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The newest Steeler

Quarterback Mitchell Trubisky just announced he has signed with the Pittsburgh Steelers. It looks like he'll be first in line to replace Ben Roethlisberger following Big Ben's retirement.

I groaned.

Whether it was Mason Rudolph, Dwayne Haskins or something else (which has turned out to be Trubisky), Steelers fans weren't going to be happy unless a big name was replacing number seven.

I've personally been pining for Kenny Pickett to be drafted out of Pittsburgh but he doesn't seem to be "NFL ready."

Still, in reality, what do I know? The answer is nothing by comparison to the people in charge of the Steelers. The returns on Trubisky's career have been underwhelming since being drafted second overall by the Chicago Bears in 2017.

He backed up Josh Allen in Buffalo last year.

The announcement of Trubisky's signing has led to a mountain of laughter on social media. Now it will be up to him to prove that the Steelers' faith is well-served. They signed him to a two-year deal.

At the same time, I'm still reeling from the Yankees/Twins trade that sent Gary Sánchez and Gio Urshela (the most happy fella, per John Sterling) to Minnesota for Josh Donaldson, Ben Rortvedt, and Isiah Kiner-Falefa.

That deal was also getting the social media grinder treatment last night. Overall, I never love trades. People are flipping over taking on Donaldson's contract. They also don't like Donaldson because of some past stuff between him and Gerrit Cole.

I say nonsense. They can afford the money and players are professionals. They'll talk it out or simply drop it. Move along.

So, again, while things might not look great at face value, I'm left with no other option than to trust what GM Brian Cashman is doing.

One would say I'm crazy and yes that's true. Still, what other choice do we have? In no way, shape, or form am I (and most likely, you) in a place to judge. Can I do a better job than Cashman or Kevin Colbert of the Steelers? 

No. Come on now.

That doesn't stop us from having opinions but when it comes right down to it I'm not all that bright. Oh, sure, I'm not doing a happy dance over Trubisky today but play mistake-free football, avoid turnovers, and win games and all will be well.

I might not run out and buy a Trubisky jersey but I'll be a lot happier.

In the case of the Yankees, all one can hope for is that it goes well for everyone. I wish Sánchez well -- I do -- but I'd prefer to not get burned by him or Urshela. As I try to rebuild some interest all I can hope for is these three players to come to New York and contribute. I hope that Kiner-Falefa plays well and holds down the fort before either Oswald Peraza or Anthony Volpe comes to the Bronx.

I'm vaguely familiar with both of those guys.

But, as a general rule, despite any misgivings, I put my faith in the people who are in the position of making decisions. Sure, I'm questioning the sanity of signing Trubisky today but he can easily win me over.

This is how it works.

My approach will be measured.

Now let's see other moves will be made.

Fool Me Once...

 

You all knew it was coming.

It was about his "brand" or some other thing.

He wasn't gone long.

He was going to go back to the Bucs.

Or the Niners.

Or somewhere else.

Nah. He wasn't going to stay home for Gisele's "honey-do" list. 

He didn't really want more time with his kids.

This was all calculated.

A TB12 Production.

You may like your GOATs like that and that's cool. You do you.

He's loads of fun to watch.

He's just not my GOAT. I like the real deal, like Jim Brown or Lawrence Taylor. I like quarterbacks like Marino and even Peyton or Elway.

And, of course, ORIGINAL TB12.

That's just me.

So welcome back, Tom. You didn't fool me.

Game -- any game -- On

From Thursday night at Fairfield Warde

I was offered three basketball games tomorrow.

It's the 8th Grade basketball finals in the Fairfield County Basketball League.

Funny thing about my business. A lot of "voices" would look down their noses at such a thing.

I remember having a similar discussion in the Facebook PBP group where there were several who had a problem doing junior varsity games.

Me? I learned a long time ago to not care about that. A game is a game. If it's organized and I can describe it, I'm going to treat it the same.

Oh, tomorrow's games will be more colloquial in nature, I suppose. Look, the basic approach will always be the same but it's a different kind of, er, scrutiny. That's the best word I can think of.

I always think back to the very first championships I did in the GYFL in Greenwich. At first, I wondered why we were doing such a thing. Why would me and the crew -- there were several of us that day -- go stand on the back of a flatbed truck hooked up to a generator and call three youth football games?

Then I saw the reaction and I got it. I've never looked back.

Junior varsity? Freshman? Babe Ruth League? Little League? Cal Ripken League?

Doesn't matter. They want a broadcaster and I'm going to bring them what I have.

I've come to understand that people actually sort of care. To some, I'm part of the soundtrack of their high school lives and that means so much.

They remember that touchdown, that home run, that goal, that three-point shot. They remember the championship --  win or lose.

They quote my call or remember something I've said about them.

I was talking with Mick McGowan today. You might know that we were supposed to call the CHSGHA Championship, originally scheduled for this weekend. Of course, the game got moved to Wednesday night and I couldn't be there as New Canaan and Darien played an epic contest.

I grumbled to him and he got it. He also agreed. He also reminded me of the very point I'm making.

"Just remember we are immortalized on some father's DVD to his daughter...that's what's keep us humble," he said. 

That's exactly what I'm talking about. He reminded me of how a father messaged me a few years ago and asked if he could have access to our audio call so he could lay it over the video of his daughter winning a title.

It meant a ton -- then and now.

So that's what I think about as I prep tonight. That these broadcasts matter to players and coaches but especially to parents and grandparents and beyond.

These aren't "just some 8th-grade games." These are games that would have meant the world to me to participate in.

I've been arranging notes and rosters all day -- three games tomorrow and two more on Monday back in the high school ranks. As I sit here tonight, I'm lacking rosters and notes for two of the six teams on the docket for tomorrow.

It will all work out.

From there, they're going to make memories.

I'm going to try to narrate it without getting in the way.

Rings and Things

 

I was reading some ridiculous Twitter post when I saw a challenge.

In short, it was time for some good old-fashioned Yankees bashing. Yessiree a time-honored tradition!

Now, granted, baseball and I are currently in a trial separation so I read the comments somewhat detached.

But then I read it: "I bet ya their fans can't even name those 27 rings without looking it up.

Yeah, that was the wrong thing for me to read. Without flinching, I started...

1923, 27, 28, 32, 36, 37, 38, 39, 41, 43, 47, 49, 50, 51, 52, 53, 56, 58, 61, 62, 77, 78, 96, 98, 99, 2000, 2009.

Of course, the responses from the neanderthals were typical, with the original tweeter suspecting that I couldn't do it without looking it up. Ah, Boston fans. Almost as cute as Mets fans.

Would they like the AL Championships that resulted in World Series losses?

1921, 22, 26, 42, 55, 57, 60, 63, 64, 76, 81, 2001.

I know that so many of us "27 rings" talkers can't do that but I also get really tired of being told how "we're not entitled" to any of them prior to when we were born.

