Καλός (Translation: Good, as in "A Good Day")

 

The view from the Courtney Campbell Causeway (Fl SR 60)
between Clearwater and Tampa

Today was a happy day.

Aren't those nice words to read?

They're nice to write as well.

Family, food, laughter, walking, great views, shopping, nostalgia.

Does that hit everything? Perhaps.

Waffle House started the day because you bet it did.

I mean, today was day three of our trip and it was the first time we had strolled into the place more commonly known as heaven.

Breakfast on the first two days was spoken for and we just didn't go at any other time of day. I suspected we wouldn't go until this morning and I wasn't bothered by it.

The All-Star Special was as spectacular as always, even as we juggled the plates on the table for space.

We pulled ourselves together and went to Tarpon Springs too.

I've written about Tarpon numerous times. Founded in 1876, it saw the rise of sponge diving and became the home to the largest percentage of Greek Americans in the U.S. for a single city.

The St. Nicholas Boat Line began offering tours as a chance to learn about the sponge industry in 1924. As the 20th Century moved along, shops opened along Dodecanese Blvd. offering sponges and more.

Eventually, that grew into myriad gift shops with plenty of Tarpon Springs-related items.

Junk? Sure. I mean, I'm not naive about these things. But great also.

Last year, I came away with a hoodie. I added a long-sleeve t-shirt today. I mean, how could I say no to a $5 shirt?

But more than trinkets and other bric-a-brac, Tarpon Springs is alive with other shops of interest as well as restaurants and bars. Sean specifically wanted to go to Hellas Restaurant and Bakery, with emphasis on the "bakery."

Opened in 1985, Hellas offers authentic Greek dishes as well as plenty of baked goods. In my case, it was caramel cheesecake and it was delicious.

The time in Tarpon Springs at the Sponge Docks can stretch from minutes to hours depending on interest and pace. For us, it was a few hours.

For me, it's always a return to being a little kid, looking for goodies while walking around with my parents. There's the nostalgic part of all of this.

However, for those who wondered, we did not go to the statue of the Greek fisherman outside of the restaurant that used to be outside of Pappas' Riverside at the corner of Dodecanese Blvd. and Alt. U.S. 19. Well, let me amend that. We did walk by the statue, but we did not update the picture that Sean and I took there last year, which itself was an update of a picture of my father and me from 1980. We don't need to take a new picture every year.

This day was in my wheelhouse, and we had dinner plans that allowed me to watch as we drove past areas that I'm quite familiar with as well along U.S. 19.

Oh, things have changed, no question, but there's still a familiarity to all of it, conjuring memories of vacations from a generation ago.

A happy day ended with dinner next to the Manatee River with more family before we made our way back to our accommodations for the week.

With any luck, it will lead to a good night's sleep.

Back in Connecticut, we know our home and Rascal are in good hands. That means a lot to both of us.

More happy days await.

End of the Road For Now

 

I love the smell of Buc-ee's in the morning

The time was 10:39 a.m. on Mar 19, 2024.

It was a sunny Tuesday even if the temperature was chilly for the time of year.

It was in the low 50s as we crossed the St. Mary's River.

For the first time in almost 35 years, I had driven to Florida.

Waves of memories went through my mind in that moment on I-95.

Thoughts of a silver Chevy Impala and turning the radio dial looking for a decent station.

Thoughts of being thankful to reach that point combined with the reality that roughly another four hours awaited before reaching our ultimate destination.

But, first, it was the thought of taking a picture -- something we didn't do in 1989 or any other drive before that.

After that, we pulled off to the welcome center, where I calmly got out of the car. Sean followed, likely assuming I wanted a restroom break and a chance to add to my map collection.

Yes, all of that was true. But, in reality, it was a mild surprise for Sean.

"Walk straight in," I said, as I held the door open.

In the welcome center stood a nice lady between several orange and grapefruit juice dispensers. She smiled and welcomed us to Florida, offering each of us a sample of Sean's nectar of the gods.

He had a broad smile on his face. Even with what was basically a double shot of OJ, he was thrilled.

Indeed, four hours later, our drive was complete.

Hanging with Forrest Gump at the 
Georgia Welcome Center. He didn't offer
me any chocolates.

With stops included, we drove just over 1,200 miles. Each day's drive -- again, with stops -- was nine hours and thirty-five minutes.

So, basically 19 hours.

We didn't rush our breaks, allowing us a half-hour this morning at Buc-ee's, for instance. But we also just go.

We'll stop if needed but, generally, we don't need. 

As with yesterday, we made three stops that were basically for the restroom and food. Except today we added a car wash break.

The pollen in North Carolina was so intense that our car was green when we drove away this morning.

So we pulled into a little car wash in Ocala, FL and got cleaned up.

While much has changed since I last made this drive, one truth remains solid: South Carolina is a long three hours on I-95.

I stayed awake but it wasn't easy. 

And U.S. 301 from Interstate 10 down to Ocala is a grind.

As we crossed into Florida, I found myself feeling amazed that we had done this.

For 35 years, I've said I've wanted to do the drive again but never really thought it would happen. 

Sure, there are always best-laid plans and all, but I just thought it was a pipe dream. Besides, why not just fly?

But we did it. And Sean was a champ. As always, the right companion.

However, let's not overdo the excitement.

We still have to drive home next week.

This is the exit we used to go to my grandparents.
Today, we went another 10 miles

Take 95 South

 

New Jersey Turnpike this morning

STEDMAN, North Carolina -- I know this drive.

Greenwich to Stedman, which is just outside of Fayetteville. 

Or Mahopac to Stedman.

I've done it -- what? -- 12 times over the last decade?

It's right around 600 miles and, if the fates align, can be done in nine hours in probably the best-case scenario.

With stops, Sean and I were here in just under 10.

Stops. Just three. All Wawa's.

Kearny, NJ. Abingdon, MD. Fredericksburg, VA.

The one in Maryland was foolish. Sean asked for a restroom break. I didn't need to veer to a Wawa for that but it's a habit in the "land of the Wa" to go to one.

But that's it. We just kept moving.

We hit some traffic.

Washington, DC. As I told you we might.

We hit some construction traffic here in North Carolina also.

But every time we're here I am reminded of why we're here.

It's family who get us and who we get. It's quirkiness and fun. None of us take ourselves too seriously.

Plus there are cats. And a dog. None of that hurts the appeal.

My alarm went off at four. Yes, 4 a.m. As it was, I didn't sleep that great and I often don't, especially before traveling. Mostly because I'm mentally afraid I might miss my alarm.

To that end, Seans' phone was doing some kind of update and turned his alarm off. He was less than thrilled when he discovered it was 4:40 and I was dressed, packed, and ready to go.

But we left at 5:09. It's hard to be annoyed at that.

The miles then began to move. As New Jersey reached its conclusion, I prepared myself to conquer the beast that has lingered in my mind since last November: a bridge.

To be clear, it's the kind of bridge that rises to a peak. This isn't the bridge over the Tappan Zee or the Bear Mountain Bridge. 

This is the Delaware Memorial Bridge in this case. 

Last September, I came home from Virginia via Pennsylvania and into New Jersey on the Commodore Barry Bridge. At the apex, I felt somewhat lightheaded and the makings of a panic attack. I safely got to the bottom despite the lunatics in my brain and immediately found some food, figuring I was too hungry.

