Write Something

 

The game ended and I packed up.

It was cold at Brunswick after a beautiful day.

The drive was the usual.

I listened to the "Office Ladies" podcast and came home.

I talked to Sean before he went into his room.

I sat down in the recliner and closed my eyes.

Zzzzzzzz.

So after a dinner that I was too tired to make (think pretzels instead), I'm sitting here conjuring up things to write about because we're almost 1200 days into a post-per-day odyssey.

Trust me, I'm wondering just how easy it will be to keep pulling this off come next week.

Maybe I can write a post or two before I get on the plane and schedule them to go out. Maybe I write on the plane.

I don't hate to fly but I don't love it either. The thing about is that I feel sardined. Oh, sure, I could feel that way in first class. It doesn't matter. But, of course, it's more claustrophobic in my usual seat where a peasant like me always flies.

In fact, if you don't know, I once had a borderline panic attack at roughly 35,000 feet over, say, Kansas or wherever we were. It was on a red-eye from Los Angeles to JFK. I was in a window seat and my plan was to sleep. I'm sure I did sleep some but roughly halfway through the flight, I felt completely penned in from every angle. 

It was terrible.

Eventually, I went to the restroom where I took a deep breath before convincing myself that I had to go back to my seat.

Whatever I did, it worked and I was able to get through the rest of the flight.

So, yeah, I'm not a huge fan of flying but I'll deal with it next week. My MacBook is small enough that I might be able to write a bit.

I'll also be using my noise-canceling headphones for podcasts and some relaxing music and whatever else the in-flight service allows.

Oh, for those wondering if I'm one of those who unbuckled and is standing as soon as we get to the gate, the answer is no. I don't get that. I want off -- oh, believe me, I can't wait to get off the plane at that point -- but nothing is going to accelerate that.

See, Despite not knowing where to talk about a few minutes ago, I've cranked out some words for your (hopeful) entertainment.

I could moan about the Yankees (four games in, mind you) but I've noticed that my baseball posts are some of the lowest-read. I mean, I sort of figured that's why you come here but it's your dime.

Still, it doesn't motivate me to write more about the sport.

I could write more about what I'm calling the "treasures" project, meaning the cleaning of my parent's house. And I will for sure. My sister was here last weekend and she texted me some pictures that she found.

She also gave me a copy of a letter that my father wrote to his mother in 1952.

So, yeah, there are some goodies to be found.

But tonight was simply about putting some words on the page. 

The other day, our friend and "co-conspirator" John Nash returned to the blogging world by doing a similar post. He had been missing for a few months and it was great to see him back. I hope the writing block is gone and we see more from him as soon as possible.

As for me? This is my post for tonight.

You'll hear from me again tomorrow.

Runs, Hits, Errors. LOTS of Errors

 

It's almost like "Where's Waldo?"

Spot the mistakes in the "Exit 55" post.

I can edit. I actually thought I'd once make a good editor but was told that to do so I'd have to drive to an office further away for money that wouldn't make up the difference of the gas and wear.

It was good logic and I was grateful.

Of course, I wound up being forced to drive to that same office eventually. I suppose that's a story for another time as I'm digressing wildly.

So, yes, I think I can edit though I'm probably wrong.

And, yes, I think I can edit my own work. Still, for one reason or another, things get missed. I do read each post but admittedly I don't roll through them with the finest of fine-tooth combs.

Thus there are spelling mistakes and poor word choices and grammatical errors and punctuation boo-boos.

Most damming (my opinion) are factual errors. I'm hopeful that those are minimal to non-existent here. Sure, I offer opinions, and those, frankly, aren't wrong. They're just opinions. But things that I present as facts? No, that's a big deal to me if it's wrong.

Of course, you might be surprised to learn that my confidence as a writer was basically destroyed just about a decade ago. 

Still, every time I get annoyed at myself -- most recently 10 minutes ago, thus the impetus for this post -- I read some "big time" publication.

You know, respectable websites that you expect to be perfect.

And then I see the same mistakes at places that you'd think would be edited much more competently than some dope who wakes up in a recliner to write a thousand words on a baseball doubleheader before going to bed.

It actually makes me feel a little better when I spot these errors. Not that I wish on anyone but it's a good reminder that we're all flawed.

Given my constant pursuit of trying -- and failing -- to be "perfect," I appreciate the reminder.

I have a couple of people who read every post. No, really, every post. Those poor people.

Still, they are de facto editors who read for content but not necessarily the nuts and bolts.

I get alerted to any big issues.

Still, it's me who goes back and reads -- sometimes days or even years later -- and discovers the errors. Then I'm horrified. Probably mortified also.

But it will have to do.

The old saying about "wanting something done you have to do it yourself" is a good rule of thumb. We're responsible for ourselves. So I have to be mindful of the posts just as I have to keep an eye and ear on broadcasts.

It's not uncommon for me to be found with my phone to my ear confirming that Local Live looks and sounds OK or that Robcasting or WGCH are clear.

I basically do it with any outlet that I work on.

Call it my own quality control.

Yet, there simply isn't perfection.

So happy mistake hunting! Keep an eye out for the guy with the glasses and the red and white stripes!

The Deluge Before the Doubleheader

 

Before the magic. They will play!

There was a doubleheader today.

Two games. Fourteen innings expected.

Brunswick and Fieldston.

Before heading to the field, the process is always the same. 

Try to get rosters (fail). Don't panic. Hope the team has...something.

Do some player research (marginal success).

On a Saturday, with a doubleheader in play, I grab a bottle of water, stop somewhere for a sandwich, and drive to the field.

In this case, I stopped at Stop and Shop and picked up a chicken caesar wrap.

Keep in mind, there is no concession stand. There's no food truck. Heck, there's only a porta potty for a restroom. That, mind you, is better than nothing.

But today had its own wrinkle.

Rain.

Now, rain was expected but I didn't think it would impact the game. I suspected we'd either get rained out ahead of time or it would rain after the game(s) were played.

So NY 118 turned to US 202 to NY 139 to NY 100 to NY 35 to Interstate 684. This is all standard issue.

Pass the rest area at Bedford. Watch for the cops between the rest area and Exit 4. 

Then hit the monsoon near Exit 3. Even then, I figured Brunswick would make every effort to play. I can't think of a time that I got to Wick to be told the game was off.

That's when the phone rang. It was Wayne MacGillicuddy.

"Why did I know this call was coming?" I said.

He told me to not rush, except...

"Ha! I'm five minutes away."

What he didn't tell me was that the doubleheader was canceled or postponed. So, again, I knew there was a chance of playing.

So, I got to the field and decided I'd wait on bringing the equipment over.

The Brunswick Varsity Baseball Field is a fine facility. Wooden "dugouts" (in name only) occupy each baseline. You could eat off the field. It's clean and well-maintained.

Like virtually all prep school baseball fields, it has no press box. I consider it good fortune that there's even power there -- behind home plate and on the scoreboard in right field. Trust me when I say that can be a luxury.

For now, I'm occupying space near the first base (visitors) dugout. Obviously, I'm there at the request and permission of Brunswick.

The area -- as was every area that wasn't on the actual baseball field -- was soaked.

Yet despite pouring rain, the belief was that maybe there would be baseball today.

I read a tweet earlier that posed the question of what to do about spring baseball while pandering to teams about missed games.

What to do? It's spring in the Northeast. In the case of Brunswick, it's spring in New England, even if only by 500 feet or so.