Well, 1) that's not for you to decide and 2) I know my stuff, bruh.

By that rationale history belongs to no one, right?

But, no, I'm content on this one. There have been a few responses and there have been attempts to tell me to "take the 'L'" but I'm comfortable. I like that I climbed in their heads because they didn't think someone would dare dive into their dojo and actually know what they're talking about.

Oh, incidentally, the poster that I responded to changed their setting so that I could no longer see the original post. So, again, who took the 'L?'

The whole thing gave me a good laugh.

On the other hand, the thing that concerned me but didn't shock me was how most baseball posts (likely including this one) are so poorly read here. Mention Florida the other night and the reads went way up! Mention baseball and I might as well do a post about roads.

That's the other topic that often gets low reads.

It's all just so curious, interesting, and, frankly, not surprising. Much of the time I feel like I get what this audience is interested in. Yet, all too often, I do get surprised.

In the case of last night, I wasn't surprised at all.

Oh, regarding Florida, the one thing I'll add is perhaps I'm not educated enough on the bill and the situation. I had a few people -- including someone I know who's working in Tallahassee -- chime in and they were wonderful and respectful.

I realize I poked a nerve with discussing that and I get it. I do think that Florida has become easy low-hanging fruit for the media and I'm pretty good at taking it all with multiple grains of salt.

So, while I'm not educated enough on the situation and I'll own that, I'll never apologize for the concern and protection of kids. I maintain that I tend to want the government to stay out of such things and that I want kids to feel safe.

Sometimes they don't feel comfortable talking to their parents and that often means leaning on people at school. 

So I'll apologize for not being well-versed but I won't apologize for having my heart exactly where I want it to be.

Look, Florida is special to me and it always will be. While it can be easily mocked, I carry memories from a lot of visits there throughout my life.

Plus I'd rather be in Florida right now because I don't want to deal with snow again.

So...Yay?

 

Baseball is back and, currently, I don't care.

I'm ambivalent at best.

Maybe it's the tweets.

Maybe it's the way that those in charge are desperate to crap away the very soul of the sport. 

Maybe it's the stupid swoosh on the uniform or the enlargement of the bases or simply that they're all -- every single last one of them -- money and power-hungry egomaniacs.

I'm not done with the sport. Oh, not even slightly. I'm 16 days out from seeing Brunswick and whomever else wants my voice on their broadcasts, assuming I'm not some rank amateur broadcaster and, yeah, my confidence has been shredded on that topic but why waste time with my own mental health, amirite?

No, I still very much love the game but I'm straight up furious with those in charge. 

Rob Manfred.

Tony Clark.

Max Scherzer.

Scott Boras.

Etc.

Etc.

And so on.

The game is in the wrong hands. It's lost, damaged, corroded.

You've had a pitch clock. Now we're suddenly going to enforce it? That's going to make games shorter? I thought it was that pitchers needed to face a minimum three batters or that so many visits to the mound are allowed?

Spare me.

You want new faces watching? You want younger fans? Court them. Get out there. Do community outreach.

So, today, while so many are foolishly doing the happy dance, blindly returning like lemmings to MLB, I'm sitting here with an overall feeling of "meh."

Me.

No, the 99 days of lockout were embarrassing. The owners had weeks and didn't meet with the players. The commissioner doesn't remotely care about the spot. But the players had chances to accept before today and they didn't.

So pardon me if I take my own sweet time coming back. Maybe for 99 days I won't wear any MLB merchandise. Normally I'd be all over taking a Yankees hat to London to show off my pride.

Maybe now I won't.

Maybe I won't watch Opening Day.

Maybe I'll cancel the Yes Network.

Maybe I'm just tired of being fooled after every single work stoppage. 

This game doesn't care a blip about me. Certainly not at the top levels

Why -- explain it to me -- why I should care about it?

I'll probably be back but, tonight, I'm struggling.

Couple of Thoughts

 

I love ya, Florida, but wow.

OK, where to start...

I'm a big believer in covering girls sports but my calendar wouldn't allow me to get to the Darien Ice House for the CHSGHA girls hockey championship tonight.

Darien and New Canaan were on the verge of a fourth (!) overtime when Kaleigh Harden scored the goal she'll remember for the rest of her life. A state championship was clinched for New Canaan.

Oh but there was so much more. The girls game was supposed to be played this weekend but then they changed the date to tonight. So, knowing "The Cllubhouse" needed me (long story), that took me out of calling the championship game that I loved to call.

Oh, they had coverage from DAF Media, so we'll leave that right there.

But, in the meantime, I had been offered a girls basketball game in Yorktown between Red Hook and Putnam Valley. Yet, because of "The Clubhouse," I couldn't do the game.

That is, until I found out that the game was scheduled for 4:30 in Yorktown.

So, hold on now, I could maybe call Red Hook/Putnam Valley at Yorktown and get to Mount Kisco in time for "The Cllubhouse." This could work!

I texted Bob Small at WGCH and he told me to go for it. Others agreed. We were going to make it happen!

"Doubleheader" would take the day off but I'd hustly to Mount Kisco for "The Clubhouse." All was great!

I began doing my research. I needed rosters and info. I Googled Red Hook girls basketball. After hunting for a few minutes, I found an account.

And they said the game had been moved to tomorrow.

And I had a doubleheader tomorrow in Fairfield.

And the whole thing went pfffft.

There would be no Red Hook.

There would be Putnam Valley.

There would be no game at Yorktown (still the only place I had to sign a waiver to call a game at).

"Doubleheader" was back on at 4.

I'd be at "The Clubhouse" in plenty of time.

Stories like this happen all the time.

I went on with my day.

Oh, and I was asked about working depositions.

Let's leave that right there.

*****

I don't know that I need to say much but I don't like Florida's "Don't Say Gay" law.

Really, there's not much to add. I find it simply wrong.

Kids need to know they have a safe place and this law goes against that.

Kids are struggling with who they are and they should feel comfortable at school or anywhere else.

You can tell me I'm wrong. That's your right.

But I don't want to shut kids down. I want inclusion. That's it. That's the message.

****

I've been pro-player in the baseball war. Slowly, I'm losing patience with everyone.

At this point, you're all wrong.

This is also a simple message. I no longer care. 

Make a deal and get back on the field. You're all destroying the game.

There. Simple.

*****

Gas prices are too high. Sorry if that offends anyone. That's it. That's the message.

I saw a meme today that broke down all of the ways that we are we can "suck it up."

Except...it's not reality for many. What's going on in the world is awful. I still have to survive to pay child support, keep a roof over my head, etc.

So forgive me if I'm not doing a happy dance when I drop $40 to fill my tank.

*****

That's enough babbling for tonight.

Help Wanted: To Help Broadcasters

 

I read a comment from someone else in the play-by-play business today: "What is the mediocre sports broadcasters' worst enemy? It's not weather, stats, partners, equipment--its (sic) themselves!"

