Getting better all the time

 

You say it's his birthday

A doubleheader is on for today.

No. Not "Doubleheader" but two baseball games -- first pitch at 5:05 p.m. -- meaning I can't do then radio show.

So here I am, creating stat reports and looking over notes. Also doing some general cleaning.

Oh, and laundry.

Rascal is nearby. Not that Rascal, but the one I named because he's a rascal and for Rascal.

Sheesh.

I figured I should throw a few thoughts down because I nearly had it end last night.

I was in the stadium, as I wrote. I did the game recap and was sort of lingering. Thinking.

The car moved along I-84 towards the Taconic.

I was listening to John and Suzyn call Yankees/Blue Jays. Of course, neither one was in Toronto or Buffalo, where the game was actually being played. We really have to get our fellow broadcasters back out on the road, I thought. Me included, that is.

I thought about the broadcast. In truth, I didn't feel well all night. I was slightly lightheaded and struggled to concentrate. 

Random thoughts through the game:

"Did I say the score enough?" "Am I repeating myself?" "Who's pitching?" "Did I do the spot read?" "What graphic am I supposed to talk up?"

I just felt...off.

So, as I drove home, I figured we got through it. Hopefully, the listener didn't know.

Overall, a passing grade.

The checkmarks and random thoughts continued in the car.

And then it hit me: I hadn't written P365.

No need for panic. There was time. I knew I'd be home around 11, giving me an hour to throw something together. I had a picture of the stadium with a few lights still on. That will do.

It was going to be OK.

A doubleheader awaits. BlueClaws and Renegades again.

Lineups to be reviewed. Scorecards to make up. Stat packs and game notes to look through. "Rob's Roundup" to record.

Two games. Then sleep and onto tomorrow.

Somewhere along the line, I'll get the lawn mowed. Sure I will.

Oh, did I mention that the stadium is 100% open? Not sure if I said that. Get tickets. Come up and visit me in the booth.

Lastly, it's Paul McCartney's birthday and he's the GOAT.

So take any sad songs today and make them better.

And live and let die.

The empty stadium

 

The final out had been recorded and the Renegades had won.

Sean said his goodnight and took his camera back to the office. Then he drove away.

As the game wasn't too long, I stayed and wrote my game story in the booth.

Soon, it was down to just a few souls at Dutchess Stadium.

I love an empty arena. Before the game and, especially, after a game, it brings me some peace. It brings me time to reflect and a chance to mostly check out with nobody around.

I've dashed out of the stadium several times not long after getting off the air, opting to write at home. But tonight, I elected to stay for a while.

Not long. I've had the lights turned out on me and that's no fun. Then you're walking out of your way to find the only remaining open gate.

In this case, a few banks of lights stayed on as I wrote a quick game story. 

The cool night air came through the open window and I eventually closed things up.

I could have stayed and took it all in but I hadn't really felt my best tonight and decided it was best to get home to be with Rascal. The one in Mahopac.

I wondered how many people were actually left. I figured a few were still down in the office. I was quite wrong. As I drove away, the parking lot was empty. 

The buses that transport the players to and from the hotel drove off.

It really was just a few people remaining, including me.

It was definitely time to go home.

There are plenty of nights remaining. Like, say, tomorrow.

I'm settling in and feeling about as OK as I can.

Breaux (or BRO!)

Goodbye, Mr. Spalding

 

The crack of the bat sounded good and I watched the ball jump.

I described it but, in my brain, I heard a voice.

"Wait...that's gonna be a home run and this game will be over. Don't *bleep* it up! Don't get fancy. Stay on point. Don't oversell it."

Normally I'd try to get the outfielder's name as he ranged back. In this case, it was Hunter Hearn. Yet I didn't want to flub it like I did when New Canaan walked off on Greenwich years ago. That always bothered me.

All of that was in the span of a second. Maybe.

The home run was a high, majestic "no-doubter." It was gone off the bat. Josh Breaux, the author of this mighty wallop, knew it was gone when he hit it. You could see it in his body language.

The ball disappeared into the Wappingers Falls night and the Renegades had beaten Jersey Shore, 6-5.

There was one out in the bottom of the ninth when Breaux hit it out. In the booth, seconds earlier, I sounded somewhat prescient.

"I have the POWERRRR!" He-Man

"He has the power," I said, realizing I had just echoed an 80s cartoon. "Let's see if he 'He-Man's' his way to end this game."

I glanced up at Sean, who wiggled his hand to indicate he thought the pun was so-so. Not my best work, he was implying.

BlueClaws' pitcher Aneurys Zabala dealt a one-one pitch...

Breaux connected.

Crack.

"AND A DRIVE TO DEEP LEFT."

So far. So good. That's factual. Not having enough time to confirm Hunter Hearn's name on my defensive chart, I stayed basic.

"TURN AROUND AND WATCH IT."

If this was purely a TV call, I might have been OK to stop there and let the crowd do the rest. But people are listening on Z93 and hvrenegades.com. More detail was needed to confirm that we were done. So I punctuated.

"AND SAY GOODNIGHT!"

Still, I didn't feel that was quite enough. I stated the obvious.

"THE BALLGAME'S OVER."

Oh, and it was, but the drama was not.

Braux triumphantly rounded the bases. I called back to my He-Man comment of just a moment earlier.

"Josh Breaux HAS the power...and he hits a walk-off home run in the bottom of the ninth..."

But, was I saying too much? Should I layout a little more and let those remaining in the crowd fill the moment?

Then?

Hold on. Breaux and Zabala are chirping at each other. Gesturing. What's going on?

"...says something to Zabala..."

I still had a job to do. I still had to report.

"...and this ballgame is over. The Renegades win, six-five."

The Gades stood at home plate to greet the hero and then, quickly, they wanted a piece of the Claws. Oh, and the Claws wanted a piece of the Gades.

The umpires and coaches immediately stepped in and stopped it. The BlueClaws were told to go to the clubhouse. The Gades were told to stay in the first base dugout. This was one time where the teams wouldn't be walking out together.

So there's a story that will be monitored moving into tonight.

On the air, I described everything, found a natural break, and took it before coming back. I recapped the game, and "put a ribbon" on the broadcast.

My phone began to buzz almost immediately. I knew I had a call that I'd keep for fun. I had no idea what awaited me.

I got a few texts and messages.

Christian Mingione, a talented baseball player at Greenwich High School, tagged me in a tweet in response to a popular social media star named Jomboy.

"@double5 bringing the heat as always," he tweeted to Jomboy.

Wait. He was tweeting at Jomboy? About me?

And then I discovered Jomboy, who creates often hysterical social media content on sports, retweeted the home run and quoted me.

TURN AROUND AND WATCH IT.

AND SAY GOODNIGHT.

THE BALLGAME IS OVER. https://t.co/nQvMfF4reX

— Jomboy (@Jomboy_) June 16, 2021

Jomboy talks about the Yankees on a daily basis and has also been talking up the Renegades. I never suspected that he'd do this. 

Keep in mind, this is someone with over 340,000 followers.

Jake Zimmer, Mike Hirn, Shawn Sailer, Tom Prizeman (who works for Jomboy), Dan Gardella, and others were among those liking, commenting, and retweeting what had just happened.

I was stunned at the attention.

"Elite level call," Adriana S tweeted. "Get this man to the big leagues...Just perfection."

The full at-bat can be heard here.

I'm humbled and am still processing this.

The video, from the Renegades Twitter account, has been viewed over 28,000 times as of this morning. It is the work of Zach Neubauer, who does a remarkable job of getting those items out on social media.