You play ball when you can, where you can, and how you can. You can't "start later." You can't "go past the end of the school year." You play.

In the case of Wick, there was a window to get baseball in today, even after a couple of cracks of thunder sent players indoors and me back to my car.

My chicken caesar wrap awaited. 

I'll spare you any drama. The water was eradicated with leaf blowers before bags of drying agent were applied. Then the field was raked, dragged, and lined.

The first game was supposed to start at 1 p.m. There was talk that the doubleheader would be shortened to one nine-inning affair.

First pitch was thrown at 1:37. The first game went 4.5 innings before Brunswick won in a score-controlled 11-1 affair. The second game went the full seven innings. Wick won that also.

As for the broadcaster (I don't matter, nor should I), I was cold, damp, and muddy. My back hurt. I was out of words.

I did get the roster in question, thanks to Fieldston's team manager who handed me the lineup card before game one and went through each name with me. One player got into game two that wasn't on the roster but we still made it work.

But the whole thing happened as if there had been no rain. Or thunder. Or even hail (briefly).

And yet, rain returned in the seventh inning, not long after I had noted the dark sky on the northwest horizon. Having not used my sports pods after all (I really thought the games would get over), I closed my equipment up in hard plastic cases that kept everything dry.

Then I packed -- quickly -- and was back in the car. Within minutes, the rain cleared out, the sun reemerged, and the most glorious rainbow appeared.  

I wonder what Veronica Corningstone would say about that

I drove home quietly, once again questioning my sanity but realizing I also had my own skill. I have the ability to stand with scouts pressed against me and parents asking "Where can I watch this" while still calling the game. It isn't rocket science but it's something.

My cadence changes when calling a game in this location because of the number of people surrounding me, including the actual participants.

I drove home, not even listening to the Yankees/Red Sox game. I turned that on when I got home, in time to see the Bombers win again.

I made dinner: reheated pizza slices and "Crazy Lady: meatballs (apparently made with extra crazy).

Eventually, I put the Rangers game on as they clinched a playoff spot. With that comfortably in hand, I passed out, in my mother's trusty recliner from Bob's Discount Furniture.

The one that Sean and I took her to buy.

I woke up to spit out 500 or so words.

Now, this is done also.

Tomorrow is more radio. Maybe even some time spent on cleaning out the house.

And back to baseball on Monday.

Weather permitting, of course.

Gonna Fly Soon

How do you travel?

No, that's a serious question. How do you prep? Does it almost take over your brain? Do you ever obsess over it?

Hi, that's me. OK, maybe it's not an obsession, but it's something I think about a lot.

In the middle of everything else going on (you know, the whole "where am I going to live?" thing) I also have a six-day trip to the UK rapidly approaching.

I'm not one who can basically wake up and go away. Oh, that doesn't mean I can't be spontaneous. No, that's not the case at all. That's something I've done and wish I could do more.

But I've thought about my upcoming business trip to London basically every time I have a free moment.

Why?

It's just how I'm wired.

So I began researching noise-canceling headphones. Then I bought a pair.

I began thinking about what to pack.

I got my suitcase out. In early March. And it's just sitting in my room.

I found out the name of the hotel and researched it including the location.

OK, especially the location because I need to know the nearest tube station.

I'll be on the Jubilee Line of the tube. Abbey Road is on the Jubilee Line.

I did some research on the site of the conference.

I began digging through the top tourist sites and what I might want to see.

I did a little research on how easy or difficult it would be to go to Liverpool since there were these four guys who came from there.

I'm not going to Liverpool. Car rentals were too expensive and trains were too few.

Then I considered getting to and from JFK airport. With that resolved, we worked out a time for me to meet up with my coworkers.

So then the consideration becomes what time to get up and when to leave the house and will I have breakfast before I leave?

(There's a well-known 24-hour deli in Millwood, NY called Rocky's. I'll be stopping there.)

Oh, and of course, I think about what I'm leaving here. Sean and The Squeaky Cat need to be taken care of.

As for what to pack there's still some thinking to be done since we're in that transitional time of year. Temps will probably be in the 50s but maybe the 60s. So...sort sleeve? Long sleeve? Do I bring shorts (likely not)? What about a jacket and layers?

Oh yeah and there's laundry to be done and continuing to clean the house and making time to pack and dotting all "i's" and crossing all "t's" before I leave the house on the 19th.

It's an event to me. Plus I appreciate the responsibility and expectation from others.

Again, it's fun to be spontaneous and I'm all in on that but if I have time to prepare then this is how my brain will work.

Does anyone else do this?

Opening Day 2022

 

Baseball dusts itself off today after the selfishness of another work stoppage and opens its gates to a new season.

Many seem to be ready for Ohtani and Trout and Judge and the Polar Bear and Mookie and Vlad Jr and the myriad stars.

I'm struggling to forgive the game that has given me life since I was a little boy.

Life has this amazing way of kicking you in the sensitive areas, doesn't it? Baseball is no different. Your team doesn't win every year (no, seriously) and it lets you down sometimes when you need it most.

To that end, even if I wanted the Yankees on my TV, they won't play until tomorrow. The threat of bad weather in New York has postponed the festivities.

Instead, Brewers/Cubs at Wrigley Field will be the first item on the smorgasboard.

It should be a game in Cincinnati but baseball has long-forgotten that the idea is to blend the past with the present. 

Nah. No bitterness in me. Why do you ask?

I'm hoping the blood begins to pump for me tomorrow because I didn't listen to a minute of spring training on the radio and barely watched anything.

It's a season in which, sometimes, we'll be weaving through the world trying to find which channel the game is on, a la looking for truTV every March for college basketball.

truTV, home of, nah, forget it. Let's not go there today.

The great game is doing everything to either get better or destroy itself but that's not why we're here today.

Oh, before I forget, Dodgers/Blue Jays in the World Series with the Scullys of Chavez Ravine taking the title. The Yankees and Mets will each snag a wild card spot. (These predictions are useless, in case you're wondering)

I wrote the following post on April 5, 2015. It's probably the closest I'll ever know to the "People Will Come" speech in "Field of Dreams." Except that I'm no great writer nor am I James Earl Jones.

Still, it's an impactful piece to me. The original post is here but I'll spare you the click and republish it.

*****

"Baseball"

 From left: Lou Gehrig, Joe Cronin, Bill Dickey, Joe DiMaggio, Charlie Gehringer, Jimmie Foxx, and Hank Greenberg. 

Check out that picture above. Look at them: Gehirg, Cronin, Dickey, DiMaggio, Gehringer, Foxx, Greenberg. Even non-baseball/sports fans know at least two of those names (Gehrig and Joe D., of course).

It was taken at the 1937 All-Star Game at Griffith Stadium in Washington. Look at that glorious NBC sign in the background. Incidentally, three radio networks broadcast that game (NBC, CBS, and Mutual).

You might not know that every one of those players is enshrined in the Baseball Hall of Fame. Yet they are. Those guys aren't scrubs. They're among the best to ever play the game of baseball. Naturally, I've written tons about The Iron Horse, and a few words about DiMaggio as well. Bill Dickey, by the way, is vastly overlooked.

For you non-fans, Jimmie Foxx was the loose model for Tom Hanks in A League of Their Own.