Now, I'll be the first to admit this person is an insane narcissist who got run from another group for that very reason but, in this case, the blind squirrel found the nut!

The conversation went on before I chimed in -- something I wouldn't necessarily normally do. Now, one of the things they believed is "this is show business." No, it's not. It's reporting, followed by informing, educating, and only after that is it entertaining. Still, that's a nitpick point overall so I was willing to let that go. I get that sports are entertainment but that doesn't mean broadcasters are entertainers. In my opinion, we report first.

The "Clown" school doesn't fly in my opinion (and we're developing our very own in Connecticut!). That being said, being dry doesn't work. Even a lower heart-rate broadcaster needs to be balanced out somehow. However, "waka waka" wears out its welcome quickly, ladies and gentlemen.

Chemistry matters in a booth but that's a larger point for another time.

A big piece of the problem in my opinion is the egos that are coming into the business and I know we've talked about this here. I've tried to reach out to some to offer guidance and, frankly, they blew me off. 

Thanks, but no thanks. I can afford better advice.

Your knowledge base should include everyone, especially the grunts who crawl around running cable on the floor of a grimy press box while still calling a game. The attitude of only wanting to be mentored by a pro or Division I broadcaster speaks to the rampant entitlement that is flying around the business.

That's why I often laugh at those who think we should dress to impress. Sure, let me sit on these stairs in a hockey barn while wearing the suit you think will "impress."

I also laugh at those who are so determined to prep hours for a broadcast. Hours? Sure, let me dedicate that time while calling a wrestling tourney in New Jersey and driving to and from said tourney.

You have to be able to adjust on the fly. You have to be able to adlib. This stuff isn't scripted.

There's no question too many incoming "voices" simply don't know the rhythm or pattern of a broadcast. They don't know the cadence. They don't know how to tell a story. They just want numbers.

Or they simply talk over one another.

I'm offering my help, critique, criticism, and guidance.

I'm literally begging to help.

I'm proud of everyone I've worked with, whether they decided the business wasn't for them or have risen to great heights. I think it was AJ Szymanowski who once said he wanted to put together the tree of broadcasters that have worked with or learned from me. That's a nice compliment.

It's why I got into teaching. For those who think I'm mean, bitter, jealous, or whatever, I'm simply trying to make you better, and I'm tough. No question about that.

That's literally it. I'm tough. I want you to be better.

I'm protective of this business. 

So that's where I'm at tonight after watching and listening to some things over the last few days. Still, to get help, you have to be open to help. 

Building and maintaining relationships in this business is everything. As it is, I often think about how I need backups for games I can't cover but the first thing I look for is someone I can trust. Why do you think I lean on the likes of Chris Erway and Chris Kaelin and others? I trust them and am loyal to them.

The important thing is to connect with the audience. It's one thing if the audience is "so impressed" because they don't know any better but what sets the great ones apart is the feeling that you're conversing with each other.

What years of experience have taught me is that not everyone can be a play-by-play announcer or a lead broadcaster despite what they think.

So I'm here. I'm willing to help.

Like Thunder and Lightning

 

Potential power outage in a house with a black cat? Nah. Not spooky at all.

We just got an alert for a severe thunderstorm warning.

Meaning it's going to happen, of course.

Funny how life is. I can remember a stage, maybe around four years old, when I was completely terrified of thunderstorms. I mean, I hated them.

Now I find them fascinating and cool.

Granted, a thunderstorm in March is sort of random but not totally unusual.

But a summer thunderstorm? Oh yeah.

Normally, I'll step outside as the wind begins to build because that's a moment I absolutely love. The storm is imminent and the wind is just glorious.

Then it's like a scene out of Batman. OK, the 60s version with Adam West.

BANG! POP! KAPOW!

I suppose it's part of my very amateur interest in weather. Believe me, I don't know the first thing that any meteorologist is talking about and yet I watch a lot of The Weather Channel.

Still, in a big snowstorm or hurricane or some other event, you can normally find me watching the details of it all.

(Heavy rain has just started pouring as I type, for what it's worth.)

I think that -- combined with the zest of being on the scene for a big story -- is what led me to make sure I was in the studio the night of the "Superstorm" which just had to be named Sandy.

The jokes are too easy.

Knowing that I could anchor WGCH, even if that wasn't necessarily the plan, gave me an adrenaline rush to make sure I was in the studio that night.

Oh, I was so ready. I packed a sleeping bag and an air mattress and a pump.

I went in early to just be in the building and it wasn't long before a fill-in show host was needed. So began my roughly eight hours on the air, either sitting at the board or hosting.

I also appeared as a guest on a Vancouver radio station, and they asked me to come on again the next day. I had to make sure I kept just enough of a charge on my phone for that.

We lost power around 10:30 that night in Greenwich.

The batteries in the air pump were dead. There would be no air mattress because I didn't pump it up while we still had power.

A Greenwich cop stopped by and told us we were going nowhere. So Jim Campbell, Tony Savino, and I each picked a room to sleep in.

I slept in the sleeping bag on the floor of my office at the time and drove home late in the morning the next day. Mahopac eventually got power back before dark that night. We were only out about 24 hours, which was lucky compared to others.

Now, I listen to the rain, hoping to not lose power in an empty house with a black car.

You know, nothing too creepy about that.

No thunder yet. No lighting of the sky.

Not yet.

Get The Flowers Blooming

 

Sometimes you simply have to tip your cap.

Winter sports ended at Brunswick today with a 4-2 victory for Kent in the Large School Championship game.

The Bruins played their hearts out but the Lions had a few more answers.

I called it and felt the usual weight of such a broadcast. To me, it's a responsibility. You have to take care of the fans for the team you're responsible for but you also have to take care of the team across the way.

To that end, I handed out compliments and called goals with zest. This is no different than how I've handled things my whole career. I want everyone to feel welcomed just as you're kind to welcome me via your radio, TV, phone, computer, etc.

I invest myself emotionally, not necessarily in the result but in process of making sure the broadcast is the best it can be for everyone. As you know, anytime I hear about bias it's disappointing to me. Of course, I can't please everyone no matter how hard I try.

At the end of the day, I have to look at myself in the mirror and make sure I'm OK with how I did.

I got a message from someone at Kent to thank me for the broadcast. That means so much. The same goes for the lovely card I got from defenseman John Burdett's mother. There were kind words and one nitpicky message also. So it goes.

That ends two weeks of 15 broadcasts -- seven basketball, seven hockey, and one wrestling. In some ways, I'm glad it's over since my voice held out and I feel good. On the other hand, I don't like losing momentum. There will very likely be two more basketball games this week but I need to confirm them. The plan is in place and I'll make it official when I can.

It's a shame so little of the broadcasts were for Greenwich High School but I guess time marches on.