It is the work of the director Sam Eisenbaum and replay/graphics coordinator Clint McLeod. It's the steady camera work of Matt DeBara (1st base), Jason Stapf (3rd base), Brian Camporese (wireless), and Sean Adams (high home). It's also the work of Conor Santoianni and Spencer Pearce, who produced game notes.

It's them and others who helped produce a tremendous broadcast that I hope everyone is proud of. I talked.

The praise has been wonderful but I'll say the finest praise might have come from the high home operator.

My son.

"Your home run calls are always great," he said.

There was no punchline. He was serious.

Still, the thing is to stay humble. I drove home, overwhelmed by what had happened. I wrote the game story and had to get to bed quickly because I needed to be up at 4 a.m. to start work (yes, you read that correctly).

As calls go, is this my best "walk-off home run" call? Maybe. I'm not going to worry about that. I'm content to have the next one be hopefully as good or better.

"Just FYI you slayed that s*it," Mike Hirn messaged me.

Overwhelmed. Yes. Definitely.

What's it all mean? Not much. It means I had a call that people liked. ESPN hasn't called. Nor has anyone else. No job offers are magically jumping up. 

It was one call and I can be proud of the reaction. I can be proud that I did my job.

Hopefully, I was dressed appropriately.

Now? Do it again.

Back at it tonight.

Oops

 

I wrote this earlier today. The game tonight was...something...and we'll deal with it tomorrow.

So there I am, in the midst of other things going on, bummed about low reads here on the bloggo.

It contributed to me thinking that I might need to take a break as I wrote last night.

And then? A small thought came into my pea brain.

Was it possible that the posts that I put on Facebook weren't set to public?

Yes. Yes indeed.

So I'm a fool.

That still doesn't take away from the other very real concerns. But, when creating something like this, the numbers matter a little. I often wish I didn't know them but they're unavoidable.

I keep going because some of you like the consistency and my dedication to writing one post-per-day.

But if nobody (or few) were reading then what's the point?

Anyway, the who conundrum has been thrown out the window.

I'm heading back to the booth and doing what I do.

To be sure I'm having a better day. I feel like I'm contributing to the world, I suppose. I got things done. So we're as good as we can be.

Sort of.

Anyway, carry on.

I'm here

 

(Google)

It was over.

I told Susan I was done. Tonight was the night.

There would be no post. I wasn't going to make an announcement. I simply wasn't going to write.

I sat where I am right now, stubbornly content with my decision.

After nearly 900 straight days, I was convinced it was time.

I was going to send the lineup card to the plate without my name on it.

The reasons are mostly varied and unimportant. Some of it is personal and nothing I want to get too deep into. Such things are often seen as weakness or a crutch. Given perhaps my audience has expanded, I don't want to go down that road without context.

The weekend was rough. I felt alone. It's hard to explain.

So let's leave it at the blues. Something maybe Miles Davis can help me conquer.

Clearly, the most recent posts didn't exactly excite or inspire and I go through these ruts where I feel like I'm just done. It's hard to feel like writing when the inspiration is lacking.

So tonight I thought it might be time to recharge the battery and hit the reset button.

Honestly, I don't know why I'm here.

I don't often know why I put so much of me on here and yet save quite a bit more than you know.

And, of course, it can manifest itself into a meltdown. That's when I look awful.

I mean, don't get me wrong. I did my fair share of laughing all weekend through today but that was when I was with people or talking to them via some form of technology.

Then it gets quiet. It's hard to describe. I don't mind solitude but...

Like I said, it's nothing I want to get too deep into.

The Gades grind begins anew tomorrow. I'll see Sean.

That will be nice. 

I'd like to lose myself in a broadcast, much as I was able to on Saturday in Milford, PA. I called baseball and while I didn't like having families so close to me at the "booth" (aka, "desk under a tent"), I just tried to block that all out.

That's what I plan to do at Dutchess Stadium. Back to the sanctuary.

Yet I still feel like this post is just another in a long line of uninspired drivel. I also feel I should stress that I'm not trying to diminish or downplay depression, mental illness, or anything else. To be crystal clear, nothing has changed. If you need to talk, please do. I'm here and will listen.

Anyway, I'm babbling. I considered simply posting the words to The Beatles' "The End." I worried that might seem too dark.

Worried. I'm good at that. 

I'm here for tonight.

We'll deal with tomorrow then.

RIP Ned Beatty

Ned Beatty in "Deliverance"

 

The great character actor Ned Beatty has died. He was 83.

It is unfair to say he was great in everything he did? Or that every character was memorable? Well, that was him.

He was nominated for an Oscar for a brief appearance in the brilliant "Network," a move so prescient that it is frightening. Beyond that, he was in so much from TV and film.

And, of course, he was in "Deliverance," and if you haven't seen it, well, I'm not sure I can prepare you for it. If you have seen it, you'll never forget it.

Maybe you saw him in the first two "Superman" movies as Gene Hackman's sidekick.

My immediate reaction was to go back to "Deliverance" to remember him when I found out that he had died.  

In "Rudy"

Then I thought of him in "Rudy."

Ah, "Rudy." I get it. Cheesy, hokey, and Notre Dame. And it is.

Yet, if you can get past the fawning over ND you understand that it's a movie about never giving up. Rudy doesn't want the life of his father. He doesn't want his hometown. He doesn't want to disown any of it but he wants to pursue his drea of playing football at Notre Dame.

Besides, you begin to focus more on other characters, like Charles S. Dutton's Fortune, who delivers one of the key speeches in the movie.

 "You're five-foot nothin', a hundred and nothin' and hardly have a spec of athletic ability and you hung in with the best college football team in the land for two years, and you were also going to walk out of here with a degree from the University of Norte Dame. In this lifetime you don't have to prove nothing to nobody except yourself and after what you gone through, if you haven't done that by now, it ain't gonna never happen"

Sort of makes you want to run through a wall.

And, of course, there's the famous chanting of "Roo-Dee! Roo-Dee!" led by Jon Favreau.

Yet there's Ned Beatty as Rudy's father. A lifelong Notre Dame fan who's got that steel mill town tough exterior (because he, you know, works in a steel mill), Daniel Ruettiger, Sr. would love nothing more than to go to Notre Dame Stadium.

He's also fairly unlikeable but that's the paradox of Ned Beatty. 

Nobody believes in Rudy, of course (after all, he's five-foot nothin'). But through perseverance, he eventually suits up for one game in 1975. Rudy's family travels to South Bend to see the game.

For all of us who have that father/son thing (and especially those of us missing our dads) there's the magical moment as Papa Ruettiger gets his first view inside Notre Dame Stadium.

Cheesy. Hokie. And Ned Beatty spikes the ball.

"This is the most beautiful sight that these eyes have ever seen."

Chills. Tears.

Farewell, Ned, and thanks.

Championship Saturday

 

Rudy and Matt talk to the (probably) underdressed broadcaster
(Kevin Halpenny photo)

I called three games today, watching a town come together and honor their athletes.

While Connecticut crowned most of their remaining high school sports champions, I was in Milford, PA describing the exploits of the Belles, Storm, Iron Pigs, River Bandits, Dodgers, and Yankees.

To be sure, Mookie Betts and Aaron Judge were nowhere to be found and that was OK. I was content to watch the young athletes that I saw as they competed for a title in the Delaware Valley.

Over nine hours, families came and went to the Milford Ball Field, eating hot dogs and hamburgers while lustily cheering for softball and baseball players who were simply happy to be there.

Teams won and lost. Tears were shed and then quickly discarded. Smiles were the theme of the day.

Following the softball championship -- the first game of the day -- I watched as the Belles and the Storm signed each other's jerseys. Keep in mind the Storm won the game 11-0 in only four innings.

