGA nonsense. I'm generally sick of all of it. The divide makes me nuts.

The fact is, thankfully, our world has not exploded like the Death Star. That being said, I know there are those who think it could happen any day.

I must admit that the past week or so had me a bit concerned, as I listened to the fallout of a potential Archduke Ferdinand moment for the 21st Century.

Today, tensions seem to have calmed down for the moment and each side can claim victory and so on.

So maybe we can go back to helping people and animals in Australia and, a bit closer to home, looking out for those in Puerto Rico. Maybe we can do things to better ourselves and those around us.

Maybe we can just be better.

And, by the way, Ricky Gervais is my hero. What he said the other night at the Golden Globes was masterful. I always loved his work and was never sure I could embrace the US version of The Office in part because of him.

But I did.

Bless that man.

Also bless Tom Hanks, still my favorite actor for some 30+ years. He's the closest we have to Jimmy Stewart.

And so, friends, ranting and raving about politics and potential wars and loudmouthed presidents with insane Twitter feeds and other idiocy can wait for another time.

I'm glad I stayed quiet. Having the thoughts doesn't always mean sharing them, and I'm trying to get better at that every day.

The Short Season

It's so fleeting.

In a span of, basically, seven weeks, I will call roughly ten Brunswick basketball home games.

Then it's over.

I did the first one today, as the Bruins hosted St. Luke's. The Bruins have played road games for almost a month, so today was their home opener.

As always, the name of the game is to do my best.

You take the hiccups, like the lack of a table, and just go with it. I grabbed a chair, put the mixer on it, put my computer underneath it, and got down to business.

When there were roster problems, I stepped to the scorers table and fixed them.

You just make it work.

Bruins head coach Steve Juricek met me like an old friend, and that relationship is so appreciated.

The relationships that are built -- be it coach Juricek or John Booth, who runs the scoreboard at basketball games, but is also the Upper School Academic Dean -- are priceless. That's the networking that I preach when I'm teaching.

But that's the thing. As I don't (normally) cover the Bruins on the road, my time with the team is so limited. It's hard to get to know a team that well in those circumstances, but more importantly, it highlights just how quickly the season rolls by.

Today's game got away from the Bruins quickly. They're young and missing a key playmaker. They'll have better days than today.

For what it's worth, they've got their broadcaster. At least I hope so.

I'm back at Brunswick for hockey tomorrow and Friday, and basketball on Thursday and Saturday.

That's my kind of week.

Here's the game from today.

The Wheel Has Been Invented Already

Rosey Rowswell used sound effects to call baseball. Original, right?

Last year, a couple of young broadcasters were giving me grief about Ryan Ruocco, the ESPN/YES broadcaster.

Ok, boomer.

"He's original," they cried! "He's doing something different!"

Puh-leeze.

Lately, a Mr. Joey Zanaboni has been shamelessly pushing his workaround (it's what we all do). The only thing is, I know his funny/pithy/goofy calls of home runs and soccer goals.

I don't know what the rest of his calls are like. Can he actually call a game? Does it matter?

Either way, the Twittersphere has been eating it up. The likes! The retweets!

A story in USA Today! A response from Dallas Braden! Benjamin Hill of MILB.com wrote a story about him!

I wrote about him!

But, here's the problem: Joey thinks he's new. And he is most definitely not.

"...in their own individualistic way?"

Like, seriously, what in the...?

I've broadcast (just for starters) in my OWN individualistic way since...well...at least 1995 when calling softball for PM/Kraft. Sure, you can hear elements of others in me, but I thread in pop culture, roads, and whatever else climbs into my skull.

My "Eat a sandwich, catch a touchdown" call wasn't original. I'd used that kind of jokes many times. That was just simply the right time for it.

I've LIVED by what Mr. Barber told Mr. Scully: "You bring one thing into the booth that nobody else does. Yourself."

Scully was an original, and Barber told him that five years after the end of World War II. He didn't need an Instagram account.

