The Cellphone Case

 

I mentioned that I got a new cellphone on Friday.

Whatever jokes you want to offer, I like it. Apple has suited me for several years and I've enjoyed having their products ever since I got my first i...Pod way back in probably 2005.

But the tech world is always littered with secondary products. Thus with getting a new phone comes the realization that accessories might be needed or wanted.

In my case, that means a case and a shield for the glass. While I appreciate the higher end of that market, the rational side of me says a quick trip to Five Below will suit me just fine. That's where I've gotten some of the stuff I've used for a few years.

When I got my iPhone XR, I went to the nearby Five Below or Marshalls -- it was one or the other -- and grabbed a reasonably priced case. It did the job.

Sometime later, a couple of angels conspired to get me a new phone case. One gave the other my address and, suddenly, a package appeared in my mailbox.

I was the recipient of a new conversation piece: an iPhone case with a Waffle House menu on it.

It really did people talking occasionally. I'd take my phone out for some reason (let's face it, I rarely need a reason) and a puzzled glance would come across someone nearby.

"Is that...a Waffle House menu?" they'd ask. Others went for the more direct, "What IS that?"

I could gaze at it whenever I wanted. Perched near the opening for the camera was my very favorite thing: The All-Star Special. Oh, I didn't need to ponder it. I always know what I'll be ordering: scrambled eggs with cheese, hash browns covered, white toast, ham, coffee, and a plain waffle.

There are occasions where I ponder switching it up but I always just come right back to the All-Star. 

Yet, once I popped open my iPhone 13 on Friday, it was all over. The new phone wouldn't fit in that delicious case. Wait, I mean the case with all the deliciousness on it. I was hoping it hadn't changed but that would be too easy.

So, as I alluded to, I traveled the world through TWO snow squalls looking for the proper accessories. I looked for something with a little personality. I looked around the interwebs for some new Waffle House gloriousness.

It was not to be.

It took three Five Below visits (Cortlandt, Danbury, and Poughkeepsie) before I found an acceptable case along with the glass protection. 

Yeah, I know Apple has gotten better at making the phones a little more durable but I'm an unlucky klutz so forgive me. I'm more comfortable having these things.

I found, basically, a plain black rubberized thing that surrounded the phone with a clear window on the bak that allowed the blue shell of the phone to be seen in all its glory.

Which, I suppose is a small victory.

Still, it's no Waffle House menu.

I need to visit the real thing.

Soon.

Cover the Games: A Simple Answer

 

The crowd at Trumbull High School for the 2020 FCIAC Girls Basketball Championship

It was a very quiet day around the homestead and I hoped to catch up on stuff.

I need a new phone case (hint: I didn't find any at a reasonable cost) so I decided to go walk around Danbury, CT.

While there, I got a message that the FCIAC girls basketball quarterfinals weren't being covered by any broadcaster. Now, this doesn't surprise me but it still saddens me. To be clear, next Saturday's boys quarters will likely also not have coverage.

Now, let me repeat part of that again: I was walking around Danbury, CT looking for a cell phone case and running menial errands. Down at Staples High School, in Westport, CT, four girls basketball games proceeded without broadcasts.

Oh, they had great Twitter and print coverage without a doubt (including Shawn Sailer). But nobody -- no students, no professionals, broadcast the games.

And I was shopping. I bought milk, coffee, food at Stew Leonard's, and a shower curtain liner. I also got gas for the car.

Sad.

Now, I'll be on the semis and finals (girls and boys basketball, and I'm also supposed to be on hockey as well). 

Look, I need to make a living and pay bills. That is 100% true. But I also could have brought Robcasting to Staples High Shool and called all four games. Yes, money would be best (and only fair) but a polo shirt, any other swag, and my meals aren't too much to ask. I called a game one time at Fairfield Ludlowe as a favor and I got a gift card for dinner to say thank you.

In short, you could also promote Robcasting with a banner or something to say thank you. You could have the public address announcer mention the broadcast. Basically, you could pump me up a bit. 

All would work as a form of "payment."

I want the athletes to get coverage, even if it's just audio or a minimal video. Often, you having me call the game does me a favor by getting me out of the house and giving me something to do. It's a win-win and I feel like I'm doing something good.

This is the exact approach I'll use for the CHSGHA girls hockey playoffs in March. I lose money on those games but if people appreciate it, I deal with it.

I've done it with plenty of others as well.

Still, and I can't repeat this enough, it should be a paid gig.

And while I'm talking, playoffs and championships should be handled by professionals. There are exceptions, of course, but I can cite too many examples of broadcasts that were and are unacceptable.

At the end of the day, I'm one of the few who cares. Thus, it's my problem.

To that end, I'm messing around with my new ESPN+ subscription. I wanted to see and hear some baseball. I've tried out two college games. 

Sheesh.

The first game featured a terrible sync up between audio and video. Then there was the commentary, provided by "Mr. Radio Voice." Having "the voice" doesn't always mean using "the voice." Just call the damn game.

The second game has a questionable choice of camera placement, not to mention shaky camera work. The broadcaster has some chops but is raw. He'll get better.

In both cases, the broadcasters are being repetitive. Change that up a bit and it will be better. Don't just say, "The pitch," before every...ahem...pitch. Or, "Here's that 0-2," before the 0-2 pitch each time. 

There's a reason Doc Emrick used over 150 different terms for a pass in a broadcast. While that's extreme, variety is a delightful spice of broadcasting.

Being original is great but don't necessarily try to reinvent the wheel. Not that I know anybody like that *cough* *cough*.

So, to recap: four FCIAC girls basketball playoff games happened in Westport. I went shopping in Danbury, drove through two snow squalls including one in a whiteout, and am now watching poorly-produced college baseball games from my couch. 

Oh, and I took a nap at one point.

I'm old. Remember?

The crowd at Wilton High School for the 2020 FCIAC Boys Basketball Championship

The New Phone

 

It was past time for me to upgrade my cell phone.

Of course, me being me, this took far longer and more research than necessary.

Something would talk me out of pulling the trigger every time. The monthly cost was too high, I didn't like what came with it, the phone was out of stock, I didn't like the color. Literally, anything.

But my older phone was beginning to show some age and it felt best to get a good trade-in and move on once and for all. So, finally, I jumped.

The process, in the end, was mostly painless. It however reminded me of the painstaking process of setting up my mother's phone each time.

Well, she wasn't going to do it. Thus, it fell to me.

One thing I allowed myself was a phone with larger storage. I didn't go for a better camera and maybe I should have but I figured I have a fairly decent point-and-shoot camera still and the camera on this phone should do the job just fine.

But I decided I was done with using older devices as a repurposed MP3 player. I wanted my music and anything else on my phone.

It's part of my master plan to put on a pair of headphones, take something to knock me out, and listen to tunes as I sleep from New York to London in April.

Or on the train into New York in March.

Or in the car.

It was time to move into the 21st century in this regard.

So I went through the process of loading the phone with music tonight. There are nearly 17,000 songs on my older laptop so I decided to not overthink it.

Shocking, I know.

While it would have been easiest to just sync everything, I wanted a little more control so I opted to do it manually.

Look, some things are obvious. Almost all music by Huey Lewis, The Beatles, Billy Joel, and Messrs. McCartney, Lennon, and Harrison made the cut. I don't think I have much of Mr. Starkey, to be honest.

Certain complications from the above group didn't make it because I probably don't need every version of "The Heart of Rock & Roll." Studio? Yes. Live? Sure, a couple of different versions, please. But each version of "Sports"* plus greatest hits albums? Come on. Even I can't be that crazy.