A few weeks later, I experienced similar things on three bridges to and from calling softball in Staten Island.

I had not been over that kind of bridge since and knew today was the day.

Despite the buildup, I'm here to tell you I made it across without any incident. I'm hoping my prognosis of making sure I'm adequately energized is correct.

Washington Crossing the Delaware
Emanuel Leutze, 1851 (Public Domain)

I can't tell you how good it felt to cross the Delaware. I felt like George Washington.

It had been weighing on me for months. I was truly worried that I couldn't drive across bridges like that. That's not to say I won't be conscious of it in the future but it was a relief for today.

I relaxed after that and we carried on.

As content as we are here in North Carolina, we will be back on the road early tomorrow morning. 

We will be in the Florida sun before it sets.

Wearin' O' the Green

 

My dad (center) with his parents, Sep 1957

I finally put something green on.

I've been working around the apartment all day and, as I put a load of laundry in, I popped on a pair of green basketball shorts.

There. Happy St. Patrick's Day.

Mere steps away from our place was the annual Greenwich St. Patrick's Day parade. Given Sean, Chris Erway, and I were going to host it on the radio at one point, I didn't have much of a drive to walk over to it.

WGCH had a car in the festivities but I was bummed there was no broadcast.

So, I kept myself occupied on this day of mixed emotions.

I could hear just a little of the hoopla as I bounced in and out of the apartment all day.

We're getting ready to leave for Florida and the last day before traveling is always hectic. At least, it is for me.

So there's the aforementioned laundry to do, cleaning up the car, staging things the way I want for the drive, cleaning up and making sure everything is in place for Rascal while we're gone, and so on.

Plus, with the warmth, I allowed myself a break by grabbing the reclining chair that I use on the balcony. I sat out there and ate lunch. I even gave myself a moment of "sláinte" by grabbing a cold beverage.

It wasn't Guinness but it would still do just fine.

I even created next week's "Meet the Beatles" by recording it here in my studio. I will post it in the archive after it runs next Sunday.

Basically, we could almost drive away now. We won't but we could. Sean has something going on so he told me if I considered leaving I'd be going alone.

So, no. We'll leave tomorrow morning.

I also caught up with my sister today, who wished us well on our trip. She just got back from Florida. 

I realized after we hung up that we didn't talk about our father.

It was 35 years ago tonight that I came home to the news that Dad had died at 59.

In an instant, life changed completely. There's no way around that.

Such a thing is impossible to calculate but exactly what would have changed had he lived longer?

"Everything" is too easy to say but it's not entirely wrong.

It goes without saying how much he is missed. I truly think of him every day and I suppose I try to live up to standards that would make him proud. I think we all do that.

I liked most of those standards.

Let's be honest, this trip is a tribute to him in many ways.

He taught me to hit the road early on trip day and to make every moment count. He gave me a wonderful sense of direction.

He taught me to be weary of Washington, DC traffic and to keep things on the entertainment system that keep a driver alert.

Conversely, I don't sit at meals for long to have extra cups of coffee. Plus, I don't smoke so there's that.

We'd pull into a Howard Johnson's in somewhere like Roanoke Rapids, NC and you knew you'd be off the road for at least an hour.

"More coffee, sir?" he'd get asked and, well, you knew the answer.

I can easily take my coffee in the car and I'm sort of content to eat and drive.

Incidentally, I miss Howard Johnson's but that's a whole different topic. He'd be amazed with the grab-and-go life of Wawa's and Sheetz and Bucc-ee's.

But I know him. He loved being "Uncle Don" and stopping at his niece's house would have been a no-brainer.

That's where we'll be tomorrow night. I love being "Uncle." I always have.

The hurt of his passing will never subside and I've accepted that. I still choke back too many tears on that topic and his fingerprints will be all over this trip. I'll see the sites that I saw with him. Places that he taught me to love.

The last time I drove towards the bottom end of South Carolina, through Georgia, and into the Jacksonville, FL area was in 1989. It was six weeks after he died. I'll likely stand on the same beach that I did on that trip when I looked at the water and pondered what the hell had happened. Still, it was the first moment of serenity during that time. To clarify, I was there for the funeral of my grandfather.

My dad's dad.

And so I had the right approach today. I did a radio show and then recorded a second radio show before going to the grocery store. Plus all of the other things that I did to stay busy and not be preoccupied with St. Patrick's Day.

It was another day, even if it took me hours to come around to put something green on.

Happy St. Patrick's Day if that's your thing.

It's still mine. Within reason.

Behind the Scenes

 

Yup. Hockey.

The Vipers have just finished a 14-4 win.

Yes, that's a hockey score.

I'm sitting in the rink while players meet fans and families.

The drive will follow as I've already packed up.

My throat hurts, my voice is tired, and the drive will be a drag.

But I spent most of the day in the mighty Hudson Valley.

Stop one was with my road friends -- Dan, Laura, Connor, and Doug, plus Laura's daughter Rainey.

I hung out with them as they prepared for a presentation on YouTube about Austin, TX.

I don't have much to add about Austin but I'm sure I could have survived had they asked me to talk. At the very least, I'm a decent moderator at that point.

But I hung out and watched the preparation of PowerPoints and pictures.

Plus there was food, with Doug making meatballs, wings, and corned beef and cabbage. It's St. Patrick's Day tomorrow after all.

They're good people --  all of them -- and I like being that fly on the wall as we talked and laughed.

We road types talk about more than just, you know, roads. OK, sure, we talk bridges and other infrastructure items, but we also talk sports, kids (Rainey is too cute, and she was climbing all over me), and life in general. Plus Dan's a big Beatles fan with an impressive collection of music.

Including things I don't own. Yes, I'm a touch jealous, but he'll be on "Meet the Beatles" eventually.

I left them and made my way to Poughkeepsie in plenty of time for puck drop.

Kris, Logan, and Danny were among those in the crowd who joined me.

Fun times as the Vipers poured the goals in the net and the penalties in the box.

There were numerous fights and, let's be honest, fans love that stuff.

Me? It's fun but it also adds to the length of the broadcast.

Which is now complete.

I have to get home and get at least a little sleep.

Tomorrow is a big day with "Meet the Beatles" live at 9 a.m. plus a recorded version to play next Sunday and laundry, packing, shopping, etc.

Time to go.

Two More for the Right Reasons

 

Norwalk High School gym

Two more games are in the books for me.

Tonight was the FCIAC Freshman basketball games. The girls played first and the boys followed.

It's the third time I've called these and it's a volunteer effort. Spearheaded by Glen Colello, there is a DJ spinning music all night and a three-piece band playing at various breaks in the action.

Plus me. Or, tonight, us, as Chris Kaelin joined me for the call. I haven't worked with "Kato" in a few years so it was great to see him.

These are a different kind of broadcast and, frankly, a little bit of a different kind of game. They play 20-minute halves and players can't foul out. Defense is generally minimal, especially in the boys game.

The rosters weren't put in our hands until just before game time because confirmation was needed to make sure the players all showed up and, to that end, there were a few changes.

While I do get to call the play-by-play, it's also a showcase night for the coaches, players, and the conference so we work in a lot of interviews, specifically with coaches from the FCIAC.