Putting me aside, there are countless "individuals" who have had the "courage/ambition" to be themselves.

Mostly, I think, without blatant narcissism.

Like -- love him or hate him (and you know how I feel) -- Gus Johnson.

Or Kevin Harlan.

Or Gene Deckerhoff.

Or Phil Rizzuto. Or Harry Caray. Or Skip Caray. Or Hawk Harrelson.

Or Andres Cantor.

Please note these aren't personal preferences, but they're all unique.

Want more?

How about Dizzy Dean? The Hall of Fame pitcher was a popular broadcaster who mangled language, sang songs during the game, and generally did everything a broadcaster doesn't traditionally do. Yet, there he was, on network television, and people loved it.

How about Rosey Rowswell? Oh I dare you to learn about Rosey. The guy was a whoopie cushion disguised as a broadcaster. When a Pirates hitter homered, the broadcast basically turned into Laugh-In. From the National Baseball Hall of Fame and Museum:

Rowswell turned baseball broadcasts into something resembling more of a variety hour. His home run calls were among the most famous in America: When a Pirate connected with a pitch, he would blow on his slide whistle and yell, “Raise the window, Aunt Minnie! Here it comes, here she (the baseball) comes!” A station aide would drop a pane of glass to mimic a window shattering, and Rowswell would deadpan, “Too bad, she tripped over a garden hose. Aunt Minnie never made it home.”

There's a massive divide in the broadcasting world -- particularly baseball. There's Joe Buck (much maligned/despised/etc) and John Smoltz, the Hall of Fame pitcher who is fairly strong in his opinions on "old school" baseball. There's Joe Davis, who is much younger but has made his chops at FOX with a straight-forward style.

There's Boog Sciambi at ESPN who has become quite popular but is another one of those who thinks the "old" style doesn't work.

Well, the "old" style is working just fine in its evolution. Certainly, things that I do wouldn't be done by Red Barber, for instance, but Red would have evolved to survive today.

Seemed to work from 1950-2016, if you know what I mean, and that guy (Scully, Vin) seemed to evolve nicely.

Away from baseball, do I need to bring up John Madden or Don Meredith or Howard Cosell?

And there was Dennis Miller. Don't forget that, cha cha, OK?

What is not individualistic is the broadcaster just spouting numbers. There's little energy (or too much energy) and zero entertainment value. It's just numbers, nuts, and bolts.

"So here's Jose Martinez Smith. Jose is hitting at .329 with an .892 OPS. The tall righthanded batter takes a slow curve outside for ball one from lefthanded pitcher Ryan Carmichael. Ryan has a 1.203 WHIP, but only on days where the moon can be seen beyond the right field fence during a hailstorm. Now Jose swings and misses at a change. Jose is a fastball hitter and has a 6.1 WAR in 2019..."

See what I mean? I notice this tends to come from the broadcasters that don't know how to tell stories.

Once again: Report. Inform. Educate. Entertain.

Now, should you be "Get off my lawn?" No, that's not going to grow the game, but you also can't avoid opinions (which Barber would have screamed at me for saying, as he felt our job was to simply report). There's got to be a balance to it. I'm not a big fan of some things (pitch clock, counting mound visits) but I've come to understand the emotion and bat flips aren't bad for the spot, for instance.

But it is OK to laugh and have fun. I've done that with (almost) everyone I've worked with. It's great to slide a one-liner in and hear my partner chuckle. Yet, when it's time to get serious, we do that very thing.

I can still hear Kato telling me "he's got nothing" because he saw that I had just taken a big bit of pizza.

Other unoriginal ideas include telling stories when appropriate.

Getting excited when it's TIME to get excited. Just not on a home run hit by the losing team in a 10-2 game.

Don't exaggerate.

Be accurate.

Simple, no?

And most of that has worked for just about 100 years. It has evolved as necessary through the people who have brought us these games.

