The Face of Misery

I stayed at Lisa's the other night, and got up the next morning with a hunger for some breakfast. I went to the deli about a mile or so away, where they make a pretty decent egg and cheese wrap.

It's a local kind of haunt, and they certainly have their regulars. I am not one of them.

Behind the counter stood a young woman, maybe mid-20s, though I'm not sure because I'm awful at guessing ages (especially females).

Her: "Help you?"

RA: "Ham, egg, and cheese wrap please?"

Her: "What kind of wrap?"

RA: "Plain*" (* Yes, I am uber-Vanilla. Probably always will be.)

Her: "Anything else?"

RA: "No, thank you." (Insert Robbie-esque smile, an attempt to elicit anything)

She turned and went about her business. In the process, I couldn't sense whether she had a personality. To be honest, I wasn't sure she had any emotions. Her face was stone cold.

I was fascinated. Watching her work, it was clear that she simply deplored what she was doing. In a quick analysis, it seemed sad.

It could be that she really hated her job. Maybe she hates her life. Hates being in Dutchess County, NY.

Then again, given my nature of wanting to know the full story and not judge too quickly, it could be that she hated who she was working with. Or her boss had given her a hard time. Or a customer. Or she broke up with her boyfriend.

I guess the point is: who knows?

She might have simply been having a bad day.

Stunning

There. Are. No. Words. Just watch.


Sad that there are people who really feel like that.

The Growing Boy

Sean, from last week at South of the Border

Sitting around the house today when Sean stopped in for a minute before returning to cartoons and games.

As we spent a pleasant father/son moment (cherish them while you can), I proposed getting some dinner.

Sean declined, saying he had just had some cookies.

Sigh...OK...time to find something to eat.

Voila! A leftover plate of pasta was in the fridge!

"Cool!" I exclaimed.

Sean wanted to know what I was so happy about. I told him I found the pasta...

...and...

He told me he wanted some.

I microwaved the plate and gave it to him, and resumed looking for something to eat.

Saturday Stuff (It's Off the Bench!)

I just like quotes. That is all.

First of all, I'm feeling the urge to write again, and that really thrills me. There are a ton of topics rolling around in that danger zone known as the lump three feet above my ass.

- Sometimes I think I feel a little intimidated by working with such a smart, well-read group of writers like my colleagues at Hersam Acorn. They're quite awesome. If anything, I feel like I have regressed by working with them. But they do inspire me.

- OK, so Michael Sam has been cut by the St. Louis Rams, and I'm pleased. Stay with me here before you attack. The reason I say that is because Jeff Fisher, a man of character, didn't keep Sam around because he wanted to put the first openly gay man on his football team. He dropped him because, succinctly, he didn't think there was a fit on his football team for him.

I want Michael Sam to succeed. Because he's a football player. I don't care about his shower habits. I don't care who he is dating. I don't care about anything other than if he's a good football player. Sure, I care if he's a good man, but in the bottom line of sports, I want him to succeed or fail on the pure merits of his football ability.

The rest of it isn't for me to concern myself with.

- I don't care how close the Yankees are to the wild card, or even the division, I just don't think they're good enough to make the playoffs.

- I paused today to watch Derek Jeter hit (full disclosure: he took a called third strike) and felt a tinge of sadness that a great career is just about a month from ending.

If he's not the greatest shortstop of all-time, then he's in the top three, with Honus Wagner and Cal Ripken Jr. A-Rod would have been there at one time. He's not.

- I had a blast talking about things various and sundry yesterday during The Open Hour (Fridays at 10am) on HANRadio.com. It might not be the most compelling hour that we broadcast, but I still enjoy it. It reminds me of the old days of my eponymous show on WGCH.

- Yeah, so about WGCH...remember a few weeks back I said I had a pretty big announcement I was holding off on telling you? Ummm...forget it. At least it seems unnecessary now, but we'll see. Stories change all the time.

UPDATE: Yup, stories change all the time. I'll explain later.

- Oh, back to The Open Hour. I rambled on about a lot of things. I found myself feeling quite musical, and was thinking about how some of my tastes have changed over the years. Some things that I listened to so much just seven years ago are now on the fringe. Strange how life can impact that.

For instance, I don't find myself quite into U2 or The Police anymore. I suppose the feeling could return.

I also found myself railing about bullying - real and not real. For instance, I watch, read, and listen to criticism that some of my HAN colleagues take from these keyboard yahoos in their towns. I mean, really? Isn't there something else they should be doing?

I get it. Criticism is necessary. I got some a week or so ago that really - really - troubled me. The who and what and so on aren't necessary, and it's now in the rear view mirror. But...yeah.

But sometimes, criticism just becomes a vehicle for garbage.

If you're so inclined, please check out yesterday's Open Hour.