Timing was also a big issue during this season. There could have been many more games but conflicts galore arose, including intending to call the CHSGHA girls ice hockey championship. I had it marked on the calendar for next Sunday since that's when it used to be, but it's scheduled for this Wednesday. Since it's Darien/New Canaan and Damian Andrew's DAF Media group will likely cover it, I don't think I'm needed so I'll most likely be in Mount Kisco with "The Clubhouse." I feel bad as that game is important to me.

After that possible doubleheader later this week, I'll likely get a few weeks off from games. The next scheduled broadcast is Saturday, March 26 when Brunswick baseball hosts Belmont Hill. I'm not going to lie. It's time to see just how crappy a baseball broadcaster I am.

Lacrosse will follow that.

To get me ready for baseball, I paid a visit to the field before I left the campus.

Thanks to all of the parents, families, fans, and of course players and coaches for a fun winter. Thanks, especially, for the kind words that fuel me, especially in the lowest moments. I don't root -- I can't -- but I do feel bad when the team I cover loses -- as if I'm some kind of curse. I've felt that all the way back to the state and FCIAC championship losses for Greenwich football. 

With me on the mic, Wick has lost a football bowl game (well, three actually, going back a few years), and FAA basketball championship, and now a hockey championship game.

Blech.

Hopefully, Kent has a nice memory they can savor of my call today.

Sorry, Brunswick.

Let's get to spring.

Saturday in Three Acts

Coke Icee for the win

Act I:

Today was a good day.

I woke up in Atlantic City, went to Brunswick, and am now home.

It started with a debate of Icees. Or slushies, Slurpees or whatever you call them. Chris Erway made it clear to me that Coke Icees are disgusting. Oh, how I beg to differ beyond a shadow of a doubt. I've loved those since, say, 1971 when I had them in Florida.

This parting of the ways was not what pushed me out of the hotel room we shared, to be clear. 

I passed on one at Wawa as I grabbed coffee, breakfast, and a sandwich to be eaten following my broadcast. From there, it was on to the highways.

I enjoyed my drive up the Garden State Parkway (this alone is breaking news) as I negotiated the always-delightful New Jersey drivers while cranking out some good road tunes. It was around then that I considered that it was, indeed, a good day.

Whether or not this was despite being in New Jersey is up for debate. Having to pass a rest area named for, blech, Jon Bon Jovi did not deter from the drive.

He gives rest areas a bad name.

But, yeah, I could use more of that road-trip comforts.

*****

The Wawa sandwich has nothing to do with this part of the post.
It's a Wawa sandwich. A hoagie. That's enough.

Act II

I'm very proud to announce that the Super Bowl will air on Robcasting Radio beginning in 2023. Next month, Robcasting will also run the Final Four as well as The Masters. Later in 2022, we'll air the Indianapolis 500, the World Series, and whatever else I damn well please.

I mean contracts don't matter, right?

Local Live has a contract with the FCIAC so it should make sense that nobody -- literally no one -- airs the FCIAC semifinals and championship, which are supposed to be exclusively on their stream. Sure, exceptions are made, including Wilton High School's student channel taping the games that their boys basketball team played in so they could run them on YouTube. 

But no non-student group can do that, right? I mean, if I wasn't working the game, I couldn't just run Robcasting out there, could I?

No, of course not. I'd have to get the approval of FCIAC Commissioner Dave Schulz, as well as the likely okie dokey of whatever facility I planned to broadcast from.

That's the way it works with anything I do. I don't even get a table without someone's say-so.

So, no, Robcasting won't be broadcasting any of the above. The NFL, Augusta National Golf Club, the NCAA, and other organizations wouldn't be too pleased with me just strolling in with my equipment and setting up.

Yet that's happening.

This isn't supposed to be the Wild Wild West of broadcasting and everyone would be well-served to stop before controls really get put into place. I've heard horror stories from other states. I don't want the ones I work in to become like that.

*****

Act III

After considerable thought, I went to Brunswick today for their hockey semifinal against Nobles in the Large School tournament. I had the option to go to the FCIAC Championship in Danbury but decided Wick was the right call. The FCIAC game was a magnificent affair that I watched on Local Live, sans announcer. Ridgefield and Fairfield put on a show that many won't forget.

Part of what made Brunswick the right call was the later start time (2 p.m. vs. Noon in Danbury) and that it was on the way from Atlantic City. I cruised to the Hartong Rink in a little over two hours. Of course, Wick's loyalty to me is also extremely important. 

I'm loyal if you don't know, and I am also loyal to the FCIAC, given my nearly 25 years with them.

I watched Ridgefield go to overtime and win 1-0. Admittedly I almost missed the winning goal because Brunswick had already started. I glanced down at my phone just when the Tigers scored.

I considered calling the game myself remotely since Josh Drebsky's camera work on Local Live was so well done. I had the rosters and notes (yes, I prepared for that game also). I know it's pronounced "Eff-see-ack," for what it's worth.

But I went to Brunswick.

It was the right move, as I said. While the game wasn't quite as nail-biting as the one in Danbury, the Bruins still won a tight 3-2 contest.

They will play for the Large School championship tomorrow at 2 p.m. against Kent School. I will call that game.

That will end the insane stretch of games, though there is a likely doubleheader (other than the show of the same name) this week. I just have to confirm things but, as I said, I've gone through the proper channels.

Respect is so 20th century, I guess.

AC Insanity

 

ATLANTIC CITY, NJ -- Chris Erway is basically asleep.

OK, he's not. He popped in earbuds and is watching something on his phone.

So ends our wild night in Atlantic City.

We came, we saw, we conquered.

No, really. We did what we had to do and are wiped out.

I pulled into Atlantic City and checked into the fabulous Courtyard by Marriott around 1:30 this afternoon after a draining drive that took honestly more time than it should have.

But I had Wawa, so it was all good.

AC is...well...AC. I was last here in 2001 and never got out of the car. I saw it, went back to the hotel outside of town, and was gone in the morning.

As for today, I did get to stroll the boardwalk on a cold March day but it was good exercise and now I can say I did it.

Still, I kept looking over my shoulder; a sad reality in such a place in 2022.

Chris soon came into town and we went to Boardwalk Hall -- the site of the Miss America pageant and a Beatles concert, as well as the 1964 Liberty Bowl (yes, really) -- where we called the New Jersey individual wrestling finals.

Oh, and I learned that I'll never be popular in Phillipsburg, NJ. In fact, NO broadcaster will. So despite how proud I was of my call of their team championship back in February, we once again learn that you can't please everyone. 

Chris and I barreled through the wrestling broadcast, packed up, and grabbed dinner.

Just checking, silverware and napkins should be a standard part of a dinner setup, right?

OK, cool.

We strolled through the Tropicana, Chris made me regret not having him some money down on roulette for me, and our wild night concluded as we sped through the mean streets of AC back to the hotel room.

In other words, I stopped at literally every traffic light, we found a place to park and came back to the room.

