Traditionally Out the Window

The Babe leads the march for the opener

It's Opening Day.

Finally.

The two happiest words in baseball can be "Play Ball" or "Opening Day."

There are others but let's not get pedantic.

Look, this is weird and different and unique but it's still baseball.

Do I hate what Rob Manfred and his band of merry men have done to the game? Yes, yes, and yes. Have to pitch to three batters before leaving the game? Dumb. Starting extra innings with a runner on second? Nah. Expanded playoffs? Doesn't excite me. Universal DH? Not thrilled.

But it's baseball. I've personally been waiting months.

So let's stop the naysaying and everything else. Tonight at 7pm, let Max Scherzer fire pitch number one of the craziest sprint in history.

Could it turn out to be a disaster? You bet! We could have a Marlins/Orioles World Series and that would just not be good.

But, whatever it is, the champion will be the champion. The ring will still fit.

I know, I know. No fans, virtual fans, whatever. Pumped in video game sounds, people kneeling, ads, the Nike logo, bad announcing, politics, blah blah blah blah blah.

So what? Take it all in. The game is (mostly) still the game.

I still think playing the anthem in an empty ballpark is silly anyway, as foolish as playing "God Bless America" in an empty stadium but game operations are still trying to stick to the usual routine.

And, yeah, I hate, loathe, detest, the Nike logo.

Whatever.

It will be fascinating.

I've called games in (basically) empty stadiums as well as in office suites and studios. Embrace it!

No day makes me happier than Opening Day -- even this one -- and while people are trying to harsh my buzz, it won't happen.

I wish there were day games instead of made-for-TV nonsense with Matt Vasgersian and A-Rod calling Yankees/Nationals tonight but that's why I have the radio with John Sterling and Suzyn Waldman. Besides, baseball is still radio's best sport by far.

It's why (weather permitting) I'll be calling a game in Danbury and trying to following Yankees/Nats.

I'm ready.

Maybe you're not.

There are no guarantees. Traditions will fight to stay relevant.

But it's time to do this. Let's get this thing going.

PLAY BALL!

Walk This Way

Stop and Shop -- Mahopac, NY

**First up, Blogger has changed their interface from the version that they've had for years. What they call the "Legacy Interface" will only be available through next month. This is why you might read this post on my new WordPress site, which is currently at https://robcastingradio.wordpress.com/blog/. I've moved the entire archive over there and am now deciding about the future of this little enterprise. Today's the anniversary of AJ sending me the Robcasting logo (that you'll see over at the WordPress site). Now, on with our regularly-scheduled program.

I said they didn't work. Most people ignore them or don't see them. When I wrote about it on Facebook, some scolded me.

Of course, because even ARROWS cause people to take sides.

In the Stop and Shop in Somers (Baldwin Place), I noticed some of them have been scraped off the floor and many of the "one way" signs have disappeared.

The Stop and Shop in Mahopac (it was a Grand Union a lifetime ago) still has them, as seen in the picture above. I had to get out of the way of wayward shoppers going the wrong way. I'm always looking around for the arrows and admit that, when not in a grid, it's easy to make a mistake.

But I see too many not even trying and I'm not going to shame them, other than a headshake. I see and hear too much about shaming people over one thing or another and that's just not my thing.

So, when I posted about the arrows on Facebook a few weeks back, one of the comments posed the question. "What's the better idea?" (I'm paraphrasing)

The answer is just get rid of the damn arrows. They don't work and only add an extra layer of stress to an already-taxed world.

For the most part people are avoiding one another anyway (save for the idiots at the big ol' petri dish hootenannies!), so why continue to go with arrows that only cause more chaos? 

Besides, stores have enough to do with enforcing masks.

Let's find some other things to worry about.

*****

Oh, hey, did I mention that this little ol' thing called baseball is starting for real tomorrow night?

That's right. Complain all you want but it's happening!

Though admittedly the Blue Jays situation is a mess. Could they actually wind up as road warriors after Pennsylvania's Department of Health gave them the stop sign?

I mean, if there are complaints about other places, how is Baltimore then a possibility, given Maryland is on the travel restrictions list for New York?

Oh it will all be fun to watch and it begins tomorrow!

PLAY BALL!

Tired

It's a little after 10 p.m. as I begin typing.

I try to stay up until at least 11 and wouldn't call myself either a morning person or a night person.

And, inevitably, I wake up somewhere during the night.

I used to sleep like a rock but that's just not true anymore. I might be asleep by 11:15 tonight but someone will text or message me.

Maybe I'll sleep through that but you better believe I'll wake up for other reasons.

Then it will begin. Toss. Turn. Look at my phone. Play a game.

Read.

In rare moments, the TV gets turned on.

These days I literally never have a full nights sleep.

It's a couple of hours...wake up...maybe go back to sleep...and so on.

There might be a few stolen minutes here and there on the couch or in bed or in my car (in a parking lot, of course).

You'd think I would grab the computer and write but for whatever reason that's rare.

What keeps me up? What doesn't? Stress, money, life, health.

In recent days, if it wasn't worrying about my car situation, it was about the cat or lack of work or my taxes or something else.

But it's always something.

I used to let nothing bother me in those spots but those days are long gone.

In a past life, I'd go fall on a couch.

In this life, it's my bed or bust. So, I'd change where I sleep -- putting my head a the other end or switching sides.

I've tried adding melatonin to the routine. It moderately helps.

I'm tired.

Sleep well, world.

Hamilton

Alexander Hamilton

It's been a thing for a few years.

Hamilton. The musical. The film. The soundtrack. The phenomenon.

My friends all post about it!

Everyone loves it.  They do.

Right?

So, here's the thing. While not trying to be "that guy" who dumps on the whole vibe, I'm going to offer that I've literally never had any interest in seeing in it in any form.

There are just certain things in life I've never quite "gotten" or had no interest in "getting."

I realize this makes me un-American or something, but well, I don't know what else to say.

I can't actually quite figure it out. I like Lin-Manuel Miranda and I love history.

And, I have nothing against rap or poetry or the content of the show.

The best I can guess is that it's just one of those things that I become a contrarian about when "the world" tells me I should like something.

It's a lame answer but it's the best I have.

I did the same thing with U2 back in the 80s, as an example. I was on that bandwagon really early. Then The Joshua Tree came along and there was something about that moment that made me drop them like a bad habit for years. Tastes change. It happens.

I never liked anything about The Matrix, for instance (and, really, not much of a fan of Keanu Reeves). The same goes, basically, for anything Will Smith does. It's nothing really personal, per se, and it's not like I have some vehement thing against either of them. They're both sort of just...you know...there.