That took us off of the "nuts and bolts" of play-by-play details. Admittedly, that's not easy for me since these are radio play-by-play calls where details matter but it's part of the adjustment of the evening.

The coaches love talking about their players and that's coverage I'm happy to give.

I think it all works just fine even if I'm being my own worst critic as I worry about the broadcast.

"Kato" begins making his way up to our spot

If you listened then you heard the band and the DJ, who kept up a running play-by-play of his own all night. That was a bit of an adjustment for me but the crowd seemed to enjoy it.

It's a night to shine a light on all of it and I'm thrilled to do that.

Glen was kind to include a picture of me and the Robcasting logo in the program, and that's certainly good for the coverage, but it's not about us at all.

With that, save for the Hudson Valley Vipers, the winter season is over.

I know that Connecticut will wrap up the basketball season tomorrow and Sunday at Mohegan Sun, while hockey wraps up early next week in Hamden.

We would be happy to jump on those state championship calls but our talents will be utilized elsewhere.

Then, as soon as we're back from Florida, it's onto Brunswick baseball and lacrosse.

Ah, yes, baseball.

I mean no disrespect to any other sport when I say this, but I got into play-by-play because of baseball. That's what I've wanted to talk about since I was old enough to talk. The fact that I developed the skill to carry all of these other sports has been a blessing.

I love the challenge of bringing them all to you.

But baseball will always be that first love.

Soon. Very.

But, tonight, I was happy to be at Norwalk High School.

They Can't Stay Young Forever

This is "Junior"

I was looking in my memories today when I saw a reminder of some of the work I did at the HAN Network.

From time to time, I would get a hotel room out of the deal, especially if it involved a night game followed by a day game in the same area. There's no question I was grateful to not have to do the amount of driving from Shelton to Mahopac and so on.

However, in this case, it was a weekend in which I was supposed to have Sean. And, let's face it, what kid doesn't love crashing in a hotel?

Especially one with a giant indoor water slide?

That's what the Hampton Inn had in Shelton.

So I picked up Sean and drove him back to Fairfield where I called the Fairfield Ludlowe/Fairfield Prep on Friday night in a state playoff basketball game.

It was a chaotic night with a huge crowd and poor internet service inside Alumni Hall. It was just one of those nights.

Regardless, the waterslide was closed when we got back to the hotel. We'd have to get up first thing in the morning to enjoy it.

Sean was still at the age where he had a few stuffed animals to keep him company.

Though they wouldn't always travel with him, he had "Big Kitty" (a stuffed cat that was actually mine) and an Elmo at his mother's. Among the "guys" he kept with me was a small Pillow Pet that was called "Junior," named because he had a larger Pillow Pet. Both were black cats with white on his face.

It wasn't so much that he was looking for them to sleep with but they were sort of a running gag between us. Sean's inventive mind created a whole personality for Junior, including a small box that he made into an airplane.

It was "The Junior Jet."

And so I made sure to pack Junior to bring to the hotel, just as you see in the picture on the AC unit in the room.

These were the little things that made us smile and were part of the bond of this father-and-son unit.

We also bonded on the water slide early the next morning as we were down there when it opened. We did several runs on it with our laughter reverberating off the walls. We'd also jump into the adjacent pool as well.

Oh, keep in mind it was March and quite cold outside as I recall. That always adds to the joy of the situation.

We enjoyed this for a bit before getting dressed, grabbing breakfast, and heading into Bridgeport for two ice hockey games.

It was Sean's patience in those situations that were recorded with things like staying in a hotel, with him learning that Daddy's job was different than the average 9-to-5, even though I also did that at the time.

They were crazy days, nights, and weekends that produced wonderful memories.

They're long over now as HAN is gone and Sean is 22.

Oh, he still has his guys but he doesn't travel with them anymore.

No, I don't have to keep space in the backseat for them when we drive to Florida.

Junior, in fact, will stay put in Sean's bedroom while we're gone.

He and Rascal will be our guard cats.

No Clubhouse Tonight

 

Gale Sayers (40) addresses the Chicago Bears locker room

"The Clubhouse" was supposed to return tonight but we had a hiccup, so we'll begin the show in April.

I'm home watching TV instead. Not ideal, but so it goes.

The four of us -- me, Mark Jeffers, Dave Torromeo, and Bob Small -- have bonded over all kinds of things that keep us laughing and talking each time we get together.

You're not allowed to join us, for instance, unless you're ready to sing a TV theme song.

Yes, that's our initiation.

But we talk old TV and movies and pop culture and, of course, sports.

Piccolo (James Caan) and Sayers (Billy Dee Williams)

In that marriage of sport, movies, TV, and masculinity is Brian's Song.

The movie -- a TV movie -- tells the story of Brian Piccolo and his friendship with Gale Sayers. The two were members of the Chicago Bears from 1966 to 1969.

Interspersed in the movie is a story of two men of very different backgrounds coming together to make each other better and become close friends.

Piccolo was a white man from the East Coast who attended Wake Forest. Sayers was a Black man from Kansas.

Piccolo was boisterous. Sayers was quiet and shy.

Brian Piccolo

Sayers was a superstar and would ultimately become a Hall of Famer despite playing just seven seasons. He played in over nine games just five times. But he was magnificent.

Piccolo was a grunter. He was a fine college player, finishing 10th in the Heisman Trophy in 1964, ahead of Sayers.

But the movie depicts Piccolo as an underdog, coming off as a beloved teammate more than a great player.

Piccolo struggled to breathe during the 1969 season and was sent to the doctor. 

He had cancer -- embryonal cell carcinoma. 

Piccolo underwent rounds of surgery but the cancer returned.

Brian Piccolo died on June 16, 1970. He was 26.

A month before, Sayers was given the George S. Halas Most Courageous Player Award, in recognition of his returning from a knee injury. In his acceptance speech, Sayers insisted that nobody was more courageous than Piccolo.

"I love Brian Piccolo," Sayers said, "and I'd like all of you to love him, too. And tonight, when you hit your knees, please ask God to love him."

The scene is portrayed in the movie as it begins to pull the heartstrings.

The movie has sat near the top of the list of tearjerkers -- especially for men.

Of course, for me, it's Field of Dreams.

Even now, 53 years after its release, Brian's Song still evokes tremendous emotion. The performances, led by Billy Dee Williams (Sayers) and James Caan (Piccolo) strike the perfect notes of humor and sadness.

The end is gut-wrenching. 

The football action uses real NFL footage and that adds a level of authenticity.

Let's be clear: it's a TV movie and not a documentary. It's not 100% accurate.

Among my "The Clubhouse" colleagues, we do the typical man thing: we laugh. As such, "I love Brian Piccolo" has become a badge of honor among the four of us.

And so, friends, as I sit home on a Wednesday night when I was supposed to be hosting "The Clubhouse" what do you think I found on TV?

Brian's Song, of course.

And did I watch it? You bet I did.

Yet, even as my eyes moistened, I soothed myself by...

BY?

By writing this post.

I love Brian Piccolo.

There Is Rarely A Perfect Time

 

The goal

Our trip to Florida is rapidly approaching.

I sort of agonized over picking the dates to go.

We flew away on Mar 8 last year and had a great trip. It was the chance to introduce Sean to the Gulf Coast of Florida. 