After the Major game -- the last of the day -- I interviewed one player from each team and the losing player said he was happy. Sure, losing isn't fun but now he wanted to be in the home run derby!

There was ice cream or dinner or dinner and ice cream to be eaten! 

I know it's fleeting but I simply love that feeling of community. This is where there feels like there is no "end of the innocence" though I realize it's naive to think otherwise. Still I heard nary a bad word all day.

And believe me, I heard plenty. I heard the overzealous parents getting too involved with their child as the game went on and yelling at the umpire about the ball and strike calls. But I also overheard that one player was having a birthday today and they sang to him after the final out.

Then some donuts were passed around (strange broadcasters aren't offered such extravagances).

That being said, the Delaware Valley Youth Sports League fed me -- and everyone -- just fine. Burgers and dogs and water were all free.

Despite being surrounded by families for the broadcasts (which always makes me uncomfortable) I stayed within myself and did what I do.

I did so in cargo shorts, a polo shirt, an Under Armour pullover, and sneakers. For what it's worth, nobody cared. Furthermore, I've been asked to do more. Guess my impression wasn't so bad on them.

Best of all, I drove home and had no horror story of a tire blowout or anything else. I shook my head as I passed that spot on Interstate 84.

Today can simply be pronounced a success.

I'm proud to have called them. I was happy to be there.

With that, the Gades are back home on Tuesday.

Bring 'em on.

Too much to do

 

I'm taking a break tonight.

I let too much of the night go by doing other stuff and didn't leave appropriate time for any thoughts here.

I'll tell you that I watched a game broadcast tonight where it was clear that the broadcasters were not on-site and it showed. The production was shoddy. The commentary was worse.

It's time to get the voices back to the game sites.

Especially the better-dressed ones. Because that's important.

That's about all I have to say about that.

So, with time being what it is and preparations needing to be made for me to drive to Pennsylvania first thing tomorrow morning, I'll keep it short tonight.

Thursday nonsense

 

Maybe Gare and Keith should wear a tux to every broadcast. 
Even July in St. Louis when it's 100 degrees.
Sure.

It's not worth it.

I know that.

So, why care?

Why does it matter if a conversation in the Facebook play-by-play group got under my skin?

Because I have little patience for such self-righteousness.

Honestly, do you care if I call a good game, or do you think I sound better when I'm decked out in a suit? That's a minimalistic way of looking at what the topic was and I knew it was heading that way when I saw it was posted.

For the 34th time, as a favorite poster/fellow admin of mine said.

Yes, he was exaggerating, and, yes, members are perfectly fine to post it, but then don't complain the next time Joe Buck comes up or what's the best streaming service to use or some other topic that has been broached 34 times or so.

But I have to keep most of it under control so my outlet for growling is friends and here, without going overboard.

No, I don't broadcast better or worse depending on how I dress, nor do I think anything goes in a booth. That was another exaggeration of the conversation. Not a soul thought that "T-shirts and ratty jeans" are appropriate (and I probably saw that roughly 34 times).

It became like a dog with a bone but I had to bite my tongue. For one thing, I'm an admin. For another, I knew I'd lose my marbles if I opened up.

Someone had to remain calm.

I've never judged a broadcaster on a first impression based on clothes. I base things on performance, attitude, reliability, respect, and accountability.

To be clear -- I know, a hard concept -- I think neat and appropriate is perfectly fine. I think the topic also isn't a black and white issue. What one does in the NBA where they show up and call the game is one thing. They have an engineer for the dirty work.

What I do, where I'm often crawling around filthy press boxes with sweat dripping off of me as I try to engineer and troubleshoot broadcasts, is another.

What I do at Dutchess Stadium, where there is no air conditioning or heat in the radio booth, is entirely different.

Hopefully, nobody had a problem with me last night at "The Clubhouse" where it felt like the air conditioner was turned off. I wore shorts and my Renegades polo as I crawled around plugging in wires and troubleshooting issues. Sweat poured off of me and I mopped my face at times.

I follow the guidance of my employers. If they tell me they want me dressed a certain way, I'll do that. I do as I'm told.

However, here's an example. It's Dec 2013 and HAN has a football playoff game to call in West Haven. I go in warm but appropriate clothes. Then, on my way to Bridgeport to join a Sound Tigers hockey broadcast that night, I pull into a rest area and change.

The Sound Tigers mandated a jacket and tie. They got it.

I've got news for you: the quality of the two broadcasts was no different. My respect for the rules was no different either.

Do you get a sense of how utterly inane and self-righteous this thread was?

Let me further clarify: I've done many games in khakis and polo or button-down shirts. I've done games in a sweater. I've done games in a suit jacket. I've done games in a tie. I've done games in a suit. I've done games in jeans. I've done games in shorts.

I've been underdressed for the weather and overdressed for the weather. When I did the Delaware Valley youth games back in April, I had to add layers -- including (GASP!) a hoodie. The options were freeze and shiver or try to warm up.

The point: I've always looked neat and professional and appropriate and nobody has told me otherwise.

In the long run, what several users were trying to say was you do you and let others worry about themselves.

Nobody's saying dress like a bum.

But many -- me included -- are saying stop judging people.

Especially in 2021. It's bad form.

I have more problems with broadcasters who appear to be above criticism and promise coverage, only to no-show without explanation. It happens too often with no repercussion.

That's the disrespectful and unprofessional side of our craft.

That's more troubling to me than someone showing up in a pair of jeans.

Or, heavens to Murgatroyd, a hoodie.

A smile for a baseball

 

My Facebook friends will see this picture and say, "You posted this already," but I'm more than happy to share it here.

As it says, it was eight years ago today. The site was Coca-Cola Park in Allentown, PA home of the Lehigh Valley IronPigs. Sean, Tim, Jason, and I were there as part of our "Breakfast, Baseball, Burgers, Bargains, Beer (if that's your thing), and Basically anything" day.

I had convinced Jason of the wonders of Waffle House in Florida in 2007 and soon Tim joined us for a day to behold. It grew a little each year that we did it and the fourth person in our vehicle tended to revolve. In this case, Sean was the lucky soul.

So after breakfast at Waffle House and some bargains down in Reading (gone forevermore...moment of silence...) we came back to the stadium for the game. Our seats were in the first row down the third base line.

It was only the first inning when a foul ball made its way on the dirt near us. I reached over the wall, trying to be a good dad...only to feel the horsehide sphere spin out of my fingers on my left hand.

Momentarily, I watched dejectedly as it rolled away. I expected to be lustily booed, including by my friends and son.

And then a ball girl (remember them?) trotted over and picked it up. Surely she wouldn't give it to the dunce who registered "E-Daddy" on the scorecard?

She did indeed.

With pride, as I thanked her, I put the ball exactly where it belonged: in Sean's hand.

He beamed. So did I.

Tim took a picture and I took one as well. The grin was true and ear to ear. I also love how I timed it just right where he's tossing it in his hand and it's levitating.

The details of the game aren't memorable otherwise, though I remember taking my IronPigs jersey that Jason bought me in Reading and putting my name and number on it. I still wear it occasionally and it makes me smile.

We finished the day with Golden Corral and Sean fell in love with that. A monster had been created.

In fact, those days all make me smile. We came away with stories and memories to last a lifetime. We visited ballparks in Reading, Lancaster, and Moosic (near Scranton) as well as a non-BBBBBB, etc trip to Brooklyn.

I miss those days.

And while I enjoy the man that kid has grown up into I'm sure I can be forgiven for missing that kid a little bit as well. One in a while, I sense that kid is still around.

He smiled as we recalled the story today.

It's special.

It's priceless. 

Enjoy it while it lasts.

Haste makes waste

 

A recent present: a really cool pen made out of a baseball bat!