OK, I guess I should level with you. There was some decadence. I don't know how to admit this but...we had Mrs. Fields Cookies. While Chris got a chocolate chip masterpiece, I reminded him how I am the most vanilla person ever by getting (yes, really) a butter sugar cookie. 

Well...two.

And tomorrow, I'll head to...

drumroll...

Brunswick, where I'll call the New England semifinal hockey game. 

Then I guess I'll go home.

Does what happened in AC stay in AC?

In this case, there are no stories to tell.

So they can stay here anyway.

Keep 'em.

Post, Take Two

The post was written. 

I walked away from it.

I erased it just now.

I wrote it hours ago and decided to let it marinate. It was more grumbling about the broadcasting world.

And a reminder that I need to just focus on what I can control.

But the whole thing got blown up anyway so the point now is moot.

Instead, I will marvel at the joy I felt calling the FCIAC basketball championship tonight and the amount of fun I'm having during these couple of crazy weeks.

I'm close to telling you about at least one more night of fun (next week) but that's all got to get locked in.

I'm off to Atlantic City in the morning for New Jersey wrestling.

Imagine that. Me, the wrestling announcer. That's probably even more humorous than my broadcasting a lot of sports.

My favorite to talk about is field hockey because the first field hockey game I ever broadcast was the first field hockey game I'd ever been to. I taught myself what I could via a YouTube video a few hours before the game.

I also learned to let the video tell more of the broadcast story, much like I do with soccer. Once I realized that I was able to handle wrestling.

Chris Erway is fantastic at it. He knows how to break it all down. I know how to let it breathe and climb in as needed. Technically great? No, certainly not, but it's the style I like.

So I'll hit the road, grab Wawa for lunch a few hours down, check into the hotel, and get to Boardwalk Hall. For those looking for me to party, well, that's likely not happening as I have to get up on Saturday and shoot to a hockey broadcast that is to be determined.

Check your local listings as always!

As for tonight, congratulations to Ridgefield High School as they won their fourth straight FCIAC championship. That has never happened -- seriously, there has never been a four-peat -- so it was cool to watch history. Honestly, it was a win-win because a Wilton victory would have been historic also. It would have been their first title.

But the Tigers had the answers late.

A collection of highlights has been posted by Ben Talbot here. Kevin Devaney Jr posted the final moments of the game here. Incidentally, having Ben and cameraman Keith Paul there just added a whole extra layer of professionalism to the broadcast. It looked crisp with replays (and I had a monitor!). It just looked fantastic.

Yes, I like this post much better than the original version.

Some energy can go so far because, in the end, you can only focus on what you can control.

I need sleep. I also probably need to prep for two games.

One of which I won't call.

Maybe I'll write from New Jersey tomorrow.

Hopefully with a Wawa sandwich nearby.

Excuse me. A hoagie.

Random

 

I got home from calling a really good quarterfinal hockey game today at Brunswick when I decided to check out some other stuff while eating dinner.

It did not go well.

"How do I tell someone something is unacceptable?" I asked.

"You don't," came the reply.

I melted down to the point of a headache.

*****

As has been made abundantly clear, I put heart, soul, voice, and life into every broadcast. I drove home basically in a fog tonight as I was exhausted.

No, I was not a danger on the road. But I sort of drove on autopilot.

Sports broadcasting is -- first and foremost -- about reporting the events in front of the reporter. Pass the facts along.

Believe me, nothing troubles me more than going into something new, such as coming up this Friday when I'm in Atlantic City. But I'll do whatever homework I can ahead of time.

Make a mistake and it will gnaw at me. I mistakenly referred to Pelham as the "Panthers" when last Sunday's second broadcast opened. I had put that on the roster page while my scorecard correctly had "Pelicans" on it. But as soon as the word "Panthers" left my mouth, two things happened:

1) I knew it was wrong and I'd correct it immediately, and

2) I knew I was going to get a text.

Yup, and it ate at me all the way home.

I mispronounced a name last night during the Warde/Ridgefield game and it nearly ruined me for the evening but I was able to dust it off.

The point is I put my reputation on the line each time. I anticipated the heat in both cases.

Tomorrow night, I'll proudly call my 55th FCIAC championship game, as Ridgefield and Wilton meet for the basketball title. Of course, 55 is a fairly popular digit around here so that's the only reason I'm bringing it up.

Still, well, we've talked about these big games and what they mean to me. So I make sure to know how to say the conference name and try to learn all of the tidbits. I pride myself on it so that I don't drive home in a funk like I did on Sunday.

Professionalism is paramount in these games. Oh, I don't mean you can't have a laugh but I do mean viewers want the facts. They want someone who knows how to handle the moment.

I've learned people care about that winning call. It's a legacy thing and I'm so excited to be the soundtrack for so many people to savor. That really means a lot.

I don't know. I'm really just babbling.

Let's try again tomorrow.

(Photo: Shawn Sailer)

March 1

 

It's 11:29 p.m. as I begin typing.

It's also March 1st. I just got home from calling the FCIAC boys basketball semifinals and will handle the championship on Thursday night when Wilton meets Ridgefield. The Ridgefield Tigers have become a dynasty but the Warriors are very good. That's 7 p.m. Thursday only on most of these Local Live stations.

But, yeah, it's March, and it's a month that befuddles me. It's a month that I want to love with spring training (HA!) and March Madness and the promise of warmer weather approaching.

Did I say "HA?" Yeah. Major League Baseball can just go away. That's it. That is all.

But March also has a lot of things that are...meh. Or memories that are simply bad.

I know I've written it before but I'm going to say it again. It's important to just move forward. I'd rather see the good though I suppose we won't ignore all of the bad.

But I called two FCAIC semifinals tonight. I'll handle Brunswick's quarterfinal hockey game tomorrow. I'll do the FCIAC Championship on Thursday. I'll call New Jersey wrestling in Atlantic City on Friday. There will be a hockey game (or two) on Saturday and maybe one more on Sunday.

Later in the month, I'll call my first Brunswick baseball game and there could be some other things in the pipeline.

I also have to go to New York City for the next Hunt Scanlon conference that I'll moderate.

These are all good things.

So bring it on March. Let's see what you have in store.

With that, it's late and I'm going to bed.

MLB, You're On the Clock

 

You can't help but wonder if it has all been a waste of time.

I've loved baseball basically as much as I've (almost) loved any person. I've spent every emotion on a game that has held my soul for basically 50 years.

I've studied it to the extent my father wished I cared a lot more about the history I was being taught in school instead of the 1927 Yankees.

Yet, tonight, as baseball hangs in the balance and with fans bouncing between glimpses of despair and hope, I find myself wondering if we're the fools.

Whether you want to buy into the "millionaires versus billionaires" debate or not, the rhetoric from everyone has purely sickened me. While some are content to literally tweet every last thing as if Woodward and Bernstein have rifled off such facts, I've mostly stayed in the background. The work of a few on Twitter has been my go-to.

Without RTing their every word. That's got to be a sad life.