I don't like (and I'll likely get crap for this) anything about The Lord of the Rings. In any form.

Or Game of Thrones.

Now, does this mean I don't like or am disinterested in all things that are popular? No, not at all. I was all over The Sopranos and Seinfeld and Star Wars and a whole lot of other things.

But I never got into Breaking Bad (I liked what I saw) for instance.

This goes for music also, but it's probably unfair to talk about music because I haven't really been tapped into the current music scene for years.

But, have I also been known to latch onto things that might be off the beaten path? Oh yes. Yes I have.

Unbreakable Kimmy Schmidt? I watched it. All of it.

Lesser-known movies and music? I'm in.

Look, I'm a jerk sometimes when it comes to these things. My music opinions have become a running joke at times (at least regarding Maroon 5). But, I truly mean no offense here.

I suppose this is like Titanic or Avatar -- two movies I also wasn't interested in. I saw them eventually due to one person or another putting it on.

Hamilton is the kind of thing that I'd watch if someone makes me watch it.

I have no doubt it's phenomenal. I have no doubt the music is stellar and the acting is tremendous.

And I fully expect comments to tell me how I should capitulate and that I'm missing the boat. I respect it. I really do.

I just don't care about seeing it.

Adjusting

That chair couldn't be there because it would have been in Chico's way

It was late in the evening of March 17, 1989 and certain things needed to be done.

My father's car -- his gold Chevy Nova with the black roof (yes, Steelers colors) -- had to be moved out of the driveway.

I did this many times and, now, I realized I didn't have to do it anymore.

It was the dumbest, smallest thing to provide as a moment of comfort. It was a complete mechanism and I would trade it all to have him back.

And so, we feel the same things this weekend.

I started closing my closet a few years ago because Chico wasn't thrilled with my changing of his litter box at times. He took his displeasure out on a pair of shoes.

Or it would be on a duffle bag. One that might contain expensive radio equipment.

I came to the realization that the closet door can stay open again.

The upstairs door could stay closed now that there wasn't a cat who needed unimpeded access. The door to the garage could stay open since he couldn't sneak out.

My bedroom door could be whatever it wanted to be now.

I realized that the equipment bags could be anywhere without fear of Chico reprisal. I didn't have to concern myself with kitty litter and a litter box either.

I could put things wherever I wanted to on my desk as it no longer blocked access to "his window."

Or on my nightstand which also provided access to "his window." Not, not that window, his other window.

Every window was his.

These things are dumb and, just as in the example about my father's car, I'd give them all up to get Chico back.

They sound weird and even heartless.

But they're dumb things that give me the littlest taste of solace. The tiniest silver lining.

It's also all part of the grieving process for whatever the loss is.

But I miss him. A lot. (And don't tell me "he was just a cat")

*****

(New York Times)

The Yankees and Mets played an exhibition game last night at Citi Field. They play again tonight at Yankee Stadium. I caught just a bit after Sean's party wrapped up.

The YES Network broadcast piped in fake crowd noise and there were cut out faces on some of the seats.

The faces looked creepy, although I know that's been a thing at some sporting events around the world during the pandemic. Most importantly, the money raised by those faces on the seats is going to charity so it's hard to get upset by it.

The crowd noise was mostly unobtrusive, though I noticed it to be a little weird when something of consequence happened.

Like anything else, it's a work in progress. But, here's the most important thing: competitive baseball was back on my TV.

I'll keep repeating it: it's a business and they are going to try it.

Will any sport complete their season? I can't say for sure and things could change.

They could change tomorrow.

I realize those against all of this will keep beating their dead horse but perhaps they should also realize that they're looking for any excuse to not have sports.

But maybe they should also sit this season out.

Happy But Exhausted

Don't judge

After the complete sadness of yesterday, we rallied to celebrate Sean's graduation today.

But, in truth, I stayed active to not think about yesterday. I was awake by three a.m. and, with the exception of a short stretch just after five, I've been awake since.

And in party prep mode since roughly 8:30.

Move a table, clean the coolers, mow the lawn, wash my car, go the grocery store, nearly get into a fight with an entitled jackass in the parking lot, make two trips to said grocery store, and on and on until ready to collapse.

We were sorry to not have as many people as we wanted and we missed those who couldn't make it.

But, in the end, the backyard brimmed with laughter, love, and activity for the first time in years.

It's how it used to be, at least once per summer if not more.

However, to pull this off in the summer of COVID was quite impressive.

So, while I'd love to write more, I'm going to post a few pictures and call it a night.

The post was going to be about that clown in the parking lot but, in the end, why? The payoff was a day that made Sean happy.

That's enough.

Thank You

If there's truly a Rainbow Bridge, then it got Large today.

Chico, the The Large Gray Cat -- the cat of multiple names -- died at 12:55 this afternoon.

He was 15.

He had begun slowing down recently and we had hoped for the best. However, I sort of knew.

But let's not focus on the tears, which have flowed freely today, like the water that went into his bowl marked with "Kitty" on it.

My sister was getting ready to move in Oct 2016 and I went to her place in Fairfield, thinking I was only picking up a lawn mower. It was a warm day and I had jeans on, and I realized she still had a ways to go on packing.

So, we helped out. I drove things to various places and packed this and that, getting sufficiently drenched as the afternoon headed towards evening.

At one point, as things were progressing, I glanced at a table and took in the sight of a gray cat.

"Um...what's happening with this?"

As my sister didn't have a place lined up yet, there was just one answer: bring him home with me.

Temporarily.

Yeah, right.

So, the rest of the crew finished a long, arduous day and decided to get dinner. By then, Chico was packed into a cat kennel. I couldn't justify letting him sit there much longer, so I drove my mother to dinner with everyone else, said my goodbyes and went back to my sisters. The car was loaded up, save for one spot for the carrier.

He cried for the entire drive. I tried to let him roam around the car and he wasn't interested. Around Pound Ridge, I began to smell something. Indeed, although the warm October day had given way to a chilly night, I drove the rest of the way with the windows down.

Way down.

He came here and hid behind the couch and anywhere else at first as many cats do. He eventually got comfortable here and my sister also found a place of her own.

Chico stayed behind.

One day, I heard a strange noise in my room. While I had been feeding him and keeping an eye on him and trying help him groom and doing all the things of a pet owner, he had mostly stayed away.

That strange noise was Chico's paws as he came into visit and, for the most part, he never left.

Damn. I wasn't going to get close to him and that's exactly what happened. So we became partners in crime. The nicknames grew, along with the selfies, petting, laughing, long talks (me, not him), and his endless patience with all of the nonsense that Sean and I subjected him to.