You probably know this, if you've read anything here, but I love this great game. My god, we've screwed it up incredibly over the years. The race issues were deplorable. The sport struggled with growth and competition from the NFL through the 70s (and it continues today). We've added playoff teams and dealt with drugs (steroids, greenies, cocaine, etc. Go on. Look it up.). We're worried about pace of play and bringing the inner city back.

We had Black Sox and a gambling Red (just put him in the Hall of Fame, please?).

We have the Babe. The one and only. The single greatest, most important athlete in the history of sports. Yes, I know, Jim Thorpe, Bo Jackson, and others might have been better true athletes, but given everything involved, there's Babe Ruth and everyone else.

We've sold our souls too many times. Baseball shouldn't open at night, but ESPN's money is too much to overlook.

Yet tomorrow, in the day, with the stands full and the records 0-0, the lines will be painted fresh. The grass will be gloriously green. I wish a band would play, and we could recreate some of the openings of seasons past, but a voice will intone the starting lineups, and they will gather on those freshly-painted baselines. The anthem will be sung. A ceremonial first pitch will be thrown. There might be a flyover or some other special effect.

Then, as there has been since 1869 (the generally agreed upon "first year" of Major League Baseball), a batter will step up to home plate. A pitcher - 60 feet, six inches away - will author a first pitch.

And there will be baseball. To me, for its history, grandeur, strategy - everything - it is the greatest game of them all.

Football is the national passion. Baseball is the National Pastime.

Give me 714. Give me .406. Sixty-one. Fifty-six. I wish we could have 1918 back, but time marches on. A fan knows what these numbers are.

Give me the billy goat. The Bambino. Curses real or imagined.

Give me those uniform numbers that we all know: four. Three. Seven. Five. Forty-two.

Give me The Mick. Jeet. Gabby. Dizzy. Daffy. Dazzy. Pudge. Yaz. Three-Finger. Blue Moon. Vida. Catfish. Bucky. Stan the Man.

Give me Willie, Mickey, and The Duke. Tinker to Evers to Chance.

Give me The Called Shot. The Homer in The Gloamin'. The Shot Heard Round the World. The Miracle of Coogan's Bluff. Those last two are the same thing.

Give me Ebbets Field. Forbes Field. Crosley Field. Now give me Camden Yards and Fenway and Wrigley. The Big A. Chavez Ravine.

Give me the corner of E. 161st Street and River Ave. The most famous address in sports history.

Give me the Royal Rooters and the Bleacher Creatures.

Give me 27 rings.

Give me those great quotes, from music to movies to TV and beyond.

Take Me Out to the Ball Game. "Luckiest Man."

“That's baseball, and it's my game. Y' know, you take your worries to the game, and you leave 'em there. You yell like crazy for your guys. It's good for your lungs, gives you a lift, and nobody calls the cops. Pretty girls, lots of 'em.”
―Humphrey Bogart

Give me Vincent Edward Scully. The man known as Vin. The man who learned at the side of Walter Lanier Barber, the Old Redhead himself sitting in the catbird seat, while the bases were FOB (full of Brooklyn).

Give me a Ballantine Blast. Tell me "It's Miller Time" or "This Bud's for you."

Give me Cooperstown (maybe in a little over a week from now).

I love this game. It energizes me. Engulfs me. Fills my heart, yet breaks it. It enraptured me for sure when I saw my first pro game in 1972 and a guy named Murcer doubled off another guy named Palmer. One is a hall of famer. The other doesn't need to be.

It made me cry when in 1996, my boyhood team won their first title in 18 years, and I couldn't share it with the one person I wanted to share it with.

Most of all, selfishly, give me a microphone so that I can broadcast it.

This is the beginning of my year. This is when I feel refreshed.

This is when I know that this horrible winter is over.

It's Opening Day.

Play ball.

NBA 75 Celebration Game

 

I'm watching the 75th anniversary NBA broadcast on ESPN (or ESPN 2 or The Ocho or whatever).

FOX did something similar back in the 90s and it was outstanding. They tried to demonstrate the development of baseball broadcasting up to the current time.

ESPN is doing the same tonight, although their broadcast includes interviews, which admittedly is taking away from the brilliant crew of Mike Breen, Jeff Van Gundy, and Mark Jackson calling the game.

It's an ambitious idea that I had last year to celebrate 100 years of baseball broadcasting. I wanted to take each inning and dedicate to a decade.

Now, I realize there's an immediate flaw given baseball has nine innings and I wanted to cover 10 decades but I was prepared to adjust via half innings.

Anyway, as I said, it was an aggressive idea.

@lombari_peter on Twitter

But, my idea was to use a booth cam initially and do some of this...

1st inning, 1920s -- a lot of static and very basic descriptions. Perhaps I'd even try to work in an element of a recreation somehow. There would have been no commercials.

2nd inning, 1930s -- Less static and more description. I'd also bring a second voice in but only in breaks because there was only one microphone. In that break, we could also do spot mentions but still no produced commercials.

And so on. Produced commercials would come along later and I'd interject with history and historic calls from each decade. It would have been so much fun. Eventually, we could have worked TV in and technological advances but I also realize there would have been certain limitations.

Alas, it didn't happen. Other than I called a game on the actually 100th anniversary and I admit that meant the world to me.

So I enjoyed watching what ESPN did. I really respect how they included all of the networks that have covered the league, including their graphics, logos, and personalities. ABC (which is ESPN, of course), CBS, NBA (and "Roundball Rock"), and Turner were all included.

Maybe one day I'll get a chance to try what I wanted to do as well.

Also, the Knicks are terrible.

Mark Jackson, Jeff Van Gundy, and Mike Breen rock the ABC mustard jackets

The Wright Way

Please note which team is getting blown out (Photo: Elise Amendola, AP)

I saw the tweet during my long Saturday with Brunswick baseball.

If I recall, it had the score and not much more.

I know the final said 36-0 with Fairfield Ludlowe beating J.M. Wright Tech from Stamford.

Personally, I didn't think anything of it. Blowouts happen, friends. I've been behind the microphone for too many.

Most kids don't think twice about it.

It's the adults who start wringing their hands.

And, well, almost immediately it began.

Then the tweet disappeared.

Then it hit me.

When will Jeff Jacobs come calling?

Look, we in the media have a job to do. Our job is to write a certain number of stories or columns per time period.

Or we make a crazy vow to write something every day for free.

Jacobs is an award-winning columnist for Hearst Connecticut Media Group and a 36-0 baseball score has his byline all over it.

Now, I have admired some of Jeff's work over the years and we've met a few times. But, let's be real, who am I? I'm a broadcaster who doesn't care about awards or such things.

I'm a grunt who cranks our 365 "columns" per year (and let's face it, bloggers aren't generally high on the food chain anyway). Oh, and I babble a little on the radio/interwebs/TV/whatever.

So what I think won't be a blip on the ol' Hearst radar (patent pending).

Indeed, Jeff came-a-calling to Ludlowe but a funny thing happened: they wouldn't return his call.

My take? Context was needed. I know people at Ludlowe. I like people there and I guarantee the team got hits, stopped taking the extra base, didn't steal bases, and let up as much as they could. But they also made their plays in the field. That's a big difference.

Further context for you. You might recall I've been a broadcaster for a football team called the Greenwich Cardinals at one time or another. I recall one time -- 2004, I think -- the Cardinals were walloping Harding High School in Bridgeport so badly that they began to take a knee in the third quarter.

In. The. Third. Quarter.