It served as an inspiration to come back and, so long as Kris and Lori want us there, to make it a regular thing.

Not long after we got home last year, we began talking about going back.

But this time, Sean wanted us to drive.

He was into driving last year but I pushed for us to fly.

In the end, it didn't have anything to do with a fear of flying or anything like that. If anything, it was that he didn't like the airport process.

I'm right there with him on that. Westchester Airport was overcrowded that Wednesday morning.

But, in truth, I think Sean wanted to know what this drive was all about. He's heard me talk about it so many times since my family never flew to Florida.

He's an outstanding driving companion even if he mostly keeps to himself under his headphones.

He's driving to North Carolina many times with me. In the end, he wanted to complete the drive to Tampa Bay.

I think he felt it might allow him to honor -- and feel closer to -- my parents.

He loves traditions and that's a lot of what this is steeped in.

But, to be honest, I suppose we should have scheduled this for mid-February. We normally drove to Florida over the mid-winter break which was a sweet spot.

Among the many things I loved about those days was getting in the car in pitch black on a freezing cold morning in New York.

By the end of that day, we were in the Carolinas, shedding coats and feeling more comfortable. A day or two later, we were in the warmth of Florida.

In this case, the temperature is likely to be in high 40s or low 50s when we drive away. Oh, it will still be great but just different.

My concern was making sure I didn't miss work while I was away but that hasn't quite worked. 

This week might have worked, I suppose. Even then I would have missed last night's Luadlowe/Waterford game and Friday night's FCIAC Freshman All-Star Games.

There was no stretch in February when I wouldn't have missed work, so I remained committed to being at all of the Brunswick events.

Their winter schedule was set to be completed on March 2. This year, I kept the calendar open to have some cushion for any other jobs.

And that all turned out to be prophetic.

And here we are.

So we'll revisit it again next year, based on the availability of when we can all make the dates work.

For the record, I haven't packed yet.

At least, not completely.

The Kettle is Boiling

 

There comes a point where I run out of patience.

I'm there.

So this is your post that you most likely won't read today.

I'll focus on a good basketball game between Waterford and Ludlowe coming up at 6:30. Listen live on Robcasting.

*****

I mean, seriously. I just read that Deadspin --  the sports blog founded in 2005 that has changed hands a few times since -- was just sold and no current staff is being retained.

I hate seeing people lose their jobs.

But in our usual rush to judgment (and clout chasing) a recent retweet indicated that staffers were given 30 minutes warning that they were losing their jobs.

I mean, I'm sorry, but this happens and happens more than you know.

In 2001, I was called into my boss's office for a friendly meeting in the afternoon.

With a smile, he told me I was being cut.

I walked out and found my computer turned off.

I packed up and left.

I have other stories that are similar to that. There was also the time that there was an email about a staff meeting that I and several others weren't on.

Those of us not on that distribution were brought into a conference room and laid off.

It's awful but it's not uncommon.

So, yeah, that's where I am today. 

I'll focus on basketball.

There's Always Next Week

 

Rudy Gobert touches microphones as a "joke"
four years ago this week

I was looking forward to today.

The games were over, the clocks were changed, and the Beatles were the only thing on the agenda.

I got home around midnight -- or 1 a.m., given the eventual time change -- and actually passed out.

I slept. Legitimately slept, at least for a few hours.

Then I dragged myself out of the apartment and went to WGCH.

The theme of today's "Meet the Beatles" was underappreciated songs.

Now, hold up. I realize there is basically nothing about the Beatles that is underrated. I've read the myriad comments over the years that called them overrated, overplayed, etc.

I get it. Believe me.

Yet, my idea on the theme was to highlight songs that perhaps don't get the attention that others do.

You've heard "Hey Jude" and "Here Comes the Sun" and "Yesterday" so many times.

I played "She Said She Said" and "I'm Only Sleeping" and others.

I felt this was a show that was a little easier on my brain in that I didn't need to stress it. I could also play a few songs together, giving my voice a break.

Oh, I put my usual all into it.

But it just didn't feel like it connected.

I don't know how to explain it but there's a feeling.

I didn't sense a buzz. I didn't get many comments.

I mean, it happens. 

I've written posts that I've poured my heart into and the readership or reactions were minimal.

I've told jokes -- I'm not a comedian nor am I funny -- that I had to explain.

And, of course, the old "it was a joke," which is so uncomfortable.

I thought I put together a good show this morning. I liked the topic in that I knew it would take a little effort to pull songs that might be a touch off the radar.

I found some song suggestions online that worked.

Yet, sometimes, you just know when it doesn't quite jell.

I have that feeling today was that day.

I don't expect to explore too much new ground with this show. I know that. The Beatles are the most dissected act in the history of music. 

So much of their music exists and has been played and examined.

I'm hoping people might  -- might -- discover something they've never heard or haven't heard in a long time. As always, I hope to inspire.

Of course, I know the possibility exists that I'm overthinking it. I understand it.

But I also know my gut on these things.

And it's fine. I'm not disappointed or down about it.

I have other topics to try out as the show grows. I'll get right back to it next Sunday.

*****

I saw in my memories that today is the fourth anniversary of one of the strangest times I've ever experienced.

Heck, we've ever experienced.

It was four years ago on March 7 that I called Brunswick's last game of the 2019-2020 hockey season. It was a playoff loss to Loomis Chaffee.

That day, people milled about in the lobby of the Hartong Rink as normally. 

Mostly normal.

A dad I ran into gave me an elbow to tap when I offered him a handshake.

Two nights later, I did a basketball doubleheader at Trumbull High School. There was a hint of concern in the air about this thing -- this virus -- that was getting talked about.

I had a text from my mother telling me to get her from the nursing home she had been staying in since February. She was coming home.

That Tuesday morning, March 10, I drove to the home and sat in the lobby. I wasn't allowed to go to her room -- a new rule given the concern over the virus.

As I sat there, the CIAC announced that the Connecticut state playoffs -- the same ones I broadcast just the night before -- were over. An abundance of concern for the virus was the cause.

There would be no championships. No quarterfinals or semifinals either. It was all just ... over.

I'll always feel the kids got screwed but of course, it was also the beginning of a long road. The Class of 2020 got a raw deal in so many ways, including graduations that were virtual or in a parking lot, such as Sean.

The good news was that Mom was out of the hellacious nursing home, though she would face many challenges over the next six months. It's easy now to look back and see she was sent home to die.

Healthcare in this country. That's a whole different, disgusting post. Many thanks to Big Pharma and our government. If you don't have health insurance you're screwed and Babe Ruth forbid you need mental health care.

But I got Mom out of the nursing home, drove her to get an egg and cheese sandwich, took her back to Mahopac, and picked some stuff up at the grocery store or the house.

And I continued to rage over the CIAC situation and, worse, the way some journalists in Connecticut openly mocked the athletes who were angry at what had transpired.

Even now I feel my blood pressure spike. 

I did "Doubleheader" from home and do it almost exclusively from my home studio now.

A day later, I hosted "The Clubhouse" and "Doubleheader" from Mount Kisco.

That night, while eating dinner with "The Clubhouse" team, the world effectively stopped.

NBA player Rudy Gobert tested positive for this thing called Coronavirus or COVID-19. Games were immediately halted.