I have four different versions of "Sports": the original, "expanded edition," Original Master Recordings, and 30th Anniversary Deluxe. It's a sickness but I'm the fool that falls for marketing.

Still, there's the album/original version of "Pretty in Pink" and the soundtrack version from the movie of the same name. Both by the Psychedelic Furs, of course. Many prefer the original. I love both.

The beauty of this exercise was just that: I could pick whatever I bloody well want!

If I didn't want to include Billy Joel's Russian concert album ("Концерт") or his efforts pre-solo years (don't ask if you've never heard it) then I could with ease.

If I wanted to weigh myself down with jazz then you knew I would. So Miles Davis and Dave Brubeck and Charlie Parker and Louis Armstrong and Duke Ellington and Charles Mingus and John Coltrane and Benny Goodman all made the cut.

This always allows me the chance to see just much...awfulness I also have. I've acquired stuff from others over the years and always find myself in that spot of wondering if it's time to delete some things. Of course, the downside -- especially as a purveyor of production -- is that someone might need a certain song for a certain spot.

Or it's needed when I'm handling music and public address duties.

Or, as does happen with me, something or someone turns me onto the song or the artist and I suddenly enjoy that I have it in my collection. I can never thank Susan enough for making me care more about Joni Mitchell, for instance.

Then it's exciting to have Abba or Enya or Adele or something else that had basically a slim to no chance of winding up on my phone.

At least not this time around, and no offense intended to host artists. The point is there are a lot of things that I own that I find myself wondering exactly where I got that from.

Still, every picture tells a story (Rod Stewart, and no I don't have that). Or, in this case, maybe every song tells a story?

The music stretches across decades, from "Take Me Out to the Ballgame" recorded in 1908 to the earliest work by Louis Armstrong in 1925 to "McCartney III" by, well, the GOAT and "Weather" by Huey Lewis and the News (that other "GOAT") in 2020.

Nothing from 2021, apparently.

Oh I'll no doubt be looking for a song or an album one day when it will strike me that I didn't sync it to my phone. That's the downside of this, of course, but I'll take that in exchange for the ability to review what I own.

And cringe.

Well, at least some of it.

Oh and the deal with Verizon came with Hulu, Disney Plus, and ESPN Plus, which will make the sting less noticeable when I turn cable off.

He got the honor of the first picture

blah blah blah Rob Wants a Road Trip blah blah blah

 

2019

It's the middle of February and I'm feeling the pull of the road.

Last week's wrestling drive to New Jersey didn't quite satisfy me. Simply the snow that was falling at that hour took a lot of that joy away.

It all got me thinking about February in the 1980s when we'd pile into the silver Chevy Impala and begin the drive to Florida to visit my grandparents.

For those expecting Waffle House on those trips, you'd actually be wrong. In fact, leaving Mahopac early in the morning meant grabbing breakfast most likely at the Olympic Diner over on US 6. While my father always preferred the Crompond Diner in Yorktown, the Olympic was open 24/7. The Crompond opened at 6 a.m. and my dad -- generally -- wanted to be further down the road by then.

Can you see now where I got the love of driving early from?

Our place of choice on the road was always Howard Johnson's (RIP). I knew the locations, basically, of each one and if there was an attached hotel/motor lodge.

As the next meal time would approach, Dad would consult the computer (my brain) for the location of the nearest HOJO's.

As we might be on the road around 5 a.m., that lined us up to be in the Richmond, VA area at lunch. Thus, I knew the exit for VA Route 10 would yield a Howard Johnson's on the right side just off the ramp.

Of course, back then, I was also juggling handing my father toll money, either for the NJ Turnpike, Baltimore Harbor Tunnel, or the Richmond-Petersburg Turnpike. 

By dinner time, if we were on our game, we'd hit Florence, SC at Exit 164. Again, a right turn would produce a comfy HOJO's where we'd spend the night. Dinner and breakfast would both be consumed there.

In the morning, I'd experience the most delightful bliss. After my father consumed the Big Breakfast and myriad cups of coffee, we'd climb back in the Impala. My mother and sister would take the back seat, perhaps ready to sleep some more as it was pitch black outside, and I'd have my maps ready to go up front (not needed, of course). I was also in charge of the (AM) radio.

Yes, even up to our last trip in 1986, we only had an AM radio. That is until I started carrying my Panasonic AM/FM boom box. Then we had FM and cassettes, so long as we had batteries.

But, most wonderful of all, it was mostly some trucks and us heading south on I-95. I can still remember asking my dad -- sometime in the early 80s -- why trucks would flash their lights at us as they finished passing. At the same time, why was he passing them?

"It was courtesy," he explained, a language that truck drivers (which he was one of) knew. "I'm telling them they have room to pull in front of us and they're thanking me."

I never forgot and still do it to this day. Don't get me wrong -- I'm sure you do it also -- but I always felt like it was a little top of the steering wheel to the old man.

The job of being his co-pilot was one I treasured with my tasks of radio changing and HOJO's finding and toll paying and other duties as assigned. One of those was always waiting for the exit at Jacksonville, FL when he'd try to remember if that was the right way to go. Thus, I'd chime in.

"Yes, we take 295 around to 10," I'd say, even if "he knew."

The drive to and from Florida is one that I'd absolutely love to do though I know it would be much different than when my dad was alive. For one thing, he insisted on a sit-down meal every time. That's not my style at all. I'm pretty content to grab a sandwich at Wawa or Sheetz. Breakfast, needless to say, would likely be at...come on, sing along!

Waffle House.

Either way, I just like to keep moving.

But style differences wouldn't be the only thing to change. Traffic pinch points are different. The grind of certain spots -- looking at you, northern Virginia -- is worse than ever.

We would rarely consider a different route unless we were trying to change things up back in the 70s and 80s. My brain now is constantly spinning with how to get around the mess known as Washington, D.C.

Lodging is also different. Howard Johnson's just aren't what they were. For one thing, their beds fit my dad's physical concerns best given his constant pain due to arthritis.

Now, it would depend on where we were stopping. 

I always loved packing the car and bringing a jacket just for the morning in New York. By the afternoon, whether due to warmer temperatures or just plain stubbornness, the jacket would be in the trunk. It was no longer necessary.

That day is coming. That early morning departure is one the way.

A road trip is good for my soul.

I look forward to it.

Thanks for letting me babble.

It Was Almost Over

 

I'm working on a deposition tonight. I logged in at 10 p.m. for the 11 p.m. start.

OK, I actually logged in around 9:15.

The rest of the day was trying to stay ahead of a lost night of sleep after a lost night of sleep. I also had Brunswick and Greenwich Country Day in basketball.

I kept reminding myself to find a few minutes to write but, well, here we are.

It's 11:40 p.m. as I begin typing.

All of a sudden, as I watched the US/Canada women's gold medal hockey game, I realized I had not visited the blog.

So, here we are, with a few random thoughts before midnight.

I suppose I should take a moment to thank the many people who reached out publicly and privately since last night's post went live. I'm touched by the overwhelming love I got.

Let me clarify something: many have mentioned my next gig and so on. The truth is the Renegades for me in 2021 was a part-time job. Of course, given my insanity along with my love of baseball and broadcasting, I focused on it a lot more than most. It might have seemed like it was full-time.

