The Trophy Was Treasured

 

(Photo: Ljupco Smokovski/Shutterstock.com)

A recent tweet grabbed my eye. In short, it took a meme of Jeff Foxworthy, who said he didn't get a trophy every year he played sports unless his team won. The tweeter said, conversely, he did get a trophy every year during the same era (basically, late 60s/early 70s). So, does "Everybody Gets a Trophy" run along some kind of party lines?

Good grief but I hope not.

And now, on with our feature presentation.

*****

Second place, 1983. I think it was the West Division.

That was my first sports trophy.

Everyone did not get a trophy back then.

I played baseball from 1977-1987 in the Mahopac Sports Association. It was purely spring baseball. No fall ball. No travel ball. No outfield scoreboards or even dugouts. Uniforms were t-shirts with iron-on letters and numbers.

And it was glorious.

Believe me, all of that would have been pretty great but no matter. We played hard, developed bonds, strengthened the love of the game, and were driven to win.

From 1977 to 1982 I played on teams that had fun but weren't really winning teams. Oh, I still enjoyed them and I should mention that at least one or two of those seasons weren't competitive. It might have just been my first year and trophies began in the second year.

Still, postseason games and such avoided the all-heart, no talent outfielder and second baseman of those teams who wore numbers 12, 4, 11, 13, 2, 6, and 2.

Yes, 2. As in Bobby Murcer (at that time). The others were either given to me of it was the best remaining number. I willingly took 13 when that was all that remained. I didn't mind.

My Ridgeview Auto Body team did just enough in 1983 to finally gain entrance to the post-season banquet, which wasn't open to everyone.

The 1983 MSA spring banquet was at the old Lantern Pub in Mahopac. It was there that I got that magic moment of a trophy being placed in my hand. Expecting to put it on a shelf in my room, my father had another idea.

"That's the first trophy in this family," he said. "It should go in the living room on top of the TV."

Now you should understand that, back then, the living room TV was a piece of furniture itself.

And so that's where it went and I wasn't going to argue with that. Having my father proud of this moment meant much more than it sitting near my stereo in my bedroom.

The '83 trophy was lovely. A silver player sat on a small marble base. Yet as I studied them all that night I still looked at the big winners.

The champions.

That's what I wanted. While I adored the time with my teammates and the entire experience, I wanted to win a championship.

In 1984, my wish was granted. Wearing number 12 again, I was part of a team that roared through the regular season. I can remember the nerves of my first championship game.

I can remember the euphoria of winning that title and feeling like I was on top of the world. If I recall I walked and scored a run.

I can still feel the joy of hugging Coach Lou D'Aliso and celebrating with my teammates.

And I got that championship trophy.

Two more would follow -- one a co-champion (37 years later and I'm still pissed off that we didn't play that game due to the rain. Nah. No bitterness).

Nineteen eighty-six brought a hard-final championship that concluded in extra innings as the leadoff hitter walked, moved to second, and scored on a double by Billy Carey.

Not bad for an all-heart, no-hit first baseman/outfielder.

By the time Sean played, he got a trophy each year for just showing up. Nobody called individual players up to accept their trophy. We had them handed to us en masse. So I held a separate ceremony to make sure each player had "their moment."

No, not everyone got a trophy when I played.

And I liked it that way.

 

That's my 1986 Sportsmanship Trophy. It was the only one I could unpack.

Let's Pause for Station Identification

 

So many topics.

So little time.

I did "Doubleheader" and "The Clubhouse" tonight.

Made $0.00.

But got dinner.

Yet I was up until 2 a.m. this morning and made money there.

And everyone wants to know where I'll live and what I'm going to do and what do I want to do and maybe I should just walk away from broadcasting and I'm literally qualified for nothing and I'm sure we can get you a job but there would be no on-air work.

You know what? I'd love to have answers to a lot of questions.

A.

Lot.

Apparently, I've given up years of my own life and am not entitled to those answers.

So yes, I'm pausing for station identification and a word from your local station.

Adios until tomorrow.

(There's a real possibility that the end of our long #Project365 run is approaching, especially with a trip to London under four weeks away.)