I've tried to be patient but I've seen this movie and, let's be honest.

They don't care.

Why have I been the fool to have put so much into all of this? I have memories of fifty years of baseball. I've read the books and visited the Hall of Fame and watched the movies and bought the audio and traded the baseball cards and hung the pictures and...

for what?

Why didn't I just invest fully in another part of baseball? Who needs the majors? The game itself is still awesome. A Little League or Babe Ruth or Cal Ripken game brings me tons of joy as I broadcast the sport at its most raw.

It doesn't matter. I can be standing leaning on a fence at Greenwich High School or in some stadium and be pretty happy. 

Literally, sitting in the booth at Trumbull as I have so many times now for Babe Ruth tournament games thrills me. Any place where I can describe the game, enjoy the weather, and tell stories will bring me joy.

Even to just watch is great. Ball? Meet bat. Here's a glove. Make beautiful music together.

Instead, I'm seeing a world where I'm just not wanted.

I realize everyone has been trying to tell me this all along but I guess it's just finally hitting me that it's passing me by.

Maybe I should just stick to being a professor of baseball history, with my focus being up until a certain point.

Like tonight.

Maybe I should stick with the black and white and early color films. With DiMaggio and Musial and Gehrig and Foxx. With Mickey and Roger.

With The Babe.

Maybe my baseball life should end when Vin walked away.

They'll resolve it tonight or overnight or sometime tomorrow. Or they won't. Then they'll start canceling games.

They don't care. Why should I anymore?

There are other places for my passion for this game. Brunswick baseball seems to want me. Maybe Greenwich High does. I hear Fairfield Ludlowe and a few other programs like having me around. Mike Buswell always wants me to call games for him and Trumbull Babe Ruth.

I'm probably turning cable off soon and, with that, I'm likely done with the YES Network.

Why waste my time anymore?

It's not that I'm desperately sitting here pining for wool uniforms or some bygone era. Honestly, I'm not doing that. I've evolved with it, though granted I'm kicking and screaming sometimes.

I'm just pretty convinced that professional baseball -- led by Rob Manfred -- doesn't care.

And when you've lost me...well...who cares anyway?

We've apparently learned nothing. 

This isn't to say I won't go back but I don't have season tickets anymore and haven't been to Yankee Stadium since before the pandemic. 

I'm not done with the game. I don't know that I'm done with MLB. 

But there's damage. 

I never thought I'd say that.

MLB is the girl you've pursued who doesn't love you back yet you continue to woo.

Maybe it's time to stop wooing.

At this time, I'm the washed-up old righty heading for the showers and wondering if I "can push the sun back up in the sky and give us one more day of summer." (Vin Scully, "For Love of the Game")

Tonight, I don't know.

Tomorrow is another game.

Maybe.

Doubleday Field, 2012

Stairway to Broadcasting

 

A panoramic view of Sport-o-Rama

Two games. Six periods. One-hundred-two minutes of play. Twenty-two goals. One penalty shot.

In the end, Pelham Memorial beat John Jay (Cross River) 9-1 and Suffern beat Mamaroneck 11-1.

The Pelicans (NOT PANTHERS) topped the Wolves (NOT INDIANS) and both head to the regional playoffs while the Mounties also advanced. Sadly, the Tigers' season is over.

I called all of it from a stairway in the corner of the Sport-o-Rama Ice Rinks in Monsey, NY.

Look, many facilities are just not built for media. Few hockey barns have designed space for such. Sport-o-Rama has nothing. They had an area that was apparently used by the media in the past but due to insurance concerns was closed off by the time I walked in this morning.

Josh, the cameraman I worked with today, stood atop a set of stairs while we hashed it all out with the rink staff. In one version, I was going to stay at ice level and work from the corner, getting to know new best friends in the overflow crowd.

Ultimately, I joined Josh on the stairs where I would have to lean over to see the scoreboard.

Lesser broadcasters -- more entitled, dare I say -- would have squawked or demanded a better perch.

Others would have just helped themselves to space.

No. I'm a guest in their building. I do as they tell me -- like it or not. Sport-o-Rama, who was great to work with, was willing to accommodate Josh and me but this stairway appeared to be the best option.

So, you adjust. Moaning makes you a malcontent and people won't want to work with you again. So suck it up and set up and kill the broadcast.

My view of the scoreboard

My style will always be honest. I explained where we were positioned. I explained that there wasn't a PA announcer for goals and penalties initially. I just make the best of things. 

Younger broadcasters want to rule the world (don't we all?) but you also have to earn that respect by grinding and being open-minded. This isn't just handed to you. It's not always about showing up in your best suit jacket. I stood in a grimy ice rink (the best kind) in jeans and a quarter-zip, with a hoodie and a wool jacket on. I sat on those stairs at times between periods and games. I dug for notes and rosters and Kevin Devaney, Jr. fed me some info via text.

This is how you do it.

I have a great relationship at Brunswick yet I don't have an open door at Wick. It's still their facility. I know I can grab two basketball chairs for broadcasts. I can't just go commandeer a table. There is a protocol. There are people on the food chain higher than I am.

Same with Greenwich High. You can say that's my pressbox but I am entitled to none of it. Besides, people move on, times change, and I'm easily forgotten.

This is how it works.

Today, at Sport-o-Rama, it was a set of stairs that were used a few times as we worked there and we had to adjust to that also.

But, do it right, treat everyone with respect, and (guess what?) you'll get the same in return.

I should charge for these lessons.

Onto a new week. FCIAC boys basketball semis. Probably back to Brunswick on Wednesday, FCIAC boys hoops championship on Thursday, maybe to Atlantic City(!) on Friday, and more hockey on Saturday.

On a day when I felt I wasn't at my best, I'll shake it off and get right back to it. When I got home I will tell you I was grumpy and low before Travis Jackson texted me to say people are giving my call a lot of love. I can't explain how much I needed that.

The grind continues.

Or someone else will take it.

The FAA Championship Broadcast

 

(Brunswick social media)

It was a "Storm-y" night.

Oy. That's the best lead I've got.

St. Luke's -- the Storm -- won the FAA Championship today at Brunswick, defeating the Bruins. A game of runs, the Storm won 47-39.

I think this was the third FAA Championship game I've called (two baseball and now one basketball) so I only have another 51 to call to reach my FCIAC total.

Still, the story was the same. I felt enormous pride and responsibility in handling the call and was (and still am) completely exhausted when it was over. Despite being associated with Brunswick, I worked hard to make sure that I had no true dog in the fight on the air. 

I gave it all I had. I fed off the crowd. I fed off the players who aren't far from my broadcasting position. 

I loved it all and was sorry to see it end.

Oh, there's still plenty ahead. I'm on the call of the Section One hockey championships tomorrow (I'm still waiting on one roster sadly) and FCIAC boys basketball and hopefully Brunswick hockey and FCIAC hockey and maybe more wrestling and then...