But I have depositions (which I'm working on now), Local Live and Brunswick, Robcasting, Hunt Scanlon, and other freelance jobs. Hunt Scanlon alone will take me to London in April, San Francisco in September, and New York City a few more times.

The Renegades job was a driving force from May until September last year. As last summer went on I turned down plenty of gigs, especially video depositions that would have netted me better money.

So, in terms of future endeavors, I'll still be quite busy. The Renegades' position was a chance for stability and benefits in 2022, which I certainly long for.

That being said, there are things on the horizon. Maybe. Possibly.

If not, then we'll look into other things.

But there's no question the things I want the most are stability and health benefits. 

The road is full but also can easily change and we'll see what's next.

I can't deny that it's crossed my mind to 1) walk away from broadcasting or 2) back off to being more of a nights and weekends broadcaster as availability opens. That's where I say things will be interesting in the next stretch.

That being said, I'm not closing the door. Nor am I likely walking away. The words of the past 24 hours make it clear that I'm not bad at it.

In Case You Missed It

To quote Billy Joel: "I've loved these days."

I made an announcement last Friday night but, I admit, I buried it in another post

The news is that I'm not going back to the Renegades this year.

It was by design. It was news that I've been sitting on for basically two months. I had run how to say it through my mind a bunch of times.

I was going to do a fake press conference.

I was going to do a fake press release.

I was going to say nothing.

I was going to say something.

Patience was required in the process. I had told a few people quietly. I needed time to process it along with allowing the holidays to get out of the way (I found out in December). Then we were supposed to meet in January but life gets busy. So I just stayed quiet.

Let me be clear: the team said they loved me and wanted to keep me around. Maybe one day that conversation will happen. That tends to keep me from taking any of this personally. This is really just the side of the business that is, frankly, dirty.

So, despite my staying mostly quiet, the last few weeks have brought varying degrees of chatter and, as such, I felt it was finally time to say it.

As I watched a busy day at Brunswick last Friday, and after talking with the Bruins' baseball coach, I felt like I found a way to say it and move on. So that's what I did.

I got some reaction to the post, with one of them pointedly being that I should have given the announcement its own post.

With that said, here we are. I've decided to simply reprint what I wrote last week. I also announced it on "Doubleheader" today.

Life is funny. I'm realistic but you never know what will happen so I close no doors. I leave them we walking back in can happen again.

So, friends, here we are. As I wrote last Friday, I will hopefully have a full spring of Brunswick baseball (and more)...

And what it leads me to finally come out and say -- deep breath -- is that I won't be calling the Hudson Valley Renegades in 2022.

I'm actually surprised nobody caught on to my social media accounts. I changed each and every one of them by the time I exited I-84 for the Taconic Parkway back on Dec. 21. I expected a phone call or text that night.

Yes, Christmas was a little gloomier, if I'm being 100% honest. I'll miss it more than I can possibly describe. Simply working with Sean was priceless, let alone being a "voice" in the Yankees organization.

I'm still hurt. Sad. Bummed. Let's not sugarcoat it. 

But I treasure the whole ride of 2021. I'm proud of every one of those 61 broadcasts. It wasn't enough but it never is. I really wanted the chance to do it all in a "normal" year but that's not where the road will be leading me. 

I put heart and soul into it, as I do with everything. I still believe we put on the best broadcast in High A East if not all of High A. That's a testament to a great crew. I just talked.

I'm grateful to literally everyone involved and now look forward, though I'll look back at magical memories from time to time. I thought it was a thing I'd do for years but that wasn't reality.

I have many friends there, including my own son who will likely continue doing games for them. That's his decision.

As for me, 2022 will be paved differently. I'll be on a plane to London as the first home game is being played at Dutchess Stadium. I can't think of too many better places for me to be.

There are friends who want me to pursue some other baseball jobs and I just wonder if my time is done. I'm 53 and that's been made abundantly clear to me.

Right now, my focus is on my next broadcast and the search for a place to live and making money to afford that place to live and cleaning the place I currently live in and...

So there we go. It's gotten its own post. Its own mention. 

I visited the great Mel Allen's grave before the season started last year and promised to honor those before me in the world of Yankees broadcasters. I've done that. I did my best and received very favorable reviews.

All good. The news is now out there. My emotions are still all over the place. I can actually see some good.

It's done.

With that said, now we move on.

Valentine's Day

 

Happy Valentine's Day, bloggo family.

I know, and I get it. It's a Hallmark concoction at this point.

It's a day of heightened pressure for partners to step up. 

It's also a day that can make one feel inferior.

It can be as miserable as a lot of other holidays. I'm quite familiar with that feeling.

Of course, it can be horribly painful to be alone -- or feel alone -- on Valentine's Day. That's because of societal pressures, marketing, and just plain silliness.

When put in these terms, it doesn't sound pretty or pleasant at all.

Yet, if the circumstances are right, it can also be just simply about a day of love.

Not even romance. Love.

Love for yourself. Love for someone else. Simple platonic love.

In truth, anything can be a valentine. Now, I realize some of you are putting your minds in the gutter and I get that. I'd probably do the same. But what I'm trying to say to you is that, in case you need to read this, it's OK to be alone. It's OK to be whatever you are and with whoever you're with.

And, of course, it's OK to not be OK. Please just be honest and open with yourself about it and seek whatever help you need.

But there's simply no need to buy into the pressure.

For what it's worth -- and no need to ask -- I had a perfectly delightful, trouble-free Valentine's Day. 

It was a nice way to start the workweek.

In some ways, we've improved "V Day" with things like "Galentine's Day" for ladies and the like. Still, others have just said, "screw it" and didn't worry about it.

Those are the best outcomes.

The thing I just don't want to see is people feeling sad about this notion of Valentine's Day or anything else for that matter. 

The pressure of it all is unnecessary.

But remember you have friends.

I'm here. I'll be your valentine.

The concept of love can be so deep. You think you know what it is. You think you've found it. Then it all turns out to be wrong and it rattles you to your very core. You lose faith. Trust. There's damage.

I have no magic words for any of that.

But I have words of support. Sometimes that's all one can offer.

Take care of yourself today. Start there.

Then wake up tomorrow and carry it.

Happy Valentine's Day.

The Halftime Show

 

(Photo: Getty)

So the third quarter of the Super Bowl just kicked off.

Meaning the halftime show just ended.

I've said for a few years that I'm not the target demographic and I'm fine with that.

Still, given the reaction on social media, it appears this was either THE GREATEST EVER or nah, PRINCE IS THE GREATEST EVER.

Oy.

I've said my piece on Prince before. It bored me.

I know, I know. How dare I?

As for what I just watched, well, it was fine. I happily settled in and watched it. 

It wasn't like (sorry, John Nash) the Maroon 5 debacle where I changed the channel before going back to it and felt like I was watching a car crash.

Or Coldplay.

Or Madonna.

Or the Black Eyed Peas.

It was fine. It entertained me. That is sort of the point, right?

I don't think I have an opinion on the best halftime show. In fact, I know I don't.

I mean, I love Paul McCartney but that one was safe. I liked Tom Petty. A few others.

So at this point, I don't care. Maybe that's the message. I didn't even flinch when they announced who was performing. It was time for rap and R&B to have their moment.

I have plenty of music if I want to listen to something else.

I can change the channel if I want to watch something else like I used to do back in the 90s when I'd go watch the special halftime edition of "In Living Color" which was far better than whatever train wreck was performing at the time.

The NFL could go back to Up With People or a marching band and I'd also be completely fine.

The NFL could shorten it or eliminate it to get back the actual game and I'd probably be happiest.