- Sean Adams, he of the near-teenager/seventh grader, wants to get some ice poured on his head. Not because he got pressured. But because in his heart he wants to.

And he'll donate (via me).

- I love quotes of all kinds (thus the Oscar Wilde one at top). It's the reason I'll randomly post a song lyric if I hear one. I just like quotes. Sometimes I don't even have a purpose as to why I'm posting it. I just might like it. It doesn't necessarily have to have an intended message for anyone or anything.

Sometimes it's fun to post a lyric and see if others can pick up on it.

- It's the beginning of the college football season, and once again, I want to embrace it. I want to watch it. But I feel overwhelmed with games and overwhelmed with other things going on in life.

And overwhelmed with the large amount of high school football games I will be broadcasting.

The first is next Saturday (St Luke's/Cardinal Spellman) on H-A-N Radio...dot com.

- Roger Goodell thinks he's God. I'm convinced of that. Thus he's the Emperor. I know NFL players need to be accountable for their off the field behavior, but I love where the Emperor just throws himself into the midst of people's lives.

- I just saw a bit on Pro Hockey Talk saying that fans voted Bobby Orr as the greatest Boston Bruin of all time. Wow. I'm relieved we got that result.

In a related story, Babe Ruth - just might - be the greatest Yankee.

- The Hudson Valley Renegades are playoff-bound. Good for them. Would I love to be calling the games? Sure. I do wish, however, that Tom Prizeman could get back here to do it. Far be it for me to say how they should run their broadcast booth, and Tom is at college anyway. But they need some life in the booth.

Somewhere along the line, the young broadcaster became all about numbers and less about keeping listeners interested. Not screaming like Gus Johnson. Not boring them. Just telling stories, finding enthusiasm. Maybe even laughing.

I used to think doing play-by-play really wasn't anything special. I almost felt anyone could do it.

I was wrong.

Carolina on My Mind

H. Lou Gehrig. We'll come back to him.

So I'm back from a pretty cool vacation.

I hatched the plan a month or so ago (maybe less, hard to say) but had wanted to do it for some time. The bottom line is that things came together where my niece, Kristy, her husband, Hector, and their three kids (Evelyn, Eleanor, and Isabel) welcomed us (me, my mom, and Sean) to their home in North Carolina. Sprinkle in my niece Laura, her boyfriend, and a cameo by her two kids (Kendall and Emma) and it was a Fayetteville Family Fest!

Let's call this "Three Soldiers." At the Airborne and Special Ops Museum, Fayetteville, NC

It can be easy to get really stressed when family comes together (ooooohhhhhh yeah) but this was five days of peace and harmony. For Sean, mom, and I, roughly 12 hours in a car can threaten ones sanity, but we survived.

By the way, have I mentioned how much I love to drive? Yeah, probably.

Pure. Evil.

I've created a monster, by the way. Not only has Sean picked up the love of Waffle House, but he is now obsessing over Golden Corral. I mean...seriously. It's the reason we stopped there in Colonial Heights, Virginia, and not too far from Baltimore, as well as near Fayetteville.

Looking into South Carolina on the state line at South of the Border.

I was worried as we arrived at South of the Border. Yes, it seems it gets a touch more dilapidated with each visit, but I worried Sean would find it boring. Plus I worried that it was even open at all, given that I didn't see a SOB billboard until we were within roughly 100 miles. Then we stepped into the base of the sombrero tower - the ONE THING the kids were excited about - to find out it was closed.

In fact, only the shops and restaurants were open. No rides. No mini golf. A few arcade games.

Yet. They. Loved. It.

"Daddy," said Sean. "Now I see why you LOVE it here!"

Big sigh of relief for the guy sweating in the 98 degree* heat.

*That reminds me of the godawful trend of boy bands we had at one time. Yes, I know, One Direction makes our ears hurt, but there was a proliferation of utter dreck. Now the dreck is in other genres (and every song still sounds the same.

Given the military presence in Fayetteville, it seems fitting that America's Dog lives there.

Fayetteville, NC is never going to be known as a destination town. It's a good stopping point, and a fine place to live. They've got shopping, restaurants, the major brands, and a few points of interest. The Airborne and Special Ops Museum is a must-see, for instance. For a baseball geek like me, the Babe Ruth plaque at the corner of Gillespie and Southern was a quick diversion.

Easy to find and near a highway office!

There is more I'd like to go back and see. Apparently Fort Bragg has a museum worth checking out. Plus I dig just seeing how a city/town/place gets by. I like going into a grocery store to see what's on the shelves. You learn things that way. Just strolling through the Target was interesting to get a feel, believe it or not.