Fifty-three's Company

 

You might recall that I'm currently searching for an apartment.

UPDATE: I don't have one yet.

I'm looking basically anywhere from southern Dutchess County (not ideal) to Fairfield, CT (the town...and the county). I need a two-bedroom or a one-bedroom with a living room that can be converted for Sean. Price DOES matter.

But that's not why we're here tonight.

Friends have tried to offer suggestions and I'm certainly grateful but one yesterday brought a comical edge.

Should I say who offered yet?

Yeah...it was Tako.

God love Christopher Kaelin. Always well-meaning, he said he would reach out to his landlord about places around Stamford.

In Uncle Kato's inimitable style, he started by telling me that his landlord had a potential space.

But..."Here's the catch. You'd have 2 roommates."

I began to type a quick "no thanks" but he texted faster.

"2 ladies in their mid-20's."

I stood there, in the basement, cleaning. I looked at the phone. I pondered a response.

"Um. No."

I had to text it to Susan to get her response. Doubled over in laughter, she could only think of one thing:

It was obvious. How did I not think of that?

Jack and Janet and Chrissy!

The Ropers!

Mr. Furley!

Jack's friend Larry!

The other "non-Chrissy" characters after Suzanne Somers was fired from the show (Cindy and Terri)! 

For the uninitiated, "Three's Company" ran for 172 episodes on ABC from March 1977-Sep, 1984. Then it spun off for one more season as "Three's A Crowd" before departing. It also spawned a spinoff, "The Ropers." It was among the best of "jiggle TV" at its finest and funniest.

The concept was simple: bachelor moves in with two females who needed a roommate. However, the landlord, Mr. Roper won't allow a guy to live with two young women without any of them being married. That is until Janet tells Roper that Jack Tripper is gay.

No, really, it was funny, mostly in the hijinks of not getting caught since Jack was, of course, straight.

Frankly, even for a prepubescent me, it was hysterical, though I didn't get all of the jokes. 

Suddenly, I was living my dream of being John Ritter, one of the great comic actors (and did some really good drama* also) who is sadly missed, having died in 2003.

*Seriously, he was fantastic in "Sling Blade."

Upon casting our version of this comedy, Susan felt that Kato had to play Larry, though I wonder if Chris Erway would resent that. I digress.

Beyond that, the whole idea of a 53-year-old cohabitating with two 20-somethings was just too funny and seriously unrealistic.

I appreciate the suggestion.

And the laugh.

The pursuit of living quarters continues.

So you lived in that era, tell me the theme song isn't in your brain now.

Come and knock on our door.

We've been waiting for you.

Where the kisses are hers and hers and his, 

Three's company too!

"Professional" Announcer

Safe to say he's a professional, right?

I saw an interesting debate break out among members of a group I belong to tonight on Facebook.

It centered around the definition of a "professional."

Some defined it as "making money."

Others vehemently argued that it wasn't that simple.

Of course, in sports, the thinking is "professional" means the highest league, thus MLB, NHL, NFL, NBA, etc.

But...what about the minor leagues? And the even lower leagues? Are they all professional? See what I mean? It's a very deep answer.

For my, ahem, money, I was a professional play-by-play announcer the first day I called a game on WGCH. That would be April 10, 1999. I got paid for that and it aired on the radio. Boom.

Still, I could go back to 1995 when, while working for Kraft Foods, I became "The Voice" of the softball league I played in, broadcasting games (including one that I wound up playing in).

My point is I am committed to always being a professional in every broadcast. No matter how many laughs and goofs there might be, you're still (hopefully) going to walk away believing that you've just heard something of high quality. That's my goal every time.

However, I didn't start counting my list of games until that Port Chester/Greenwich baseball contest in 1999. I've let a few false starts since then help make up for the softball games that were called from 1995 on.

So, I suppose that being a professional is also a bit of a mindset as well. I like having that level of perfection in mind.

If I ever felt that I was putting on the headset to just be a hack then I'd rather call it a day.

It's so important to hear that the audience is satisfied. That's the mark of professionalism.

Plus, let's be honest, there are quite a few games that were done for a gift card, swag, or "thank you."