The matted fur on his hind end was brushed, combed, "furminated," and even cut. We made that fur rich and luxurious!

But that's about the closest he'd ever get at lashing out, letting a hiss fly if I'd taken it too far.

Mr. Tough Guy. Ha.

The normal breakfast scene

He was loved, and I'm not going to say he never had it better in his life but he certainly had it good. Jump on the table and keep me company while I was eating breakfast? Sure, why not!

Treats? Pick a flavor! Cousin Stephanie would always come by with goodies.

He had the run of the place. Pick a bed. Any bed. It was his world. Not every cat gets that luxury.

He was Large and in charge. He was Cheekies and Chunkies and Cheeks and Sir Chunks-a-Lot and Nush (rhymes with "push") and Nushiel and Bubba and Bear and just "Sir."

And, this week, he became "Puffy," as I noticed his face had swollen.

He had also gone back to laying behind the couch.

That's when I called the vet.

Last night, after baseball, I fed him a little bit of a Delectables squeeze up just to get him to eat something.

I also cradled him in my arms like a baby. Normally he'd run after a minute or so of that.

Not this time. It was like we both knew that it was time.

A week or so back, while sad and hating life, I tried to give him a rallying speech. "You can't leave yet. We have more to do together. You need to keep me company while we get through this."

His face told me otherwise. I sometimes pondered telling him it was OK to go, but I didn't want to give up.

Today, after discussing things with the fabulous South Putnam Animal Hospital, I let go.

I was with him. We spent some time alone and I told him to find Bandit and Fred and Roxy and Harry and Rosie and Junior and Scrappy and the countless other furry friends who would take good care of him.

I told him my dad would treat him well, even if had to fight to get on his lap.

Then, I just said, "Thank you." Not just for me, but for an entire family full of people whose lives he enriched and for a radio/Facebook audience who he entertained by strolling by the camera occasionally.

And for the audience of people who loved his pictures on social media.

And I kept repeating it, making sure it was the last thing he heard.

Our good-natured Large friend is gone.

We're heartbroken.

But, as always, grateful.

Sean, through rare tears for him, told me that he thought I hit the nail on the head once, saying that Chico was "America's Cat," just as Roxy was "America's Dog." Nobody had a bad thing to say about him.

Chico was Laura's and Ryan's and Meaghan's and Sean's and mine and, well, everyone's.

I had Bandit for 17 years and Fred for 11.

I had Chico here for not quite four years and his impact is just as strong and the pain is just as real.

Maybe his years here were great, but he brought us just as much and even more.

He was my confidante and soulmate through many a trying time and laugh and triumph.

Thank you, Cheeks. I have no words to say how much I'll miss you, my friend.

Thank you, South Putnam Animal Hospital

Post Game

It was after 8:00 when I looked around and realized I was the only one left at the baseball field.

Greenwich had just finished off a 7-2 baseball win over Westport

I soaked it in for a moment since I was temporarily too tired to drive and just wanted to regain some adrenaline.

This might have gotten me in trouble at one time, especially if anyone else was with me, but in this spot, I was alone in my thoughts.

I allowed myself the moment.

I'd given it my all.

I had just finished one of those broadcasts where I felt like I had found the groove. These don't happen too often and I'm often nitpicking at everything. I still did in this case, but I felt good about the call.

There are times when I see the field of play better than normal and the words flow with ease. My body can even feel it.

This was one of those nights. It's a time in which I allow myself to think I'm where I should be, as opposed to those nights when I drive away wondering what the heck I'm doing.

But the rhythm was good and the compliments were nice so I guess I did something right.

When it all comes together like that there's no place I'd rather be.

I'll figure out a few games to call next week.

I drove home tired but feeling accomplished.
 

Tonight, Let It Be Löwenbräu

I've got, well, not nothing tonight, but nothing I feel like talking about.

I thought I'd dive into things gnawing at me, but I feel like my friend Tim Fletcher said it best on Facebook a short time ago:

It’s time for the moderates on both sides to stand up and be heard. We’re living in a world where 10% of the population is telling the other 90% they’re not allowed to have an opinion. Most of us are good and rational and can have a conversation. We can disagree and still be friends. Stop letting the extremists on both sides of the pendulum control the rhetoric. Enough already. We’re ALL allowed to have an opinion.

My god, I love everything about this.

"Clowns to the left of me, jokers to the right."

But one can only watch so many reruns of Jeopardy or whatever before going insane. So as I chewed on my insanely good Philly Cheese Steak from Mahopac Inn (seriously. Insanely good and run by good people -- everyone, delivery drivers included are really great) I found myself just pondering.

So, whatever it is -- personal, professional, etc -- there's not much I can do about it here.

Let it go, Rob. This stuff isn't worth it.

So I did.

Instead, as I sat down to type (with literally no clue what to write about), I said the word "tonight" before thinking about something that Dave Torromeo, Mark Jeffers and I have sung many times.

Here’s to good friends
Tonight is kind of special
The beer will pour
Must say something more, somehow
So tonight, tonight
Let it be Löwenbräu

Why? Because the three of us (and Bob Small) somehow started having these sing-alongs during The Clubhouse. It started with TV theme songs and evolved into...well...beer commercials and whatever else.

So, while I don't have a beer in my hand, I have a song in my heart and love for most.

And I'm old enough to remember the commercials. So tonight...



Besides, this also allows me to remember John "Tonight Let it Be" Lowenstein, so named by Chris Berman back in his halcyon days of nicknames on SportsCenter on ESPN. He homered to win Game 1 of the 1979 ALCS, as called by Dick Enberg on NBC.

The Caricature

There's the blog dude, circa Christmas, 1992.

The "wind tunnel-tested hairdo" has been replaced by a side part. There's a turtleneck and a sweater. Oh, yeah, it's straight out of the early 90s.

Around that same time, I attended the Chr...er...ooops...holiday party for my department of Kraft General Foods. Nice event, it was. It was at the Stouffer's Westchester Hotel (site of the 1980 fire that killed 26). It's now the Renaissance Westchester Hotel.

I attended a prom there in 1988. Good times.

Anyway, it had all of the proper opulence of the parties of the era. The food was good, the speeches were humorous, the beverages were wet and it was all free.

And -- bonus -- there was an artist who would do a caricature for you! At first, you had to win the right for it but, for some reason, eventually, everyone got to do it.

I sidled up to the seat.

"Can you draw me as a sports broadcaster?"

In hindsight, given I was working in accounting and finance, this was probably not the best move among colleagues but it was also no secret that I was working on a degree in communications and had already worked in radio part-time.

So, the caricature artist obliged. The result?