The drive reminded me of just two years ago, when I went to and from Charleston, SC. This one was pretty good as well, despite a false start to go retrieve a DVD player that was left at home. Otherwise, it was basically a 12-hour jaunt south that could have been significantly less if I didn't stop at the aforementioned Golden Corral (and a stop in Arlington, VA). But I don't push my travelers like that, so we made sure to make good time while being leisurely about it.

The drive home...well, lesson learned. Don't travel on a Sunday unless you have a good alternate to Interstate 95. Of course, I had a backup plan but got lulled into not using it. Shame on me, I guess.

We also made sure to enjoy ourselves with a group dinner in honor of Gabriel Hernandez, who would have been five on Saturday (the same day as my brother - his grandfather). I wish we could have all met him.

Oh, so why is Lou Gehrig at the top of this post? Well I initially had some more thoughts on the Ice Bucket Challenge, but they seemed clumsy and, well, I've probably said all I need to say about it. But I found that great picture of him and wanted to use it. So I did. Again, somebody will need to explain to me how it's cyber bullying**, or how it is so bad when $60 million has been raised.

Like I said, I've probably said enough about it.

** OK, last thing (for now): I challenged four people. I don't know that any of them did a single thing. I'm not aware of them getting ice or writing a check. I was challenged with three other people. To my knowledge, I'm the only one that did a thing. Here's the thing: I genuinely don't care one way or another. If that's bullying, then I need a new dictionary. Just know that his thing is very personal to me, and will remain that way.

Oh, and Richmond still rocks.

Looking towards downtown Richmond, VA.

A New Look

I'm going there later this week. That has nothing to do with this post. I needed a picture.

You'll notice I've slapped a fresh coat of paint here. Perhaps.

I had the previous theme, with the road picture, for some time. Tonight I embedded a picture I shot from the radio booth at Dodd Stadium in Norwich back in April. I love that picture. I love most pictures from a press box when I'm broadcasting.

Except for my headset, it's all there.

My score card, defensive alignment, ipad, MacBook, a pencil, binoculars, and a lineup card are all there. Just missing my headset and the mixer (maybe a pen and a bottle of water or candy also).

I digress.

Anywho here's the new look. Have at it.

That view will be of various football fields soon.

The picture at the top of the post is my South of the Border mug. I will be there later this week. Sean may love it. He may hate it. Either way, I want him to see it.

#IceBucketChallenge

Sure, I was slightly conflicted about the Ice Bucket Challenge for ALS (amyotrophic lateral sclerosis) at first. In some ways it seemed like many pursuits on social media. It seemed like a form of cyber pressure, meant to get people to donate money.

In general, it is. Sort of.

It's not cyber bullying. There's no shame in NOT doing it. Best as I can tell, it's a free country, so you do what you want with your time, your money, your ice, your water.

In the end, seriously, what's the big deal? I was honored to be asked by John Kovach, and I really believe in supporting ALS research (aka Lou Gehrig's disease).

I'll donate, and I did the challenge. Why? Because it was kind of fun. It was cold for a moment. Really, briefly. It made my son's day (he was asking all weekend "when can we do it?").

To be honest, you're supposed to nominate three people. I nominated four (Ryan DeMaria, Chris Kaelin, Kris Adams, and Lisa Slocum). I would have also nominated Mick McGowan but he's not on social media (though Mick on Twitter would be hysterical). I could have nominated a lot of other people (and you probably know who you are). Some of my choices already got nominated (Harold and Paul are two, and they were both prepared to nominate me in return).

Anyway, I did it. There are always contrarians who insist on not doing things just...because. There are others who have to make it about themselves in the process of kicking their feet and saying "Hell no. No H20!" This is to raise money, which it is doing, in large quantities. This is to raise awareness, which it is doing. This is a phenomenon.

This is an honor. I was happy to do it.

Eight Years

Yogi and Bill Dickey both wore 8 in The Bronx.

"If you're not making mistakes, then you're not doing anything. I'm positive that a doer makes mistakes." - John Wooden

The history is simple. Eight years ago, after feeling the pressure of other writers who stepped into the world of blogging, I took the plunge. Many of them have come and gone, and I'm sorry they haven't returned (and I, at times, out of nowhere, will remind them of this. I'm like that).

I didn't want to do Exit 55 unless I did it right. I didn't want to write for a few months and walk away. I needed a name, and it hit me just before I began our efforts here. I wanted it to be topical, sometimes personal, and create conversation. Sometimes, the goals have been met.

I got more at times. I made friends as a result. I ticked people off. The readership numbers have never been great, and while I didn't write for the readers, it sometimes made me wonder why I should keep doing it.

Kind of like radio in that way where you just keep plugging along with the hope that someone is interested.