That's a whole different topic that would make the group in question's head explode.

Look, I've thought about visiting Mike Hirn in Ohio several times to call a few games and it could very well happen this summer. I look at it as a getaway. I don't immediately think of it as a money-making venture. But I know Mike. He'd make sure otherwise.

Regardless of that, I see my presence as bringing an expectation of a professional broadcast and I wouldn't have it any other way. I'm not showing up for laughs.

I don't see the only definition of being a "professional" announcer being a full-time job. It just isn't that simple.

The short answer is that you might be a pro when you've been paid to do so.

The real answer is more nuanced than that.

I know people who get paid to announce (public address/play-by-play/etc) who don't conduct professional broadcasts. 

So, yeah, as I said, this is not easy to answer.

A lot of context and depth are necessary.

But I'll take it to my grave that I don't have to worry about this debate.

I AM a professional.

The same group also posted a question about, to paraphrase, fighting through a broadcast due to some kind of pain. Yeah, I think it's safe to say I've got a few stories. Let's think of a few...

- Dangerous heat issues (a couple of times)

- Personal issues (beyond the basic "hard day at the office")

- Twisted my ankle so badly before a broadcast that I probably should have had it checked out but I called the game, limped for a while after that, and still feel occasional reminders of it.

- Got sick during a hockey game to where I could feel my voice slipping as I called it. But I finished the broadcast.

Just a few examples. I'm nothing special as we all have tails to tell.

So, yeah, to repeat, I'm a professional. I'm trained, have been paid for my duties, and am committed to my craft.

And I probably also should be committed for doing so but that's a different topic.

I Googled "professional announcer" and got this

Changes, Cleaning, and "Fancy Nancy"

 

We're teeing off on the last hole here on Walton's Mountain.

Can I throw a few other metaphors in?

So I once again changed the office arrangement and I suspect that will be the last time before I move.

Unplug. Move. Bring a table up from the basement. Remove old card table. Move other table in place. Plug everything back in. Now test it all out for comfort.

It will do. Of course, further testing will take place upon tomorrow's "Doubleheader," the next deposition, and the next podcast. Then I'll be content.

Then it will get broken down and moved.

There were also piles of things to go through. One of those included a gaggle (a fine word) of old USB flash drives that I wanted to go through.

My goal is to clean a lot of junk out over the next few months in a process that I think will be cathartic.

So I plugged each flash drive into the very MacBook I'm typing on. Most were empty.

One had a folder that said Fancy Nancy on it and a movie file of the same name.

The folder was loaded with photos. The movie was those photos in a slide show with a somber, thoughtful piano loop.

It was for my mother and it played at her funeral. At least, I think it did. To be honest, that's one of those things that's still a blue.

I watched the whole thing, not knowing if what to think. None of it seemed real. There was that moment when it hit me that she's not in a nursing home or hospital or away with my sister or at dialysis.

She's gone.

Those pictures hit so many of the life moments. Smiles with kids and grandkids and her family and my dad. They were black and white and color. They spanned from probably the 1930s until just days before she died.

It raised a lot of emotions. Grateful for the 51 years I had with her.  Sad for the only 20 years with my father (the anniversary of his death passed quietly on Thursday though I don't doubt a few of you recognized it in the post that night). 

Even some glimpses of anger, for while I can't read what the dead think, I have a sense neither of my parents is doing a happy dance over what is going on among the living. Call it a hunch.

Yet it's best to not wallow in that tonight. I'd rather smile at the thought of her laughing with Hector at South of the Border or holding a baby Sean or smiling with me on the day of my high school graduation or as part of a group picture with Susan, Dave Torromeo, Mark Jeffers, Shawn Sailer, and the group from an expensive night of "The Clubhouse" in Norwalk.

Smile. Yes, I'd rather smile.

Before we call it a night, another poignant note is that I saw a picture of her and Eric and it was year ago yesterday that we lost him at the much-too-young age of 34.

Watch the video if you wish (you might want to mute the music) and have a few smiles of your own.

Sick Saturday

 

OK, I'm phoning it in tonight.

A head cold has me all plugged up so I spent a very quiet day at home. I slept some, watched a lot of basketball, and am now watching hockey.