Soon after, Tom Hanks and his wife Rita Wilson announced they had the virus.

Eventually, it would hit my family, as my nephew fought it. In those early days, there was something quite scary about that news. He's fine now.

That Thursday -- Thursday, March 12 -- I called a Brunswick lacrosse game from the LocalLive offices in Stamford while the Bruins played in Pennsylvania. I confidently said I'd talked to everyone for the next game -- the home opener -- in early April.

Yet, as I prepared to start that broadcast, the Big East basketball tournament at Madison Square Garden closed after the first half of the first game.

When I walked out of LocalLive that night, downtown Stamford was eerily quiet.

There would be no lacrosse game that April. No baseball either.

I wouldn't broadcast another game until July. That lacrosse game was the last sports event broadcast from Connecticut as COVID-19 grabbed on.

"The Clubhouse" and "Doubleheader" were broadcast from home.

Yet, we never completely shut down. We couldn't. Mom had dialysis appointments and doctor visits. She needed me to get her to the grocery store or do the shopping for her.

Even though she bought a car after she got home (yes, true story), she only drove it a few times. She had me drive her the rest of the time.

One night I drove her to a parking lot in Danbury just so she could see my sister. We shared a pizza outside of the closed movie theater.

Thus began the long, strange trip of COVID-19.

Stories we will tell for a long time.

In so many ways, it began four years ago today.

*****

I don't think I have it in me to watch the 96th Academy Awards tonight and that's sad.

We Now Pause For This

 

Current situation

Whether it's a gymnasium in Yorktown Heights, NY, or a hockey rink in Bridgewater, NJ, the games keep coming and I have to be dressed appropriately.

In other words, I need to be bundled up in an ice rink.

Today began at Yorktown High School.

I called two girls basketball games in the New York State playoffs with the winners advancing to the state semis in Troy.

Shout outs to Putnam Valley and Our Lady of Lourdes for getting the victories.

I jumped on those because I was needed and I can't deny that's a nice feeling. Then I turned the equipment over to someone else after my two were over.

There were two more games there but I needed to get to New Jersey.

That's where I am now.

When I first walked into Yorktown, nothing was set up and, honestly, I didn't expect it to be.

Dutifully, I got to work setting up tripods, getting internet, and carrying everything out of the nearby closet.

As I was stringing wires, Kevin Devaney Jr -- unaware I'd be setting up -- came in and relieved me.

And I do mean relieved. He knew what he was doing and I stopped worrying about things falling apart. All I had to focus on was my audio and the call.

To top that off, I had AJ Szymanowski on controls, and that helped even more. His steady hand will chide me as needed or we'll just talk via text.

With the games done, I packed up, got in my car, and began driving.

I grabbed dinner and a much-needed coffee and came to the rink.

These can be funny places. My game is coming up in a little more than an hour but there's another game going on. In this case, it's a youth hockey game.

Thus, there are parents standing where I need to set up.

We're going to have to boot them eventually but I'm trying to be patient for now. I don't like being "that media guy."

So, here I am. Ready to call the third game of the day with a voice that's OK but a throat that's a bit sore.

I have my throat drops and can get a drink if needed.

Other than the coffee, of course.

Tonight's game comes with a broadcast partner, whom I only met a few minutes ago. There's always an awkwardness to that and the fear that chemistry won't come naturally but we'll give it a try and see how it goes.

As the saying goes, this is not my first rodeo.

Or hockey game.

Of course, I'll look forward to the drive back up 287 to get back to Greenwich and a solid night of sleep.

Which we'll lose an hour of tonight.

That's fine. I'll take the tradeoff of longer daylight for being a bit bleary-eyed when doing "Meet the Beatles" tomorrow morning.

So long as I don't get stuck on any highway in traffic for an hour like last night.

It's true, I got hung up on the Hutchinson River Parkway due to what appeared to be a pretty serious accident. Fire engines and other emergency vehicles roared past all of us.

Eventually, I put my car in park and hoped I didn't fall asleep.

That happened on Interstate 684 one time before Sean was born.

In this case, we were eventually permitted to move and head on our way.

The slight inconvenience of traffic woes is nothing compared to whatever happened to the car that looked pretty destroyed when I saw it on the back of a flatbed tow truck. Their lives were likely changed.

Compassion doesn't cost much.

Rockets Hockey Club and the Connecticut Junior Rangers -- yes, ironically enough -- are coming up at 7:30 on FloHockey and wherever you get your Robcasting.

Scully Land

 

Short of broadcasting from Dodger Stadium, this is walking among the gods.

Or, in my case, my hero, mentor, and, basically, a male adult figure who wasn't my father.

I never met Vin Scully. Never spoke to him.

But I've followed him. I've studied his whole career.

Blah blah blah. You know this.

But I'm currently sitting inside Rose Hill Gymnasium at Fordham University.

Vin Scully started his career here.

Heck, he went to high school here also, as Fordham Prep is just steps away.

Much like I did when I stood outside where The Beatles had the Rooftop Concert, I walked around and tried to hear the master calling a basketball game here back in the 1940s.

Wake up the echos, as they say at Notre Dame.

Vin never called basketball professionally so we don't have the melodious voice describing set shots and four corners defense.

But we have so many examples of baseball, football, and golf, along with talk shows, a game show, and so on.

So to walk the campus where he went to college and high school, it's a lot for me to take in. 

The man taught me so much about play-by-play. He taught me the style I wanted to mostly abide by, while remaining true to myself. That's what Red Barber taught him.

I stopped at the baseball stadium, where I was greeted by a plaque that I could see from the street. Up to the right was the Vin Scully Press Box.

I realize there's one in Los Angeles that others can tell me they've worked at and I'd love to do that also, but this will have to do from an east coast perspective.

I even worked up the nerve to visit the lobby of Fordham Prep where a kind guard allowed me to look around. He told me there had been a few artifacts there but I couldn't find any. Just his kindness to be allowed in was enough for me.

Now I sit in Rose Hill Gym -- built in 1925 -- basking in the footsteps of Scully, Mike Breen, Michael Kay, Chris Carrino, John Andariese ("Johnny Hoops"), Bob Papa, Connell McShane, Justin Shackill, John Giannone, and other sports broadcasters as well as Vince Lombardi, Charles Osgood, Denzel Washington, Alan Alda, Patricia Clarkson, and so many other well-known Fordham alums.

To some, I don't deserve to walk in these footsteps.

To me, I'm beyond thankful and I'd like to think I belong.

I'm sitting above the court, waiting for Bishop Timon/St. Jude and Msgr. McClancy start.

The tipoff is at 6pm on LocalLive (and, yes, on Robcasting).

Pull up a chair, everyone, and let's have a very good evening wherever you may be.

Searching For Some Thing to Say

 

Thursday.

I don't know why but that's how I wanted to lead this off.

Just Thursday.

Then again, I could never get the hang of Thursdays, as Arthur Dent said in The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy.

I woke up not feeling my best, which tracks with my voice feeling a bit off. Save for recording "Hanratty's Huddle" with Terry Hanratty, and "Doubleheader," I rested my voice.

In the case of "Doubleheader," I had an 18-minute interview that I recorded yesterday so that gave me even more time to rest.

With the show over, we grabbed dinner and I settled into continuing to prepare for tomorrow's basketball doubleheader (not the show) at Fordham University.