Blech.

I should be in a press box in Stamford, calling Greenwich/Norwalk by now. I had the notes prepared and was pumped for the games. The first game -- Westhill/McMahon -- started with dark skies.

Soon, I saw the wave of the hands. Bring the teams in. It didn't take long before we were told there would be no more baseball. We got to the bottom of the second of the first game and we were done.

The games would be completed and made up tomorrow. Same start time.

Because I'm committed to The Clubhouse, I lose the broadcasts and a payday.

I drove home in one big old lousy mood as the rain poured along Long Ridge Road. I came home, ordered dinner, ate, and watched M*A*S*H.

I'm not even feeling the urge to watch the Yankees or anything else. I have my reasons.

Blech.

Take a deep breath, Rob.

I know. Too much on the mind.

There are things that I feel responsible for. Too lengthy a list to mention.

That's why there are almost a "Where's Waldo" level of mistakes in each blog post. Oh, they're here and not hard to find.

I multitask like crazy and I'm sort of good at it most of the time. Still, maybe I need a shot of caffeine.

Twice this week I've spelled names wrong in emails. Apologies to Marc (not Mac) and Tyson (not Tysen).

Jeez. 

Lately, with the Gades away, I'm supporting the team by sending a roster where needed and talking to the Wilmington PA announcer about pronunciations. Of course, when there's a game, I often write the story while I have friends or family visiting.

The team is in Brooklyn (and rained out) tonight so I updated the roster and sent things to key people.

I'm not complaining. I'm actually driven by the chaos but there's often a price to be paid.

I'm a people pleaser. I want people to know how passionate I am and how hard I try. I don't think they're bad traits but I can do it all better.

But, as someone said to me just today, "I'm afraid it's probably not noticed." They're probably right.

I haven't even been near "The Owner's Box Horse Racing Podcast" in a few weeks and, of course, I drip with guilt on that.

So to make "The Clubhouse" happen tomorrow, I had to go to Greenwich today and pick up equipment since Bob Small is staying in the studio. See, we're a radio station with no board operators available other than Bob (or me). Obviously, one of us will be in Mount Kisco for the show.

Of course, I deal with the ad-hoc, last-minute requests, especially from the depo world, but occasionally from the broadcasting world.

Again, it's great chaos but I worry about letting people down and, on occasion, I worry about running myself into the ground.

Which I basically did over the weekend. I hustled to mow the lawn and had to stop because 1) storms were approaching and 2) I was physically exhausted. The heat was getting to me. Not good.

Part of it is that I need to chill. I'm trying too hard. Deep breaths, my boy! No need to be hyper-perfect while doing anything. Basically perfect will suffice. 

There's something wrong with that, isn't there?

Today almost definitely ends high school coverage. Tomorrow ends "The Clubhouse" for a few months.

Saturday is my last youth sports call (for now) though there could be American Legion, Babe Ruth, and Little League Baseball.

Somewhere in there, I probably should take a break, right?

Hahahahahaahahahahaahahahahahaaha. A break. That's funny. Even when I go to North Carolina, what do I do? I've done "Doubleheader" down there at least once.

I chose to not do "Doubleheader" yesterday, instead doing the "Renegades Weekly" live podcast that I called "Renegades Live." Oy.

Seriously, I'm not complaining. This is what I do. This is who I am. 

I just need to refocus and chill.

Consider this my deep breath.

Fandom and trolls

 

It's safe to say that I have not watched Yankees games with the same intensity in recent days.

Most of that is getting into the grind of the Renegades season. Some of it is being careful about being a broadcaster and a fan.

I still felt a great surge of emotion on Opening Day and when Corey Kluber pitched his no-hitter.

But most of my reactions have been the shake of a head or the roll of the eyes. On occasion, there's been the small fist pump or a smile.

Still, last night, after two godawful losses to the Boston Red Sox, I invested myself in the third game. Why, Babe Ruth? Why?

I don't like national TV games. I had the sound muted and the radio call lagged behind. Why would I do this to myself?

Because I'm an idiot.

So...

The Yankees had a small lead that evaporated.

They trailed.

Then they came back in the bottom of the ninth to tie it up.

Then they had a chance to win but the opportunity was taken away by one of the worst ball/strike calls I think anyone has ever seen. One can't assume anything there. 

Yes, to be clear, despite how odiously awful it was, the Yankees didn't lose the game because of that.

They lost the game because the Red Sox -- the bleepity bleep bleep bleeping bleep of bleep Red Sox -- did everything better. They get timely hits, play defense, show heart, have leadership (including their cheating bleeping bleep bleep manager) and find a way to win.

The Yankees do none of that and they've done none of that for years.

I was alive for part of the 1962-1977 drought between championships. I lived through all of the 1978-1996 drought. I actually used to lull myself to sleep thinking about the nirvana that it would be when they finally won.

Then came those glorious late 90s. The early 2000s are a little harder to describe.

Then came 2009.

Since then? A few AL Championship appearances and a few other playoffs.

No World Series appearance let alone a title.

It feels as bad as ever and yet I don't blame management or the front office but that's rarely my style.

I blame the players. That's it.

Believe me, I read enough Twitter stupidity to have me fired up.

Indeed, after trying to stay level-headed, all it took was one online troll and the final out last night for me to want to take the TV ten feet from me and treat it Elvis-style*.

*I own no firearms so that wouldn't work. I do, however, own baseball bats. That would work.

The fire was back. The rage was back. 

I looked at the troll online.

I pondered a response.

I hesitated.

No, I thought. Let them sit in their world. Don't play down to their level.

It just wouldn't go well.

Nope. Let it go.

So I did.

To the victor goes the spoils.

And the trolls.

Life goes on and there's lots of baseball to be played.

If anything, I was proud for not bending to idiocy.

Let it go. It's a reflection on them.

I let it go and went to bed.

But, the Yankees really need to get it together. Fast.

Baseball broadcasting follies

 

I was at Greenwich High School yesterday for the Cardinals' quarterfinal win against Fairfield Warde.

The crowd was the largest I've seen for a game there and I've been hanging around those parts since 1999.

Still, I find myself occasionally thinking the time has passed and was surprised to get the call, first for the FCIAC Championship Game last week and then for this game.

Suddenly, with my phone number rediscovered, I'm a hot commodity again. Greenwich and Norwalk will play in one semifinal on Tuesday night in Class LL while Westhill and McMahon will play in the earlier game.

I've been asked to call them. As of now, I hope I'll be there. I'm planning on it.

The games were initially scheduled for Municipal Stadium in Waterbury. While I've called a game there and was perfectly fine doing so on Tuesday (NEWS FLASH: I'LL GO ANYWHERE) it still didn't make a lot of sense for four teams from Fairfield County to drive to Waterbury.

I'll say this: the audience would have likely been fantastic because it wouldn't have been easy to get to those games. 

However, after some digging, Stamford's Cubeta Stadium became available. Most agreed that's where the games belonged.

What's the harm here otherwise? Who was hurt when Darien and New Canaan moved the football championship in 2013 or Greenwich and New Canaan did the same in 2018? Don't you want the most fans?

Reminder: I live in New York. I have no dog in this fight and, as mentioned a few paragraphs above, I'll go anywhere.

Norwich? Done. Windsor? Done. Salisbury? Done. Mohegan Sun? Middletown? Shelton? New Britain?

The point: I've gone, basically, to almost every corner of the state of Connecticut to call a game. So I personally don't care. I want the facility that is best for fans and also for the broadcast.

Cubeta Stadium will be jumping on Tuesday and, if the fates allow, I'll be there.

I don't assume though. If anything, I have anxiety over this stuff. I don't just announce I'm going there without talking to someone. People are working behind the scenes to get me there.

