Chronicling my world since 2006! This is your source for a mix of sports, pop-culture, history, roads, music, current events, movies, entertainment, and life. Jump on board as we keep moving forward.
Let me restate that: I was graced with a child. Sure, I wanted a son because I wanted the last name to carry on, but I wanted a healthy and happy baby.
His mother and I got that and so much more. Along came this beautiful little boy, with eyes that are reminiscent of my dad's, and a smile to match.
What I'm trying to say is that he was a great baby. We were truly blessed.
Thirteen. A teenager. Unreal. Where does the time go? Cliched, I know, but true.
We know the deal by now. He's not a sports fan. Yes, he has pictures of the Yankees and Steelers and Rangers in his room. He's met some athletes, but he couldn't pick them out of a lineup. It's fine. I like that he is himself.
I've loved the moments of talking about Pokemon, Transformers, Minecraft, and Doctor Who. I've loved watching Star Wars with him. I've loved our own things: trains and Waffle House and other silliness.
He's made mistakes. Good. He can learn from them.
But he's also made people laugh. He's shown class, grace, and dignity. He's learned from good people all around him: his grandparents, aunts and uncles,cousins, teachers, friends, and his mother. Hopefully he's picked up a thing or two from his father also.
I'm proud to be his father. Unless you're new around here, you know that.
The days ahead are scary. He's a teenager, and that comes with a whole new set of speed bumps. I just want him to stay grounded and level. I cherish everything with him so much because it changes in a heartbeat. He still likes to have that moment when he is with me and he's going to bed. It's our moment. It won't always last.
My son, so named because we decided "Sam" wouldn't fly (um...Sam...ADAMS?) and given the middle name to honor his grandfather (thus Sean Robert), is a wonderful young man.
I've watched countless Academy Awards ceremonies because I'm a movie buff and a history guy. I love the random nuggets, the montages, the conversation.
I love going on Radio Arts and Leisure, Fridays at one at hanradio.com to talk about movies when I can.
Yes, I can do without the red carpet stuff. I frankly don't care what you're wearing (I have a pair of Calvin Klein "lounge" pants and a Pittsburgh Steelers AFC Champions t-shirt on, if you're wondering). With all due respect, I don't miss Joan Rivers tonight or her daughter (much respect and RIP to Ms. Rivers, of course). I don't remotely care about Robin Roberts, Lara Spencer, Michael Strahan, etc.
Again, no disrespect, but this isn't why I watch. I'm not into the pretty people. I like when they have great performances worth discussing.
So I dig the show itself. I'm one of the few who enjoyed David Letterman and Seth McFarlane in the years they hosted. I love the honoring of the past, fused with the present.
Yet.
We're 43 minutes in as I'm writing, and I'm bored out of my skull. I'm not interested in live-tweeting, blogging, or anything else. It's just not doing it for me so far.
I watched the Grammy's the other night, and it crystalized for me how generally out of touch (Hall and Oates, 1984) I am with current music.
Sure I've heard of some of the names, and maybe even some of the songs, but overall, I'm lost. I'm not the target demo.
Quick side notes: Kanye West made an ass of himself, and in no way should Paul McCartney ever be a backup singer for Kanye or Rhianna.
Anyway, I found myself thinking about music. I still love it in the way that I love baseball. It's one of the passions of my life, whether I'm out of touch or not.
I'm often overwhelmed by my collection (numbering roughly 20,000 songs) so I sometimes don't know what to play, or play the same things occasionally. But I love the power of a song (and the Power of Love, 1985), and those who have read this blog (I hate that term, but it is what it is) know this.
Music takes me places. It reminds me of things. There's a song in my head every morning. It's the secret thing I would have done had I not screwed up my life by going into radio.*
* I didn't really screw up my life by going into radio. Well, maybe.
Of course, it can remind me of bad things also. Jon from R-Va gave me a Bruce Springsteen album in late 2007. I decided, given what was occurring in my life at that time, to give it one play and then shelve it until that era was over. For whatever reason, that's the only time I've ever played that album.
I go through phases. Since the late 2000's, I've largely not listened to U2, The Police, or the Eagles. I have my reasons, and they make sense. It's just the way it goes.