I've also been up since roughly 3:45 am and drove through snow that I didn't expect to deal with. In the end, it was no big deal. I called -- when it was all said and done -- seven hours of wrestling with and without Chris Erway.

Oh yeah, and I did wrestling alone for the first time and it wasn't a disaster. Maybe viewers felt differently and that's OK. 

So the halftime show really isn't a big deal to me. 

I didn't change the channel.

I didn't roll my eyes.

I was tapping my foot at times. 

The way I look at it, that's a win.

Oh, and the Chevrolet/Sopranos ad was incredible.

Road Trip Tomorrow!

 

"What time are you going to have to leave the house?" Chris Erway asked.

"Probably around 5:30," I said.

"Oof," came the reply.

Chris and I have been asked to tag team (see what I did there?) wrestling at Franklin High School in New Jersey tomorrow. The first match begins at 9 a.m. and will roll until probably around 3:30 or 4 p.m.

I'll try to post a link via my social media tomorrow morning if you'd like to check some of it out.

Yes, it's Super Bowl Sunday but I never watch the pregame so this works.

There's a chance of some snow but it doesn't seem like it will be as bad as I had feared.

So, let me get this straight. I can get up early on Sunday, drive with (hopefully) minimal traffic and probably grab breakfast at Wawa? Maybe even lunch or dinner before I go home?

What's the problem here!?

The only thing missing is a longer road trip and Waffle House!

Heck, the Wawa factor almost -- truly -- got Sean to go with me. But he has school work to do and, look, I understand. You do have to be a certain kind of crazy (that's me) to do what I do.

Knowing the first match is at 9:00 and that Chris and I feel like we're walking in a little blind, we both want to be on-site early enough to get the lay of the land and compile whatever homework we can.

My colleagues in the play-by-play world would be in a fetal position, just as they would have flipped when I called Brunswick/Hamden Hall yesterday. I didn't have a Hamden Hall roster so I got one out of their scorebook, consulted with some stuff online, matched it up wrote a down, took a sip of water, and, WHAMMO!, I called the game.

Chris and I arrived for the FCIAC Wrestling Championship at New Canaan today and there were myriad items of concern. Where to set up? Who is our primary contact? What are the matchups? Who is our camera person? Do they know how to connect to Local Live? Is Local Live ready for us?

No need to panic. Each question was answered and you, dear viewer/listener was no less the wiser.

This wasn't my first rodeo.

Or wrestling match.

Tomorrow, I will call wrestling alone for the first time. Chris and I are calling the first session at 9am but we're splitting up at 11:30 so we'll each take a mat. It will be his first solo effort and he'll be great. He knows wrestling inside and out and can break down all of the action. I will take more of a narrating approach in my solo broadcast, letting the picture dictate more than anything.

Oh, don't worry, it will still be exciting.

We'll team back up at 2pm for the last matches of the day.

If it all goes according to plan I will be in front of my TV in time for the kickoff of the Big Bonanza at 6:30.

I highly suggest they make it exciting because I might fall asleep.

Incidentally, I don't think I've missed a kickoff of a Super Bowl since I watched my first one in 1978. Hopefully, that streak continues.

Rams 31, Bengals 23. Hopefully, Cincinnati has the ball late for a little drama.

I have no dog in the fight except the d-o-g-g named Snoop.

*Please note both road pictures in this post were picked at random and do not represent anything other than maybe I'll be on one of the roads represented. I know how...er...precise my fellow road enthusiasts are.

Basketball, Hockey, and Baseball

This is where I'm wanted

The tires are fixed.

It took much longer than it should have but I finally have new tires on the car. So there's that.

That meant I could work, calling basketball this evening.

I'm blessed in that Brunswick is happy with me and both the basketball and hockey teams want me on their broadcasts.

One parent approached me and told me -- jokingly -- that they were "mad" at me because I was setting up for basketball and not hockey.

So I called basketball -- Brunswick ran away from Hamden Hall -- and described hockey details when I could.

There was an audible buzz in the Dann Gymnasium. Nah, scratch that. It rocked.

The student cheering section bounced between the two facilities -- gym and rink -- to keep an eye on both games. Heck, I wandered over to the Hartong Rink at halftime.

The hockey game didn't quite go as well for Brunswick as the Bruins fell to Frederick Gunn. It will be roughly 10 days or so before we see the Bruins back on the ice. They'll be on the road for a few games.

There was a great spirit in the Sampson Athletic Center. Sure, masks were still the thing but everybody just seemed happy to be watching these games. Players played and students were raucous. That's sort of how it should be.

I stood at my "table" in the gym, which is actually two basketball team chairs placed side-by-side, and called the game. I fed off the energy in the room and had to remind myself to be careful. One really can't maintain that type of energy for an entire broadcast. 

I know I would have crashed in the second half.

The game, as I alluded to, didn't quite dictate an insane call anyway. It started as if it would be a brawl before Brunswick went to the locker room up by nine. They won 59-33 playing obviously great defense but also pushing the ball and scoring. They're now the top dog in the FAA (Fairchester Athletic Association) with a game remaining in the conference against Greenwich Country Day next Wednesday.

I'll be on the call for that and their season finale against Greenwich Farms next Thursday.

I also got a look at schedules for lacrosse and...wait for it...baseball. I chatted with their head coach, Johnny Montanez, and he said the Bruins might play 34 games. Now, we all know there are a variety of reasons why that number will likely go down but still, he promised me I'll have my hands full with Brunswick baseball.

Johnny always makes it clear how much my broadcasting games mean to him and he reminds me of how his father-in-law in Florida loves to listen. He's been listening since I was doing the games very informally with just audio, pre-Robcasting.

So if what I see is true, I could be calling baseball by the end of March. The same goes for lacrosse.

And the teams all know -- how can they not? -- that I will happily travel. While there's no way to split me in half to cover everything for every team, I'm in a desirable spot where the school, their players, coaches, families, and fans all seem to want me around.

That's really cool.

And what it leads me to finally come out and say -- deep breath -- is that I won't be calling the Hudson Valley Renegades in 2022.

I'm actually surprised nobody caught on to my social media accounts. I changed each and every one of them by the time I exited I-84 for the Taconic Parkway back on Dec. 21. I expected a phone call or text that night.

Yes, Christmas was a little gloomier, if I'm being 100% honest. I'll miss it more than I can possibly describe. Simply working with Sean was priceless, let alone being a "voice" in the Yankees organization.

I'm still hurt. Sad. Bummed. Let's not sugarcoat it. 

But I treasure the whole ride of 2021. I'm proud of every one of those 61 broadcasts. It wasn't enough but it never is. I really wanted the chance to do it all in a "normal" year but that's not where the road will be leading me. 

I put heart and soul into it, as I do with everything. I still believe we put on the best broadcast in High A East if not all of High A. That's a testament to a great crew. I just talked.

I'm grateful to literally everyone involved and now look forward, though I'll look back at magical memories from time to time. I thought it was a thing I'd do for years but that wasn't reality.

I have many friends there, including my own son who will likely continue doing games for them. That's his decision.

As for me, 2022 will be paved differently. I'll be on a plane to London as the first home game is being played at Dutchess Stadium. I can't think of too many better places for me to be.

There are friends who want me to pursue some other baseball jobs and I just wonder if my time is done. I'm 53 and that's been made abundantly clear to me.

Right now, my focus is on my next broadcast and the search for a place to live and making money to afford that place to live and cleaning the place I currently live in and...