I wish we could get some of this under control, if only for my own sanity.

If it all happens, I'll be live at 3:25 p.m. Tuesday in Stamford. If not, well, then I won't be.

I'll also add that the state championship game should be under the lights -- Friday, at 7:00 p.m. -- at Cubeta. Again, it makes tons of sense. I couldn't broadcast it anyway since the CIAC and NFHS will sink their tentacles in.

However, and this is where I think they're shortsighted, there should be an audio stream. I'll repeat it again: I live in New York. There's zero chance I'll pay to watch on NFHS. Zero. Besides, people in their car or unable to watch won't want to pay either. But, a wise move would be to allow a free audio stream (not a simulcast). Then people might miss the video enough, and there would be a few more customers.

This isn't rocket science.

Oh, one last thing. Greenwich last played in a state baseball semifinal on June 8, 2004. They lost to Danbury at Muzzy Field in Bristol. 

It was a Tuesday.

That will be 17 years to the day.

The game was on WGCH.

I did the play-by-play.

The pregame show started at 3:20 p.m.

Anyway, 3:25 p.m. Tuesday.

Hopefully.

A sticky Saturday

 

I'm here literally to say hello.

It was a day of moving from one site to another. Plus it was a very hot day in the northeast.

I was back at Greenwich High School today for the showdown between GHS and Fairfield Warde. The two teams played an entertaining contest, resulting in the Cardinals moving on to the state semis on Tuesday. 

Today's final score was 5-2. Norwalk beat Ridgefield on the road, setting up a showdown between the Cardinals and Bears for the right to play in the state title game.

The game will be played at a neutral site, with Cubeta Stadium in Stamford being considered. I should add that I've also been asked already to call the contest. I'm happy to do it if I'm allowed to do so.

I truly appreciate every kind word I've received from listeners. It's almost sad that I have to remind everyone that I'm still out here, but I guess it is what it is. Still, it would just be nice to fill up my dance card much earlier. 

For instance, I already have a commitment next Saturday so I couldn't even call the state championship game if I wanted to. If only everyone would just have me keep it open but I assume I'm not needed for the state finals, despite enjoying calling them.

Otherwise, I make commitments and go where I'm wanted.

So, yes, it's been nice to remind some people that I'm still out here if you like what I do. Apparently, there are a few people.

I raced home from GHS for a lovely evening visiting with Mick, Gretchen, and Finnbar (who told Alexa the correct way to spell his name).

And now I'm tired. So is Rascal.

Tomorrow is another day.

Maskless...almost

 

You can bet that I can't wait to dump the mask.

Still, be it pressure or simply thinking I'm doing the right thing, I'm struggling to remove it entirely.

I walked into a Kohl's yesterday where a sign said clearly that masks were optional. At first, I strutted without it, almost confidently.

Then I looked around. Nearly everyone still had masks on.

Feel free to call me weak or sheep or whatever, but I put it back on. 

Baaaah.

I don't do it for me. Heck, isn't that why we were wearing the damn things in the first place? I do it for the people around me who still might not be as comfortable. In this spot, people didn't seem OK to go without.

I went to my local Stop and Shop today and it appeared to be mandated though I noticed a few shoppers were without them.

I wore mine. Then, as I've done since last March, I adjusted it when I went outside.

Now, is this a rule of mine? Not necessarily. I take each circumstance at face value and evaluate it as needed. 

I walked into a store today in Mahopac with the mask on. Seconds later, I noticed the staff weren't wearing them. There were only a few of us in there.

I took it off.

Perhaps all I'm trying to say is that I'm mindful of respecting others.

Respect. Such a silly concept, isn't it?

*****

"'Good Times' will not be seen tonight so that we may bring you the
following special program. 'Good Times' will return in its usual time next week."  

A few schedule notes while the Renegades are away:

- Back to baseball tomorrow as Greenwich and Fairfield Warde meet at Cardinal Yard in Greenwich for the right to advance to the Class LL semifinal. Thanks to the Greenwich Diamond Club for asking me. I'm really pleased.

- "The Clubhouse" will gather in person on Wednesday in Mount Kisco at Grand Prix NY. It's not only our last show for the season (we'll be back in probably September or October) but it's also a night to raise awareness for Alzheimer's research. Please come on out, won't you? I intend to be there for "Doubleheader" as well so keep me company (assuming that's all good to go).

- Next Saturday, I'm heading back to Milford, PA to call three championship games in Cal Ripken baseball/softball. As of now, I'm flying solo. Please inquire within if you would like to join me for a day of fun youth sports in a super friendly town.

Both of these outstanding events are airing on your local Robcasting station (also known as mixlr.com/robcasting-radio)

Why not hockey?

I've got the Bruins/Islanders playoff game on as I type, and...

WAIT! DON'T LEAVE!

I can hear the click of the mouse/touchpad already. I can sense your fingers swiping to something else. Stick with me.

In all that I do in sports, nothing is more challenging than interesting people in hockey (baseball is sadly second).

The thing -- as it is with any sport -- is that people don't understand it.

But here's the thing about understanding a sport: you don't need to know every last rule. You don't need to know the intricacies of icing or offside.

You just need to watch and listen. Take in the fact that these players are skating while controlling a puck (or battling for it) as they try to push it into a net that is 6x4.

Appreciate the physicality of it along with the gracefulness of it.

Listen to the skates on the ice and the sound of the puck hitting the stick. Pay attention to the whistles. You'll pick it up. You'll gather that (in short) if a defending player dumps the puck to the other end of the rink, passing the opposing red line (or end line) then you'll likely see an official put his hand up before blowing the whistle. You've just witnessed icing (again, I'm being very basic here).

If you're watching on TV or the internet, pay attention to the broadcaster. You might pick up a few things there also (at least from the good ones). Doc Emrick alone could make you care just through his passion alone while Ed Olczyk gave you just enough to explain the game.

For me, it started with Jiggs McDonald on Islanders broadcasts on channel 9.

I was a kid in the late 1970s when the Rangers made a run to the Stanley Cup Finals. I was too baseball mad to truly grasp it, but I cared. I cared more when the Islanders won the Cup the next year and, of course, the Miracle happened in Lake Placid.

Those Islanders/Rangers teams are the reason that I don't hate the Islanders, despite being a Rangers fan. I also have a healthy appreciation of the Devils. I know that's strange but that's my logic and I'm sticking with it.

Still, I was mostly about baseball, and my football love was growing rapidly. But I began watching more hockey on channel 9 with those Rangers and Islanders teams. Part of it was a form of peer pressure with some -- dare I say? -- FOMO. Most of it was wanting to understand more and embracing it.

I'd learn more as I watched Gretzky and Messier and those great Oilers teams after they took over from the Islanders in the 80s. Eventually, I began going to games -- we'd sit at the very top of the Nassau Coliseum which was not ideal but the tickets were cheap.

Of course, the 90s brought Mark Messier to New York (and, eventually, Brunswick) and the Stanley Cup was secured on Broadway.

Nirvana.

I can still remember someone who didn't think I'd make a good talk show host because I couldn't really talk hockey. Ouch, but, OK, so you can imagine how terrifying it was when former WGCH sports director John Connelly asked me to fill in for him on hockey call.

He called early that Monday -- Jan 24, 2000 -- and I resisted. I didn't have rosters. I was uncomfortable.

I was scared.

I went. I probably sucked. I can guarantee I wasn't particularly good but I took my lumps and learned from it. I learned from great analysts and friends like Harold and John Spang and Sean Kilkelly and others. I just listened to them. 

As a broadcaster, I did why I do. I described and reacted. I reported with passion and energy.