At the time, I loved it! I even went back and had him sign it for me (the only who did, I might add).

But, it's taken me over 27 years to figure it out.

Hold on, now.

LOOK AT THE SIZE OF MY HEAD! Is that supposed to be a commentary on my ego?

But, but, but, but...that microphone? Did he go back to 1940 to get that? Sports broadcasters wear headsets and, if I was using a microphone, it wouldn't look like that!

And, further, where are my headphones?

Wait. A white suit with light blue stripes? Who does he think I am, Walt "Clyde" Frazier? I can't pull that look off and I know that's not what I was wearing on that day.

Why did he assume I'm calling a Jets game? Oh, well, maybe he assumed it was Jets-Steelers. Nah, he thinks I'm the Jets broadcaster. Why the hell would I be the Jets broadcaster? I'm not a Jets fan and, let's face it, the Jets were awful then. Furthermore, the legendary Marty Glickman was the Jets radio voice in '92. Is he trying to say that I'm looking to push Marty out?

And the assumption that the Jets have fumbled! Oh, wait, like I said they were awful that year. They were 4-12 so that's not crazy, but STILL!

Look at that chair! I can tell you that thing isn't ergonomically correct! That's a work hazard waiting to happen!

WFAN!? He put me on WFAN?!?! They (were) the Mets station back then. Besides, that would mean I'd be working at the same station as Don Imus, and after all these years, shouldn't I feel that's an outrage?

What's the deal with that football player in the picture? Simply how he's drawn isn't appropriate and where's his other leg?

It's taken me nearly 30 years to see the errors feel disgusted with a cartoon of myself. It's as if my red tie in the caricature says "Big-headed White Broadcaster" on it.

I'll be taking it down, stomping on it, and burning it as soon as I'm done with this post.

Or, I'll laugh at it.

Because it's a caricature.

Again: where does it stop?

AAAAAAAAAAAAYYYYYYY-OH!

The organizers didn't know it, but they made the the right call.

It was a little after 2:00 p.m. and a video was shown to the assembled crowds and millions more at home. David Bowie and Mick Jagger did a somewhat painful and mostly forgettable version of the classic "Dancing in the Streets" that would be shoved down our throats on MTV for the rest of the summer.

Simple Minds followed from Philadelphia, performing a three-song set of "Ghost Dancing," "Don't You (Forget About Me)," and "Promised You a Miracle."

Finally, Bowie took the stage in the flesh in London. The time was approximately 2:20 p.m. in New York.

It was July 13, 1985 and the question was: who followed Queen at Live Aid.

I like Simple Minds and have a healthy regard for Bowie but, to be honest, their sets have been forgotten.

Freddie Mercury, Brian May, John Deacon and Roger Taylor weren't entirely on the same page at that time. Live Aid could have been their farewell after the success of their tour supporting their album The Works.

The band also found some controversy, having played South Africa during the era of apartheid. Honestly, it would have been easy to ignore them on that sticky Saturday with 72,000 in attendance at London's Wembley Stadium and 89,484 at John F. Kennedy Stadium in Philadelphia.

Oh yeah, and another billion people watching worldwide.

But Queen ruled the day to the point of legend, serving as the denouement in Bohemian Rhapsody.

I was at Yankee Stadium for Old Timer's Day*, invited the night before and I accepted, since Huey Lewis and the News had backed out of the event in Philly. My brother was the first to tell me what I had missed and would have to watch on tape. I did see the latter acts, including the disastrous Led Zeppelin set.

*Oh yeah, and Vin Scully was in the booth at the Stadium. So there was that.

Freddie was the star and there was literally nothing anyone could do. From the opening notes of "Bohemian Rhapsody" on the piano as it segued into "Radio Gaga," Freddie grabbed the audience and never let go.

The hand clapping that eventually led to that note.

Oh, you know it.


Then the power of "Hammer to Fall" followed by "Crazy Little Thing Called Love," a portion of "We Will Rock You" and finishing with "We Are The Champions."

Yes. Yes they are the champions.

There were many great performances and moments on that day. So many memories.

But there was only one Freddie.

Only one Queen.

Everyone has been playing catch-up since.

All right!

The Pain of the Pipe

It could have been MUCH worse

It was another hot day in the northeast but the lawn needed to be mowed.

So, out I went. I should tell you that (first world problems alert!) I've been using a push mower for over a year now, after having a tractor. Sadly, it died for good in 2019 and it hasn't been replaced. I look at it as good exercise but it also can wear on my back.

So I did the front yard; "the heavy stuff," as I call it.

Appropriately drenched in sweat, I climbed the stairs and took a comfy shower while a load of laundry went around in the washing machine.

I came back downstairs.

Uh oh.

I saw water where water didn't belong.

"OK, don't panic," I thought. (Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy fans rejoice!)

We've had water issues in the past but nothing in nearly a decade. Certainly, anything was possible after that rain we had last night.

I threw some clothes on, grabbed some boots and started attacking the water before it spread too far.

I cleared the workroom floor out and began vacuuming. Where we've had other water problems that called for multiple loads being pumped out via the wet/dry vac, this one was basically done within one.

I let the floor dry a little, and set up a dehumidifier to get some of the moisture out.

So, what had happened? Was it the rain? The load of laundry, combined with my shower?

I hoped it was just a rare confluence of things and was content to have it all cleaned up, while being able to put some stuff in the garbage. I tried to see the truly bright side of all of this.

And then?

I saw a drop of water from above? Wait. What?

I looked up. A pipe had some water dripping.

I reached up. The pipe was severed.

The pipe...came from...yup...the drain of the shower.

Dammmmmmmmmmmnnnnnnnnn.

Like many of you, we have friends in the right places. With my dad and my brother being in the plumbing industry at one time, they knew plenty of plumbers, electricians (of course, I know one who would be here at a moments notice as well -- right, Mick?), and general handy people.

While I have my "MacGyver" tendencies, in which I can make certain things work, I have zero plumbing/electrical knowledge.

So, a call was placed to Mark, who is simply one of those people who will always give back. He's one of those people who has standards and if you need him, he's there.

Still, there was no answer on his phone.

I went back to going about cleaning up the mess when I looked out of the garage and saw a motorcycle slowing up near the driveway.

"Who the...Oh...it's Mark."

He walked in and I explained in my layman's terms.

He muttered an "uh oh" but quickly thought about how to at least fix things temporarily.

Then he noticed a piece of pipe nearby.

"Robbie," he said,"the washer from this is exactly what I need. You saved me. I always know when I come to this house that I'll find something to work with because your dad was great like that."