The next broadcasts are a weekend of wrestling before more Brunswick next week. The FCIACs are on the way for hockey and basketball as well.

It's good to feel wanted.

Twitter Teenager

 

According to Twitter, I posted my first tweet 13 years ago today.

And my life has been all downhill ever since.

Well, OK, no. Maybe not. 

Still, nearly 51,000 items have flown off my account. I dare not think of what percent was truly worthwhile. Most, I guarantee, have not been.

Including this post, which will get tweeted upon its conclusion.

Admittedly, and sadly, I've found it essential for what I do. I check it for topics for "Doubleheader" and game broadcasts and news and life.

I explain to students why it's important but to understand it's not a source. It's a start when doing research.

But it's also a heaping pile of dog poop. It's an absolute cesspool.

Social media has not exactly helped us be nicer people, has it? I mean, that probably goes without saying. Still, it's fun on occasion.

It's also my daily car crash where I just can't look away.

I try to give people content that will make them laugh or think or dig a little deeper. Basically, it's an extension of this little slice of my neighborhood.

It was clear when I first took the leap into Twitter I had no idea what to do with it. My first tweet wasn't the standard "Hello world" or whatever. It was, basically, that I was working on writing the blog. I wrote two posts that day: one with a video that has since been removed so I have no idea what it was about, and one about A-Rod using steroids.

Ugh.

A few other nuggets include whether or not I was ready to commit to Twitter on Mar 11, 2009 (answer: yes) and something was up on Mar 17 when I wrote "Can't say what's going on. It's bad though."

I'm not entirely sure what that meant.

Oh, there's plenty more such as tweeting about being furious about something being "taken from my house" in early April 2009. I was going to tell the whole story of that but decided to pull back. Let's say I know what was taken, who took it, and that it had nothing to do with the object that was taken.

It was more about the principle and lack of respect.

Oh yeah, and my son also left the house that same night. So, yeah.

I'd like ultimately to see the good of Twitter and social media. There are friends that I've made and relationships I've enriched by being myself on "the socials." It doesn't take long to regret the bad -- I question myself a lot -- so I'd prefer to see the good.

There are also moments of interaction with people you might not interact with normally. Celebrities and such that provide an "oh wow" moment when they've liked or acknowledged something. Again, hopefully, the good stuff.

Sure there are the fights and stupidity -- the latest edition being something totally mindless about Mike Francesa and Chris "Mad Dog" Russo that a certain Mr. Tako Aktovious Mumpsimus (aka Mr. Kaelin) couldn't let go. And there's the daily ritual of idiocy that emanates from my list called "Good For a Laugh" that is, again, like a car crash.

By the way, I get the feeling the Mets are holding an Old Timers' Day but I could be wrong.

I often think to myself I'll just stop. I'll walk away. I'll get tired of it.

Well, it doesn't seem to be happening anytime soon.

Still, can I go back to MySpace?

It Was...Oh, I've Lost Track

 

It was 58 years ago tonight and I promised myself that I wouldn't write about it.

But...here we are and I don't want to write about anything else.

Those guys first appeared on American TV on "The Ed Sullivan Show."

You know them. John, Paul, George, and Bongo.

If you saw or heard The Beatles' appearance on TV with the great British comedy duo Morecambe and Wise, you'll know that Eric Morecambe referred to Richard Starkey -- our beloved Ringo -- as "Bongo." They did three songs on the show and participated in a singing of "Moonlight Bay" as Morecambe comes out in a Beatles wig. The show was recorded on 2 December 1963 (How British of me!) but didn't air until 18 April 1964 -- after "The Ed Sullivan Show" appearance.  

But it was on this night that those four provided perhaps the biggest bang in music -- dare I say pop culture -- history.

A mere 73 million tuned to CBS at 8 p.m. that Sunday night to watch the cast of the music "Oliver" (including Davy Jones, pre-Monkees fame), Tessie O'Shea, Fred Kaps, Wells & the Four Fays, Frank Gorshin (pre "Batman"), and McCall & Brill.

Oh yeah, and the four lads from Liverpool.

Ed Sullivan was the show. He knew talent and everyone knew being on his show was important. Others mattered. "American Bandstand," of course was among those shows. But Ed Sullivan was king. 

It can't be understated what a milestone it was. New York had literally been on its side since The Beatles arrived on Feb 7.

After Sullivan opened the show, he said The Beatles had received a wire from Elvis Presley and his manager Col. Tom Parker. After a few more words, it was time to pay the bills. A commercial break ensued.

Upon returning from the commercial, Sullivan spoke of how New York City seemed so alive, just a few months after the death of President John F. Kennedy. He informed the audience they'd see The Beatles perform twice. 

And then, with the cauldron reaching its boiling point, with 728 in attendance inside Studio 50, Sullivan spoke and the sonic boom was heard.

"Ladies and gentlemen, The Beatles!"

You can't possibly hear him say whatever he said next (which I think is "Let's bring them out").

After a shot of the crowd -- what a marvelous decision by director John Moffitt -- which showed how excited and generally out of their minds everyone was, the show faded to a high crane shot of all four Beatles.

Paul McCartney drew first dibs on singing, counting in, looking back at Ringo, and then singing.

Close your eyes and I'll kiss you.

Tomorrow I'll miss you.

Remember I'll always be true.

No doubt energized by the insanity, a brief "yeah" can be heard after that opening line, uttered by John.

The gorgeous crane shot descends upon the four before the first closeup is seen. It's Ringo, slapping away on the cymbal. I always love the "holy (bleep)" look on his face as he stares into the audience.

So began a special relationship between New York and The Beatles.

I think about that night every Feb 9. I wasn't even a thought yet for my parents. They did watch the show (not many didn't) and I have no reason to think that I wouldn't have watched it as well. My sister recalls it, though she was only five.

Beatlemania would only last officially until 1970 but, in reality, it was holding on by 1969. It was a comet. It's why their walking away when they did only makes us love them even more. We couldn't get enough and we still can't.

With John Lennon's death in 1980 and George Harrison passing in 2001, any hope of reunions was squashed. We'd get small glimpses while all four were still alive. The bootleg "A Toot and a Snore in '74" being key for those desperate for anything Lennon/McCartney.

The "Anthology" sessions with John's cassette tapes worked up by the remaining Lads, also teased us. We yearn for anything. I mean, "Get Back" anyone?

Or the "McCartney 3, 2, 1" series?

For some who were wise enough to be ahead of things, you were there for the first singles. If you had the amazing fortune of being around London, Liverpool, or Hamburg, well, that's pretty remarkable.

To see John, Paul, George, and Stu? Or Pete?

But on Feb 9, 1964, America officially met The Beatles.

The coming-out party happened.

The revolution -- which we'd say we wanted a few years later -- had begun and it was televised.

Can I Get a Boost?

 

*Photo not meant as an endorsement of "Big Pharma"

It was 12:24 p.m.

Don't ask me why but I take note of such things.

The needle went into my arm and was fairly painless, just as I remembered it was almost a year earlier.

I hate needles, to be clear. Yet, this was nothing.

I'd followed all of the instructions. I had a short-sleeve shirt under my long-sleeve quarter-zip. I was 15 minutes early and checked in online as I pulled into the parking lot of the CVS in Mahopac. I went where directed and, before I knew it, it was over.

"You're all set," the business-like man said after giving me my Pfizer booster shot. "Stick around the store for 15 minutes. You can go get your card."