I'll bounce between Rangers/Lightning and whatever NCAA game grabs me.

I resisted any urges to do anything else. I stayed true to mostly mentally checking out.

And that's what I'm doing tonight.

This is my body's way of saying, "Dude. You've given it your all but you need a break."

Does that mean I couldn't have done a game/games today?

Have we met?

I remember a few times I slammed into a metaphorical wall during the crazy HAN days. I had one cold (sort of like this one) that just sat in my throat and impacted my voice. I felt it was best for me to step back. so I did 

Yet, let's be honest, I could have done it. The truth is I often forced myself to take a break, especially when it came to doing something right like anything related to Sean. I remember one time where we did two games but I stepped away from the third that day to join my family for dinner to celebrate Sean's birthday.

So, yes, I try to do the right thing. There have also been a few times (very few, in fact, I can really only think of once or twice) where I was told to get lost and take a break. You better believe I didn't like it.

My body, which has hung in really since mid-February, got to the end of the Hunt Scanlon conference in New York on Wednesday and called a time out.

I can tell you that I felt utterly exhausted during the first game Monday night when Kobe Cathedral beat Berlin. I felt like I was making myriad mistakes. I kept waiting to read how Kolbe and Berlin were tipping me. 

Then came the nightcap and you probably know what happened: Fairfield Prep won at the buzzer and things went viral.

So these are the days for me to recuperate before next Saturday when Belmont Hill shows up at Brunswick for a baseball doubleheader.

I'll call as many of the baseball and lacrosse games -- home and, yes, away -- as I can. 

There will be a slate of games that I'll miss to go to London and while that doesn't thrill me, I'm fairly hopeful Sean Kilklelly will step in for me. That's a goal for me at Brunswick. I'd like to develop a stable of support and I asked Sean to see if he was interested. He was and he'll be great.

I will try to not listen from 3,600 miles away and five hours ahead.

I said, "try."

It will be a fascinating spring, no question.

(And no, I still don't have a place to live yet)

Oh, and while I've been enjoying the NCAA tourney, I can tell you that I don't remotely care about my brackets anymore. I've lost too much (and I'm not invested in any pools) to care about anything other than great games.

Assuming he doesn't want me to stay away, I'll co-host Poughkeepsie Nissan Sunday Sports with Zolz tomorrow at noon on Z-93. 

A Good Day

 

I've reached that inevitable point where I wonder what I'm going to write about.

It could be broadcasting-related, sure, but sometimes the tales are best left to the imagination. I'll say that I made an attempt to rectify a situation today. We'll see if anything comes of it.

Oh and the countdown to spring games sits at eight days. A week from tomorrow, I'll strap the headset back on and call baseball. Some say that's the sport I was born to call though I don't necessarily like being pinned to any one particular sport. I love my "Renaissance Man" moniker even if I've never been to a renaissance festival.

It will take a special person to get me to one of those.

But, as I searched my brain for a topic, I simply found myself wondering if it's OK to occasionally say the day was good.

Anything that could be bad or upsetting didn't upset the mood.

The laughs were happy and free.

The food was good -- both lunch and dinner. Even if dinner was just some reheated pizza it still popped.

The conversations were fresh and fun.

The weather was glorious. I mean, 77 degrees and sunny on a Friday in mid-March? Yes, please!

Even "Doubleheader" -- in studio, no less -- felt good. I doubt many listened or watched but, sometimes, that's not what it's about.

I truly aim to crank roughly 500 words every night and, admittedly, some nights don't even come close. But, really, do I need to hit some mythical number when I simply want to say I had a good day and I'm happy tonight?

No. No, I do not.

The secret to this is I'm not feeling great as I've been sniffling. Yet it was still a great day (and no, I don't have that).

The key is to do the same tomorrow. The key is to keep finding that happiness.

For the first time in a while, the calendar is quiet for a few days but, fear not, I'll fill it.

That's for tomorrow.

Tonight is for the joy of this day.

It's Not Easy Being Green

Johnny Bench's green Reds uniform from 1978

 

This day hasn't gone as planned.

Do something good. Do something fun. That was always my approach.