It's an honor to call two high-leverage games in New York Catholic high school basketball. One game is a semifinal while the other is a state championship.

If you're keeping score, that's a state championship call in New York to go with the New Jersey state championship calls that I'm offered and there was a chance I was going to call one in Pennsylvania also (that one isn't happening this year). 

I appreciate that.

But Fordham? The Bronx? Near the Vin Scully Pressbox? 

The same borough that produced Harold? This is hallowed ground tomorrow night.

Oh, and a baseball team plays there also. I've heard of them.

Saturday would have been a bigger monster but I'd already committed to one Rockets hockey game in New Jersey. I was offered four basketball games in Yorktown on Saturday but the timing didn't work.

These are all things to prepare for.

And now, maybe a few more games are coming to light for next week. I'll probably be able to confirm that one tomorrow.

*****

The night belonged to a music documentary, which I am a sucker for.

Tonight, I watched one about Chicago. 

So, what did I learn? 

I learned producer and songwriter David Foster is sort of an arrogant clown.

“I know I’m great,” he said. “You don’t get 16 Grammys without being great.”

Oh, OK, McCartney.

I also learned that Peter Cetera, along with Foster, began to act like the rest of the talented musicians in the band were simply Cetera's backing band in the 1980s. 

Let's just say Cetera -- who didn't participate in the documentary -- didn't come off well. Talented? Sure. Great singer? Yes. Insecure? you bet.

But the big truth -- and this is no surprise at all -- is that Chicago changed entirely after their insanely talented guitarist Terry Kath accidentally killed himself in Jan 1978.

Please note that Jimi Hendrix once said Kath was better than him.

Music was in the process of changing in the late 70s and Chicago's art/jazz rock sound was becoming passé as disco was the thing of the moment and punk was on the rise. In fact, Chicago tried to embrace disco and it didn't take.

With Foster and Cetera in charge, they found multiplatinum success in the 80s and hung on to that. They didn't emphasize the horns -- the very thing that made Chicago different -- and pushed an adult contemporary sound that was based on ballads.

Some of the songs hold up well. Others? Well...

In some ways, I find Chicago's path to be similar to that of Genesis, who worked hard to perfect prog rock up through the departure of Peter Gabriel. Hits weren't really their priority until Phil Collins took them to bigger heights.

For Chicago, they didn't worry about the hits but wow were they a machine with Kath in the 70s as a touring and hit-making band.

It's not a perfect comparison but I'm going with it.

So if you need something to watch, give Now More Than Ever: The History of Chicago a view.

You'll enjoy it for 25...or 6...to 4.

I hate myself for finishing on that line.

It did not make me smile.

That's better.

The Homer Homer

 

Not this Homer (Photo: FOX)

* First, I appreciate the kind words from yesterday's post. I don't believe in announcing my departure a la an airplane but the grind of the posts and, sometimes, lack of response makes me wonder if this exercise has run its course. I didn't plan to leave completely but wondered if maybe it was time to just take a day off. I'm grateful for the words but it wasn't a plea for attention either. Many thanks.

I saw a post in one of the groups I belong to with a video of a broadcaster calling a home run.

I've done the in-booth camera thing and I'm cautious about it. To me, it's a way to get the audio of the call to another audience without violating any video agreements. But it's not about me.

The broadcaster in this case was doing fist pumps and high-fiving people in the next booth.

That's his style and that's great. He's broadcasting for a particular team, school, or group and he prefers to go the full bias route. He knows what his employers and audience want.

They're not wrong, of course.

Stylistically, it's not for me. It's not beneath me but I'm very careful about that. It's a fine line and, believe me, I've been to many postgame events with fans in my career. Even then I avoid having a rooting interest.

But high-fiving people in the booth when the team does well? Fist-pumping? 

Generally, no. 

For those who want to say that I'm *clears throat* "AP Style" (that is to say: boring) I hardly think I'm that.

I love, love, love scoring plays, regardless of whom. 

I bring passion and energy. At least, I hope I do.

And I understand context. I remember the last game of the 2021 Renegades season, I called a home run for the Greensboro Grasshoppers and I remember it was completely flat.

I was mad at myself. I played off the crowd, who were down, and allowed that to impact me. In that moment, I feared I sounded like a homer for the Renegades.

And, look, I was working for them, so fair enough. But I still shouldn't sound like it personally offended me. It didn't.

The player, the Grasshoppers, and their fans deserved better in that moment. Then again, they clinched a playoff spot the night before and I thought I took pretty good care of them. In fact, I expected Renegades fans to be mad at me for that call.

Maybe they were.

But that's the integrity I put into this.

Look, I don't have the answers. I think I know what it takes to do a professional broadcast but that doesn't mean I'm right. I certainly have no high horse or pulpit on this stuff.

I have an opinion. At times, a strong one.

But I don't consider myself to be lord and ruler of this stuff. I also accept and embrace conversation on it.

I don't just delete years of conversations and recommendations before blocking on all accounts. I think I'm better than that, actually.

My feeling as a team broadcaster is to respect the other team's fans (as in that example with the Grasshoppers) and give every call energy.

The only time you'll catch people high-fiving in a booth of mine is before airtime as a sign of encouragement. Maybe, after a call that someone liked or after we get off the air.

Again, there are exceptions.

But there's a professionalism and integrity that I believe in. It's a personal thing for me.

It's not being some old fossil but it is honoring those who came before me in this business.

Remember, I've never had a true mentor. My mentors were those I grew up watching. Especially Vin Scully. 

So I learned from him and gleaned what I felt worked for me.

Then, as he learned from Red Barber, I made sure that I was myself.

High-fiving and fist-pumping because someone made a good play isn't me bring me.

Then again, like Scully, I work alone a lot. Thus I'd look pretty weird high-fiving myself.

Speaking of working, I'm back in the saddle again today. I needed a few days to not do the grind of a game broadcast as my throat felt a little raw on Sunday. It even sounded a little off yesterday during a podcast recording session. 

Ultimately, I passed on two broadcasts in New Jersey to rest up and honor a commitment to go out last night. 

Now, I'm back with a challenge.

First is a New York state playoff game in Yorktown Heights. Admittedly, I thought my face might be plastered in the post office as I once spent too much time there. If you don't know, my ex is from there.

But I have a 3:30 game on NFHS calling Haldane and Millbrook basketball in a playoff contest.

Then, ready?

I have to get to Trumbull High School by 6:30 for Fairfield Warde and the Eagles in a Connecticut first round game.

The odds are meh but I'll take the chance because I have support. Jeff Alterman will have his TEN Network ready to go and Mike Buswell will be along as well. The two of them will start the broadcast if I'm not there on time.

As soon I show up, I'll plug in and get Robcasting cooking. I'll take over play-by-play and Jeff is going to rove to do interviews.

It should be a good production all around.

But first, I have to record an interview in a few minutes.

Then a podcast tomorrow.

Then two games in the Bronx on Friday.

Then hockey in New Jersey on Saturday.

There will be no fist-pumping.

Vacation is coming.

Honest.

Is It Just Time?

 

I'm trying, folks.

Every day for the past five-plus years, I've sat down and scribbled roughly 500 words of gobbledegook in the hopes that readers enjoy it. 