Yeah. The card The one thing I screwed up. I left it out in the car in the parking lot.

I returned to the lot to retrieve the card and pondered how the CVS had once been a Grand Union supermarket (when markets really weren't so "super") and, later on, our beloved Tom Kat sporting goods store. The church I was baptized in, now empty, was across the street.

There's a lot of history around there for me.

But, anyway, I grabbed the card and went back inside. I sat and waited while he boosted another patient, got the card out, put more air in the blasted tire (grumble bleeping BJs), grabbed lunch, and came back home.

I'm going to fill up on liquids before I try -- key word! -- to go to Brunswick for hockey.

I wish I had gotten boosted sooner but given I had a few colds through December and January it felt best to wait until I was feeling better.

This post isn't meant to put any pressure on readers to get any vaccine. I'd be honored if it inspired someone but, otherwise, you do you. I decided a year ago I wanted the vaccination and, once the booster became available, I was ready for that also. This is what I believe in.

But, belief or not, I also can't do certain things without vaccinations. As I've mentioned, I'm supposed to be on a plane to London in April to moderate a Hunt Scanlon conference. 

And, as we know, there are places you can't walk into without it. I'll be in New York City next month for the next Hunt Scanlon conference. If I join Paul Silverfarb the night before to grab dinner, you can guarantee people will want to see our vaccine cards.

So, the jab, er, job is done, and I'm good with it.

Great, even.

I'm proud to have done my part.

Did I mention the tires aren't done yet and I don't have an answer as to when it will be resolved?

So, hopefully, you'll hear me from Brunswick at 5p this afternoon.

Hoping to Bounce Back, Amirite?

 

This is BJs in Linden, NJ, which is not the store in this story.

Today was the day! 

The Great Tire Caper would come to a close!

I got ready, filled the bad tire with air, opened the garage, and found it was snowing.

No! I wouldn't be stopped by a few flakes. Sure there was a Winter Storm Advisory that called for ice but it wasn't supposed to get bad until after I had my new tires! Bring it on!

I gently guided the car to BJs in Yorktown Heights. For you old-timers, that was once on a plot of land that had a store called White's. I always remember getting a soft pretzel there, probably after dinner at the nearby Crompond Diner. Then it sat as an empty parking lot for years and the building was boarded up.

I was at BJs in time for my 9:30 appointment. I walked in, said why I was there, handed them the key and the lock for the lug nuts.

"Give us 90 minutes, tops," came the reply.

I went into the main part of BJs. I was prepared to take my time and walk the entire store. It seemed like a good time to assess my membership and see if I really wanted it to continue!

I strolled the electronics.

I looked at storage bins (thinking about an apartment).

I looked at everything preparing to go see the food other stuff.

I was down near the pet supplies.

I had put an ear plug in to listen to the "Office Ladies" podcast as they were recalling the holiday episode where Pam is given the teal teapot. Fun fact: Jenna Fischer was offered several options and chose the teal one.

And then?

My phone rang.

Now, I don't normally take calls from numbers I don't know but this one said "Peekskill" and while I might not have been in "The Friendly City" as my mother used to call it (she was a Peekskill girl, after all), my spidey senses told me to take it.

"Hi, Robert, can you come back to the tire shop?"

Damn.

You know how your boss asks if you have a minute? Nothing good is coming, right?

I admit I expected them to find something sinister.

Instead, they found...

That they didn't have the tires in stock.

Now, I'm sure you have questions, right?

Allow me to tell you that I had ordered the tires via BJs website last week. So, basically, from Tuesday or Wednesday, that order was in their system.

Somewhere along the line, I probably should have gotten a phone call about this, no?

Well, I didn't.

"OK," I said sternly. "What are we going to do about it?"

Maybe I should have snapped. Maybe. But I went into the silent, "fix the problem" mode. Which means I'm calmly boiling.

I liked the guy behind the counter. He was apologetic and there is something to say for that, regardless of how bad this was. They were going to make everything right. I was sure of it.

So he began to search his inventory.

"I've got good news, and I've got bad news," came the reply.

Honestly, as I see it there was no good news. Sure, he had tires in my size but he three of one brand and three of another.

Not four of one.

Wait! A FedEx truck drove by...nope. No tires. False alarm.

"So, maybe you could go to another location."

I mostly gazed out the window towards the Popeye's chicken and the Dunkin Donuts that is in the old Slender Magic fitness salon of a lifetime ago.

I was seething but, again, I didn't want to snap.

Going to another store defeated the purpose as the snowflakes fell and the prediction for ice lingered in my brain given I had four tires that were of varying degrees of awful.

How soon could I get my tires? Could be tomorrow. Wednesday. Thursday.

"Just order them and get them as soon as possible," I said.

"I'll get you right in," he said.

Look, here's the thing at this point. I'm not looking for free tires but, for what it's worth, how about a little something for the trouble? Like, you guys -- you -- effed this up. I ordered the tires. I followed all protocols. You didn't call me.

Make it right.

I've got possibly 24 games over the next month or so, including a trip to New Jersey this weekend.

I'm not sure I'll be rushing for that new BJs membership at this point.

It's a Mad Mad Mad "Mad World"

 

So I'm not going to be "that guy" but that picture did make me laugh.

Picture? Meme? Let's not split hairs.

This is not a "get off my lawn" post.

I've talked many times about my inability to find much in the world of contemporary music that grabs me. Of course, a large chunk -- perhaps all -- of the blame falls on my shoulders. I've sort of given up. Radio is far too rigidly formatted to the point where it's easier to just say "forget it."

Therefore, I listen to talk or The Beatles Channel. Or some other station. Or a podcast.

Older radio formats were a little wider, for what it's worth.

So, yes, I blame myself.

But, sure, I could see that being me in the picture above.

I'm not going to further my cause with tonight's tale. My friend of a year or 40, Jeff Terranova, reposted a video of Curt Smith -- part of the duo Tears for Fears -- playing the 1982 song "Mad World" with his daughter.

First, the original song is great. But this was just fantastic. It was clearly posted during the time when so many musicians were resorting to uploading DIY versions of their music as the pandemic intensified.

Here I was, listening to it on my MacBook which has fairly decent speakers for what it is.

But I also had a new pair of noise-canceling headphones, purchased primarily for my upcoming trip to London (among other things). This seemed like a good time to try it out. I could listen to the original "Mad World."

Which I didn't have.

So, sure, I went for the version on YouTube.

OK, cool.

Then I read more about the album it came from, "The Hurting." Let's just call it dark.

In the middle of the New Wave and the New Romantic movements, this was was different. This was more like Joy Division or Ultravox as opposed to OMD or Spandau Ballet.

So I, who still appreciates buying an album, began to dig. Now, I will also gladly cheat for financial purposes and buy a hits album. In fact, that's where the confusion came in. I have a Tears for Fears hits disc that I bought in the late 90s and, yet, "Mad World" wasn't on it. In fact, every other hits disc I looked at had "Mad World" on it. But it also had every other song that I already had: "Shout," "Everybody Wants to Rule the World," the Beatlesque "Sowing the Seeds of Love," etc.

OK, then, I'll buy the single. Come on! It's $1.29!

I strolled to the computer. 

I bought the song.

The computer looked at me.

"Buy the rest of the album for..."

A classic album, I thought! Deep! Dark! Dig in!

Damn you, marketing.

Damn you, Jeff.

I bought it.