Yet here we are. A lot has happened in eight years, and those who have been around know this. My life has changed so drastically from August 17, 2006, and you all know it. I think, in a lot of ways, I have changed. In many ways I'm still the same, but I really think if you knew me then and now, you would say the shell is still the same, the heart and soul are still the same, but that there are differences.

I'd like to think I'm a better person today. I don't really know who can judge that.

It's been fun, and I still lament that I don't write enough. Most of the time, I have a story I want to tell but finding the time/energy/words isn't always easy. There are still a few who tap me on the shoulder and say "you need to write more" and I'll put Mick at the top of the list for that. I know a few others who, best to my knowledge, still read all of it. I think Jon is always there, and Harold, and have picked up Paul and John and some others along the way. I can't thank you enough. I like to write. Sometimes I didn't care if anyone read it. In reality, I think that's false. I care.

I'm sure I've lost some along the way also. Sometimes members of my family read, and sometimes they don't. To be honest, I don't really know for sure. Overall, I don't know who is reading.

The journey has been like all journeys. It's been sad, spectacular, thought-provoking, angry, bewildered, and more.

We've seen hurricanes and Super Bowls. Births and deaths. Broadcasts and World Series. We've talked about Blue Knights, Renegades, Cardinals, Rams, Blue Wave, Tigers, Bluefish, and Sound Tigers. We've covered the Yankees, Mets, Rangers, Steelers, Devils, Giants, and so on. You get the point.

We've been to Aberdeen, Boston, San Diego, Los Angeles, Virginia Beach, Key West,  Las Vegas, Washington DC, Tampa/St. Pete, Oneonta, Albany, Charleston, Reading, Lancaster, Allentown, Scranton, and of course, Richmond. I'll likely pass through Richmond on Wednesday on my way to Fayetteville, NC.

Which brings to me Waffle House. Krispy Kreme. Wawa. Yacco's hot dogs. Too many roadside stops on too many roads.

I've taken you to too many press boxes, and a Press Box. We've been to WGCH, WBNR, WLNA, and HAN Radio. There are new horizons and big changes in my radio life to come...

I've perhaps said the names Bobby Murcer, Vin Scully, Huey, Lewis, Sean, Lisa and a few more way too many times. Maybe that pushed you away. Maybe that endeared you.

I've enacted Rule 55 a bunch of times also, when I just really wanted to say something, but couldn't.

I've had to explain the words written here, or on social media probably more than I ever really wanted to. Sometimes it was because I was too vague. Sometimes it was because I was too blunt. Sometimes it was because of an error in judgement.

I've introduced you to friends and writers who have come and gone.

At best, I've been loyal to those same friends, no matter who they might be. If they've walked into my life, I likely haven't dropped them.

At worst, I've been loyal to those same friends, no matter who they might be. If they've walked into my life, I likely haven't dropped them.

The last two sentences are the same, all based on perception, but it's just part of being me.

To quote a wise man (Popeye), "I yam what I yam."

That still couldn't get me to eat spinach.

As we start year nine, I make no predictions about writing more, and I realize I don't need to. I'm not paid to do this, but I remain committed to it, no matter how many times I've plotted my farewell post (to go along with shutting down my Facebook and Twitter accounts).

But I'm still here. Lisa is along for the ride. Sean, the most wonderfully unique and loving child/young man, is still the co-pilot. I'm trying to simply enjoy these days as I can.

I know my life isn't perfect. I'm not perfect. Yet all I can do is go a day at a time. I learned that a long time ago. Just keep moving forward.

So we will.

Playing the Game I Love

From left: me, Rocco Valluzzo, and Martin V Hersam. It looked like Marty's play, so I pulled up. You can see the potentially disastrous result. Error on the pitcher. (Thanks, Joshua Fisher, for the great photo)

I wasn't going to play. Honest. When I played in the 74th annual (give or take) Hersam Acorn Newspapers softball game last year, I pulled a charley horse and was using my dad's cane the next day. My shoulder hurt. My elbow hurt. I couldn't throw. My bat felt particularly slow.

I wondered if it was just time to be a broadcaster or a spectator.

We needed players this year, so I decided I could use some laughs. Keeping my expectations low, I made my way to the field in Branchville.

Let's get this out of the way: we lost. We were down 9-0 after a half inning. My pitcher (and boss) Marty Hersam, has never - NEVER - won a game. Could we have stacked our defense better? It's possible. Adjusted the lineup? Perhaps. Could we maybe pick teams by NOT pulling names?

Here's another thing: I probably should have played the outfield, save for the achy legs and knees and, most notably, my arm being shot. It's depressing, but my shoulder barked at me every time I tried to uncork a throw. So I played second base and had one ball hit to me.

At the plate, well, I'm not embarrassed. I'll save you the "glory days" recap and say that I was able to find a little youth with a triple to right center field. In fact, I had two triples. I shouldn't have, but I did.