Another time, Greenwich was up 50 (during the years of the inane "50 point rule") and the Cardinals allowed a player -- I want to say he was from Danbury -- to go full Charlton Heston literally parting the Red Sea. Only the Red Sea wore Cardinal Red as the Hatters player returned a kickoff for a touchdown.

I was shocked in each case. I very much remember the coach in the Danbury case shouting across the field at his Greenwich counterparts.

His point? Let them play, folks. Let them play. The Danbury coach knew that Greenwich wasn't running up the score but don't insult his team by allowing them anything either.

I think that's the way it should be but, again, we're not here for what I think.

And so, Jeff Jacobs (ace Hearst sports columnist) went to the Wright Tech coach, Brian Colantonio. May the gods of baseball bless Coach Colantonio. What a stand-up person.

I have no idea what kind of coach he is. He might scream. He might yell. He might be passive. He might say that Babe Ruth is an overrated schlub. I hope not, but I know nothing of his background.

But, wow, after reading his comments in Jacobs' piece, all I can say is I am now a firm supporter of Coach Colantonio and his team.

Because his quotes -- without having to say so -- told Jacobs something so sweet and simple that it oozed all over the Hearst offices.

"This is a non-story," was what Colantonio said without saying it.

You can read the story here for the quotes. Hearst will be pleased to have the clicks, I'm quite sure, as this is the game. This is what they're all about.

The boss wants controversy. They want outrage. Simply go back and look at things as COVID began closing Connecticut sports down and the reaction at the time. Instead of understanding the athletes and what they were feeling, they were mocked.

Sympathy? Nah. What's that?

In this case, Coach Brian Colantonio of J.M. Wright Technical High School in Stamford, CT recognized that his team was outmanned. He thought that his team would hang in a little better against Fairfield Ludlowe, coached by Ken Geriak in his first year. But he saw the truth: Errors. Drops.

Those allow runs to score. Runs pile up. Thirty-six of them before the score control rules could be enforced at the middle of the fifth inning.

If you were to get a glance at the scorebook it would probably show countless errors and unearned runs. Wright Tech is young, as a program and as a team. Maybe they shouldn't be varsity yet but here they are. 

They played the game because this is what they could get on their schedule. Wright Tech athletic director Robert Kucharski can only do so much.

Jeff's column makes that abundantly clear.

Oh, there will be handwringing. That's what we do.

Yet I'm willing to bet the Wright Tech players didn't do any. They played. They might have even had -- GASP! -- fun. 

Can you imagine?

I'm sure that, in that moment, it was awful because it certainly wasn't what Wright Tech wanted. Who would want that? But it sure beat a lot of other things they could be doing with their time.

Does 36-0 stick out like a sore thumb? You bet. Was it obvious that Hearst would come calling? Absolutely.

Do I blame Ludlowe? Nope.

Clearly, Wright Tech had no problem with it.

So, why do we?

(Spoiler: I don't)

It's about the kids and the kids are alright. Coach Colantonio got some attention for his team and a new fan in me. In fact, Coach C said he'd do it all over again! 

No regrets!

So, in the end, Jeff Jacobs still filed his story. Hearst got their clicks. They got their outrage!

But.

They also ran a story Seinfeld would be proud of.

A story about nothing.

A big ol' nothingburger.

Pass the ketchup, please.

So I Ran Out of Time Today

 

I did my taxes today.

Year after year I dread doing my taxes. The process is a rip-off and it is all head-scratching.

But, once again, I survived it and the damage wasn't as bad as I had worried.

Put it this way: I didn't lose money.

From there I hosted "Doubleheader," had dinner, and then got on a roll of cleaning.

The living room is beginning to look like a linen department with sheets and comforters piled high.

Downstairs, I began to plot how to sort through things that are sitting there.

Some items will go in the "tag sale" pile if I can find a place to put that pile.

From there? I planned to watch college basketball as North Carolina and Kansas played for the title.

In the process, I wound up in different conversations.

Anyway, I'm running out of time.

For Monday.

For this game.

So that's all.

(Kansas just won, 72-69. Great game. That's all I can ask for.)

More Treasures

 

I spent today at home.

OK, most of today. I realized I didn't buy milk when I drove home last night so I had to run to the gas station/convenience store/deli where Bryant Pond Road meets the Taconic State Parkway.

So quick side note. That intersection looks so decidedly different from, let's say, 30-35 years ago. The Taconic used to meet Bryant Pond at...wait for it...a stop sign.

That's it. A grade-level junction of Bryant Pond Road, which becomes Secor Road and takes travelers to the Lake Secor area and beyond before reaching NY 6N which will take you to "downtown" (we never called it that) Mahopac.

Indeed, it was called "Lake Mahopac" way back. Now we just call it "town."

I'll stay on this digression. Before 1980, the intersection had only a flashing light and a split in the guard rail, meaning drivers had to stop in the left lane to turn towards Secor Rd when coming southbound. Post-'80, the intersection had weird turn lanes and a center through lane. No, that didn't work. I raced through there a few times after becoming a driver.

You know, 9 p.m. curfew and all with a junior license.

My dad didn't live long enough to see the whole thing blown up and redone as an interchange (now Exit 23) with ramps. The blinking lights are all gone.

Gone also are the old State Troopers barracks and the Getty gas station that my buddy Scott worked in and the Interlaken Motel and a few other buildings. My grandparents would stay at the Interlaken or the place across the street when they'd visit. That building is still there but is no longer a motel. It does have a restaurant -- Char -- which I hear is fairly popular.

And, now, it has Flory's (the gas/convenience store) and a small plaza across the street. The nearby corner of Wood St. and Bryant Pond was also redone, eliminating a weird fork in the road. It's now a four-way stop.

Oh, and the Flory of Flory's started as a small Mobil station/garage in Lake Secor.

Did I mention my grandparents lived in Lake Secor? 

I know, wild digressions here but I won't apologize.

It's not like I'm giving you a breakdown of the other Secor businesses. Yet.

I guess this is what will happen as we reach the end of the line at the house that has stood since 1963.

It was my turn to go into the attic today and I did a little damage.

My patent's attic was kind of, as one would expect, a holding area for memories and items that probably need to be parted with.

As such, there was still a bag of stuffed animals that weren't Sean's. Oh, his are up there also and their day of reckoning is coming.

No, these were mine.

- The Jolly Green Giant (seriously).

- An original Burger King (he was a lot more, er, jolly).

- A Jimmie Walker that once said "DYNOMITE!" when you pulled a string (fairly progressive for the 70s).

- My beloved Casper the Friendly Ghost.

- A Hamburgler from McDonald's.

But, of course, there were the Big Three.

- A talking Bugs Bunny (no longer talking).

- Fred Flintstone (sans some of the hair I cut years ago).

- My first Mickey Mouse.

Pictures were taken before we parted. Time (and, let's be honest, too many years in attics) had weathered and damaged them. The pictures make them look much better than they actually are. This was not some sad "Toy Story" moment. There was to be no resurrection where they could go to another child. Time had simply stepped in and said enough.

This scene will play out again and again as the process plays on. I'm deciding on what to do with things like CDs and books and too many other things. 

I'm planning to go through all of the CDs and make the tough choices. You can guess who wouldn't get discarded for sure. Then there are other albums that are meaningful. It will be a fun job.

There will most likely be a tag sale at the end of April, and it will be OK.