Within minutes -- literally -- the temporary fix was in place. We talked longer than it took him to fix it.

I smiled at the admiration he had for my dad -- a man who, to my knowledge, he never met.

He'll be back later in the week for a more permanent fix.

But those are the kinds of friends you cherish. "Salt of the Earth," we call them.

Mark had a smoke in the yard as we wrapped up and promptly finished it by putting it out and taking it with him.

Respect.

He got back on his bike and rode away.

See you Friday, Mark.

And thanks.

Entitlement

It's all about...him. (GETTY IMAGES/ISTOCKPHOTO)

We know what kind of times we're in.

COVID-19, "Wear Your Mask," George Floyd, Trump, Biden, the Redskins, the Indians, and on and and on and...

There's rampant unemployment and emotions are probably at the highest they've been in years.

So, maybe the best plan of action is to lay off how great your life is these days on social media?

It's astounding and the very definition of "White privilege."

It's the optics that we talk about, isn't it?

I saw a picture of a group recently. They were clearly all placed there by parents who could afford it. Well, good for them, I guess, but what's the lesson? Do I even need to explain it?

Also, they were -- almost -- all white. Mostly male also.

What's more is, I can tell you that the faces were from the tri-state area of NY, NJ, and Connecticut. Several from Fairfield County, but bet your bottom dollar (see what I did there?) that none of them were, say, from Bridgeport.

So, the next time you tell me about "(insert career field here) is too white and/or male," remember this.

In my field (that of play-by-play announcer) there's been an outcry for more faces of color. Stories have been written about it, and a grant and scholarship fund has been created.

Do I blame anyone? No, I don't think so. I can't blame the parents for wanting what's best for their kids, but I can only hear my parents had I gone to them asking for the money to do this.

"You want how much for what?"

"Get yourself a job and we'll talk about helping you."

And, so on.

I have to say that I'd probably do something similar had it been Sean or we would have come up with an arrangement of some kind.

There's still a need for responsibility. I'm constantly looking in the mirror to see where I've failed with Sean to understand because, even though he's 18, the lessons never end.

But, more than this, know the room these days.

The constant pictures of your pool and car and kid and big house and opulence doesn't make you a #blogger or whatever.

It makes your #spoiled.

Yes, there's something to be said about the finer things in life but the days of "Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous" have certainly evolved.

Living your best life? Cool. Not everyone else is. Stop being so tone deaf.

There are ways to do so with grace and class.

And, like I said, the lessons never end.

Maybe growth is possible.

Sadly, I doubt it.

A Tropical Storm Friday

It's a rainy, windy night in the 845.

While we're not specifically under a tropical storm warning, we have a flash flood watch going on and there's certainly some wind swirling around.

Did you ever got involved in something and say to yourself, "This is awful?"

That's where I am in this post.

I thought I'd write about storm stories but, really, what do I have to offer?

To tell you the Superstorm Sandy one again?

Went to Greenwich when I didn't necessarily have to. Was asked to go on the air four hours earlier than intended and wound up sitting in the studio for 7.5 hours. Was supposed to do a sports talk show and, instead interviewed people and gathered info. Lost power at 10:30. Slept on a floor in an office because I forgot to inflate an air mattress when we still had power.

Went home the next day.

Oh, and got interviewed by a Canadian radio station both before and after the storm.

I guess it's more interesting than that but I feel like I've told it enough times.

In other news, I failed. No shock there.

I was considering a night off when the streak of posts hit 558 days. Well, I lost count, and this is post number 559 in a row.

So, yeah.

At best I'd probably go to 2,129 and stop, so as not to tie or pass Lou Gehrig. It's just me but I respect the Iron Horse. Plus, if I'm hurting the team, I'd definitely sit one out.

I think I'm hurting the team tonight, in fact.

So, anyway, it's rainy and there's some wind.

It's sort of a tropical storm.

We all have stories.

Hopefully it will all be fine.

Workin' For a Livin'

It would have worked!

First off, it might be a time for a change.

Every now and then, I ponder leaving Blogger (as much as I've loved them). They're about to change the interface and, admittedly, I'm not a big fan of the changes. But, I've also been with them for nearly 14 years.

Still, I feel like I haven't taken the necessary step and have had a (dormant) account on WordPress for at least two years. In fact, it still said something about "Greenwich Sentinel" it in for some reason.

I'm sure they didn't get paid either.

I digress.

Then I could consider a whole reboot to Robcasting, which I've also considered, as opposed to explaining the Mixlr account name (mixlr.com/robcasting-radio). So, these are things that occasionally pop up in my mind.

But, all of that co$t$. The amazing thing is, I have an audio page that is also unused but I don't have the widget to actually publish it. So, if anyone knows anything about those things, I'd love to chat. We could have a Robcasting Revolution!

OK, so to the picture above. I was supposed to call Greenwich/Wilton baseball at Greenwich High yesterday. I think it would have been my first call at the place I call "Cardinal Yard" since...well...the Greenwich Sentinel days.

And not getting paid. Hmm, what am I trying to say here? Anyway...

The sky yesterday was rough, my friends. It had poured hours earlier in New York, but when duty calls, you go. I literally can count the number of truly missed broadcasts on one hand. You get in this business, you do the job. You exhaust every last option before you give up.

I considered calling basketball and hockey the day Sean was born. I didn't, and I had the excellent Sean Kilkelly ready to go, so WGCH didn't miss a beat.

Very few things have kept me from a game.

So if, I don't know, a bad internet signal was to keep me from being live, I would record the broadcast and air it later.

At Staples in 2003 for football, all we had was a cellphone and nowhere to recharge the battery. So, we stood in the crowd and people handed us their phones. Then they would go recharge them. And, so on. We got the job done.

Shawn Sailer and I called a game by standing on chairs and looking
over that tarp. We used bread trays for the equipment.

Yes, you have to be a bit insane to do what I do. That insanity has driven people from this industry because they realized it ultimately wasn't for them.

You have to be willing to crawl to do setup and breakdown. You have to be willing to have it take a physical and mental toll. You have to deal with certain levels of abuse (yes, really) due to jealousy and power and entitlement.

And you have to understand a level of creative thinking that I can only describe of "MacGyveristic." In short, the wheels start turning in my mind as to what equipment I have with me and what cables I can make it all connect with.

The heavy stuff is about to arrive.

So, when the sky is awful at 3:45 and you have a show to do at 4:00 and then a baseball game to call at 5:30, you dig into your bag of tricks. That bag often means financial cost and acquiring things over the years.

You dig out your Behringer audio interface and your MacBook. You grab a headset and a few cables. You park in a spot where you can ping off the Greenwich High School guest wifi (the cell service there is, simply, pathetic).