But here's the thing: I laughed. I played hard. I made other people laugh. I was laying on the grass at one point in mock disgust. Yet I loved seeing people who work so hard really letting their hair down and having fun. The camaraderie was a huge part of the day.

Plus I was back at the site where I hatched HAN Radio, and I don't forget that. Marty and I had a few laughs at that.

I'm no player. Never really have been. But I still love this game. The pain I feel today is beyond worth it and makes want to play again. It is great to be active.

Just let my body heal first.

Ferguson

AP Photo/Jeff Roberso

I was reading Twitter last night when I came across more details of the situation in Ferguson, MO.

It's awful and disgusting and really, really bad. When looting is going on...when police and citizens are at such odds...when tear gas and rubber bullets are being fired...I mean, really? In Ferguson, MO. In the United States?

As they say, "Merikuh!"

Sigh.

Most awful, of course, is an 18-year-old man is dead. A life that was just getting interesting is over. He was unarmed. He apparently had no criminal background. He, in short, had no reason to be shot.

But he was shot. By police. In a town of mixed races and mixed economics. The police won't release the name of the officer who shot Brown, and of course, they are defending one another.

Oh, did I mention Michael Brown was black? Ferguson is two-thirds black, which is a stark change from just 15 years ago. The police force is predominantly white. Now add in lingering Trayvon Martin outrage and let's play the feud!

Again. Sigh.

The fact that Michael Brown is black is relevant and, yet, I wish it wasn't. But he is, and it is. I'll leave that right there for those of you smarter than I to analyze. What's bothering me more is a man is dead and there is chaos between police and people.

And the media. Wait, what?

Wesley Lowery, a reporter for The Washington Post, and Ryan Reilly of the Huffington Post, were working in a nearby McDonald's, taking advantage of wifi and power outlets, when SWAT officers decided that they were going to kick everyone out. Lowery decided to film the exchange, which initially caught him grief (this is not illegal, by the way). The bottom line is that the police felt the two, who had never met before yesterday, weren't moving fast enough.

They were handcuffed, arrested, taken to jail, booked...and released with no paper trail or reason as to why they were arrested.

This is what Lowery remembers of it all.

Later in the evening, Ferguson police were demanding all cameras be turned off. Yes, TV cameras included. Which is, ya know, illegal and all.

What's got me is that, where I'm used to seeing 24 hours of blathering over things like this, I'm seeing nothing. When the LA riots occurred, I remember watching plenty of live coverage. Last night, I saw Iraq...Lauren Bacall (yes, I know how to whistle, RIP)...Robin Williams (Nanu Nanu, RIP)...and a little Ferguson. I'm more confused than anything else over this.

Again. Staying focused, a young life is over. I think what people want is an answer. Answers. Who was the officer? Why was Michael Brown killed? Why were those reporters arrested? Why did this whole thing evolve into this?

What's going on?

From the Press Box

Broadcasting in Ridgefield in July. (Rob photo)

On occasion, I pop onto the HAN Radio site and throw a few thoughts of my own into the mix. In fact, I just posted one now.

Oh, Paul Silverfarb and I had a chance to talk to John Sullivan, he of the Minnesota Vikings and Greenwich Cardinals. It was nice catching up with him.

That will also be on the website at hanradio.com, on iTunes (search for Hersam Radio in the store!) and on Soundcloud.

Vader and Krispies

Just saw this earlier today while looking around Twitter, which led me to Deadspin. I went there to read more on the awful Paul George injury from last night (see the images at your discretion...pretty gruesome). Here's hoping he makes it back to the NBA fast.

As for these sports logos, what's not to love? The Yankees and Darth Vader? Of course! The Steelers and Rice Krispies? That's me right there!

AK 47 Studios on Instagram is responsible for them.

So this made for a fun start to the day.

Hi

Looks like I picked the wrong week to stop sniffing glue...

I know. I owe you better than this. Some of you (Mick, Jon, a few others) have been remarkably loyal to this blog since day one. Finding the time - the strength - to sit down and write isn't easy these days. No excuse. Just the facts.

I'm at the back end of a week that I don't want to forget, simply because of how incredibly bad it was. Yes, I'm still gainfully employed, still have the car (Will the Three, so deemed by Sean), am still breathing, etc.

But...oy. The fact is that I'm dangling a carrot here, but I really can't tell you why it was so bad. At least not yet. But ch-ch-changes are a-coming, for good and bad. I'm dealing with hurt, anger, bitterness, while also viewing opportunity.

And that was just Monday.

It wasn't just one thing. It was a lot of things. That's life.**

No point in whining any further. Stuff is going on. That's all.