No.

Work a deposition that starts at 10 am and...as of 6:08 p.m....is still going due to internet issues (not mine).

So I'm not going to be the Debbie Downer. Hope you're all enjoying your green beer and corned beef and whatnot.

I've watched a little college basketball (I called Richmond's upset of Iowa), recorded liners for Mike Hirn's coverage of high school hoops in Ohio, and even sort of drifted off at one point.

I've also done the most Irish thing of all! I ordered a pizza.

I haven't talked about today at all. Why? What is there to say?

Life goes on. It's made abundantly clear.

The Cat and I are currently sitting on our bed. I'm writing and he's being a cat. He's good at it.

Nah, 33 years is a long time. Get over it. Get busy living or get busy dying.

Or work on a job that has you in a holding pattern.

One that could have three or four hours to go when it does resume.

Oh yeah, I also worked on the Brunswick spring schedule.

I'll be busy.

I was told I'm "fantastic calling baseball." I'm glad someone thinks so. Weather permitting, I'm nine days away from that.

For what it's worth, I hope I'm not too shabby on lacrosse -- the other spring sport of note for me. I let that one breathe differently than baseball I suppose.

That is...when nobody tries to take work from me.

So happy day o' green y'all. 

I wasn't going to be the one to stop the festivities.

Today in New York

 

(Photo: Chris Hunt) That's me: star of stage and screens

I know there's an expectation for me to write about the Hunt Scanlon conference I moderated in New York today but, frankly, I'm pretty exhausted so let's see what happens.

I didn't sleep well last night. I tried using my nose-canceling headphones and they helped for a bit but my mind was just too wired.

So my sleep was, at best, scattered. A few minutes here and a few minutes there.

I opened my eyes, pretty aware that it was close to the time for my alarm. I was right. I turned the light on and began my day.

It was 3:40 a.m.

I did what I often do when I drive that early in the morning. I put AM radio on and listen to the far-away signals. In this case, I got a traffic report on WGN from Chicago. Traffic was moving nicely. Things were well in Cincinnati also on the famed WLW.

I thought I should just get breakfast before I get on the train. Do you know how difficult that is? I literally found one place -- a Dunkin Donuts in Mount Kisco -- that was open.

Our 24-hour world is no longer that. Many of the delis and grocery stores aren't open before six at the earliest. I have a deli near the house that tends to open around five but I was already out of my neighborhood before that.

Oh, to be clear, I saw a few gas stations that were open but I wasn't taking that chance. 

Of course, I was trying to grab a nice, early train out of Mount Kisco around 5 a.m....and it was leaving the station as I pulled into the parking lot.

So I grabbed the aforementioned Dunkin Donuts. A bagel (sigh) and a large coffee.

I made the 5:40 train, put the headphones on, and sat in podcast land as I traveled to Grand Central.

Today's location was different. It was at the famed Plaza Hotel at Central Park South and Fifth Ave.

Most would take the subway. Or a taxi.

Me? With my always-stubborn and sore feet and my disdain for taxis? I hoofed it. Not the worst walk in the world and lord knows I can use the exercise.

It's like my Apple Watch went, "Wait. What? Is he moving? ALERT!"

The conference is so well done by my Hunt Scanlon colleagues. The well-oiled machine as it appears to the public adjusts on the fly. When I was informed that there was to be a small speech at the luncheon, I double-checked to make sure it was appropriate and then introduced the speakers.

It's sort of how we roll.

Roughly 500 faces looked back at me throughout the day. I kept expecting Count Basie and his orchestra to appear on stage. The room had that kind of feel and elegance. They could break into a little "April in Paris."

Let's try it one more once.

The reviews of today were kind and, trust me, this isn't the kind of audience to say something just to be nice.

And while I'm content to disappear during the breaks, no one will let me. There are always questions to answer or people who just want to talk. I had a couple of delightful conversations in these situations.

The walk back to Grand Central on this beautiful almost-sping day was worth it, despite the foot pain and the sore muscles.

I slept on and off as the train made its way back to Mount Kisco.

Upon getting home, I was greeted by a cat and a son.