No, it shouldn't be stale, and it wasn't. Listen to a Mel Allen (or Red Barber) -called game and it's crisp as ever. There are lessons to be learned in there. If it sounds dated, that's because it was a different world.

But don't think you're reinventing broadcasting.

We're long-past that point.

It's as individualistic and original as chicken and waffles at a vegan convention. Somebody grab me some maple syrup, bay-BAY! (That's for Mike Hirn and Nate Stidham)

The Patriots Are Out

Tom Brady leaves after the loss to the Titans (photo found on Wall Street Journal)

The Patriots are done.

I'm not going to deny that I was rooting for the Tennessee Titans last night, yet I didn't feel the glee that many did when the game ended.

Maybe it was just low-hanging fruit but even my social media was tame.

Other than a snarky Dave Portnoy tweet (wait. Snark? Sarcasm? You don't say), I didn't note much.

I posted one thing of any sarcasm in my own right: "Oh Twitter is fun tonight. There's some salt to be found out there."

And there was. My talons were out and ready to strike before that one, but I took a deep breath, and resumed reading things.

I think someone wrote something about "Tom Brady is the GOAT and anyone who disagrees is an idiot." That's when I stopped myself.

There were some sore losers.

By the way, I'm an idiot.

There's no doubt that it was a pleasure to watch Patriots fans feel pain today -- the same pain I feel upwards of four times per year when my team gets eliminated from something, with the Yankees and Steelers bringing me the most grief.

Some years, I snap back at the gloaters (yes, that's the wrong move). Last night, I interacted with just one Pats fan who said something that opened the door for me to share a laugh with. We quickly did, I congratulated him, told him they'd be back, and that was it.

I have a hard time thinking the Patriots are "done." Yes, I realize Tom Brady is a free agent and there could be a host of changes, but just knowing what kind of competitors these people are -- these villains -- makes me think that they'll be back.

Besides, my team is at home watching also. Now, I'm OK with that because it's good for my blood pressure but obviously I'd rather the Steelers be in the playoffs. It wasn't meant to be.

But there's more. I can remember celebrating the decline of the Dallas Cowboys in the moments following The Catch in 1982. That was the beginning of a decade of obnoxious, wine and cheese San Francisco 49ers fans.

They're another lot who plays the "Our QB is the GOAT" card.

Then came "The Greatest Show on Turf," aka, the St. Louis Rams (oh yeah, remember those days?). Again, a fairly obnoxious group who won one ring and were on the verge of a second before a late drive by an upstart team won a Super Bowl.

Yes. The Patriots.

So, it's also a case of be careful what you wish for, I guess.

Anyway, I'm glad they're out and we can enjoy a Pats-less Super Bowl. I'm glad that Belichick got "out-Belichicked" by one of his pupils.

I'm glad I got to sit back and watch the world flip out.

Most of all, I'm glad I didn't get sucked in to any nonsense.

The Force Has Always Been With Us

I won't give anything up. There are still people who haven't seen it yet.

But I saw Star Wars: The Rise of Skywalker today and I'll leave my review at this: I loved it.

And so ends a 42-year run of seeing these movies, beginning with Star...er...A New Hope in 1977.

I've been to each of the newer ones with my and got to see this one with my mom as well. I saw the first one with her back in '77.

We're not sure she's seen any since so Sean and I had to catch her up a bit.

I think Daisy Ridley is special. I feel the same about John Boyega. Adam Driver brings enormous intensity.

But, again...spoilers.

As I sit here, I feel like this is the best Star Wars movie I've seen in...well...let's go with a long time. I think it actually saved the franchise from the thing known as The Last Jedi.

What made me so happy is that Sean is really happy also. He had initially thought the movie was going to be a "dumpster fire," but it was anything other than that.

So that's my -- and our -- review, without giving anything up. We enjoyed the nods to the past. We loved where the story went.

We were impressed.

If you've loved Star Wars, I'd suggest you go. If not? Well, the special effects were good, per my mother.

That sums it up right there.