And you drive around the parking lot to find the best signal.

While wearing the headset listening to the feed of the radio station*.

*The parking lot was mostly empty and I'm a professional. Or something like that.

And then? THEN? After you've done that, and have even decided that's the setup you'll likely use come gametime because you still have lineups to write?

Then Alex LoParco texts you, followed by Michael Genaro.

"Game called."

Sigh. OK, now you're talking to Bob Small at WGCH and you explain it all to him. He's prepared to stall to let you get to the studio because -- in these lazy, hazy, crazy days of COVID -- the station is within 10 minutes away.

So, you get out of the parking lot, make two rights, a left, a right, a left, and a right and you're at WGCH. You hustle into the studio and you're on the air around 4:16!

With NO notes (PREPARATION, Y'ALL!) you launch into a stream of conscience radio show for the next 45 minutes (including commercials) that eviscerates Greenwich for the molasses-drip of red tape to get things done, go rip city on DeSean Jackson and hypocrisy (all is still quiet on the social justice front, including friends), take a call from Chris Kaelin, and wrap up the show at 5:00.

Then -- there's more! -- you edit the show and upload it to Mixcloud and Archive.org for your files and for Jonathan Rios to run on WON 920 The Apple and WEAF 940 The Liberty.

Then you drive home, catching up with Paul Silverfarb before ordering dinner for your mother and son.

You get the job done.

All for zero money.

Learn from this, kids. Don't act like entitled, spoiled brats because you talk to big names and suck up to them. The cliched calls and pithy hashtags won't win the day. Pay attention to the world and realize how out of touch you look.

If you simply walk away because the internet didn't work or something else, there's always a chance that someone will show up and step in.

You know, like Lou Gehrig.

Chez Outrage

Are there limited openings at the social justice table?

Is it by reservation only?

The situation boiled over back in May with George Floyd and, really, hasn't stopped.

There has been some productive movement there and, let's be honest, some very unproductive movement.

But, hey, protests have to disrupt, right?

In the process, we segued into first covering monuments in graffiti, before tearing them down. Off with their heads...and more!

Then, it was onto the Washington Redskins. Next, the Cleveland Indians. The Chicago Blackhawks. The Kansas City Chiefs.

Hell, even the Mahopac Indians.

Gotta change 'em all! How can you care about that as a high school mascot?!?

Full disclosure: I'm in favor of leaving the Mahopac Indians alone because it was a title of honor. Additionally, while I have some native American blood in me, for what little that's worth, I otherwise have no say in the name at all. Honestly, who am I? Why should I have a say? Or you, for that matter? I'll leave it up to those above my pay grade. That being said, I've heard "Lakers" suggested as a potential new name, and I have to admit I like that. As always, your mileage may vary.

Then, yesterday, the story hit that Philadelphia Eagles receiver DeSean Jackson used Instagram to post a quote that he thought was from Adolf Hitler (who needs no introduction). He also quoted Louis Farrakhan. In both cases, the quotes -- misattributed or otherwise -- were anti-semitic.

Wow.

The Eagles have condemned the comments.

Now, the story has been reported in the media, and I heard it bandied about on a few talk shows -- especially talk shows ("Doubleheader" was off yesterday and I generally feel sports game broadcasts are not the place for such things).

But, just curious, where's the social media outrage?

Jackson is barely even trending today!

Where are you, LeBron James?

Steve Kerr?

Gregg Popovich?

Where's the NFL today?

Where's literally EVERYONE who blasted Drew Brees over kneeling for the National Anthem, with some suggesting that Brees should never play another down in the NFL?

Where are all of the social media warriors in my timeline?

While I'm at it, shame on former NBA player Stephen Jackson. I thought that guy was a voice of reason but he DEFENDED DeSean Jackson.

Christopher "Mad Dog" Russo was the first one I heard to rip these hypocrites and he's spot on. Where is everyone else (I'm just told former WGCH and now ESPN star Dave Rothenberg is ripping everyone).

This isn't a left/right thing for me and I have no agenda or narrative, except for consistency.

As with team names, while I'm entitled to my opinion, this isn't for me to fight otherwise. I personally think he has to show contrition (his apology wasn't exactly strong) and learn from it. I'm not one to throw people out.

So, where is everyone?

All voices can be heard at the social justice table, right?

Or, is it only when convenient?

You figure it out.

Risk

"There's obviously a risk. Just walking outside there's a risk. There's a risk everywhere. But I just know I love this game and I love this team that we've got here." -- Aaron Judge, July 6, 2020

I couldn't agree more with this quote.

Now, the quick reaction would be to say, "But but but but ROB! Risk is irresponsible..."

Hold on. I didn't say to just willfully risk away. Not all risk is irresponsible.

I advocated for wearing masks recently, but furthermore, I advocated for common sense.

Baseball -- indeed, all sports -- are trying to come back with common sense.

Now, that doesn't mean it's succeeding. My god, there's been some real sings and misses in this process, including the way testing has been handled.

But, Aaron Judge is right. I'm taking a risk by getting in my car today, right? Or by biting into that next Krispy Kreme (haven't had one in some time...sigh...).

I'm taking a risk by going to Wilton or Greenwich or Trumbull or Mahopac or Dutchess Stadium to call a game.

That's what I mean. A common sense approach with the proper protocols will suit me just fine.

No risk, no reward, right?

Aaron Judge and Major League Baseball are planning to play because it's their job. Now, some have opted out, and many have done so for extremely good reasons. Still, we may reach a point where too many opt out and the plug will need to be pulled on sports.

Could we be living in isolation? God, I hope not.

Again, a day at a time.

I loved what Judge had to say.

It dripped in common sense.

And, while I'm at it, enough with asterisk narrative. YOU don't like how this is going? YOU don't like 60 games or bubbles or whatever?

Tough. These are the details of this season.

Whether it's the Yankees, Rangers, Nets, Penguins, or even the Mets, the champion will be the champion.

Now, this is just my opinion (it's not a rule/order despite what those who are deranged might tell you) but, barring, say, an Orioles/Marlins World Series, this stuff is the real deal.

These are the parameters.

And, please, let's get it underway soon so we can start muting some of the nonsense, please?

There's a risk to everything.

Just as I took the risk calling Greenwich/Wilton tonight.

Baseball is On

I've got the Yankees simulated baseball game on TV right now.

It's baseball and it's glorious.

Tomorrow, I'll put the headset back on and call baseball again.

The Greenwich Cannons, like others in the region, have had to change the signs* to make a season happen.

* A forced baseball metaphor but I'm going with it.