I'm not sure that I'm great at it but I learned I could hold my own. I didn't embarrass myself when Mike Richter was my analyst (talk about terrifying). 

Instead of trying to avoid calling hockey, I began to yearn to call it.

I've called 11 FCIAC hockey championships -- girls and boys. I've called several state championships. I've called two Worlds Selects championships. I've called the Bridgeport Sound Tigers (now the Bridgeport Islanders).

I can't skate. I can't coach hockey. But I can talk hockey.

And I love the sport.

And, especially now, during the Stanley Cup Playoffs, I'd be thrilled to see you try to love it too if you don't already.

An uninspired night

 

I'm uninspired tonight.

I'm working and trying to keep an eye on the Yankees and the Gades.

So here I am.

I reached out to Susan and told her how I just feel like I've got nothing. I guess I'm tired and a little -- I don't know -- down? Defeated? It's hard to say.

So she hit the "On this day" list.

And thus:

1692: Bridget Bishop is the first person tried for witchcraft in Salem, Mass. She was found guilty and later hanged.

Poor Bridget! Married three (or four) times (Wikipedia isn't clear), she was a tavern owner who was 60 when she went to the gallows. There is obviously more to her story, including the accusation that she had a third nipple, which apparently was a sure sign(!) of witchcraft!

Sounds like she was someone to hang with. Wait. That's an awkward way to put it. Perhaps she was a person to have an ale with.

1835: P.T. Barnum and his circus start their first tour of the United States.

Oh, Ol' Phineas T.! The former Connecticut politician and master showman! He was also a newspaperman, starting The Herald of Freedom in Danbury. But he also dealt with lawsuits and was jailed as a result of some of what he wrote! That pretty much ended his entry into journalism.

1896: Guglielmo Marconi applies for a patent for his wireless telegraph.

Well, well, well! Now we're talking! Marconi is the most accepted answer when looking at the question of "Who invented radio?" 

Now of course, we can muddy the water with Tesla and DeForest and Fessenden and others, but I think Guglielmo is sort of the amalgamation of everyone, thus getting the title.

He applied for and received British Patent number 12039 titled "Improvements in Transmitting Electrical impulses and Signals, and in Apparatus therefor."

In short, it was a big step in moving forward towards radio, but still years away from what we use today.

Within a year, he would transmit the message, "Are you ready?" over open water. Though the transmission was only 3.7 miles but it was impressive nonetheless. By the early 20th century, Marconi was sending transatlantic messages to Newfoundland and, eventually, from Cape Cod to England on Jan 18, 1903.

And, of course, it was on this day in 1925 that Henry Louis Gehrig -- a day after serving as a pinch-hitter -- started at first base for the New York Yankees. He replaced Wally Pipp, not due to a headache, but due to Pipp slumping. Gehrig had three hits, including a double, and Pipp became a member of the Cincinnati Reds in 1926.

Lastly, on this day in 1941, around 10 a.m., Henry Louis Gehrig died in the Riverdale section of the Bronx.

Thanks, Susan, for the inspiration.

Lou Gehrig Day

 

Tomorrow is Lou Gehrig Day around Major League Baseball.

In short, baseball will honor The Iron Horse by remembering the man while raising awareness and money for amyotrophic lateral sclerosis research -- the disease that killed him. Other details are listed here.

But, for me, I'm just happy to see Gehrig getting recognition.

I was probably the one person who didn't want Cal Ripken to surpass Lou's consecutive game streak in 1995. One of my main reasons was that I didn't want Gehrig to simply become a footnote. I felt that only the disease stopped his streak and that can't be denied.

Lou was never flashy. Despite his prowess, he always played second fiddle -- first to Babe Ruth and then to Joe DiMaggio. He was without either one of them for only 1935.

Any publicity was the work of early sports agent Christy Walsh, as well as Gehrig's wife, Eleanor. Otherwise, Lou was content to just put up ridiculous numbers.

Sure, he's still regarded as the greatest first baseman ever. In some circles (mine included) he's still a top-10 player. 

Only ALS kept him from 500 home runs (or more). Perhaps he could have reached 3,000 hits.

Of course, we'll never know.

Gehrig was famously honored on July 4, 1939 between games of a doubleheader at Yankee Stadium and spoke the words that will never be forgotten.

"Today I consider myself the luckiest man on the face of the Earth."

Tomorrow, we get to remember Lou Gehrig. He was the only child of Christina and Heinrich to survive as his three siblings died at a young age. 

He was a mama's boy and Christina dominated his life.

He attended Columbia, first on a football scholarship before his baseball playing took over.

He was quiet and was generally well-thought-of throughout baseball. I've literally never read a bad word about him.

He loved his wife, Eleanor, who was also a dominant force in his life.

He also held his own as a teammate with the mighty Ruth.

I've long believed that I would have been a monster Gehrig fan had I lived during that era. As it is, I've studied his life and career extensively.

It was 96 years ago tomorrow that Gehrig became the Yankees' first baseman and he wouldn't give it up until ALS ended it on May 2, 1939.

His name is the guiding light for the awful disease that many continue to live with. 

If you can, please tip your cap to number four.

And let's do what we can to continue to fight ALS.

Remember on Memorial Day

Omaha Beach, 2019 (AP Photo/Thibault Camus)

No long post today. I have literally nothing more to add than to post a link to a story written by Susan.

It's her final Memorial Day section -- a special portion of the Darien Times that she actually had to fight to get published over these last few years.

That, in and of itself, is sad. Susan knew her community and the relationship it felt with the paper. Not everyone gets that.

When she asked me about a dedication for this year's edition, I suggested she thank everyone, with specific regard to those lost (it is Memorial Day after all). It felt like the perfect approach. I knew what Memorial Day meant to her. I knew what her friendship with the late Gene Coyle meant as well and I'm so sorry I forgot to mention him in my speech honoring Susan on Friday. Speaker's regret.

I also didn't mention Susan's father. I really suck.

Anyway, I know her dedication was along those lines and I take no credit because I also know she was thinking of something similar.

Anyway, this is probably the final special Memorial Day section in the Darien Times and I think that's terrible. It shows that Susan understood the community she covered. A community journalist entrenches themselves. They're not there for clicks or cheap stories. They're there to tell the stories without bias and with integrity.

They sit and cry with you and laugh with you and let you yell at them (sometimes to the point of it being abusive).

There's so much more I'd like to say and names that I'd like to name but, as with all stories, they take time to tell.

Like this one, told by Susan, which begins in 1942.

And thank you, brave souls, for your sacrifice so that we can have the freedom that we have.

(Please note: if the Hearst overlords don't allow you to see this story because they want you to pay for it, go here. The story should be read.)

Printed legitimacy

 

My view for the "Renegades Weekly" podcast

For as long as I can remember, Baseball America has published a directory of individuals in baseball. It covers the majors and the minors and other key personnel in the game.

I know I've owned a few editions over the years, including one that I bought at the Winter Meetings in New Orleans in 2003.

Each time I'd tear it apart to learn who did what for which team. I'm pretty sure that's how I found out that Sean Ford was the Renegades broadcaster 20 years ago.

I thought it would be nice to see the 2021 edition, which only came out a few weeks ago.

*****

I had a feeling there was no need to go to the stadium today but we have to go through the motions. Rick Zolzer does his Sunday talk show and I've become a de facto producer/on-site engineer and even a guest. 

I handled those duties and we found out the game was officially off due to the rain just as we were going off the air.

After that, Zach Neubauer and I did our "Renegades Weekly" podcast, which also frees me up tomorrow to do literally not a blasted thing.