I'd Like To think That's How You Do It

Rob Adams, Sawyer Nicholas, Jeff Alterman (Shawn Sailer photo)

I called my first game of 2020.

I called my first basketball game in probably nine months.

I called it on TEN, still a nascent broadcasting outfit. TEN (Trumbull Eagles Network) combined with Robcasting and WON 920 The Apple to produce the broadcast and it aired on all three outlets.

Some of the moments were clunky, and they can be tightened up.

I met my lead analyst about five minutes before we went on the air.

And for what tonight was? I'd have to say it was a pretty solid effort in a raucous gym at Trumbull High School.

Moments like that make me proud. What could have been a disaster worked great because Sawyer Nicholas, Jeff Alterman, Paul Silverfarb, and I put together a professional-sounding broadcast.

Some yahoo in a Facebook group I belong to was rambling on about money and not "devaluing yourself and the rest of us."

Oh, pipe down. Everyone has their reasons for doing things. I try to build brands, my own reputation, and broadcasters who aren't an embarrassment. Sometimes that means taking the bullet at the cost of a night out. So there was no money out of this. No swag or food. I lost money.

But I had a ball and got to hang with a couple of friends.

Determine your own value.

This was my night.

This was broadcast number one of 2020.

There are five more next week.

On Elton John

I saw John Nash write about Sir Elton John today.

And I had no intention of going down this road today until I saw his post.

Elton is (mostly) sacred to me.

For instance, I watched Rocketman and know enough about his life to know that so much of it was inaccurate, but just like Bohemian Rhapsody, I was willing to forgive that.

Sir Elton Hercules John has been a consistent part of my life since roughly 1970, when "Your Song" first hit the airwaves. Working with right-hand man Bernie Taupin, the former Reginald Kenneth Dwight created the music to go along with Taupin's words.

For a span of roughly 15 years, their combined work was nothing short of complete magic. Sure you could say the magic ran out in the mid-70s, but there were gems like "Empty Garden (Hey Hey Johnny)" and "I Guess That's Why They Call It The Blues" that kept him a consistent hitmaker into the early 80s.

He has made a collection of hits ever since, but admittedly, Disney has a tendency to change the way that certain stars are viewed (See: Collins, Phil). Sir Elton's Lion King work didn't quite cut it for me.

But that doesn't change how brilliant things were in the 70s. Nor does it take away my admiration for him.

You can simply start with the aforementioned "Your Song" from his self-titled 1970 album, which also includes "Take Me to the Pilot," "Sixty Years On," and "Border Song." That, obviously, is a pretty solid collection of tunes coming from his second album, before Tumbleweed Connection, which went on a country slant and is quite fantastic, especially with "Country Comfort" and "Burn Down the Mission."

Sir Elton and Bernie went to a different place with Madman Across the Water in 1971. The title track is darker than "Tiny Dancer" and "Levon," which have both hit their own iconic status.

Honky Chateau followed in 1972 with "Honky Cat," "Rocket Man," and the stunningly gorgeous "Mona Lisas and Mad Hatters." Don't Shoot Me I'm Only the Piano Player was next in 1973 before he ended that year with his masterpiece: Goodbye Yellow Brick Road.

Honestly, any artist could have quit right there, but Elton John, despite the battles with substances and other demons, continued to crank out music for the next 40+ years.

While I might not love it, it's still easy to marvel at how amazing Elton John is, especially working with such a wordsmith in Taupin.

There's absolute brilliance in that stretch from 1970-1976 (ish). Not that there weren't other great moments, but for my taste, I love those early years.

"Honky Cat" reminds me of many Saturday nights in the Crompond Diner, playing the song on the jukebox at the booth.

Thanks to John for the inspiration. It's a perfect way to end day in which I had a good chat about the Rolling Stones (and, coincidentally, Sir Elton).

And I think it's gonna be a long, long time...

You're Not Getting Rid of Me That Easily

That was yesterday...