Their junior and senior teams have already started their season and, tomorrow at 6:30, the senior team hits Robcasting for the first time.

We'll call them tomorrow as well as Wednesday. On Thursday, we'll get a look at the junior team.

The Tuesday game will be at Wilton High School, where I once called a 14 inning American Legion classic that took three hours and fifty-five minutes and I called it alone.

Well, I'll be back solo tomorrow next to US Route 7.

To tell you the truth, I've got a little of those healthy nerves. I repacked the equipment tonight and I've got my scorecard ready, along with a clipboard.

I'll be ready. No matter what, I'll make a broadcast happen, even it it gets taped. As a professional, it's what you do.

Always.

 

Thanks, guys (I'd put a check in the mail, but...)

The Cannons are excited and, apparently, so are their fans.

So am I.

You can hear all of the action at mixlr.com/robcasting-radio, and there is interest of putting something on WGCH eventually.

I should note that, as of now, I will fly solo. Anyone interested in joining me in the "booth" will need to do whatever it takes to feel comfortable in terms of social distancing and so on.

I'm all for safety.

So it looks like my July might be filled with games like this. If there are playoffs (in August), we could slide a few of those into the schedule also.

Plus, Mike Buswell is up in Trumbull and I bet he'd be happy or some coverage also.

Mahopac has also rang my number.

So it could be a fun six weeks.

I hope so.

But, back to the Yankees and MLB. It's nice to sit here and just hear baseball happening. No negativity. Just ball hitting bat.

As for the empty stadiums? I don't think twice about that but I'm used to doing games that have sometimes under 50 people attending. It's interesting to listen to the broadcasters and fans who have been so concerned about this. It's nothing new for me.

The 60-game schedule isn't perfect, of course, including more ridiculous Yankees/Red Sox games on ESPN, but honestly, it's hard to complain.

We'll finish with this graphic. Look, I'm thrilled for every part of that, but there should be a Babe Ruth Day. He changed it all.

He matters. A lot.

Happy 70th Huey

Huey Lewis at Bethel Woods, Aug 5, 2012

I've learned to mute people on social media.

Of course, that gets me in trouble when I'm not responding to everything they post. I actually think that makes me a better friend in that I'd rather not see whatever I feel is "nonsense" for the good of the friendship.

I don't do it a lot, and I've turned it on and off with some.

But, I'm not afraid to, especially now, and I don't doubt someone has muted me.

And I KNOW some have blocked me and/or dropped me for myriad reasons. It's all complicated and sophomoric.

But, I think muting (and, rarely, blocking) is quite useful in the most divided times I've ever experienced.

Oh, so how does this relate to the tile of this post?

Well, Hugh Anthony Cregg III (or "Huey Lewie"...or, ah yes, Huey Lewis) is indeed 70 years old today.

Except for his hearing issue (which is certainly not minor and I'm told that he's going through a rough patch again now), he's otherwise in great shape and certainly doesn't look his age.

The song "Hip To Be Square" was actually meant ironically as he later admitted but, overall, he hasn't really lived the debauched rock and roll lifestyle. He hangs out on his Montana ranch and fly fishes and goes back to California to meet up with the News at their studio.

Basically, it's clean living.

So, happy birthday, HL.

But, still, how am I tying the two together?

As I sit here on this hot Sunday in great state of New York, I was enjoying the sounds of Mr. Cregg...ahem...Mr. Lewis and the News when "Perfect World" came on.

It's a mostly-forgotten (by radio, anyway) track from 1988's Small World album. Written by Alex Call, who was in Clover with both Huey and News keyboardist Sean Hopper, it's basically a glimpse towards utopia.

The song hit the Billboard charts, topping out at number three. The album was a departure for the band and the song was their last top five hit.

The lyrics struck me today as I prepared to write.

Ain't no livin' in a perfect world
There ain't no perfect world anyway
Ain't no livin' in a perfect world
But we'll keep on dreamin' of livin' in a perfect world

So, as you work towards eradicating the world of all the "evil doers" and statues and team mascots and books and TV shows and movies and music (picking and choosing as you go along, of course, because hypocrisy never takes a day off), I'll be sitting here.

Ignoring.

Muting.

And we'll keep on dreaming of living in a perfect world.

Well Done

He just kept his head down.

I felt done last night.

Today, it's a little worse. It will pass.

It's the Fourth of July.

There's basically nowhere to go. The numbers are hinting towards being dangerous again. So, I'm here. I've mowed the heavier part of my lawn and will likely find myself sitting in a chair on the back porch if it's not too hot.

It's George Steinbrenner's birthday. John Sterling's birthday. Howard Silverfarb's birthday.

Oh yeah, and there's also something about a Declaration of Independence.

And it should always be Lou Gehrig Day.

But I find myself further dejected and disappointed and lacking the ability to talk about why.

Let's just cancel everything, shall we? Would that do?

I'm tired. Tired of the arguments.

And I'm literally sick of it all.

Nothing is ever enough.

So, I'm going back to our guy Lou Gehrig on his day, when 61,000 people jammed Yankee Stadium for a doubleheader with the Washington Senators.

With The Babe and members of the '27 Yankees on hand, Gehrig kept his eyes on the ground and ran his cleat through the dirt. He wanted no part of it.

His humility was on clear display as he controlled his emotions and, when pushed to talk by Joe McCarthy, talked about everyone else and insisted he was the lucky one.

It's a story that more people should learn.

Thanks, Lou.

Tonight, I Feel Just...Done

Gerrit Cole on the mound at Yankee Stadium yesterday. I need
a happy image. Please let me have that. (Yankees Twitter)

Maybe I used up all of the adrenaline.

Maybe I'm just exhausted.

Whatever it is, I'm tapped out.

I spoke with Jonathan Rios -- the man behind WON Sports (WON, 920 The Apple and WEAF, 940 The Liberty) --for a little over an hour tonight. We had a great talk about so many things and I believe you'll be able to hear it for yourself next Friday.

I had plenty of energy. I loved telling stories and talking about sports and broadcasting.

I was on fire!

And then? It was like the air was sucked out of the room.

I know Mike Hirn and I need to get cracking on the revival of "Tales From the Booth," and we will, but it doesn't feel like it's happening tonight.

Humidity? Yeah, that could be it.

But, I think sometimes my body and my mind just get so sad and lost at everything that is going on.

What would my dad think of 2020? I don't think that's an easy question to answer.

How do you explain it to kids?

The thing -- the very thing that I talked about yesterday -- is rapidly coming true. Last night, I suggested the Washington Redskins change their name, if only to get that topic done once and for all.