This is necessary. Downsizing is a good thing.

The memories are priceless. Everything else is stuff.

It's cathartic.

And it is good.

Treasures to Be Found

 

With time ticking away in the house, cleaning out is picking up.

My sister was here today along with her son Ryan. They cleaned a large chunk of the attic and took junk out of the garage.

We're just getting started and there's a long way to go.

There is a couch and an armchair. I have no intention of taking them. They need a little more TLC than I can handle.

We'll probably have to part with at least one bed and most likely two.

These are just some of the decisions to be made.

As Laura and Ryan worked here, I worked baseball at Brunswick. We had ourselves a day, let me tell you. The Bruins lost a doubleheader and we scratched and clawed on the broadcast.

The camera wouldn't stay straight but we adjusted and Local Live made it work.

The audio cable that carries my call to the video feed got unplugged at least twice. But we fixed it.

Oh, there was more. Lots and lots more. But we seemed to persevere and the broadcast went (mostly) fine.

Not everything can be perfect (as in what my standards are).

And let me be clear: Yes, I'm Brunswick's broadcaster but I love good, dramatic games, regardless of who wins. The first game was a well-pitched delight, as Winchendon from Massachusetts won 3-0. The second game wasn't quite that good as the Bruins lost 6-2.

Still not feeling top shelf, I packed everything up and made my way home. Normally I just have to pack the audio side but Wayne MacGillicuddy was away, thus leaving the camera in my hands. And, of course, on the day that happens, the camera goes haywire.

Because of course, it did.

So we shake it all off and come back home to where Laura and Ryan did their magic.

We still have a ways to go. I still need to find a place to live.

I continue to believe it will all work out.

When I got home, I decided to cut some of the cardboard up so that it could be picked up among the regular trash.

That's when I saw a picture. Black and white and weathered but still clear. Rusted staples were on the perimeter of this circular photograph. A man with a stern face glared back. No sign of a smile. His black hair, receding but plentiful still.

The hair would recede further and turn gray. And that stern face? It was almost shocking but given this is likely a photo for the man's CDL license, I'm not surprised.

Otherwise, most pictures always showed the man with a broad smile that exploded off the screen.

I'm not sure when that picture was taken of my father other than I'm certain it was before I was born.

It was a great find and there will be others.

There will be some hard decisions.

Yet, in truth, this should be a team effort and a joy that brings a family together as we pack up nearly 60 years of memories while toasting both of my parents.

That view, of course, is pure fantasy.

So, instead, I'll take a weathered of my father and keep working on heading into the next chapter of my life.

Spoiler: It's best if the camera wasn't like that.

A Day Off After a "Crazy Day"

 

So my body has spoken and I need to take a day off.

Today was that day. I didn't have any games and I backed out of all broadcasts.

So I'm also going to take a break here tonight.

I'm hanging out and watching "The Office."

Back with baseball tomorrow at 1 p.m.

The weather will be a little warmer though I don't want to jinx it.

After all, "I'm not superstitious. 

But I'm a little sitious." - Michael Scott

I might be a little delusional tonight.

Crazy Day (subtitle: I'm Just Crazy)

 

The goal: Get home to them

Last night, around 7:15 p.m.: I told Sean my plan for Thursday.

"You're insane," he said. If nothing else, he's seen that I work hard and it's something I'd like to pass on to him. People have noticed my often crazy work schedule and there's actually a deeper reason behind it that involves toxic people and why go there?

See, what you need to know is that I'm normally organized. Very organized. But yesterday I made a mistake. While standing at Brunswick, getting ready to call baseball, I got a text asking me to work a video deposition on Thursday night.

Looking at my calendar quickly, I thought my night was wide open. We were good! I said yes and went on to start calling the game.

Then came reality. I looked at my calendar again. Turned out I completely dropped the ball. Sure, I could do the deposition but it would be at the back end of a day that included going to CSB to teach and calling another Brunswick baseball game. I texted Dan Macom and told him that I'd probably need to come to the office in Greenwich. Keep in mind I hadn't done a depo in the office since Nov 2020.

So, I went to bed and got some sleep.

5:58 a.m.:  The alarm is set for 6:30. Of course, my brain (and a black cat) wouldn't cooperate to allow me to get to that time. So I'm up earlier.

The Cat wasn't too bad but he'll sometimes just stand near me and stare until I wake up. It's the very definition of having the feeling of being watched.

So I caved in. I got up. I fed him. The good news was I didn't have to rush to get out the door. I was able to eat some breakfast.

7:49 a.m.: I'm in the car and on the road (clearly, I'm writing this part after the fact). I popped up to the nearby gas station/convenience store for coffee and a wrapped sandwich that I can eat later.

9:26 a.m.: I walked into CSB Media Arts Center in Stratford, CT. My class was already waiting for me. I laughed about traffic and we got underway. For the next 3.5 hours, I wowed them (not really) with my knowledge as we created a sports report for them to deliver to me. I also explained the mastery of Mr. Vin Scully and explained the styles I don't like in the play-by-play world.

In the middle of things, one of the students departed early as his mother had called and told him he had to leave. Admittedly that was a first for me.

1:00 p.m.: I wished the class well and departed. Rain had pelted the area and the ground was wet when I got out of bed. The initial forecast wasn't promising so I thought perhaps baseball at Brunswick would be called off, allowing me to get back to Mahopac for the deposition.

However, I had no text from Wayne MacGillicuddy telling me otherwise so I proceeded towards King St in Greenwich.

1:15 p.m.: My first stop was at the Stratford Wal Mart for a small shopping trip. Next was food. Now, while it's probably not politically appropriate to do so, I wasn't considering politics when I arrived at Chick-fil-A in Norwalk.

1:57 p.m.: Arrive at Chick-fil-A. You might know that I have a guideline that I try to follow in which I don't eat things that I can readily get in New York and Connecticut. Chick-fil-A used to be something that wasn't available up our way. That's no longer the case since there are several locations within an hour of Mahopac.

My spicy chicken and fries with an icy cold Coca-Cola hit the spot.

2:35 p.m.: Arrive on the Brunswick campus. A gaggle of men are talking as I back into my parking spot. Nobody is at the baseball field.

The field looks great as I greet Wayne MacGillicuddy. Both of us expressed surprise at the turn of the weather. He said the weather forecast looks playable while my forecast looks less promising.

(Spoiler: His forecast was better and I'm now questioning my sources)

We went about setting up the Local Live camera before he went to the outfield to throw batting practice to stud prospect Adonys Guzman. That, by the way, explained the gaggle of men, who turned out to be scouts. We'll come back to them.

3:10 p.m.: Concerned about the weather, I return to the car to get my large Pelican case that will hold my computer, mixer, and a few other things. It allows me to close the lid if it beings to rain. If I had more time I would have utilized my trusty SportPod but I want to make a quick exit today to get to the office for the deposition.

3:55 p.m.: So I have a Brunswick lineup. I've written it down. I've set their defense. We have umpires. 

We don't have opponents. The New Canaan Rams haven't turned up yet.

3:59 p.m.: OK, New Canaan has arrived. They've gone to the outfield to stretch but they don't intend to take I/O (infield/outfield practice).

They've made it clear the game is a scrimmage. But now that opens a question in my mind: is it a scrimmage for Brunswick?

4:05 p.m.: Answer: yes, it's a scrimmage for everyone. That changes the tone of the event entirely.