Well then, it looks like we've put more coins in the "Exit 55" game, haven't we? So, let's move on!

Mick texted me yesterday to say how proud he was of my completing Project365, and to remind me that I could take a mental health break from it whenever I needed or wanted.

I appreciated it and assured him I was not looking to be Cal Ripken Jr.

In other words, I'm not planning to hang around at the possible expense of hurting the team.

That team consisting, mostly, of me and, mentally I can hurt me or the blog by forcing it. But there's more to #TeamDJ (a nickname I acquired) than just yours truly.

My son, for instance. It's amazing how our kids can drive us nuts, but I missed him last night, no matter how much I detest everything to do with Dec 31. He was kind to text me just after midnight.

Thankfully, the nonsense is all over, and we can get back to normal tomorrow.

As always, I strive to get better. I can't change what "ringing in the new year" is like (whatever the hell that means) but I can change how I handle my reaction to it.

It was a lonely night (jeez. I almost quoted Mellencamp) at Casa Exit 55. Chico and I hung out. I had a buttered roll for dinner. We never turned the TV on. We listened to some old Imus highlights and had The Beatles Channel on Sirius XM on for a stretch.

They're playing all of the lads' studio recordings from 1962-1970 in order, and I'm a dork. So, yes, I enjoyed what I heard.

*****
There will be the Winter Classic today, plus bowl games that have come to be, sadly, meaningless. I'll likely see none of it, saving my energy for tonight's Doctor Who premiere that Sean won't be here for. I worry that the writing has been so bad that even he has lost interest. He still hasn't seen all of last season.

I suppose what eats at me most on days like today is how my time is never my own. Why is there no podcast these days? Because there's always...something to do. And when there isn't, my body says "I'm done" and collapses. So, at that point, it's either try to catch a little sleep or just lie in a slug-like position.

Find time to take a walk? Ride my bicycle (bet you didn't know I even owned one)? Read? Ha, I say.

The podcast gnaws at me because 1) a few reviews were meh and 2) it took a lot of work. Then add in 3) I don't really love my home studio setup. Yes, for you audio types I have a mixer, mics, and can even rig up a phone setup.

However, my computers (this MacBook included) are all s-l-o-w at best. I still need to visit Apple to see if there are any realistic (key word) options for this machine, or do I need to get a cheap (key word) Windows machine.

Plus setting up the studio takes time. So I'd like to work all of that out and then perhaps we can look to revive the podcast. Because, reviews and listens aside, I was enjoying coming up with the content. It was my own project.

You know, sort of like this blog that I've done for 13 years.

I also feel the podcast could also evolve into adding Renegades content, or that could be a whole separate podcast. Those are things I'm still thinking about.

*****
I see John Nash (still and always the co-conspirator) has posted his first thoughts of 2020. I'm so glad. I was worried that he would take today off.

I'm afraid to. I started writing this post last night, to be honest. This has become a habit. One that I like.

With a better computer (see? We're back there again) it would be easier.

*****
Greenwich Free Press ran a piece about the future of WGCH, with mega-quotes from me. Hopefully I said everything correctly (though it's East Meadow...not Longmeadow...and I probably misspoke). Clark Burgard called into yesterday's show to add to what I was saying and it was great to talk to him. WGCH is going to be just fine.

Oh, before we bail for today, thanks to Harold, whom I completely whiffed on mentioning in the Inspiration post of a few nights back. That guy has built such a great life with his family and I admire how he has run crazy for his kids and stayed sane (of course, both kids are runners, so I guess it makes sense). Wait. Check that. He'll tell you he's insane.

Anyway, he found another story about my joining the Renegades, this time in the Putnam County Courier.

So, away we go on 2020. I can predict the future: life goes on.

That's it.

Last note, "Exit 55" isn't a well-known blog, but it has a nice loyal following, and as of this morning, it received over 34,000 reads in 2019. I know blogs that get 34k as soon as they publish, for this me? That's not shabby. So, thanks. A lot.