When I've crashed into the wall known as writer's block a few close to me have urged me to keep going.

And I have. I have to the point where I've sat in parking lots and adjusted days to make sure I carved out a few minutes to write.

I've tried hard to not cheat, at least based on my standards. Some of you might think I already have and so be it.

But I also know I've recycled topics and talked about sports broadcasting until the point of it being more overplayed than "Jack and Diane."

I'm sitting here with a few minutes before running to the next thing and the only thing on my mind is that we are almost to the fourth anniversary of things shutting down due to a virus.

Even that I walk with carefully for fear of it turning into "vaccines and masks were a joke" political commentary (aka "nonsense").

I got the vaccines. I wore the masks as needed. I have no regrets. It seemed like the right thing. To you, it might not have been. OK, cool.

But my COVID shutdown story includes game broadcasts (because of course), my mother, "The Clubhouse," and a creepy empty Stamford, CT. 

Haven't I told that already? Does anyone want to hear about it again?

And, sure, I'm finalizing probably at least two baseball tournaments in July. Well, those stories can also wait until July!

I realize I'm loaded with stories but my brain is always arguing over what's interesting, what's not, and what's just obnoxious. Does anyone want to hear the same social media breakdown stories about narcissism, hypocrisy, enabling, and 100,000 pictures of the same kid?

For the record, that is neither me or Sean. In fact, I post enough about Sean and, because of that, didn't even mention him on "National Son's Day" yesterday.

There are also topics that draw nobody to the site. Sadly, writing about things like roads, the Yankees, and promising broadcasters bring minimal reads. Yesterday's post -- about a dog! -- drew nothing.

It's not a failure to just call it a day. 

Yes, this has been a pretty good habit to have but I'm never happy when I know it's 500 words of nothing that I don't feel that good about.

I can only write about my schedule so many times. I was offered two games today and turned them down for reasons including my throat being a little raw. Then again, I have two more tomorrow and a podcast on Thursday (and another one this morning) and two more games on Friday and another on Saturday.

Now, Friday? I can see that being a post, especially given I'm calling the games from Fordham. If you don't know, that's where Vin Scully went to college. So, yeah, that's sort of important.

But otherwise? Probably not.

I've carried my computer to London, San Francisco, North Carolina, Pittsburgh, and Florida to stay on top of this schedule. In all likelihood, I'm bringing it with me to Florida in two weeks.

In other words, I've brought it everywhere because my iPad just isn't sufficient to write a blog on.

But it's also possible it's just time to stop. 

Take a break.

Know when to say when.

For now, I'm here.

But, for how much longer?

Pets Make Everything Better

 

(Photo courtesy POPSUGAR Pets)

I had just finished lunch when I got into my car.

If I'm being honest, I wasn't in a happy-go-lucky mood. I was sort of just staring out the car window as the car warmed up.

Then, to my left, I saw something that immediately settled my brain and even made me laugh.

A big, floppy-eared golden retriever.

He was kind of bouncing along, at least a couple of steps at a time.

He'd walk. No, wait. He'd bounce.

Then, he'd stop and look at the person walking him.

Doo-do-do-do-dooo.

I began having a running conversation watching the scene.

"Doo do do do dooo, I need to stop."

"Um. OK. Why?"

"Because I'm a cute golden retriever and everyone wants to pet me!"

"OK. Cool. Could you maybe just do your business and let's get on with it?"

And so on.

It amused me. It made me smile.

Honestly, there aren't too many things better.

It almost made me want to run out of the parking lot, across the nearby street, and pet that head that was clearly wanting some attention.

Eventually, our furry friend reached a point where they just stopped and sat down. No business to be done. Nothing. Just a wagging tail and a need for a treat.

I drove away. Smiling 

It was a moment of zen. A moment of reminding that there are things like a golden retriever just moseying along makes the skies brighten.

If I couldn't smile at that then things would be really bad.

And, with that, I realized I could drive home to a cat that befuddles me.

But he also makes me smile.

Go find your golden retriever.

Admitting it is the First Step

Getting to Use a top-line Sennheiser headset Friday night
in New Providence, NJ. It's the little things that make me happy.

OK, friends, at the subtle behest of a few loved ones, I took a break today.

I loved the last five days with seven games over that stretch. As you might know, that doesn't even approach my record. Babe Ruth baseball tournaments* take care of that.

*Please note that we're looking at a Cal Ripken baseball and a Babe Ruth baseball tournament this summer. They're basically both confirmed so expect another nutty July.

I loved the challenge of getting from place to place and presenting the best broadcast I could for the audience.

But I realized that I was hitting a wall last night as I sat in the parking lot of a McDonald's near Poughkeepsie.

So I got home and almost slept (thanks, cat) before going to WGCH to host "Meet the Beatles."

Today's show topic was a suggestion and I appreciate the challenge of digging into the deep relationship between John and Paul.

In the end, they were brothers, and that gets complicated.

They could create masterpieces whether they wrote them together or not. But they still contributed to each other's work. They still challenged one another.

But then it turned ugly, mostly thanks to exhaustion with being Beatles as well as bad business decisions.

So Paul wrote "Too Many People" and John wrote "How Do You Sleep" and George wrote "Wah Wah" and Ringo did "Back Off Boogaloo." Oh, and there were others ("Dear Friend," "God," "Sue Me Sue You Blues," etc).

But I felt the complexity of the relationship meant playing some other things to show the musical partnership as well as things that explained their bond. And even a wild card like "Silly Love Songs," which was meant as a dig at Paul's critics, especially John.

Indeed, that song is arguably Paul's most divisive one. To me, it has a killer bass line and a pretty decent message. I mean, what's wrong with that?

Others, of course, see it as 1970s dreck. 

Once the show was over, I finished editing and uploading it to the archive before coming home.

Somehow I thought we'd go back out.

Nope. We ordered in and hung out. Sean did his thing all day, talking to his friends, and I kept to myself.

I went outside to get the food from the driver.

For the record, I'm not a good couch potato.

I don't find much to like on TV these days, opting for things on YouTube and reruns of The Office.

And sports, of course. I did watch the Yankees play a lackluster spring training game as opposed to listening to Gus Johnson scream his way through the Ohio State/Iowa game.

But I sort of don't feel like talking about sports broadcasting today. Believe me, I have a ton to say, but nah.

I checked out today. The Vipers played again today and I felt the pull.

It's not unfair to call it an addiction but I've also explained why doing every game I can means so much to me.

Right now, I'm off for the next stretch. It's possible I'll do a state basketball game this week and I do have a hockey game in New Jersey next Saturday.

Then there's freshman basketball and more Vipers action in a few weeks.

Then Sean and I are going away and Brunswick will be playing when I get back.

Yeah, I love it too much.

I probably have a problem.

The Late Post Before the Drive

 

Game 2: The Vipers win.
Team president Pat Manning applauds near the open doors.

From the parking lot of McDonald's on NY Route 55 in Freedom Plains, NY, it's Late at Night Blogging with Rob!

I did two more games today. I wrestled with the second one but hanging out with family and still doing a game seems like a plus.

We were out the door at 9:30 this morning. The first stop was at WGCH where Sean works doing production every Saturday.

He didn't need much time, so I did some game prep while he worked.

Then we were back at it, dealing with rain as we drove into New Jersey.