** Not all of the news was bad. Great friends Mick and Gretchen welcomed a new Yankees fan (despite their split allegiances, I know Mick will treat his young charge the right ways, as will his friend "Uncle" Rob). Congrats to two people I love a lot. Your lives are officially changed, and it will be glorious. Buckle up for a great ride, and keep that youngster away from the Red Sox.

And now we leave you with a song (#Rule55)

Name To Be Determined

Photo: Sean Adams

So it happened.

A new car.

Thanks to Will and the nice people at Begnal Motors in Kingston for dealing with me fairly and appropriately.

Here are a few pics from the day. Sean had a hard time saying goodbye to Charlie, but soon discovered that this new car will be great, even if we haven't truly come to a decision on the name.

The final tally: 256,637 miles. Thanks, old friend.

It had 17 miles as I drove off the lot. Still, 18 looks good.

This one needs an explanation...

So here's the story: when Kris and I took this car for a test drive almost two weeks ago, he decided to show me some of the features that he knew of. One of them included programming favorite artists. So he thought it would be humorous to program Paula Abdul as a favorite, to either torture a future owner...or me. It was still there when Will and I were going through the process of explaining the features.

Anyway, we stopped in Poughkeepsie to say hi to Lisa and show the car to her. I was really pleased to get her support and encouragement. It means a lot, as does the support of Sean who, despite being sad over seeing Charlie go, was still more than pleased with our new friend.

One last picture on top of Charlie

And hello new friend.

Yes, the hair will get cut. Growing pains. I, too, went through my (slightly) long-haired phase.

Now I have to figure out how to pay for it and continue to survive. But the features are pretty cool.

Fouth of July, 1936

On Behind the News (on HAN Radio...dot com), Kate, John, and Josh had the chief and fire marshal from Ridgefield Fire Department on to talk about fireworks safety.

You can hear that show here.


While chatting with my colleagues after the show, I recalled the story of my father having a firecracker explode near his mouth. I remember him telling me about it, and how he never liked fireworks after that, with good reason.


Amazingly, we still have the newspaper piece from July, 1936. I think it is from the Putnam County Courier. Donald, by the way, was his middle name (he was Robert Donald), but he was known by both.

 

Keep Moving Forward...With New Wheels...

Charlie

Today might be the last day for an old friend.

To you, that's a car. Yep, just an object. A thing.

To Sean, that's Charlie, a our trusty Honda Accord that we've had since he was two. Yes, Sean and I (and his mother) have had a habit of naming our cars.

Here is Sean in the lot as we prepared to drive away with Charlie (so named because the salesman's name was...Charles).

Sean and Charlie, 2004

No need to review why it all makes me nervous. Let's just chalk it up to big ticket purchase anxiety.

That being said, given the road (get that pun?) it's a momentous step for me.

So even with the rain yesterday, Sean and I cleaned Charlie inside and out. Why? Pride, I guess. As I looked at possible vehicles, I checked out some used cars on a lot in Kingston. The condition was, er, disgusting. I guess I just didn't want to hand mine off in such a way.

We've done a lot together in that car. That's how you get to 255 thousand miles. We went to Richmond, Boston, Maine, Vermont, Cape Cod, Albany, Cooperstown, Philadelphia, Lancaster, Redding, Baltimore, Washington, Oneonta, Long Island, and a lot of other places.

Having had the car since 2004, I can tell you that this car and I went to a lot of sports events. Too many games that I called across Connecticut and New York (and it sat at JFK while I was in Florida calling Greenwich/Naples).

But it's time to say goodbye to it. The drivers side back door handle hasn't worked in almost two years. The cruise control died before that. It's starting to see a hint of rust. It needs new tires and a few touch-ups to pass inspection.


It was a hell of a ride, and I guarantee the next car won't get many miles (only because I'll be on a lease and mileage will be at a premium).

As for what I am getting, it's looking pretty solid that I will have a 2014 Dodge Dart, thanks to the efforts of the dealer to work with finances and so on.

So, yeah, moving forward.

The Skins Game

(C) National Football League. All Rights Reserved, especially those of Emperor Roger Goodell.

So let's just get to it. You know, the Washington Redskins name thing.

Here: Change the name, Daniel Snyder. Please. Pretty please.

The reason is simple. I'm sick of hearing about it. It's been beaten over my head. I'd like to be done with it.

Not because of the issue of being offensive. It is to many, and it isn't to others. There is enough data to indicate that a large number of people find it offensive.

I do think there is an argument within, and I won't debate with those who can't see another side of things, be it music, sports, or otherwise. No, that's the point I say "OK" to shut up and let you think you're better.

Your mileage, or course, may vary.

I think Mr. Snyder, who is fairly hard to like to begin with, would be doing a world of good to his image and his brand by finding a compromise and calling it a day.