I mentioned love in the title of this post. I suppose I don't mean love in the traditional sense (so let's not overanalyze this). What I mean is loving to share music with people. When somebody tells me that they really don't know The Black Keys or George Harrison, I'm all about sharing that. I think that's exciting. Maybe it's the educator in me. I don't really know.
I love jumping into a spirited debate about music (or sports and so on). I recently had one regarding one mans list ranking every Billy Joel song. It's a fun exercise.
To his credit, Christopher Bonanos didn't select "Piano Man" as number one, though I'll let you read it for yourself. I thought he gave gems such as "She's Right on Time" no love, and that's the beauty of it. It's subjective.
Chris Kaelin detests Bruce Springsteen (yes, that's the proper spelling). To me, it's further proof that he's nuts, but opinions are valid. Some don't like The Beatles (blasphemy!) but that's their thing. By comparison, I'd be torn as to what I'd rather do: listen to "Shake it Off" on replay or anything by JC Mellancamp. Or just be water tortured.
I don't worship Michael Jackson or Lionel Richie. At the same time, I recognize talent. That's where I suppose the debate takes a turn. At least understand that there's talent. You might not get it, and that's fine. Just understand that some became popular for a reason. I'll never understand New Kids on the Block or Justin Bieber, for instance, but more power to them, I guess.
Yet as time goes by (you must remember this...) opinions change. Tastes change. Many songs in the 80s that I didn't like are remembered fondly now. Though some things never change ("shooting at the walls of heartache" lead me to want to shoot myself).
On a different topic, I've begun to wonder if my concert-attending days are over. I don't have anyone to go with, for one thing, though that's not an end-all, be-all, but I've always believed that, as sacred as I hold music, it's something I want to share with a significant other. I love Paul Silverfarb, for instance. He's a great friend. But he's also happily married to Beth, and should go to shows with her. If I have someone, then OK, we can double date.
I want to share Huey Lewis, or Bruce, or McCartney, with someone. MY someone. Don't you want somebody to love? (Jefferson Airplane)
But there's more. Tickets have become overpriced (I just looked at attending a show by former Yankees outfielder Bernie Williams: $69.50!). Parking is obnoxious. Or transportation in general. I guess what I'm saying is a lot of factors go into it.
Would I like to go see Billy Joel again? Sure. With whom, and will I need a mortgage?
Sometimes I also wonder if, as sad as it is, was my ONE Springsteen show enough? I can't afford the tickets (that's been established) and maybe it's just as well to walk away when I caught him in '99. I didn't deal with Patti Scialfa hatred (yes, it's real) or disgust that Gary US Bonds, Tom Morello, Bruce's political stuff or some other factor out of my control sullied a potentially great night.
Maybe I'm just happy at this point seeing the smaller venues, and supporting people who are just trying. It's nice to see the cover band who is doing their best in a dimly lit bar and the guy who is playing his original stuff trying to get noticed.
Plus so few shows are just about, you know, the music. There are too many examples to cite. I'm a big show up and play type of guy. You play. I'll sing, wobble (I can't dance - Genesis), and hold my love. It works.
I went to great shows. Bruce in '99. Huey in '87 at MSG. Macca in '09 at Citi Field. The Eagles in '94 at Giants Stadium. I didn't go to that many shows (for various reasons) and I'm left to feel I'm not a real fan because I wasn't willing to put myself into a deeper poor house, but I cherish those I went to.
Of course, when you say you're a Bruce fan, you're overall mocked if you dare to say you've seen less than 20. That's a cross for me to deal with. I have my 10 HLN shows and I'm just fine with that. Just see them once, folks. Nobody is every disappointed.
I also went to a few dogs: Sting at Jones Beach and U2 (yep) at MSG in '05. They both had their reasons for being blech, but so it goes.
None of this deters me from loving music. Maybe I'll get back to attending shows. Who knows?
But it won't change. There's magic in the night.
I still love making a mix tape (though now it's a playlist for your iPhone). I'm always reminded of the fabulous book, Love is a Mix Tape by Rob Sheffield, and I will never be able to recommend that enough. Though I bought it for someone else at a different time in my life, I remember it hitting on so many pertinent things for me. It's basically the story of his time with someone he loved so dearly.