With everything done, I decided to take a ride to Barnes and Noble in Poughkeepsie. According to their website, they actually had a copy of the Baseball American Directory. Honestly, I simply wanted to see it before I even considered plunking down $31 (plus tax).

I drove up as the rain poured down.

I walked in.

I went upstairs. Nope, sports is downstairs.

I found sports and...

and...

The book wasn't there.

I didn't hesitate to walk to the customer service desk. A nice girl working behind the counter was sympathetic, looking at the ISBN number on my phone.

"It's possible we have one," she said. "But the website might also be wrong."

We walked back to sports together. I was right in that the book wasn't on the shelf.

"I'll look in the back," she said.

Seconds later, she reemerged with a copy in her hand. I thanked her, took it in my hands, and opened it up.

It was smaller than I remembered and, for a moment, I wondered if it was only for the big leagues.

And then?

I saw it. A headline.

"HUDSON VALLEY RENEGADES"

My eyes scanned the format that I've long been familiar with. There was the office address and phone number and the website. There was the ownership and management. There were the names of my colleagues, superiors, and friends. Steve Gliner, Rick Zolzer, Joe Ausanio, Tysen Jeffers, and Tom Hubmaster. 

It would appear that Zach Neubauer joined after the notes went out for publication. That can also be said about Dan Fiorito and the on-field staff.

And then?

There it was, near the bottom of page 126. Radio Announcer: Nancy and Don's youngest child.

It felt like a coronation. It felt real.

I needed a moment to compose myself before I walked up front and bought it.

One small line of text made the book worth the purchase.

I've never been jaded. I look up in wonder every time my face pops up on the video board or when my voice is heard. I marvel at each tweet that includes my play-by-play (though less so when I don't like the call).

I still smile when I hear something I've done on WGCH.

Like, is this real? Have I really done this?

Yes, apparently, I have.

I've also received a few really kind words from fans, including a couple that trickled back via Rick Zolzer. Plus there were other kind things said from the FCIAC game on Friday.

I definitely appreciate them, despite my preference for "no news being good news."

We'll make today's game up as part of a doubleheader on Friday, June 18. The Gades are now on the road until June 15.

Right now, I have no games until then but we know anything can happen.

When people ask for my bona fides, I'll direct them to the 2021 Baseball America Directory, plage 126. 

(Using an old HVR logo, I might add)

I'm there. 

Finally.

Fate

 

The calm before the storm?

fate [ feyt ]

noun

1. the development of events beyond a person's control, regarded as determined by a supernatural power.

I'm more of what you would call a spiritual fellow.

I buy into fate.

Wow, did it deal some cards yesterday.

I had an early appointment in the morning that I had to make so, despite having been out to call the Gades and getting home after midnight, I was in the car and (grumpily) on the road by 7 a.m.

Over an hour later, I sat in beautiful Fairfield, CT where I could get some wifi and crank out the daily reports for Steve Gliner (and me, for that matter).

Wisely, I had packed my trusty Zoom Podtrax P4 in case Zach Neubauer wanted to record "Rob's Roundup." I'm always toting some equipment around just in case a call falls in my lap.

Huh. Keep that in mind. #Preparation

I expected to go to Fairfield, do things around Fairfield County, then buzz home, pick up Sean (maybe record "Rob's Roundup" there) and head to Dutchess Stadium.

Along came fate, part one. Kevin Devaney, Jr texted me about the FCIAC baseball championship. I knew Greenwich and Fairfield Warde were the participants and I was on the call when Greenwich and Fairfield (pre-"new" Warde) met in the 2004 title game.

It seemed crazy for me but I knew Kevin was in a bind. Could I get to Stamford, call the game, get back to Mahopac, pick up Sean, and get to Dutchess Stadium AND keep my sanity?

I had equipment. I had a headset, the P4, a larger mixer if needed, other microphones and cables, etc.

I asked Susan and, at first, she was supportive of whatever I thought was best. I could read between the lines and, finally, she admitted to me that she thought I should do it.

I admit I've felt a little left behind by the FCIAC and just wondered if it was over. I'm still not convinced it's not over.

But, fate. I got to work on building up my knowledge base of Greenwich and Warde and always had my reserve of 20 years of FCIAC baseball knowledge. I was in.

So onto Stamford I went, struggling in the Memorial Day weekend holiday traffic.

I made my way into Cubeta Stadium where I was greeted by FCIAC Commissioner Dave Schulz.

"You've got a voice!" I said.

"Not just any voice," he replied. "The best voice!"

I was flying high now. I was bouncing like that GIF of WWE Chairman Vince McMahon.

I wrote the lineups. I had the rosters. I had notes from Greenwich, thanks to former player Luc Thibeault and Zach Karson.

I felt like Sally Field. “This time I feel it. And I can’t deny the fact that you like me. Right now, you like me!”

Someone asked where I have been. I'm still here, friends. I'm here for any school or organization that wants me. I treasure the games and these years. 

I know it's fleeting and, today, that's all over, but it felt great at the moment. So I called the game, working with the great DJ Furano as my trusty cameraman. 

Warde beat Greenwich 9-0. I know Cardinals fans are disappointed and maybe even upset at me but I try to give the fairest broadcast possible. I like both schools and, regardless, I have to be impartial. Only my knowledge of GHS can lean the needle slightly, but I had Shawn Sailer on standby in case more Warde info was needed.

People texted me and messaged me throughout the day, making me feel like I was an old friend who had come home. They were beyond kind.

In the meantime, I had already heard that the Renegades game might be off. Nobody minded that I was calling the FCIAC and they knew I'd fly to the stadium, but the stress could be lightened with a delay and/or postponement.

I got the text that the Gades game was off before the FCIAC game was over. That changed the tenor of the day entirely.

Again, fate.

I knew there would be a party in Darien at 5 p.m. to honor Susan. It had been a source of friction all week. She likes the attention on the newspaper and the stories but never on her. Worst of all, the one person she might have wanted there (I could be wrong) would be in a booth in Wappingers Falls. No question I was bummed about that.

But now, as it was past 3:30, there it was like a hanging curveball. It was already on my mind before she texted me.

"Can you come today then?"

Of course, I could. I was already planning on it. I texted Sean, told him I'd order him dinner, texted Jeff Semancik at Z93 and told him to prepare for a doubleheader on Saturday, and met Susan in Darien.

Despite her reservations, I tried to get a few other friendly faces to wander to the party as a late surprise. I never wanted her to go through this alone if only to have someone to lean on.

I joked that I'd speak at the party. Shockingly, Darien first selectman Jayme Stevenson had already asked.

The party was quite nice, even with Susan's modest reservations. Friday, May 28th, 2021 was named "Susan Shultz Day" in Darien. A proclamation from the CT General Assembly was also read by State Rep. Terrie Wood.

(Note: I had predicted both of those things)

But this was far more than political types speaking. The outpouring of love was amazing and something that her former employers at Hearst should have to hear and have smothered on their eyelids.

Her former intern spoke. The owner of the Darien News Store made sure to visit and was too visibly emotional to speak. Other people whom Susan had impacted spoke of their love for her. A note was read from the Darien police department.

What could I add?

Fate.

Fate that I was there. Fate that I knew so much about the ins and outs of the Darien Times and the town. 

I didn't even get into the fate of our friendship, which started because she knew I was the one person at the Wilton Bulletin who would actually respond to her about stories.

It finally hit me, as I knew Susan would not speak -- and she made that clear -- that I was sort of her...wait for it..."voice."

Yes. Me. "The Voice of Susan."

"What would she say?" John Sini asked me.

I kept it simple.

"She'd say, 'Thank you, Darien.'"

She'd want to thank you for allowing her to tell your stories.

She cried. I tried not to.

People hugged and said it was the party with the most soul they'd ever been to.