Today, the Redskins announced that they're going to have conversations about doing just that. Ok, fine.

It's going to happen.

Follow the money.

Now, tonight, just as Jonathan and I were wrapping up, the Cleveland Indians announced the same thing.

I don't dare pursue it because anyone who does is immediately labeled racist.

Conversations aren't allowed. Only accusations.

You realize PETA once tried to get "Fishkill, NY" to change their name, right? They might actually be successful if they were to try today.

Even Vin Scully (!) was briefly in the cancel culture crosshairs before so many people realized how patently dumb that was.

At least there's a hint of common sense.

I think that's enough for me.

I'm taking tonight off.

The world can find something else to feign outrage about.

The Redskins

Sonny Jurgenson, 1967

I don't know any other way to put this.

It strikes me that it's a fight no longer worth fighting.

Whether you agree with with the outcry or not, the Washington Redskins probably need to change their name.

Look, there have been PC warriors for some time on this topic. People like Mike Florio of NBC Sports only refer to the team as "Washington" and not by the mascot. Now, FedEx, as in FedEx Field, home of the Redskins, have made a formal request to change the name.

Once it starts hurting the bottom line, it's time to do it.

I hate capitulation and I'm all for flying in the face of such things, but this won't fly.

The Redskins logos and merchandise will arguably never be more popular, akin to Chief Wahoo of the Cleveland Indians. People tend to get mighty angry when being told what they can and can't do.

Of course, with that capitulation you can't help but wonder what's next. The Kansas City Chiefs? The Atlanta Braves? Are these among the next to be in the target? As usual, the question "Where does it stop?" is a valid one. I don't disagree with any of that.

I've heard the argument for years that Native Americans (overall) don't really care about the mascot, with some even liking it.

But the tide is coming in and it's not good. Team founder George Preston Marshall was, by all accounts, a noted racist and his statue was recently removed in that continuing trend.

Can Redskins owner Dan Snyder ride this wave and survive?

What doesn't help is that his team hasn't been particularly good for a long time. They've made just four playoff appearances dating back to 2005.

So, why not call a slight audible to Warriors or another team name that allows the continued use of some of the colors and imagery, including the spear that they've used on the helmet over the years?

I get it. I really do. There are fans who will threaten to walk. But you might pick up fans also.

It's also Snyder's business and he can do what he wants.

So, at the end of the day, I don't care what the Redskins do. I've just wanted this topic to go away for a few years. It seems like the only way to do that is to change the name.

Create something new that will continue to have people singing "Hail to the...(insert name here)" around the District of Columbia.

I know, it's "soft." It's "PC." The "left" wins. And so on.

And, yes, I know. Notre Dame Fighting Irish could also be found offensive and Boston Celtics and on and on and on. Believe me, I completely get it and it does make me batty.

Yankees? Civil War imagery?

But, what's the better answer? Keep fighting it?

Just make it stop.

Hail to whatever.

My Town

Lake Mahopac, as seen from Four Brothers Pizza Restaurant in 2015

It was nice to see Mahopac get a little love today from the New York Times.

I'm fond of the place I've called home for most of my life.

While I was born in Peekskill, my family had come to Mahopac years earlier, when my grandparents had a house on Lake Secor, which they eventually made their full-time home, leaving Hartsdale.

Mahopac had a hospital until right around the time I was born. So, I can't say I'm truly native but I might as well be.

I've lived in the Town of Carmel -- which includes Mahopac -- every day of my life.

Look, I've heard about the flaws. It's a MAGA-land. It has been accused of problems with racism and other issues. None of that is excusable to me and I won't try to explain it away.

But, like it or not, this is my home.

I don't have the experiences of others. I've read what fellow residents have said over the years, with author Jeff Pearlman speaking of his love of the town but frequently criticizing the "mean streets" of Mahopac. A quick search of Jeff's website reveals plenty.

These streets weren't mean to me. We laughed a lot here. Everyone got picked on. Literally, everyone did. I was occasionally called "Richie Cunningham" for being tall, thin (yes, really) and having freckles. I got picked on for plenty of things.

There was some bullying but I guess I feel like it made me better. I don't know.

And, look, I did more than my fair share of teasing back.

I'll never say this was a perfect place but I have always been proud to be from here.

I didn't like when I read stories such as the racism issues that came up at a basketball game back in 2014. Here's more from Jeff Pearlman.

My life has been about not caring what you looked like or what you were. If you were my friend, that was it. You were going to tease me and I was going to do the same and we were going to play kickball or wiffle ball of baseball or ride bikes up to the front lawn of Austin Road Elementary School where we would design plays in football.

Then we'd run the Dolphins' "Hook and Lateral" play to perfection.

Then Frank Viggiano and I would climb to the top of the (closed) school.

Maybe we'd ride to Rodak's and get meatball wedges or grab some Carvel.

Maybe we'd jump in Lake MacGregor or Lake Secor or Kirk Lake, but rarely in Lake Mahopac itself (but never Lake Casse).

I hiked trails and built forts and explored the woods and swamps all around. I often found myself walking around the remains of an old summer camp just up the road where I could see the outline of a baseball field.

We played, laughed, and lived in this town.

We were up early and stayed out late, sometimes breaking out the flashlights at night.

I won three straight Mahopac Sports Association baseball championships here (screw the '85 co-champions...we would have won) and I was captain of Coach Lou D'Aliso's squad. I know it's probably akin to scoring four touchdowns at Polk High (Married...With Children reference) but it still means something to me, as does being the captain of the bowling team at Mahopac High School.

I graduated from there with pride in '87.

I raised my son around these "mean streets."

Perfect? Nah, but it sometimes felt like it.

Innocent, for sure.

Sensitive? No. That never worked in Mahopac -- long before it became known as "The Pac."

But, it's flawed. I know it.

And, yes, I realize I've been here forever, and forgive me for the faux pas, but I pronounce it "MAYO-pack." I realize many others say "Muh-HO-pack" and I'll even say that's the correct way if it brings any resolution to the topic. Just don't say "MeOW-pack" or some of the other awful pronunciations I've heard.

I love our history of the hotels and being a vacation community. I love knowing that Babe Ruth visited here and the Fonz was here and that Frank Lloyd Wright created designs for a house that's on an island in the middle of the lake here.

I love the lessons I've learned here.

I regret and am sorry for whatever mistakes I made here, but they also made me a better person (at least I hope so).

I would leave. I would. If a chance for some kind of better life presents itself, I'd likely cry hard but cherish the years and plan to visit.

But this is home -- warts and all -- and it was nice to read the piece in the Times today.

And I'd love to show you around one day, like I've done for so many.

This is my town.