There are quotes from that book that have stayed with me. These are some good ones:
"It’s the same with people who say, ‘Whatever doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.’ Even people who say this must realize that the exact opposite is true. What doesn’t kill you maims you, cripples you, leaves you weak, makes you whiny and full of yourself at the same time. The more pain, the more pompous you get. Whatever doesn’t kill you makes you incredibly annoying."
"Unlike me, Renee was not shy; she was a real people-pleaser. She worried way too much what people thought of her, wore her heart on her sleeve, expected too much from people, and got hurt too easily. She kept other people's secrets like a champ, but told her own too fast. She expected the world not to cheat her and was always surprised when it did."
"I know people for whom music is just background noise. They don’t listen to it. They just consume it. These people have never made a mix-tape for anyone. These people are not my friends. These people have no soul.”
For me, this is probably the money quote:
“I realize that I will never fully understand the millions of bizarre ways that music brings people together.”
So as we glance towards Valentine's Day, the much-loathed and overrated clusterbleep that it is, let us pause to remember the role that music plays in love, in life, in good, and bad times.
I leave you with Frank Sinatra, and arguably one of the greatest pieces of music ever written, as performed by the master of interpretation. These feelings are so known. So relevant. So real. We've probably all had them.
"I'd sacrifice anything, come what might, for the sake of having you near. In spite of a warning voice that comes in the night that repeats in my ear: Don't you know, you fool? You never can win. Use your mentality. Wake up to reality. But each time I do, just the thought of you, makes me stop before I begin. 'Cause I've got you under my skin."
I sent a Vin Scully quote along last night and it was greeted with a chorus of crickets, which is a fine metaphor for a summers night, listening to the master.
I'm posting one here, before pitchers and catchers report.
“Football is to baseball as blackjack is to bridge. One is the quick jolt. The other the deliberate, slow-paced game of skill, but never was a sport more ideally suited to television than baseball.”
I love football. Love hockey. Love basketball.
Baseball has always been my life.
This winter has just been terrible. Late March can't get here soon enough. I don't have high hopes for the Yankees again, and that's fine (though not really), but the idea of warmer weather and the game that has always fueled me makes me believe maybe there's a light peering through the very back end of this bad tunnel.
Not just because he's a Steeler, or because I saw him play in person the one time I went to the 'Burgh.
There's a father-son connection here, and Sean probably doesn't even remember it.
Before Big Ben Roethlisberger, "The Bus" was Sean's first favorite player. Now, keep in mind that I never - repeat, never - do the face painting thing. But when I went to Pittsburgh (2004 vs. the Redskins), I was told that, to be part of the crew there that day, I had to get something. So I looked, and...
Yup, I got The Bus.
And there's our guy in the backfield, as seen from my seat that day, next to Big Ben.
Anyway, I'm surprised he got in, and I'm really pleased. Congratulations to him and the other inductees.
Here's a picture of Sean in 2004, the day after I went to Pittsburgh, just because.
Seriously, can't we do away with the Roman numerals? Of course we can't, especially since next year will be so easy.
Super Bowl L.
I digress.
I was pondering whether this was the most unlikable Super Bowl ever. It's close, to be honest, but two years ago, when the Ravens beat the 49ers, was just awful. At least for me. There was nothing to root for. Pull for the Niners to equal the Steelers and stay perfect in the big game? Root for the Ravens, who are the former Cleveland Browns?
It was dreadful. Still, tomorrow night is close, because - and let's be honest here - these are two of the most annoying fan bases in sports.
Seattle. The 12th man.
New England, the loyal fans (since 2001!).
However it is the best matchup, and that's a great thing.
It has great story lines, with Tom Brady either equaling Terry Bradshaw and "Lord" Joe Montana (he who can do no wrong) or dropping to 3-3 in the grand event.
I expect a great game. Or I hope it is.
I do think the Pats will be fairly furious from the whole Deflate Gate thing. I feel like they'll have a running game, which should balance things out for Rob Gronkowski to get open. Richard Sherman is pretty banged up, but you still have to respect the Legion of Boom.