Fate poured down like the drenching rain outside that I walked through, carrying the proclamations and gifts back to my car.

Fate got me back home.

I doubt I'll ever appreciate a rainstorm more than last night.

New York, New York

 

It started in 1980 and I can remember hearing it as I prepared to leave Yankee Stadium.

"Start spreading the news. I'm leaving today..."

It just sounded right. So full of grace and class. A song about the city. Not, not just any city.

The City.

"I want to be a part of it..."

And with all due respect to literally anyone else singing the John Kander/Fred Ebb tune, there's really only one true version.

Frank Sinatra, baby. Francis Albert. "The Chairman of the Board," which is also Whitey Ford's nickname.

Sinatra. Dodgers fan. Yet he granted George Steinbrenner permission to play the song at Yankees games. Take that, Tommy Lasorda.

Oh, it's been played at other sporting events, such as the Rangers, and of course, the high-stepping version that Liza Minella did on the field at Shea Stadium at Sep 11, 2001.

The Yankees tried at one point to use Minelli's version after losses and Sinatra's after wins. That actually works well but Minelli didn't appreciate it and the idea was shelved.

So it's all Frank now.

It's got the obnoxiousness we New Yorkers appreciate but it's also got that gravitas that other songs just can't touch.

You can have "Sweet Caroline" and "Dirty Water." 

We have Sinatra.

I appreciated it when I heard places like Trumbull's Babe Ruth baseball program play the song -- correctly titled "Theme from New York, New York" -- following games at Trumbull High School.

Even in Connecticut, it just sounded right.

And now, I'm so proud that I'm hearing it at Dutchess Stadium. At least after wins, Sinatra's voice boomed out of the PA system. I hope that continues because, selfishly, it makes my heart feel good.

It sounds like baseball and the Yankees.

For what it's worth, it would also make my mom smile, as she loved that song.

"Play it louder so you can feel the bass," she'd say.

So I'd like to think there would be a little pride in that.

The Gades play the Yankees' classic theme song, "Here Come the Yankees," when the team takes the field each night. Playing "Theme from New York, New York" only caps things off.

I had no influence on the decision but I love that the crew in the PA booth are playing these songs.

It's great to listen to as I do the postgame and write my game story. There's a lesson in the coda of "Theme from New York, New York"  -- punctuated magnificently by Sinatra -- that anyone can appreciate.

"If I can make it there, I'm gonna make it anywhere. 

"It's up to you New. York. New YOOOOORRRRRRRKKKKK.

"NEW YOOOOORRRRRRRRRKKKKKKKKKKK."

And the crescendo crashes to its end.

It's the perfect end to the night.

Bravo, Renegades.

Here's to spreading the news again tonight.

Four hours? Didn't feel like it

You never want to see the tarp on the field

The dark skies were an ominous sign.

Games in Brooklyn, Somerset (NJ), and the Bronx had all been postponed.

The radar looked questionable and the tarp was on the field.

Yet, with just a 16-minute delay, the Renegades played and completed a 10 inning contest last night at Dutchess Stadium.

The result? Jersey Shore 6, Hudson Valley 3. The Gades had a lead going into the ninth before the BlueClaws tied it with two out and then won it in the 10th.

Total time on the air, including commercials? Three hours and fifty-six minutes.

Somehow, it didn't feel like that.

Don't get me wrong, as it wasn't the most crisply-played game ever. There were errors, passed balls, wild pitches, a manager ejection, mound visits, a balk, moments of heavy rain, and perhaps more that I'm forgetting.

In a remarkable newsflash, it was hardly flawless play-by-play by the broadcaster either.

Yet I soaked it all up.

Granted, I sat for the call, which isn't entirely usual. I stand so often unless the circumstances are prime for me to sit.

My position at Dutchess Stadium doesn't make standing easy as I have equipment that would block my view.

So I sit on a high stool and call the action.

As we went on the air at 7 p.m. -- five minutes before our normal first pitch -- I had to fill some time due to the threat of the weather. So I read the league leaders and the standings and the schedule and described what I was watching on the field.

It was only 21 minutes of fill time before the first pitch and the National Anthem took up a few of those, so it wasn't really heavy lifting.

Poor Sean didn't have the option of sitting, as he stood behind a camera until I implored him to rest between innings.

Having suffered from foot pain my entire life, I sympathize with him.

Other camera people stood and endured the weather. None of us were immune from the events of the evening. The entire crew made the night work.

On the way home, I warned Sean of what is yet to come.

"We're just getting started," I said. "We haven't had a real four-hour-plus slobber knocker yet."

We haven't dealt with a long rain delay yet, either.

He's just getting started and learning to love it and I actually think he does.

And, clearly, when it settles in, I love it all too.

Nearly four hours on the air and nearly eight in the ballpark? 

Sure! Why not?

You have to be a little crazy to do what we do.

From last night

 

Shockingly, I enjoyed last night's broadcast.

I was pleased with telling stories on Tradition Tuesday. Talk about the 1936 Yankees? Sure, I can do that.

I tried to stop at times for some natural sound. But I also tried to laugh (mostly at myself) and let listeners know what a joy it is to call baseball.

The descriptions felt good also.

And, yes, I'll nitpick. I blew the final out. My position isn't great and I missed the movement on the pitch. What I thought was a two-seam fastball with movement was more likely a sweeping slider or another breaking pitch. That gnaws at me as I see it shared on social media (and as I type this).

Totally on me.

I make dumb mistakes. I know that. 

I need to chill. I'm my own worst enemy.

But Sean was happy, actually doing a fist pump when he saw the replay (replay? Yes!) of a home run that he shot.

We both gave the night a passing grade.

As for feedback, I didn't receive any from anyone (save for an "I enjoyed listening") and I'm completely fine with that. No nitpicks from anyone else. No praise. No criticisms. Nothing.

Technical concerns were limited to my light in the booth not working. A minor inconvenience as I used my iPhone when needed.

Plus it was a game that was just great. A 3-2 Gades win. Good pitching, timely hitting, minimal base-on-balls, two mound visits all night. It was crisp and fun.

I suppose the point is I did my job and it went fine. 

Let's do it again today.

Last night is gone.

Momentum is today's broadcast.

Mamba Out

 

I've reached an impasse.

I considered naming this post "Rob Adams's Day Off" but I felt that it's really not a day off for me. In fact, I'm working right now. I've already recorded a segment for the Renegades. I've been creating reports for the Gades and still have research and a game to call.

Plus, I'm writing this.

I'm considering a full day off next Monday on Memorial Day. Why not? I have nowhere to go or be with. Sean will be gone and it will be just Rascal and me. So no "Doubleheader" and maybe (probably/hopefully?) nothing else. I might jump in the car and just...go.

Or I might just sit here and shut down.

Will I post? Probably. I've done 878 days in a row of...something. It's hard to predict the future. I can barely predict the day.

Anyway, this is the post for today. 

Thanks for stopping by.

Ladies and gentlemen, Mr. Marvin Gaye.

Not feeling it

 

I started to write.

I deleted it.

Some nights I just don't like the flow or the topic or whatever. 

Instead, I'm content to just admit defeat tonight and walk away.

Back at the ballpark tomorrow.

I've also taken on a depo job in the morning (after rejecting one that would have started at 3:30 a.m.).

So I'll work for a few hours and go to the stadium.

I'll be able to put some reports together and do game prep as the case goes on tomorrow morning.

Then? Baseball.

Let's try again tomorrow.

(Note: I'm not blue or down. More mellow than anything else and uninspired. So I thought of the Blues and that led me to "Kind of Blue" which is among the greatest and most brilliant albums ever created. Nothing deeper than that.)