Yes, of course, we had Wawa.

Twice.

Breakfast before the game and lunch after.

Colonia High School was the game site the home team got the win today.

The not-so-easy part was getting into the high school as I had to speak to three different people and promise them my next of kin before they would allow me in.

Game 1: Colonia High School, NJ

Oh, they were fine. Really polite and triple-checking that we belonged since the game was a sellout.

That it was. It got crowded.

We were shoulder-to-shoulder in the crowd but there were no issues. We worked. They cheered.

We packed up and left.

We dealt with heavy rain as we made our way home. In fact, we wound up on the Palisades Interstate Parkway and the fog rolled in to add to the challenge of the drive.

The next stop was back to Greenwich to drop Sean off. I made a late effort to see if he'd like to take a drive to Poughkeepsie and he elected to pass. He'd had enough sports broadcasts for one day.

My cousin Kris and grandson Logan were heading to the Vipers game against the Norfolk Mallards, so I'd see them there.

The rain remained steady and heavy as I climbed I-684.

And I-84.

And the Taconic State Parkway.

Normally I wouldn't be comfortable with showing up 33 minutes before game time but the Vipers knew these were the terms for me today.

I went to the parking garage I normally park in ... and it was full.

I mean, stuffed.

So I worked my way around the phalanx of streets (not really) to get to the larger garage across the street. Parking was free which was nice.

I calmly walked across the hell known as Market Street (the Family Court I visited many times was on that street) and made it into the arena.

I tracked down team president Pat Manning who quickly found someone to tell me where to set up as it had changed slightly.

I mean, literally. Like six feet to the left of where I used to sit.

A few hours later, the game ended with the Vipers picking up a 4-1 win.

Now, I'm sitting in a McDonald's parking lot to keep a ridiculous streak alive before I drive home.

Why do I do it? Well, family, sure. Opportunity, sure. Even making sure nobody jumps in my place.

But it's also to fight the loneliness and whatever other demons that circle the drain.

And so I keep plugging away, starting March just as chaotic as February was.

It will calm down. I promise.

Another day is over. Almost.

The Vipers play again tomorrow.

I'm not planning on going.

For now.

It's time to drive.

March On

 

Coach Buddy Bray is surrounded by his team as he holds the 
FCIAC Championship plaque last night in Wilton.
Ryan Johnston (2) was named MVP
(Photo from Trumbull Diamond Club Facebook Page)

Hello, March.

We have a complicated relationship. I appreciate your annual visit providing glimpses of the promise of spring with warmer temperatures and the departure of winter.

But I hate the reminders that you carry, led by my tolerate/hate relationship with March 17.

Last year, March also included a trip to Florida that reignited the desire to do so again. That will also happen this month. That's a good thing.

But there's so much sadness and, frankly, without being dramatic I'm about at the end of my theoretical rope with that.

Instead, I'll start the month by talking about how blessed I felt watching the FCIAC basketball championship last night.

First, from the technical side. Could I work with anyone better than Ben Talbott, whose steady hand on the camera and producer's intuition made the last three broadcasts happen? His style meshes with mine very well and I think -- hope! -- it made for a good experience for the audience.

Then, while Chris Kaelin couldn't make it to call last night with me, Mike Buswell did. I know he's a Trumbull guy but he has experience with Staples as well. Thus I thought he'd do a good job helping to break it all down and be fair. He'll be the first to tell you what an explosive personality he has and that can lead to flying past the philosophy of "brevity is the soul of broadcasting."

Still, it worked. We tweaked something at halftime and got even better. I told him I'd be happy to work with him again.

And then Trumbull head coach Buddy Bray. In full disclosure, I've covered his teams going back to 1999 but he doesn't know me that well. But I know enough people who know him and who have had him as a teacher and coach. He's been the Trumbull head coach for 34 years and the conference title has always eluded him.

There were years when his team was the number one seed and even got to a championship game in 2018 but just couldn't get to the top.

Yet, on the other side was Staples head coach Dave Goldshore. I do know Dave, having met him while covering Little League Baseball in 2019. He eventually asked me if he could do a broadcast with me and my sense told me he'd be good.

He was.

But he knows basketball, having worked around -- wait for it -- Trumbull and Staples. He learned from former Wreckers head coach Colin Devine, and got the job when Devine stepped away after 15 seasons.

Dave walked into the Wilton High School fieldhouse yesterday, put his stuff down, and worked his way across the floor to where I had set up. What I thought was going to be talk about a game and good luck instead turned into the sadness of talking about his father's passing.

Dave had just found out. Now he had to coach a huge game with that on his mind.

For the record, I'm only writing this after seeing it has been printed in the game stories from last night. I made the decision to not discuss it on the air. I didn't want to take the risk of family members and loved ones hearing it from me or Mike. My only reference to anything was to say that Dave's heart was in a million places. It was news I didn't need to break though it did add to the drama of the night.

I've been in that spot and I was protective of it for him.

Believe me, I watched both coaches' body language all night. Given what was at stake, how could I not?

In the end, ah, sports. A game in which Staples opened up a double-digit lead. Staples grabbed every rebound, especially at the offensive end. They had kids playing out of their minds.

Trumbull wouldn't go away, led by Ryan Johnston.

The lead dwindled.

Then it was tied.

The see-saw teetered over the final few minutes until Staples Sam Clatchko -- he of the 40-point effort on Tuesday night -- found an opening on the right wing.

He sidestepped a defender deftly and then, suddenly, had a clean look at the basket. There was one second remaining.

"For the championship," I said, anticipating a moment where you simply do not want to blow the call.

The shot missed, hitting off the back iron.

Overtime.

In the extra session, the tension and noise reached a crescendo. The teams continued to battle but now it felt like Trumbull had an edge. Thirty-four years of a cauldron bubbling were about to end. Staples lost players as they fouled out.

Still, nothing is ever easy. The Eagles went to the line to shoot free throws. Two would have effectively iced the game. 

They made one. It was still a three point game but there were only four seconds left.

As Staples worked the ball toward midcourt, it was punched away and turned over.

The stands to our left emptied in jubilation.

Pandemonium began.

And the cauldron exploded.

Buddy Bray, beloved in Trumbull and around the FCIAC, finally had a conference championship. I actually said his name as I announced the final seconds, which isn't something I'd normally do.

Yet this wasn't normal. I knew Coach Bray was a big part of the story.

Yes, I felt gratitude for watching all of this happen and for being allowed to relay it. Describe it. Present it.

It had twists and turns and drama. Honestly, nobody knew who was going to win. Everyone was split.

That's beautiful.

In the aftermath, I talked with Dave Goldshore. That's a good man. He's hurting. For his players and his family. For himself. He runs on emotion. He was devoid of it when we spoke. His day is coming for a championship. He's been to two title games now in his first two seasons. It will happen.

I also saw Coach Bray later on, just long enough to congratulate and say the same things that everyone else is saying. 

It's long overdue.

You can't take this away, March. You can't dampen it.

Yes, it happened on Feb 29 but it will be celebrated for years to come around Trumbull. 

Being a leap year day doesn't erase it. It happened. 

We're all witnesses.

In fact, it will likely be celebrated every March 1 in non-leap years.

Take that.

Let's have a good day.

And a good month.