But dad didn't come home empty-handed. My brain functioned just enough to pick up two glorious black and white cookies.

Look to the cookie, as always.

Insanity

 

Bedlam

I've said "insanity" during a buzzer-beating shot before.

It was Dave McClure of Trinity Catholic on a layup at Greenwich High School in 2002.

"McClure with no time!" I exclaimed. "Insanity!"

I didn't love it but others did. My old hockey partner, John Spang, called it a favorite of his.

Insanity reappeared last night.

Fairfield Prep and Norwich Free Academy battled in the CIAC Div I quarterfinals at Fairfield Warde last night.

NFA built up a seven-point lead before the Jesuits began to come back.

The tension in the room was incredible. While Prep's "bomb squad" is always present, a strong showing made the drive from Norwich to support the Wildcats.

Things reached their crescendo as Prep mounted a late rally.

A one-and-one opportunity sat in the way of improving the NFA lead to three but the front end was missed.

It was now on Prep to go win it but, first, they needed the rebound.

Leave that to Ryan Preisano, who hauled it in and moved up the floor. NFA didn't initiate contact.

Preisano (I know I said "Pres-ee-ah-no" at least once, sorry) turned and set himself outside the arc.

He let it fly.

By this time, I stood on top of the riser that had been placed behind the scorer's table. I wanted to make sure I had a good view with no obstructions from the crowd, officials, or players.

The ball sailed.

Time stands still in that moment. You aren't as concerned with "nailing" the call as you are getting it right. You want to do it all justice.

The line towards the basket was good.

Then?

Swish.

The first thing, for me, was to report the obvious. Oh, it was good. That's for sure.

Prep 57, NFA 55.

The tide of red-clad Prep fans exploded out of the stands. PA announcer Eric Scholl stood no chance of keeping the bomb squad off the floor.

In that moment, I looked for words. No question I had Vin Scully in my mind telling me to lay out, or "shut up."

Still, I had one thing to add: "Ryan Preisano! It's insanity in here!"

It was.

My mind goes to, well, everything. Be good to the NFA kids. Win with dignity and enthusiasm and sportsmanship. Make sure nobody gets hurt!

It was all good and I stood and watched -- Scully-style -- for 38 seconds before I finally opened my mouth again.

"One for the ages. At the buzzer. Ryan Preisano -- the 6-4 junior -- with nerves of steel drains a three-pointer to win 57 to 55 and put Fairfield Prep in the semifinals."

I finished. I listened to the call a few times. I played it for a few people, including Shawn Sailer.

I watched as Preisano emerged from the locker room to applause some 10 minutes after everything had ended.

That's when I walked out to the car. Then it hit me. I texted Kevin Devaney Jr to make sure the Local Live coverage made sure it went out on social media.

Then I went and grabbed dinner where the concept of it being sent to ESPN comes up. Personally, I thought nothing of it, but thought it would be great for everyone involved. Still, as history has shown, I had no expectation of hearing my voice. My experience with the YES Network taught me that.

As a side note, I did the game (and the Berlin/Kolbe Cathedral game before it, not to mention two games last week) as a favor. I did it for fun. I like Eric and his family and the people around Fairfield have been kind to me. Beyond that, Eric bought me dinner which I greatly appreciated.

While at dinner, a request showed up from ESPN on Twitter to use the video that Kevin had posted.

I drove home. It was time to edit the insanity.

Then Eric Scholl texted me.

Not only did he see the shot on "SportsCenter" but it was the number one play in their top 10. It was just past midnight when I found out.

Today has been a whirlwind of texts, tweets, and personal messages. The response has been incredible. The experience has been humbling.

Still, at the end of the day, Ryan Preisano shot the ball. Fairfield Prep won. Justin DeVellis and Dan Gardella and Local Live shot video. So did the social media account for Fairfield Prep.

I talked. That's all.

To that end, Kevin's KDJ Media account was credited and so were News 12 (Justin) and Dan. In the first airing on ESPN, I was called the PA announcer (full disclosure, Eric did PA and he's incredible at it). By the time I saw it live at 8 am I was no longer that. 

Here it is.

It was insanity. That was really it.

Just insane.

Transactions

 

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.