The CHSGHA girls hockey championship follows.

Then a break. Briefly.

Then? Brunswick baseball and Brunswick lacrosse and maybe (hopefully) some Mahopac baseball and Greenwich baseball and FCIAC and...

And, let's face it, I love it. I love all of it.

Today was even a little extra special because Sean came along and he was in a surprisingly complementary mood. He enjoys jabbing me about my age, especially as I pointed out the number of players I covered who are now coaches or any other so-called "six degrees of Sean's father" type stuff.

"Jokes about your age aside," Sean said, "I am impressed by you."

Whoa.

Then, as we were getting dinner, we stood waiting to order sandwiches as the adrenaline just drained out of me.

"I gave it my all," I said out loud.

"I'm always amazed by that," he said. "There were times last year where you looked read to collapse and yet you'd somehow find the energy. There were nights at the stadium when I was falling asleep and yet there you were, still excited."

"I love what I do," I said, somewhat shocked at the overflowing kind words.

You have to be a little crazy to do this. It can make you insane. There are rules to follow and certain ways to do things. One shouldn't just show up or help themselves to tables or space without having done the things to cultivate the relationships.

We're broadcasters. We're way down on the pecking list yet some still have the arrogance to act like they own a place.

I've worked hard to build relationships at Brunswick and everywhere else. I stay out of the way. I try to never ask for much. I didn't have a table for basketball all year. I grabbed two extra chairs and used that as my table for every game.

Simple, basic courtesy and respect for the school and teams. It's not difficult.

On Tuesday, at Wilton, I'll sit where they want me to sit and mostly keep to myself.

Then I'll leave it all out on the air for Wilton/Westhill and Ridgefield/Warde. And, I'm thrilled to say, people actually request my voice be on these broadcasts.

It means more than you'll ever know.

Back to prepping for hockey tomorrow.

Basketball Tuesday...

The Answer is "Absolutely Nothing"

 

Kyiv, Ukraine

I'm horrified over what is happening in Ukraine. This is no great social or political commentary. It's just me expressing sorrow over war and the question that has lingered for years: what is it good for?

The images are terrible and I see no possible way to defend what Vladimir Putin is doing.

Basically, that's it. That's the post. I'm saddened by the images of events in that part of our world and always concerned about how they can impact our own lives as well. Those, to be clear, are two separate thoughts, and both are OK to have (in case you need to hear that).

Lives are in danger tonight and have been for a few nights now. I guess I've been trying to wrap my head around it all.

I will say, and I'm not 100% sure it's true, but the story that I've read of Ukrainian border guards on Snake Island is pretty "boss." A Russian soldier is heard on the audio as telling the guards to surrender. A Ukrainian soldier responds by telling the Russians to go f**k themselves.

Thirteen lives were lost in the act of defiance.

I lament the loss of life in something that is a combination of brave, bold, and maybe even foolish. May none of us ever be put in such a position.

As I said, I don't know if the story is true but, as we've learned, "when the legend becomes fact, print the legend."

And so we'll print the legend.

Stay strong, Ukraine. Stay strong.

Connections

Before tonight's game at Trumbull

I implore students to develop a network. 

Make friends. Lots of them.

It's the thing that I'd go back and tell my teenage self. I tend not to shop in the regret department but I suppose this one counts a little.

Sure, I'm all about education. I push broadcasters to go to college, even if they've opted for something like CSB. I think it's all about personal development. To that end, if I'm being honest, I still beat myself up occasionally for not having a Master's, as if I'm somehow not worthwhile otherwise.

But there's no question that the broadcasting industry is about who you know. I've long said that talent and quality do not ultimately win out.

There's a whole separate post in that paragraph.

So I've built my network. I've cultivated it and, of course, I did it, ahem, my way. I've mentored so many broadcasters of all ages.

I always say I'm rooting for them -- and I am. I then laugh and ask them to not take my job.

Those whom I'm close to don't forget and I don't forget them.

My actual goal in 2021 was to have many of those friends join me at Dutchess Stadium and it just never worked out. Chris Erway, Jake Zimmer, Dan Gardella, Kevin Halpenny, and on and on and on were on my list.

To further my point, Jake Zimmer and I always look out for each other. So, when he texted me today, it was to create a new connection for me. I won't get into details yet but by the end of the conversation, I was considered part of the rotation for a future situation.

It could be great.

Maybe another place to call home.

That's the very thing. These connections are important. I think all the way back to coming home one night, finding a message from a radio friend, and returning his call.

"I was asked if I was interested in doing something for WREF in Ridgefield," he said. "I'm not, but I know someone who is. Get an audition tape to him ASAP."

I did and I got that position. Sadly, within six months WREF was sold and closed their studios.

The connections I made at WREF led me to WGCH 25 years ago right around now.

And it's gone on from there.

Is this a reason for some excitement? Well, not yet, but it's a positive thing and we could all use a little positivity.

Oh, and St. Joseph won the girls FCIAC championship tonight in girls basketball. Brunswick won their semifinal game so I'll call my first FAA basketball championship on Saturday. I've also picked up the Section One hockey championships for the first time. Then it's FCIAC boys basketball and hockey next week. Maybe wrestling in Atlantic City. 

I just need to have a voice.

It's a little sore tonight.

It Was 20 Years Ago Today

 

Sean R. Adams was born on this day in 2002.

I texted him the famous opening line to "Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band" and a GIF of the album cover and, of course, he laughed.

I was confident he would.

That's Sean. Oh, I've talked about him countless times over the years but always tried to never beat you over the head with stories and pictures. It's tough as a proud parent to know when to hold the line but I've tried and, more than likely, failed.

As he's gotten older I figured they were also his stories to tell.

But you know him by now. He's honest and loyal and so many other wonderful and amazing things. He has his faults -- of course, he does -- but I'll happily take them as part of the whole package. 

We've remained every bit as close as I hoped we would but also am thrilled when he hangs out with the boys. I always knew -- whatever life threw at us -- that we'd stay close and I think we're both happy with that.

I keep waiting for him to say that he doesn't want to travel with me and that day is coming.

But I remain every bit as proud and more as I was that morning 20 years ago. That's the first thing I remember -- beaming -- as I pushed his bassinet through the maternity ward that morning. 

He can be shy. Quiet. Reserved. But, I warn you, that mind is always churning and there's likely a zinger waiting to happen.

That's my boy.

I also know he was bullied in school and that took a lot of the happy-go-lucky out of him. That makes me sad and I feel like I failed him at times.

But I can brag and talk about him for hours. He's so level-headed and just so...cool.

Sometimes I suppose he's a little too cool. I mean, for the love of something, please do the dishes or take out the garbage!

But I know I can count on him to watch things, including the cat, when I go to London.

As a parent, you hope you've passed on the right things. You hope you've made him even better than yourself. You hope he's respectful and kind and thoughtful.

You also hope you can turn him loose to the world eventually, and he'll do so.