4:14 p.m.: I have a New Canaan roster, found on the CIAC website. What I don't have is a lineup for them and the game is about to start. I grabbed an assistant coach.

Me: Do you have a lineup?

Him: (Gestures as the head coach shows it to the umpires and Wick head coach Johnny Montanez).

Me: Is the roster on the CIAC website official?

Him: It should be. We've brought a few players up for the day (from junior varsity)

4:17 p.m.: The game has started.

OK, we're late and I'm really supposed to be logging into the deposition at 6:00 but I can be a little late for that.

Bottom of the first: scouts crowd around me (standing off to first base side of home plate) to watch Adonys Guzman hit). They, frankly, don't care about being in my way, and overall, they're not. They have a job to do and I give them as much space as possible. A couple of them are really friendly and pleasant to chat with. In fact, they all seem pretty nice. I specifically talked with one from the Brewers for a bit.

This scene would repeat itself several times, including times that they wanted to watch Guzman in his catching position.

Eventually, I glanced to my left. I spied a cord, basically like a headphone cable, sitting on the ground. It wasn't connected to anything.

That was bad.

There was nothing I could do about it at the moment but that meant my audio, intended to go through said cable to Local Live, had become disconnected.

Short (and clean) answer: drat.

Between innings: I reconnected.

But anytime I so much as drifted away from my position, someone jumped in, including a few parents from New Canaan and a photographer.

We might need a defined broadcaster space. It will happen. All in due time.

The game is dragging along. Brunswick scored four times in the second, three in the third, and three more in the fourth. They lead 10-2 after four innings.

Oh, and in the third inning, New Canaan puts in a new pitcher. I can tell you his number was 7. I can't tell you his name, any more than I can tell you pronunciations of the Rams player's names.

Nope. Not the finest hour.

Other realization? If I want to finish the game, I won't make the deposition on time. That's not ideal. So it's decision time.

5:40 p.m.: I throw in the towel on the broadcast. The scouts were overwhelming and, let's face it, I was calling a scrimmage that was rapidly getting out of control.

In almost any other circumstances, I finish the job. In this case, I had another job to get to.

I packed up.

5:59 p.m.: I texted Dan that I was on my way.

6:15 p.m.: I walked into the office. Honestly, I could have made it home but it would have been stressful. I would have had to fly in the door, get online, and set up my paperwork. It was too stressful to consider, so I just came to the office. Dan and Craig Jones were both there.

7:11 p.m.: We are on the record. It feels weird to do a deposition from the office but it's fine. I quickly adjusted. While it will be a late night I'm not worried about the drive home. I can stroll into Dan's office and chat with him as I listen to the testimony. Dan and Craig are both great friends and huge tech guys, and, like The Joker, I'm always marveling at their wonderful toys.

8:00 p.m.: Dan and Craig go home to their families. I'm now on my own.

8:30 p.m.: We go off the record. 

8:39 p.m.: We go back on the record.

8:49 p.m.: I realize that this can be viewed as a fun post detailing my day. I also realize that this can be viewed as horribly self-serving (never my goal). I try different approaches every day and I thought this could be fun, snarky, and playful while breaking down some of the ponderous stuff in a long day. I realize there are those who work much longer days and do things nowhere near what I do.

8:51 p.m.: I also realize I shouldn't speak in disclaimers.

9:13 p.m.: We're done! I'm shocked! Yay for justice! 

9:31 p.m.: All paperwork and files have been finalized and I'm heading for The Cat. Oh yeah, and The Son.

9:55 p.m.: Stopping in North White Plains, NY for gas. The roads are a bit wet as some rain has fallen.

10:09 p.m.: Forget what I've just said. As I climb the Taconic State Parkway past the exit for Millwood, the skies exploded. Heavy rain and...ahhh...a little ponding on the roads*.

*Again, I'm typing AFTER I turned the car off.

10:29 p.m.: I'm thankfully home after that adventure. The Cat greets me as I yell at him for not taking the recycling out.

Sean waves.

The day could have been much worse. I assumed I wouldn't be home for a few more hours. But it's done. 

10:57 p.m.: I'm sitting in bed finishing the post. Rascal/Squeaky/Walter/The Beast/The Cat is walking around, doing his thing, Sean is talking to one of "his boys."

It's good to be home.

My outdoor setup (if needed): the Pelican case

A Quarter of a Century of Gratitude

I can still hear the directions.

Take Exit 3 off I-95 and make a left. Proceed through the lights and, going to the left, go up the hill. Just past the traffic light for town hall, turn left on Dayton Ave. If you reach the Food Emporium grocery store, you've gone too far.

The address? 1490 Dayton Ave.

Go to the back door and ring the bell.

So began my first foray into this strange land called WGCH Radio in Greenwich, CT.

I was there to learn how to run their programs. I was there to learn the nuances of their colsole.

I was there to prepare for my first air shift the following Sunday, when I would fill in for Steve Goodwin, who was partially responsible for my being there.

Steve the late Luke Michaels both wanted me to join them at GCH following the demise of WREF, where we had all worked.

So there I was. I learned what I could.

That was 25 years ago today -- March 30, 1997.

I did that fill-in shift the following Sunday. Then? I felt like it would be fleeting at best. The station left a message for me to call them in May 1997 (back when you called your home line to see if you had any messages). I called them back and they asked me if I could fill in again. The problem was that I was in Las Vegas.

I felt like I had missed an opportunity. In truth, I probably had because my phone mostly went dry. It took until late 1998 before I got asked to be the board operator for some football games.

Fortunately, they liked what I could do. They liked that I was reliable and did as I was asked. I also wasn't pushy to get on the air.

Oh, I'd get on the air plenty. Eventually.

Far right, at Boyle Stadium in Stamford

Soon I was the go-to guy. Need a board-op? I'm in. Need an engineer? Teach me and I'll do it. Want me to be the pre and postgame host? Halftime and intermissions reports? Cool.

And, by early 1999, a play-by-play announcer.

Obviously, I haven't looked back since then.

Oh, it hasn't always been easy. Politics, internal squabbles, management issues, crazy salespeople, technical concerns, and so on.

But, on the other hand, there have been 25 years of a lot of games and news and Election Nights and talk shows and Greenwich Town Parties and breaking news.

I know I'm missing things.

I can't even begin to name the names. It wouldn't be fair. I'd forget someone.

But I'll take a shot at Jim Thompson and Dima Joseph and Tony Savino and Bob Small and Joy Marshall and Lindsey Romeo and Sam Romeo and Sean Kilkelly and Mark Rosen and Chris Erway and Chris Kaelin and Ryan DeMaria and Jim Campbell and Mary Anne DeFelice and Amy Beth and Don Russell (rest his soul) and Clark Burgard and Ricky Fritsch and Anthony Karlogrides and Matt Hamilton and Mark Smallwood and Bill Brehm and John Spang and Michael Breed and John Connelly and John Iannuzzi and Tom Kane and Nick Angotto and Zach Fisher, Mark Jeffers, Dave Torromeo, and like I said I'm missing names.

The names include every analyst that stood with me in a booth. Every intern that did stats or reported from the sideline.

The names include salespeople and executives -- some of whom didn't drive me nuts.

The names include the people who kept asking for me to keep coming around.

They include the people who somehow -- often with a string and two cans -- kept the station on the air.

They include every caller, sponsor, and most of all, listener.