The Seahawks won't go quietly. Russell Wilson is cool, and can be his own balanced attack. Now add in the Beast Mode guy who won't talk to the media, and the 'Hawks will stick around.
There are great coaches on both side. That helps.
This has the makings of a 24-21 game, but I'm going higher, because the magnitude of the game sometimes adds points to it. I still think it stays close though.
To me, it's a pick 'em, but I'm not one to pick against Tom and Bill.
I'll go 31-28, New England.
I'd love to find a way to have them both lose, but it's just not possible.
* No you're not really a loser or have no life. That's me. I mean, really, I breezed through that quiz, only having a brain cloud remembering Matt Hasselbeck, but had enough time to stop, collect myself, take a sip of coffee, and continue. Oh, and what's worse is I did it in order. In. Order. From I to XLVIII. I mean, it's fairly pathetic.
This a picture of a kid. His name is Sean. A cat named Junior is also present. Lastly, there is a sandwich, which is mine.
Junior is inside of a cardboard box (aka "The Junior Jet). Junior, for reasons only Sean Adams V.I. (Vivid Imagination*) can explain, has taken my sandwich away from me, via the Junior Jet.
It seems pictures of kids gets "likes."
So that's that.
*My fellow Flintstones fans will get that reference, however I couldn't find a video to embed.
I had begun a post and, in what has become a bad habit, I stopped and deleted it. It was probably 500 words or so that would have simply brought me grief. Or questions. Likely both.
Yes, that has happened more than a few times here over eight years. It's the nature of the beast when you are essentially an open book/wound.
That being said, boo-frickin-hoo, right? I mean it's not like I'm Oscar Wilde, a fascinating chap whose writing and personal life were both his great pleasure and undoing.
So yeah, I've got that going for me.
Consider this a lot of sound and fury, signifying nothing (as I paraphrase Willie the Shake. Damn, this post is eclectic.).
I like Joe Jackson. I always have. I saw his music referenced a few minutes ago, and I've often thought he is vastly underrated.
He put the phrase "Let's play two!" into our national psyche, even if you never knew where that came from.
Baseball was, to him, a great game that brightened his always-sunny outlook.
He could play though. A two-time MVP, he hit 512 home runs, putting up offensive numbers that shortstops weren't supposed to.
He was only the eighth player to surpass 500 home runs.
He led often dreadful Cubs teams through day games at Wrigley Field with an attitude that was happy to be there, and that was a good thing as he would never know a playoff game.
He was inducted into the Hall of Fame
Plus he was my Facebook friend. Yes. You read that correctly.
Find me someone who didn't like Ernie Banks. I'm not sure I'll want to know that person.
Watch him hit home runs number 498, 499, and 500. Such a graceful swing. He runs the bases with his head down. No showmanship.
Man. Somewhere it is a beautiful day. Let's play two, indeed.
I was called Superman yesterday. While I've always been more of a Batman fan from my upbringing of watching Adam West, I appreciated the sentiment.
Yet given I'm a out of shape, white, suburban guy who looks nothing like Christopher Reeve, have no powers of any magnitude (except perhaps for a voice that has a sore throat), and virtually everything is kryptonite to me, it's pretty safe to say that I'm far from the Man of Steel (do the Steelers count? Probably not.).
Oh the thought of swooping in and snagging my Lois Lane is delightful (although not Margot Kidder. Sounded like she had a few many packs of Lucky's back in the day.). Flying away to Metroplis with Sean behind us is a nice fantasy, isn't it? Don't worry, miss. I've got you.
Right.
Then she responds: "You've got me? Who's got you?"
Well we know the answer to that. I'll just go with, "I've got you, babe," mix my metaphors, and be done with the whole thing.
I'd love to be somebody's Superman...or, hell, just man. I'd love to be somebody's number one.
Alas.
This is the kind of thing that wakes me up at two in the morning. Whimsical. Parody. A shame that I even need to explain that.
I don't know what it is. Maybe it's the teams in question. Maybe it's what the NFL has become. Maybe it's Roger Goodell.
Maybe it's none of the above, or all of the above.
Yet I can't remember ever being less interested in a Sunday of conference championship games.
Don't get me wrong. I'll watch. I care, of course.