You hope, eventually, you make each other proud.

Sean does things on his terms. At his time.

He's created 20 years of happy memories and I suppose even a few regrets on my part.

But if you had his number or some way to get hold of him I hope you wished him a happy one.

As for me, I'll see him this weekend and we can do something.

Happy birthday, kid, and thanks for making me a dad.

Keep getting by with a little help from your friends.

Aug, 2020: Albany, NY

Monument Park

 

(MLB)

The Yankees announced the retirement of Paul O'Neill's number 21 today.

Look, I love Paulie. In my lifetime, he's in my "holy trinity" with Bobby Murcer and Don Mattingly. I loved his fire, his clutch play, and literally everything about him. When he looked done in 2000, he worked out a walk in Game 1 of the World Series against Armando Benitez after fouling off 20 pitches*.

*An exaggeration, though Benitez deserved to make the Hall of Fame just for allowing that walk.

When the Yankees were down to their last out in the 1997 ALDS, it was Paulie who basically dragged his face through the Jacobs Field dirt for a double to keep any hope alive.

I revere him. I'm happy for him.

But I still have reservations about the Yankees retiring numbers. They've really overdone it (in my opinion). Paulie's will be the 23rd to be taken out of circulation.

That being said, the Bombers have basically kept number 21 aside for 20 years*.

*OK, LaTroy Hawkins -- a fine pitcher and man -- tried to wear 21 with the Yankees in 2008. It didn't go well. He was booed. Horrifically booed. I didn't love seeing that number either but felt it was time to move forward. Hawkins eventually changed his number and soon left New York.

But the bigger issue to me -- past the ridiculous, Oprah-esque retiring of numbers ("Everbody gets a retired number!")  -- is how little the Yankees are truly acknowledging their history anymore.

Retired numbers aside, Monument Park is supposed to be a place of reverence where the Yankees can have their own form of a Hall of Fame. Still, as a business, they know millennials will come out to cheer O'Neill and the 90s Yankees.

Past that? Meh.

But there's a lot of history being left aside.

Look, I'll show my hand here. I don't think Bobby Murcer is a Hall of Famer. At best, I'd love to see him considered for the Ford Frick Award for broadcasting. But I do -- without hesitation -- think he should be in Monument Park. I don't want his number retired (though I think he, Earl Combs, and Bobby Richardson certainly honored the number one as much as Billy Martin did) but I do want to see a plaque go up to recognize his years as a player, coach (briefly), and broadcaster. Bobby spent over 40 years in MLB as a player and "voice" with most of those years with the Yankees. He played his heart out in San Francisco and Chicago between 1975 and July, 1979 but his heart was truly in New York all along (with apologies to Tony Bennett). He means a ton to those of us who grew up with him. He represented the team with total grace.

But the thinking is putting a Bobby Murcer plaque in Monument Park won't draw ticket buyers. The same goes for basically anyone prior to 1990 at this point. I mean, where's "Sweet" Lou Piniella? Where's the aforementioned Bobby Richardson? Where's Dave Winfield (that's actually embarrassing)? Where's "Steady" Eddie Lopat or Vic Raschi? Where's "Poosh-em-up" Tony Lazzeri or Waite Hoyt or Urban Shocker or (Spencer Pierce's favorite) "Wee" Willie Keeler? Where's Tony Kubek? 

Mel Allen is in Monument Park. Where are Red Barber and Jerry Coleman and Frank Messer and Bill White?

All should be considered.

But this doesn't sell tickets. Jorge Posada and Andy Pettitte and Derek Sanderson Jeter sell tickets.

Red Rolfe and Joe Gordon and Frankie Crosetti don't.

But, in my mind, Monument Park is supposed to be the Yankees' version of a Hall of Fame. They're the true giants -- Ruth, Gehrig, DiMaggio, Mantle, Ford, Yogi, Mo, Jeets -- and the players who we all loved and respected.

That would be Donnie Baseball and Mel Stottlemyre and Bobby friggin Ray Murcer.

And Paul O'Neill.

So, take nothing away from Paulie O' on today's announcement but it triggered my brain that the Yankees could do much better.

Much, much better.

The Yankees are about history. They're about greatness. They're about 27 World Championships and the drive for more.

They're about excellence. 

Much like I want to walk loved ones around Cooperstown and explain to them who certain players are, I very much want to do the same in the Bronx. This is how we keep the history of "our game" alive, by passing the stories down through generations.

Few things would make me prouder than to see Sean or literally anyone that knows me walk through Monument Park one day and say, "Ah, Bobby Murcer. That was my dad's favorite player. He told me all about the time he drove in all five runs on the night of Thurman Munson's funeral, how he hit for the cycle and homered four times in a doubleheader, and how he wanted to be a broadcaster because of him, and..."

THAT'S what a place like Monument Park is supposed to be about.

Let's Get Going

 

I'm so excited for the next couple of weeks.

That's it. That's the topic here. Let me break it all down.

Tomorrow, 2/22: FCIAC girls basketball semifinals (at Trumbull)
6pm: #1 St. Joseph vs. #4 Ridgefield
7:45 #2 Ludlowe vs. #7 Stamford.

Wednesday, 2/23 (also Sean's birthday): FCIAC girls ice hockey semifinals (at Darien)
4pm: #1 New Canaan vs. #4 Greenwich
5:50: #2 Stamford/Westhill/Staples co-op vs. #3 Darien

Also, please note Wednesday night is the season premiere of "The Clubhouse." It pains me that I can't be at O’Connor’s Public House (222A Main St, Mt Kisco, NY 10549) but such is the juggling act. Mark Jeffers, Dave Torromeo, and Bob Small will guide things perfectly fine. Trust me, I won't be missed. Listen to the show at 7pm on WGCH and wgch.com. I hope to be back in March.

Thursday, 2/24, 7pm: FCIAC girls basketball championship (at Trumbull).

Brunswick basketball will also be playing in the FAA semifinals on Thursday.

Friday, 2/25, 7pm: Trinity-Pawling visits Brunswick for hockey in the final home game of the regular season.

Saturday, 2/26:

3:50 pm: FCIAC girls ice hockey championship (at Darien). Looks like I won't be on this call. This could be good because...

Time TBD: FAA boys basketball championship (and I'll be on this call if Brunswick is involved).

Also on Saturday are the FCIAC boys hockey quarterfinals. Always possible I jump on a call of one of those.

Sunday, 2/27: I breathe (and probably go to Poughkeepsie to be on "Poughkeepsie Nissan Sunday Sports with Zolz")

Next week, remove Brunswick basketball and girls sports and replace it with FCIAC boys hockey and basketball as well as Brunswick hockey. At last check, I'm supposed to call all of it, including the boys hockey championship, which I'd very much like to do as it's been a few years.

If you don't know, I love calling playoffs and championships and you know my philosophy by now.

I've seen most of the spring schedules as well. Let's just keep this train rolling.