Naples, FL 2007

The place -- that radio station -- has driven me nuts. It has infuriated me. 

It has enriched me.

It is one of my great loves. I'm proud of it and proud to have spent a quarter of a century at WGCH in some form or another.

I've been there full-time. Part-time. No time (1997-1998). 

And I've basically been there consistently since 1998. Even when I was at HAN, I still did a Friday sports chat with Tony Savino.

Which reminds me, I've been paid and unpaid.

And the shows? "Spotlight on Sports with Rob Adams," "The Rob Adams Show," "The Press Box," "Coaches Corner," "Inside Sports," "Tee Time," "The Clubhouse."

"Doubleheader."

And many others. Even shows that I've forgotten.

Oh, and the sports I've called? Football (always the king), basketball, hockey (yeah, I could say I was the voice...oh, forget it), basketball, and baseball but also softball and lacrosse. Also Bridgeport Bluefish baseball and GYFL football and, again, so much more.

We covered Greenwich High, Brunswick, Stamford High, Trinity Catholic, Rye, Harrison, and Port Chester. If management let me, I did it.

It's changed since I first got there. It's changed a lot.

Yet I'm still here.

I know more changes await WGCH and who knows how much longer I'll be a part of it? So, yeah, I'll admit that hitting this 25th anniversary mattered to me.

You saw me through life, death, triumph, and tragedy. You welcomed Sean into the world and made him part of the Greenwich scene.

In a town that is protective of its "townies," you've made me an honorary member.

It hasn't always been pretty but it's been a great 25 years.

Thanks, Greenwich. Thanks, listeners. Thanks, friends.

Thank you, wonderful WGCH. May your transmitter light for years to come.

Sean Kilkelly, Chris Kael, me, Chris Erway, and Sean Adams, Oct 2011

I Guess Honesty Is Really Such a Lonely Word

 

Among my many traits is honesty.

Generally, I think it's a good thing, but if we're being...er...honest...let's just quote ol' Jack Nicholson.

"You can't handle the truth."

And so, friends, I sometimes have to say nothing. Now, staying quiet is something I can do but I also have to either say what I want to say privately to someone else or write multiple versions of a tweet/post and delete all of it.

I see things or, should I say I get sent things. 

For their own sake and the sake of their loved ones, I want to be able to tell them that they're overdoing it in one way or another.

There are online meltdowns and pity parties and other really concerning stuff that I simply can't discuss with them. 

And I want to help but, more often than not, they don't want that help.

Or they'll argue that they're right.

Like it or not, I have a pretty honest core surrounding me. I hear things I don't want to hear but, in the long run, it makes me better.

Or I say things that I simply need to say (even though it's wrong) just so I can hear myself say it and then realize what a dope I am.

It's therapeutic.

I'm not good at simply staying quiet. At least not in person.

It's why I detest phonies.

It's easier when there's a trainwreck online because I can react. My poker face can contort itself into a living question mark before I ... likely say nothing.

Which drives me crazy.

But. When they refuse or don't want the help, what can you do?

And -- worse -- they have a collection of pacifists who tell them what they want to hear.

At that point, there's simply no helping it.

The sad part is I really pride myself on being the voice of reason (Mike Richter once called me that). But, seriously, I always admired how my father was so diplomatic and I'd like to believe I have that in me. That's why I like being the big brother/uncle. 

Although I've got a new neighbor who keeps calling me "sir."

"Sir?"

Yet, I walked away from him limping with back pain after a long day of standing to teach at CSB and calling lacrosse at Brunswick.

So I guess I am "sir." 

Drat.

But, back to the point at hand. It's really hard to be an honest, open book and not be able to address things.

Sometimes you also know you can't say what you need to say no matter how much you want to say it because odds are, you'll simply look bad.

Or petty.

So, I guess what we're coming down to is that, occasionally, I can (and actually do) keep my mouth shut.

I actually do it much more than I let on.

But it's not easy.

The Invoice

 

I emailed an invoice today.

It was for services rendered over the past few months and it will be paid in due time. I have no doubt of that as the company I sent it to is always honorable, prompt, and professional.

Some invoices, in the freelance world, often take a little time to get paid, but inevitably, they almost all do.

So long as I'm not truly destitute I don't worry about a delay. It happens. An email gets lost, even forgotten. I'm not the world's best businessman in this regard. Oh, for the love of Rockerfeller, far from it.

A quick follow-up normally resolves things. Sometimes it's even my fault. One of the places I work didn't send any confirmation that they paid me. They just electronically put the money in my account and I failed to check the statement before sending a quick text.

I was redfaced but, ultimately, no harm.

There are a series of invoices, dating back to 2017, that has gone completely unpaid by one former employer. In fact, most emails and attempts to collect have been ignored.

The money isn't insignificant, though I've been told in various channels that suing for it would be fruitless, so I've mostly given up.

That doesn't mean it has been forgotten or forgiven.

I accepted a position there as a way to get my career and brain back in balance following some difficult though fruitful professional experiences. The brain has a funny way of looking back at such things.

Like anything else, there was a honeymoon period. But promises that were made weren't kept and money was often slow in getting to me.

Eventually, we whittled everything down to doing the job as a contract employee. OK, cool.

I didn't love any of this but it would have to do. I now had no medical benefits.

"You'll make more money than you did before!" I was told.

That might have been true if I were ever paid for those duties.

Look, I'll blame myself for some of this. The number I was promised per job started at a higher rate.

Then I was told that wasn't true.

Like an idiot, I didn't have it in writing. No email. Nothing. Totally my own fault for being so naive.

There's a deeper backstory of other things, including being able to pay for my car and the hell -- that's the word -- I went through. The same went for child support. Attempts to recoup that money were a failure.

All of this as my mother was sick and I was caring for her, I might add.

Threats to the employer to get a lawyer involved -- and I had contacted one -- didn't work. The whole thing was a nightmare. A huge nightmare.

You look back and you wonder. Should I have just stayed in one situation, where those close to me feared I was heading towards physical ruin, over going to a situation that put me in financial ruin?

"If you had stayed," one person said to me, "you would have had a heart attack."

On the other hand, how's the stress when you're financially worried?

Ultimately, I was able to get some unemployment, which they actually held against me for pursuing. Honestly, what choice did I have?

No, I was entitled to the unemployment -- you stopped using me as an employee -- and the past-due invoices.

I tried to get the value of the invoices. At first, I pushed the number higher because I felt the car issue and, frankly, interest was due to me. OK, they rejected that.

I brought the number down.

I brought it down lower.

I kept thinking they'd be honorable. Wasn't I doing the same? Wasn't this a negotiation? Couldn't we just resolve this and walk away on good terms? These were people who supposedly wanted to do the right thing for me -- mentally and in terms of my career.

Eventually, I whittled the number down to where the lack of response led me to feel that the fight was no longer worth it.

It was one of many kicks in the face that I've received. 

Lessons learned I suppose.

Karma's a bitch, they say. There are ways to get the point across.

Like a blog post that doesn't name names.

I came through it a better man. You might read this and shake your head. You might read it and have your own judgment of me.

I hold my head high.

Other invoices will be paid.

Other employers treat me well.

Consider this an editorial you'll never run.

(By the way, I've already received a reply to the aforementioned invoice that I sent today. They thanked me and I have no doubt I'll be paid quickly. That's a great relationship and that's how it's supposed to work.)