And so, friends, as I write tonight's love letter to a Sunday, I'm listening to Curt Smith and Roland Orzabal sort through childhood trauma as inspired by the work of American psychologist Arthur Janov. His patients included John Lennon, who took what he learned and turned that into the primal screaming found on the "Plastic Ono Band" album of 1970 (just listen to "Mother" or "Working Class Hero" as prime examples).

Deep stuff. 

Nobody said music had to be pretty or happy.

Yeah, yeah, yeah.

Curt Smith in the "Mad World" video

The Broadcast Shall Go On!

 

Remembering Teddy Balkind at The Hartong Rink

I mentioned that Thursday was quite the adventure. The heavy rain thrashed me around as I drove from Mahopac to Greenwich. The return trip wasn't as haphazard but still gave me grief.

Then, after discovering water in the basement (since cleaned up) I found a leaky tire (aka "flat").

While not ideal, Friday's sleet/ice storm allowed me to stay home and not stress over it. I only had an appointment made for my booster shot on Saturday.

As for fixing the tire, before you ask, I have an appointment on Monday. I will have four brand new tires and the drama will shift to something else, I'm quite sure.

So, with that said, I had to somehow survive the weekend. Let's face it, even if I didn't go out today or tomorrow, I'd still have to get to BJs on Monday morning for the mounting of the new tires.

OK, so I'll just stay home. No need to go out, even for the booster, right?

Then I got a text. Friday's storm had already cost Brunswick a game against Albany Academy. their head coach Mike Kennedy told me that there's a group message of coaches that stays active for anyone seeking a game where there's an opening.

Trinity-Pawling was looking for a game. 

Brunswick now needed a game.

Bingo. Match made, even though they'll also meet on Feb 25 at the Hartong Rink.

I got the text from Wayne McGiullicuddy and my heart sank.

On the one hand, "Game? Broadcast? SURE!"

Plus, well, employment. Always nice.

On the other hand...the tire.

So now the conundrum was fully in place. I woke up this morning and decided to see how it all played out. I felt risky and irresponsible if I went out.

The first decision was to postpone the booster shot. One look at the white driveway told me that it wasn't necessary. I was going to let the morning go a little longer to allow the sun to hit the road.

So I prepared as if there would be a broadcast. That is to say that I went through the motions. Just in case. I gathered the Trinity-Pawling roster and my scorecard (patent pending) and went about my morning.

Then I saw the road was dry. I decided that, at the very least, I'd drive to the local AutoZone* to get a lug wrench (the one with my car is shamefully awful), price a jack (my father had one that mysteriously disappeared years ago), and, for laughs, buy a Fix-a-Flat-type of product to have with me.

*Ever since Sean was little, he would hear the AutoZone commercials with the line, "Get in the Zone..." and he'd whisper "AutoZone." I can't hear it any other way and, oh, by the way, he still does it if I say the first part of the line.

So, as I did on Friday, I used my air pump to reinflate the tire. It held well enough to gingerly back out of the garage and hit the road for the five-minute to ride to AutoZone.

While I didn't buy a jack, I did buy the lug wrench and the Fix-a-Flat. Hopefully, I wouldn't need either of them.

I put just a little more air in the tire when I left. So far, so good.

I grabbed a wrap at the nearby Stop and Shop (in, again, Baldwin Place). Me, eat a spinach wrap? Desperate times, friends. The last thing you want is a disoriented, exhausted, hungry broadcaster.

With the first two stops out of the way, I took a deep breath and began to move towards Brunswick. For those new to the party, Wick's athletic facilities are located on King St. in Greenwich near Westchester County Airport. I often joke that if you wander into the woods on the west side of the campus, not only will you be in New York but the TSA might want to chat with you.

In reality, you'd probably encounter the public access terminal road, but still, it's a risk.

The rink and gym are in a building between the Pre and Lower Schools. The Upper School (the high school) is actually in downtown Greenwich while the Middle School is on the former Tudor property across the way on King Street. The new soccer field is on that property, with a tunnel connecting the two campuses.

I made my way through Westchester County, taking it easy along I-684. The "low tire" alert eventually came on in the car but I was able to reach a parking spot outside the rink without incident. I was safe and put more air in the tire.

I had made it. The broadest went off mostly without problems, save for something with my audio via Mixlr for a chunk of the first period. Proving my point how audio matters, especially for those in the car, I've noticed an uptick in listens on Robcasting, even if it's a very minor number.

Audio matters, people. So does the ability to call a video broadcast and make it a hybrid audio description.

Brunswick won an exhausting, hard-fought (literally) 6-5 contest. The Pride from Trinity-Pawling roared back (yes I went there) with two goals late in the third to tie the game before sophomore Sean Gibbons sent the crowd home happy.

For the second time in a couple of days, there was an injured player on the ice. Putting my money where my mouth is, I delicately deflected until the player was back on their skates. I'm careful with any injury during a game but you can probably imagine where the sensitivity is heightened at The Hartong Rink and will be for some time.

To that end, without fanfare, a small number five now hangs just inside the entrance in honor of the late Teddy Balkind. A classy gesture for sure.

After the game, I packed, returned to the car, reinflated the tire, and drove away.

Another trip to Stop and Shop awaited because I needed dinner. I would have preferred Wegman's but wasn't going to risk going anywhere that wasn't on the way home. With food procured, I returned to the home of Squeaky the Cat.

The broadcast happened. I didn't need to call it off the computer from home (I considered that). I was safe, I was smart, and I made it. In the end, it wasn't as dangerous or irresponsible as I had feared.

You know me by now. I skip games only when I simply have to. Today wasn't one of those days.

I'll get the booster. In fact, I checked for times today before I came home and it didn't work out but there are plenty of other appointments.

Another day is done.

Another game called.

The next broadcast is scheduled for Tuesday.

A Friday Story Goes Back in Time Unexpectedly

Photo, obviously, courtesy Westchester Historical Society

So I told you about my drive home last night. Though I worried about the rain and how I was thrashed about as headed to Brunswick, the drive home was purely uneventful.

Hold that thought.

I made it out of Greenwich and climbed NY Route 120, connected with 22, and grabbed 128 at Armonk. I moved along 117 through Mount Kisco to Bedford Hills. I crawled along Cherry Street* and turned left on 35.

*"Crawled" is the right word. They don't like being a cut-through so there are speed bumps galore.

I merged onto 100 and floated onto 139 before driving US 202 to NY 118. I was so pleased that I stopped and picked up dinner in Baldwin Place.

By the way, does anyone call it Baldwin Place anymore? Baldwin Place is a hamlet in Somers, literally on the Westchester County line. The shopping center there is known as Somers Commons but no one my age can even think of that property without calling it the Baldwin Place Mall.

I know, this is a wild diversion, but hang with me. The Baldwin Place Mall was -- for a time -- our spot. It was part-indoor mall and part-outdoor shopping center. There was no true "anchor" store, if you will, though I suppose the grocery store (Pantry Pride or whatever it was at a given time) was the largest parcel on the site.

There was a men's store (Robert Hall) and shoes (Kinney) and a bakery and a Sears catalog store. Not a full store. Just a few showcase items and a counter to place catalog orders.

There was a dry cleaner there also but we're best to not discuss that due to the contamination that blew the whole thing up. Well, that and the proliferation of larger shopping enclaves in Danbury, Poughkeepsie, and White Plains. Most notably, and closer to home, the Jefferson Valley Mall opened in 1983 and fate was sealed for Baldwin Place.

Oh but back to the memories. The mall really did have a lot of things, including the fantastic Book and Record which was a store of, well, that. Books! Records! HEAVEN!