Is it that I'm in a house of people who have ZERO interest in these games? Could be. I halfheartedly reached out to people to see if they wanted company and got tepid interest, or laughter*.
*I'm officially launching a campaign to see if anyone would enjoy watching the game that is known as being slightly super but could be called "Goodell's Folly" with me. I don't take up much space and will speak when spoken to.
There is something to be said about watching a game with friends and food, though the downside of that is the orgy that Super Bowl Sunday has become (are we allowed to say that?). Indeed that is now a day in which football is a foolish byproduct of Katy Perry, commercials, red carpets, and vapid celebrities**.
**I had a great follow-up comment written here about people fawning over celebs. I'm trying to keep things in the vault so I deleted it. Yay me.
There's no doubt that I'm down on the NFL due to the stupid passing rules and the fact that you can't breathe on a quarterback or receiver without drawing a yellow flag. I miss the balanced game of the 70s into the early 80s before Bill Walsh and the **yawn** "West Coast Offense" turned the game into Joe Montana threw the ball three yards to Jerry Rice, and Rice did the rest.
Still, the game was great through those years. You still had the balance of a great running back combined with, hopefully, a QB who had some guts (a Marino, Favre, Elway, and of course Bradshaw).
Further hurting the NFL (though not in the ratings) is the proliferation of "bad stories." Yeah you know who and what I mean. Ray Rice and Adrian Peterson, among others.
Before you think that my feelings about today has anything to do with the lack of a western-Pennsylvania-based team with three hypocycloids on only one side of their helmet, think again.
Ultimately, I think it's all of the above, combined with the teams participating.
Seattle Seahawks. I had a moment a few weeks ago, when a saw that a now-former Facebook friend made a snide remark about the Steelers losing. Yes, I said "former" friend. Not my finest spot. That being said, I'm sort of done with the 'Hawks. They're not Jim Zorn or Dave Krieg or Steve Largent. They're the whiny franchise who hasn't gotten over Pittsburgh 21, Seattle 10 in Folly Game number 40, as they and others believe the striped shirts were out to steal the game from them. It's Richard Sherman running his mouth. It's the great Russell Wilson and "Go Hawks." It's not that I dislike them, or their 12th man. It's that we saw them last year. That's enough.
Green Bay Packers. Their are similarities between the Steelers, the Giants, and the Packers. Then there is the "best fans in the league" stuff. There is also the cheesehead and the Lambeau Leap. You can hear John Facenda's voice when you even think about them. Yet I can't get past early 2011. I can't get past the loss in Jerry World to Discount Double Check and company. No, they've had their time also. I could find myself pulling for them later, but I'm not invested. Shawn Sailer likes them. That doesn't hurt.
New England Patriots. Here's the thing. I love watching greatness, and Tom Brady is brilliant. Best quarterback ever? No, I'll take Johnny Unitas. I'll take Dan Marino. After that, we start talking about what era a player played in. Bill Belichick, love him or hate him, is amazing. He's not Vince Lombardi, but he's very high on he list of greats. Incidentally, I just heard Chris "Mad Dog" Russo give little respect to Chuck Noll. The less I say, the better, especially since I like the Doggie. Yet I think we can all agree we're past pulling for the Pats, if we ever pulled for them at all.
Indianapolis Colts. This, friends, is the closest I can come to jumping on a bandwagon. Andrew Luck is the man. Chuck Pagano? How can one not want to be "Chuckstrong?" They're the lesser of the evils. They are also the heaviest underdog in my mind.
So there you have it. I guess in the end, I'm going to hope for two compelling games, as well as a good super game (no trademark needed). I just don't have the passion for it. Maybe it will happen. For now, I'm happier watching Rangers/Penguins with the great Doc Emrick.
There was once a true, honest-to-sports-loving-goodness outlet store in New Haven, CT. It was a Starter store (oh yeah, we are so talking the 90s) that had tons of off-price irregulars and out of date items.
In the world of sports, that means players that have retired or moved to another team.
I was in there with my sister and her kids when I came across a rack of Steelers jerseys. I mean, essentially, the real deal. Not a knock-off or "replica." This was right near the time that Reebok and Nike would begin to rule the NFL uniform contract. Starter wasn't quite the same after that.