Look, I hated - detested - when St. John's university changed its moniker from Redmen (so-named because they were a team that wore red) to Red Storm (sigh). Chat with an older Syracuse University sports fan about the former Warriors that became the Orangemen that became, sigh, the Orange.

Here on Jeff Pearlman's mean streets of Mahopac, NY, we still have the Indians. For now, there doesn't seem to be a push to outlaw it since, after all, Mahopac is a native American term (The Lake of the Great Serpent).

Others around here have changed, such as Ossining High School. They went from Indians to Riverhawks to...err...nothing.

Personally, I think they should honor the towns' legendary Sing Sing Prison and go with the Criminals. If it works for Yuma, Arizona...

Imagine that. A sense of humor.

Look, I get it about the Resdkins name. I get that there are those who find it offensive. Great. Duly noted. Those who don't want it changed have legit reasons such as political correctness rum amok to the fear of "what's next."

Yesterday, while talking about it, I mentioned that, for instance, one could see where "Browns" could be offensive. Now, understand I was being extreme, but I never did quite have a chance to explain myself before the idea was called "stupid." The point was missed.

And yes, I'm acutely aware that the team was named after Paul Brown. Honestly, have we met before?

What truly infuriates me about the Redskins issue is the involvement of government and of politicians. I mean, really? We don't have better things to do? Maybe, oh I don't know, keep troops from going BACK into Iraq? Keep more innocent people from being killed? Maybe fixed the quality of life for Americans?

Funny, I don't see where changing a football teams name will do any of the above.

But changing the name would be good for business. One day sponsors will pull out (that's bad, of course). But if you appease fans, you get them to buy NEW merchandise (cha-CHING$$$!)

So why not find another name that will allow the logo to continue, for instance. I hear less about their logo than Chief Wahoo of the Cleveland Indians. So go with something else, keep the logo, allow the old-timers to stubbornly and colloquially call them the Redskins, and let's move on.

Personally, if I were a fan, I'd like to see him focus on a team that hasn't sniffed a Super Bowl in 20 years.

So let's move on. Respect that there might be - GASP! - differing opinions, and let's call it a day.

Because, honest to God, it's annoying. And it's bad for the team, and the NFL.

At the Ballpark

I will go on the air in one hour, and I'm just sitting here, in Palmer Field. It's fairly quiet, save for some baseball music that is currently playing over the PA.

OK, currently, I am troubleshooting stuff from 50 miles away (give or take). But yes, it's largely peaceful here.

The Portland Highlanders, the number 17 seed in Class S, have arrived. They have a roughly 10 minute trip here, and have started warming up down the right field line.

The point of this is to say how nice it is to be early. I was here a little after 9:00 - three hours before first pitch - to find the place open and ready. After a quick chat with one of the technical guys from CPTV*, I knew where I could start setting up. Public address announcer, writer, and all-around good guy Jim Bransfield, confirmed I could stay in the space I was in.

I'm not always allowed to relax when I do this until the game starts. Today? I'm relaxed.

Mike Suppe and I will have the call of Portland and Thomaston at Noon on hanradio.com. We have Notre Dame of West Haven and Masuk, and Rocky Hill against Haddam-Killingworth later.

Becoming Part of the Story

(Martin V. Hersam photo)

Paul Silverfarb and I had the call of today's Class LL baseball quarterfinal game between Fairfield Warde and Trumbull at Trumbull High School.

To be honest, the game, and our coverage, seemed utterly forgettable. We bounced off the air due to bad wifi during the first inning, and didn't get back on until the bottom of the second. In the meantime, Warde had already jumped out to a 4-1 lead (and would coast to a 5-1 win).

Then something happened.

In the bottom of the 5th, the Eagles of Trumbull had a runner on first and nobody out with Connor Broderick at the plate. Paul and I were chatting about our first HAN Radio broadcast at Trumbull High School, from last November...


Now we had two jobs to do. Paul and I needed to strike a balance between concern for those in the collapse of the bleachers, and calling the game. Marty Hersam made his way to the field, and assisted us by coming on and talking about what he found out. Kate Czaplinski and John Kovach each handled the story for their newspapers, and would update it later on with our audio.

Paul and I monitored the situation as the rest of the game played out. We watched the ambulances come on, and eventually leave. We watched the yellow tape get put around the area in question. We saw the first selectman, fire marshal, and superintendent of schools arrive.

We also saw the TV cameras. Thanks to traffic and busy schedules, they had nobody to talk to initially. So they came to us. I spoke with a cameraman from News 12 at first, then Paul chatted with him, as well as another from NBC Connecticut.

As we all wrapped up to leave, I mentioned to the NBC cameraman that we had the audio if they wanted it. I said I would review it when I got home. Upon arrival in the Pac, I saw I had an email from NBC. Sure enough, they were interested. And sure enough, they liked it. Paul shot the video of their 11:00 news.