There was a Radio Shack and Joe's Pizza and a couple of women's stores to bore growing boys who then made sure to go to Book and Record. 

There was a movie theater that became a roller skating rink (no shock: you didn't find me there often) and a steakhouse (The Bum Steer) and Nescott Drugs and Embassy which was, theoretically, a "five and dime." You know, a variety store.

Plus there was the Studio Deli, which my father liked. The hot dogs were tasty.

McDonald's was also nearby among other amenities.

Eventually "the mall" fell into disrepair and became an eyesore. That's why it's almost shopping that Somers Commons is there today. While you can still find signs that say "Baldwin Place" on them (and a post office...located in Mahopac) I often feel like nobody calls the actual location that anymore.

It felt like with the decline of the mall that the name became passé.

Maybe not.

Wow. Big digression there.

Anyway, I was going to tell you how I discovered some water in the basement last night and that I had a flat tire.

I counted my blessings. While annoying, I'm getting tires on Monday and I was able to reinflate for the moment. Let's face it, I got home. Let's start with being happy about that.

However, Brunswick has thrown a game on the calendar tomorrow and I have my booster scheduled (spare me the politics).

Oh, yeah, and the water. By this morning, I was standing in my robe vacuuming the small amount that was now a lot more. In fact, it was four-plus shop vac buckets full of more.

The balance of the day was consumed with a deposition where the witness didn't show up and menial tasks around the house. The rain, er, ice made it easy to just stay home.

That, and the tire.

Tomorrow's another day.

So much for a quiet weekend.

That was the Studio Deli at one time.

Thursday at the Rink

I've long said the broadcast booth is my sanctuary.

Today, I needed it.

Nothing bad happened. It's just a day in which I have a lot of things on my mind and -- normally -- I'm able to check out during a game.

There have been very few games where I haven't been able to do that. In fact, I would guess the number has been under 10. Maybe even under five.

The falling rain, combined with my tires (getting replaced on Monday) didn't help things as I sloshed around. it was bad enough that I departed I-684 at the Mount Kisco exit after driving it for just a few miles. I used local roads the rest of the way to Brunswick and then from Wick back to Mahopac.

The drive home lingered in my mind at the rink but it did not deter me from calling a 6-2 Brunswick win.

Before the game, I was chatting with a friend who wanted to stop by. He gave me an unintentional boost by talking about ways he thinks I could help students more than I do around Brunswick. 

I guess that's what I've often thought as well.

"You're a teacher," he said. "I can tell."

Well, by definition, no I can't say I'm really a teacher. Sure I instruct at CSB but teachers are more official than I am. They have the training and everything else. They're outstanding.

I'm an instructor. A rank novice at best.

But I do love teaching broadcasters of all ages to be a professional. That's where those who think I'm some big monster don't get. I'm always actually trying to make them better. The constant narcissism and diva behavior don't help them. 

Be a professional.

That's what the friend of mine was saying. Sure it's great to see kids (and others) get their shot but if nobody is guiding them towards creating a professional broadcast and understanding the flow then it's all for nothing.

Enter: me. I can help.

I like it.

Oh, so to the ride home. I decided I wouldn't take any highways. It would be all main/back roads.

I steadied myself for another sloshy ride which now included dense fog and bright headlights.

I didn't have an issue.

We live to fight another day.

New tires on Monday and onto the next battle.

Tonight I'll Just Say 'Thanks'

 

Photo: Downy (not my laundry)

There's laundry to do.

I want to put new sheets on my bed.

And, oh yeah, I'm tired.

So I'm willing to keep things to a minimum tonight. I got a nice note from an unnamed friend yesterday, telling me to keep telling the stories that I've been telling. It is cathartic for sure but it's also nerve-wracking.

The response to last night's apartment hunting announcement has been very kind. While I appreciate the words of support, it's the responses that had actual action (there were one or two) that meant the most. I'm in touch with a realtor and we'll take it from here.

I've tried to imagine transitioning a living room into a place for Sean when comes over, if necessary. I'm just trying to make it all work and, if I'm being really honest, it could really be a short-term thing.

So thank you, especially to Jim Campbell, for putting me in touch with a realtor. Thank you to everyone else for the love and support.

I was back on the hockey front today, calling Brunswick against Lawrenceville* today. The Bruins won and it was one of the broadcasts that I felt decent about. I felt "on," meaning I was OK with the flow of everything.

That doesn't mean it was great or anything like that but it was better than most I guess.

*Lawrenceville was where Huey Lewis went to school and I threaded a few song titles into the broadcast. Let's see, "Heart and Soul," "Simple as That," "So Little Kindness,” plus lyrics to "The Heart of Rock and Roll" all got mentioned. I could have done more, of course.

I actually had a woman stop by following the broadcast to introduce herself to me. She said she was from Florida and that she's gotten into watching her grandson play on the broadcasts -- and I'm still stunned by this -- because of me.

Like, me? What?

Another parent stopped me outside and said that his daughter is embarrassed every time I mention her on the air (her brother plays for the team).

"Truth is," the father said, "she loves it. She tells her friends. It's a big deal because it's you. You're a local legend."

Er. OK. I might feel stronger about that if I was calling more hockey around Greenwich but I digress.

Anyway, it's not about me. I just love calling the games. I'd like to believe it's what I'm meant to do.

I wish more people felt that way.

That's for another time.

I wore myself out today, so this is all for tonight.

Again, thanks for the support. We'll figure the living space out soon.

WANTED: PLACE TO LIVE

 

The Exit 55 Classified Section

WANTED: PLACE TO LIVE -- Looking for 1-2 bedroom apartment (contingent on 20-year-old non-troublesome son) in Danbury, Brewster, Carmel, Mahopac, Greenwich, Stamford, or basically anywhere in-between. Must be pet-friendly for three-year-old ultra-sweet but somewhat shy (and weird) black cat. Price is everything. Affordable would be great. Needed soon. Like, quite soon.

So, in short, I need to move. After 58-plus years, it's time to clean out the house and relocate (No, I'm not 58). I'm nervous but, frankly, it's time to come out and say this. 

Depending on where I move Sean will likely continue to live with me every other week. I've pondered a one-bedroom scenario where we give him a comfy living room and I've pondered a two-bedroom scenario. I can be swayed either way.

I'm open-minded. In truth, due to the life that I lead, I would prefer something with a washer/dryer simply over the concern of having time to go sit in a laundromat. Beyond that, Sean and I are pretty quiet and don't cause a lot of fuss. We rarely have company and Squeaky just goes about his day as well.

Honestly, we'll be great tenants. 

Sean tends to get up late morning and go to bed late while I'm all over the place depending on depositions, games, etc. Even then you won't really know we're around. Sean is on his computer or under a headset talking to his friends.

Me? I do my broadcasting but I'm pretty quiet.

Sure, I love music but I don't tend to play it loud and, even then, I keep things peaceful during late night hours. Even my depositions are mostly low-key affairs regardless of time.

Work? I'm gainfully employed, thank you very much. Dan and Craig keep me busy with depositions. Brunswick and Local Live keep me loaded with games. Hunt Scanlon keeps me going with podcasts and conferences.

Etc...etc...and so on. I'm busy and making a fair income.

So, there you have it. Any help is appreciated and I'm actually not really stuck on the places I mentioned above. The right situation could work. It's a very flexible time for me.

Reply: Me. Here or via social media channels or cell.

Please note: I'm very nervous about all of this.

Thank you.