There, on that rack, were a small selection of players, including Rod Woodson, the Hall of Fame defensive back who had just left the Steelers and would finish his career with the 49ers, Ravens, and Raiders.
The jersey, a white one, cost $20, a bargain even in the late 90s. I swooped in.
Back then, as now, I was pretty diligent at switching out clothes between the warm and cold weather. We would bag things up and put them into the attic (for the record, I use either a large suitcase or plastic tubs now).
I tended to not keep the football jerseys out in the warm weather, unless they were the mesh kind (which I'll wear to mow the law, thus justifying my creamsicle Tampa Bay Bucs Josh Freeman number five. Something has to justify it.).
So come spring, the gloves, winter hats, scarves, and heavier clothing would go into a bag. Sometimes those bags would sit at a small cutout near the front door of the apartment.
Sometimes, garbage bags would sit there -- a sign that I, the lazy husband, needed to take said garbage down to the dumpster.
One time, I grabbed a garbage bag and took the walk down to toss out the trash.
A few hours later (could be more, I don't remember now), Sean's mother (though this was pre-Sean) asked me about the garbage bag in question.
"I threw it out," I said, as a feeling of pride of a job well done combined with a quizzical pang ran through me.
She gasped and looked somewhat sick.
You know where this is going, right? I ran to the dumpster, knowing that it was gone. Indeed it was.
Yup. Goodbye hats. Gloves. Goodbye Vermont Flannel Company comfy pants that I bought at The Big E. Goodbye other items that I would wear during the cold months.
Goodbye number 26 Rod Woodson jersey, minus the 1994 "75th anniversary" patch that he is wearing in the picture below, above the "six."
Many of the other items got replaced. Not the jersey.
A big shout out of thanks to Sean Patrick Bowley at GameTimeCt for including me (along with Chris Erway, and Chris Kaelin) in their All-State football team videos. I'm honored to be included.
Check them out. This is the defensive video. While you should watch the whole thing, you can hear me at 10:07, and Chris Erway and I are on at 11:18.
On the offensive side of the ball, I'm on at 1:33, and Chris "Kato" Kaelin appears at 4:57.
This is a great reminder of what has been created at HAN, and how proud I am of the quality of broadcasters that are assembled around me.
Last up, I can't forget the work of my HAN colleague Steve Buono, who posted this video at the Darien Times. Thanks, Steve. We are on the air at 3:50 today. I have to go get ready!
Wait. That's not true. There's always something bubbling in my mind. Yet in my current state, I'm making the stronger effort to keep things in the cartoon bubble.
That's a nice way of saying that I'm not just going to say it. At least that's the goal. That doesn't mean I will succeed.
Oh that doesn't mean I'm some loose cannon. Sure I get on the air and pontificate and so on, and that's part of the gig. But I can't just say what's on my mind, even when well-intentioned.
Anyway, I'm just writing to write. Just trying to stay active here.
I'm laying low for a few days, but I got a good reminder that, truly, we never walk alone.
We should always remember that we have friends, family, coworkers, and more who are there for us. Sometimes we (I) get so damn lonely and lost that it's easy to forget.
I know. I've worn you out with Huey Lewis and the News over the years here. I'm doing it again. I keep having "Forest For the Trees," an album track that has a powerful message that's been in my head a lot recently. That might get posted here eventually. I noticed the HLN Facebook page put this video up of the boys doing "I Never Walk Alone," another track from Fore! (1986, in case you're wondering).
So here they are, from the Fore! tour (yes, I saw it - twice). This was the second song they did, after opening with "Jacob's Ladder."
Sorry that there's often a down feeling to what's written here. It's often raw, and believe me, more gets written and deleted. I never used to do that, but I do it now. The reasons are varied. The words might be too personal. They might hurt or cause confusion to others. The tone just comes off wrong.
This has been a problem for some time now.
So this morning, I want to tell you. No, I NEED to tell you: Yesterday was a great day.
It wasn't perfect. I was supposed to have dinner with Sean last night, and thanks to traffic and circumstances, I ran too late. It got canceled.