A Special "Talent" Talks

 

You might know I host a podcast called "Talent Talks." It's an interview-style show that I've hosted for a few years for Hunt Scanlon Media.

It's fair to call it a niche podcast, focusing on talking with movers and shakers in the talent management community.

It's all set up through the Hunt Scanlon office in Greenwich, as Erik Boender gets the process started. I get involved when it's time to schedule the recording session.

So there I am, trying to work out a time to record with CarterBaldwin Executive Search out of Atlanta. I'm told that Chris Guiney -- a partner in the firm -- would be my guest.

Huh. I knew a Chris Guiney. We were close friends back in the days of Austin Road Elementary School. We were in classes together several years in a row before we moved on to both Mahopac Junior High and Mahopac High School.

Chris was part of a core group of friends with Frank Viggiano, John Vaughan, and Brian Power, as well as assorted others. I would often walk or ride my bike up Agor Lane to meet with the boys at one of their houses -- most likely Frank's or Brian's. 

There was always a chance we'd walk up to Austin Road to practice football plays we scripted out or play baseball. Maybe we'd climb on the roof of the school (it's been 40 years so I think I'm safe).

Maybe we'd shoot hoops at Brian's house.

Maybe we'd listen to music, watch sports, and be teenage boys.

We could always ride our bikes to town for sandwiches at Rodak's or ice cream at Carvel.

Then we could jump off the dock at Lake MacGregor to cool off.

Lazy, hazy, crazy days.

So, Chris Guiney, you say?

I had to look. I knew we had connected on Facebook and exchanged brief hellos from time to time.

I thought he was in Atlanta but I couldn't remember.

So I checked Google.

"Chris Guiney CarterBaldwin."

His bio came right up and it was 1981 all over again.

Fourth Grade. Chris is top left. I'm in the second row, third from right
in the glasses and the silk shirt.

Of all the podcasts in all the towns in the world, he was going to be on mine.

We spoke for a few minutes before we recorded and caught up. Life is what it is. Kids and so on.

Then we recorded. The process itself was brief -- roughly a half-hour -- with a script constructed by Erik Boender. It's always the same. I try to make the guest be the best they can be and I can fix things in post-production as necessary.

Chris was sharp and smooth. If he wasn't an old friend of over 40 years I'd still recommend him to anyone in his industry. 

We dropped a few Mahopac references in but I think we both knew that it couldn't be overkill. The idea is always that it's important to still make the outsider feel welcome.

Maybe Mr. Salvestrini (4th grade) would be proud. Hopefully, Mrs. Colasacco (5th grade) was. I wouldn't doubt Dr. Levy (Mr. Levy to us -- 6th grade) would be pleased.

Chris was effusive in his kind words to me but I was simply beyond impressed with him as a guest, an executive, a dad, and a man.

I called it "special" as we wrapped up and I meant it. As we were both busy, we said a quick goodbye and carried on. I edited and delivered it to Hunt Scanlon for them to promote it.

It's now online and can be found here as well as on all of your favorite podcast providers.

I realize it's a niche program but I'm pretty proud of this podcast so I hope you'll give it a listen.

Just a couple of Mahopac boys doing OK.

Games 1 and 2

 

"Right now it is a beautiful day, and a called strike on the outside corner on a fastball gets us going..."

My hands shook as I wrote the lineups.

I just felt anxious. Nervous.

About calling baseball.

Was I kidding myself? Am I not that good? Did I have any business being there?

I kept thinking I have to be good. It's a new opportunity. I have to be better than good.

I expect it from myself.

This was different.

"Tell me I'm just calling baseball," I said in a message to a friend. It was a plea to help me calm down.

I'd like to think that the average viewer couldn't pick anything up but, if I'm being honest, it took a few innings. OK, several innings, before I stopped feeling uptight.

I was in the cozy little booth in the press box of Frank Vieira Field. I could close the door, which I don't mind, since calling a game in an open press box can be a bit intimidating.

Somehow I think I'm in a vacuum. Nobody hears me.

In fact, there's no audience.

But I know better.

These are new people I'm broadcasting for. A whole new audience.

The University of New Haven and Pace University were locked in a pitchers duel. In fact, both games were. The final scores were 3-1 and 2-0, both in favor of Pace. No, I couldn't bring any luck to UNH.

Matt Almonte of Pace homered in the sixth inning for the first run of the day. New Haven answered in the last of the sixth but Pace put two on the board in the seventh and took game one.

The pitching was outstanding all day.

Of course, playing into my brain was that my voice hasn't sounded right for about a week due to a head cold I've been dealing with. Also, food was at a minimum so I tried to avoid starving.

As a broadcaster, I'm arguably at my worst when hungry.

No matter. I survived all 14 innings and don't think I embarrassed myself.

Weather also factored into the day as rain hit just after the end of the first game but then backed off to let the second game start. It reappeared once but was never a problem.

Of more fascination to me was my little booth in the press box. It's a separate room with a monitor, a mixer, a headset, and some wires for the video and audio. The astounding thing for me was that I didn't need to carry my own equipment case over. Things were already set up when I arrived.

That was very unusual for me.

Still, the booth is so small that a second person in there would get...er...intimate.

Overall, the facility is a nice place with the baseball field in the middle of the softball field, football field, and Charger Gymnasium. I could definitely get used to it. But it's also a fascinating area -- in the middle of a neighborhood. 

After it was over, I was told that there would indeed be more opportunities to call games at UNH. It wasn't a result of being particularly good (or bad for that matter). It was that I was a warm body who was responsible. Nobody told me that but nobody needed to tell me either.

I showed up. I was responsible. I helped UNH out when they needed it. But, yeah, I'd like to think I was also good.

That also counts for something.

The next game -- weather permitting -- is Monday back at Brunswick, followed by lacrosse on Tuesday at Wick.

Super Charger!

University of New Haven

I had a post written.

It was time to talk up the first baseball broadcast(s) of 2022 as Brunswick hosted Belmont Hill.

I was going to tell you about being nervous and having a bit of a crisis of confidence but how I was looking forward to getting back at it.

Then it all got canceled. The short version is because there's a 40% chance of rain.

This isn't a case of postponing either. The games are outright canceled.

Not only is it the loss of a chance to call games it's a loss of income.

So it's fair to say I'm a bit bummed right now. I sort of needed these games for a couple of reasons.

And then?

Well, there had been a Plan B but it felt like it was shot. The thing is I had also been asked to jump on a broadcast for the University of New Haven. I told them no but we said we'd stay in touch.

Early this evening, I emailed to say the Brunswick games were on and I'd be there. UNH thanked me for staying in touch.

I literally just got word at 10 p.m. that Brunswick was off. Moments later, I touched base with UNH to let them know what had happened.

"If you still want to come down, you’re more than welcome," came the reply.

Let's rock.

Oh, I'll be even more nervous now. I've never called a game there or for them but I'm excited to jump in. Sometimes, last-minute can be great.

We've been here. Many times. My peers would be flipping out. They want to create charts, graphs and discover who their distant relatives are. I'm going to call the games. It's a doubleheader. I have a computer. I see there are stats and bios. I'll make it work.

So, yeah, buckle up for a doubleheader between the University of New Haven Chargers against the Pace University Setters from just down the road in Westchester County (another team that I've talked to about broadcasting for).

First pitch is at noon.

I'm glad for the opportunity.

The games will be live online here.

I have a lot of work today to get ready!