It's weird. We're reporters. We have jobs to do. We have to focus on news, but also on the sports that we're calling. But our fellow media members needed sound and a person to talk to, and we were duty-bound to oblige.

Part of me sits here excited and proud tonight. Paul, me, Marty, John, and Kate all showed what we can do across our platforms for Hersam Acorn. Sure, I'm excited that Paul got on TV, and that our play-by-play was featured.

On the other hand, it's hardly about us. I hope those injured mend quickly and are rooting their Mustangs on next week.

Yeah, the whole thing just feels...weird.

Jet Skiing (aka "Goodbye Cruel World")

It can be said - and it would be fair - that I'm a scaredy cat.

I'm OK with it, as weak as it makes me appear.

While I might play up a fear of the lizards here in Key West (nice to look at, and they'll stay away from me), it is quite safe to say that I'm none-too-fond of snakes, exposed heights (ladders), rejection, job loss, losing in a championship game, failing in a broadcast, and saying something stupid.

And as we got closer to coming to Key West, I kept waiting for the inevitable conversation...

Lisa: "Don't you want to go jet skiing, kayaking, hiking, snorkeling?" (take your pick among those and others)

Rob: "Um...sure."

It didn't take long for that to happen, and if you chose "jet skiing" then you either read the title of this post or saw the pictures.

My fear? Well...I'm not thrilled about drowning. I'm not thrilled about being the one that looks like an ass and holds everyone up. I also didn't want to fall off the damn thing. Lastly...I wasn't looking forward to flying on it.

But Lisa persisted, as she can, and convinced me to go. Initially, what was supposed to be a tandem ride turned into a solo for me, as Lisa and Roger each got a machine of their own.

I stayed mostly quiet in the moments leading up to the climbing on the machine, as Fearless Lisa (and Roger, also without fear at all), chatted and prepared.

We didn't get off to a good start, either, as we had a slight awkward beginning with the staff at Key West Water Tours. But our lead guide, Dante, and his assistant (in training) Phil, turned out to be really good guys.

I suited up in my life jacket, and climbed on board the blue and white Wave Runner with number 13 on it (I figured those were Yankees colors, and the number 13 is for Sean), and listened intently to everything that the guys said. They pushed me into the water and we were off for an over two-hour tour around Key West.

At first, I found steering the thing to be difficult, but the truth is that, the faster you go, the easier it gets. I veered off course once or twice, generally talking to myself the whole time, but we were soon out in the Gulf of Mexico. That gave us 10 minutes or so to get used to the machine. Lisa and Roger were, of course, flying. No big deal to them. Me? Just getting comfortable. I hit a few waves to get my bearings and balance. I opened the throttle up a little. I didn't curse a whole lot.

OK, we're good. So far.

Then Dante led us to a small canal where submarines were intended to be housed during World War II.

I followed instructions - let the others get about a four-second head start. I was happy to bring up the rear of our group of four jet skis (plus our guides).

But, er, Dante sort of sped off. So now it was sink...or swim...or just stay there.

Screw it.

I opened up the throttle, bringing up the rear of our group of four jet skis/wave runners.

The Gulf was just fine. It was fun riding. Then we hit the Atlantic...

The sea was angry, my friends. Like an old man returning soup at a Jewish Delicatessen...

I bounced. I flopped. I flew. The engine groaned. But a funny thing happened: I didn't fall. Oh sure, I got soaked, but I never lost my balance. For over two hours, I found bliss. I had no technology with me (so no pictures out there).

It exhilarated me and gave me a rush (hence the exhilaration) and a boost of confidence. I doubt that I will ever be a rugged outdoorsman type. I don't expect to be jumping out of a plane anytime soon, and I will never be thrilled to have a iguana standing at the base of my pool-side lounge. But I loved jet skiing every bit as much as I thought I might, even if I've lost what little edge I have left.

We roared around the Atlantic. We passed our hotel (I actually had enough confidence to point it our as we moved by). We went down to the Southernmost Point monument (which is truly the southernmost point that it is publicly accessible). Then we sped off, making the turn at Fort Zachary Taylor State Park, roaring past the giant cruise ship in the harbor, and next to Mallory Square.

Dante had an idea and went off course for a moment, stopping at a point in the open water where maybe - just maybe - we could see a dolphin.

While one might have hoped for Dan Marino or at least Jim Jensen, we were indeed fortunate enough to spot two dolphins briefly popping to the surface.

As we went back to our starting point, the feeling of pride and excitement finally kicked in. For Lisa, who of course rocked it, and Roger, this was no big deal. For me, well, it was good stuff. We were handed a complimentary beverage and toasted the success of a great day.