I have friends that are hurting or confused. Friends who lost loved ones. Yet I hope I helped them get through it.
There were small moments of smiles. Bigger moments of laughter. Boisterous laughter. Moments when my smile - the wonderful gift that my father bestowed on me - was just glowing.
There was Paul Silverfarb and I, reenacting a scene from Tuesday night at the Webster Bank Arena, when a clueless person just stared at us. The laughter coming from those who watched us as we recreated the moment was priceless.
People needed clarity. They needed smiles. They needed to roar.
On the radio, we had good programming. Coffee Break did its thing. We aired the inauguration of Governor Malloy of Connecticut. Then Paul and I did a whirlwind Nutmeg Sports.
There were moments with friends new and old. There were no fights. No big debates. No disputes, and limited stress.
It was cold, but to my knowledge, everyone is OK. Oh but it is cold.
There were stolen moments that can't have a price put on them.
There were texts exchanged with Sean, explaining to him things that are going on, and seeing his natural humor come through without trying to. Also his concern for friends and, of course, his dad.
It wasn't a perfect day. We didn't solve the problems of the world. We didn't cure cancer. We still have big issues, from the murder of innocent journalists at a satirical paper in France, to the continued unease in New York as the mayor continues to grapple with his police force.
All of it is real.
Yet for one day, I didn't feel like griping. I didn't need to tell you what grinds my gears.
I just wanted to tell you that it was a great day. Full of laughter, understanding, and more.
Sports has a sadness hanging over it today. Stuart Scott, the ESPN anchor, died early today at the age of 49.
Scott battled cancer three times. He leaves two daughters behind.
I'm struggling with this news today. To be blunt, and fair, I was never a fan of his work. But in reading everything this morning, and in everything I've heard about him in the past, he was a quality, great guy. He was the kind of guy I imagine I could have talked sports with for hours. I almost imagine he was the kind of guy who I could have had a great conversation with about broadcasting styles.
It's playoff time here at Robcasting* Central, as the Steelers host the Ravens. The guys I root for are losing, 10-9.
*Robcasting was created by the great Kaitlin Bradshaw, my HAN colleague. I like such wordplay, nicknames, etc. She actually used it as a hashtag on Twitter, so #Robcasting it is.
I tend to be a bit more unleashed when I watch a game alone, and so it is here tonight. I'm dealing with a mix of disgust and WHAT THE **** as I'm watching. I'd rather be watching with friends.
A few peeps were texting and messaging me early on, but that has quieted down. So I try to occupy my brain by watching social media silliness, and taking the occasional Sean visit so that he can tell me some random fact about Pokemon.
He also informed me that he likes Lord of the Rings. That's a new one on me.
Yes, he's mini me, and yet not.
Lord of the Rings for him, Lord of the Super Bowl Rings for me. Similar in some regards.
Anyway, I'm rambling. I'm good at that. At least I'm not babbling with the things that reside in the deep crevices of my noodle. Makes for great, funny, snarky posts, but normally causes me trouble.
Second half begins...now...
PS - I just screamed at the TV as the ball was fumbled. So there's that.
I had family with me for the past few days. That can be a scary concept, but there's something about niece Kristy, husband Hector, and kids Evelyn, Eleanor, and Izzy that seems to work.
Seriously, five days with the same family test people, but we survived as well as when we visited them back in August in North Carolina.
They left today. As usual, I was saddened. I suck at goodbye's. They stay with me.
You see, I know time flies. Those kids won't be kids forever. Hell, their mother grew up, and she and her sisters were like little sisters to me.
Plus Roxy (America's Dog) is getting older, and there are few dogs - hell, few animals - I enjoy being around so much.
My inner psychiatrist would say that it's probably a fear of loss that makes me struggle with saying goodbye. Yeah, that's fair, but it's more. It's also that there was life with everyone around. Hector and I watched football together. I enjoy talking to Kristy, as we're both parents now of course. And the kids. Man, kids are great.
It also meant Sean came back to me in a week that he would have normally not.
Conversely it meant that I had to bow out of going to Long Island to start 2015 (or end 2014).
We had to compromise for the week and make sleeping arrangements. We made it work.
They're gone now, and I'm stretched out watching Modern Family.
