Hot Mic...Career Destroyed

It's probably rule number one of broadcasting (although someone who knows far more than I do will likely tell me I'm wrong. You know, I'm not all that smart after almost 30 years in broadcasting and all).

**ASSUME ALL MICROPHONES ARE LIVE**

Many have screwed that one up.

(Hi, my name is Rob, and I've been burned by a hot mic a few times. Some of what was said came from me and some came from others around me. Either way, there's no excuse and it will always bother me, to the point that I'm always looking at ways to safeguard my booth.)

Anyway, tonight, Thom Brennaman, a veteran of well over 25 years between the Cincinnati Reds and FOX Sports, had an open mic that burned him about as bad as one can get burned...

(Oh, wait, sorry. Got distracted while this "old man" shows that he still has a few hops left in him. It took a little while for the corner man to throw the towel)

OK, I'm back.

Anyway, Thom is in some deep trouble tonight. The facts are all over Twitter and will be a story on the news tomorrow.

I honestly don't want to type the words, so I'll give you a tweet from Jeff Passan that contains the audio (and, sadly, the words).

Longtime Cincinnati Reds announcer Thom Brennaman was caught on a hot mic saying “one of the fag capitals of the world.” He is currently announcing the second game of the Reds’ doubleheader against Kansas City. pic.twitter.com/Uwz07eRIKv

— Jeff Passan (@JeffPassan) August 20, 2020

I actually yelled when I heard it.

Twitter, needless to say, has been on fire ever since, with #FireThom trending.

I will offer no excuse. I'm curious about context, but I will literally offer no defense whatsoever.

Somehow, Thom was allowed to stay on the air before he was finally removed, but not before the most awkward thing I've seen in some time -- a home run call during an apology:

Thom Brennaman casually called a HR during his on-air apology for using a homophobic slur during the Reds vs Royals game.pic.twitter.com/83ef3ucaNI

— SI MLB (@si_mlb) August 20, 2020

I mean. Just wow.

He's right. His career -- like it or not -- might be seriously derailed, if not over. He's called high profile football and baseball games for FOX. He's the lead on Reds broadcasts, where his father once ruled.

Curt Schilling has crawled out of his bunker to defend Thom but most are furious.

I'm almost at a loss to figure any of this out. Like, who says this to begin with? Next, who talks like that at work?!

A man of faith? Spare me.

I don't even have a final line to this, so this is it.

I Snapped

(Source: Murrells Inlet Garden City Fire Rescue/WMBF News)

It came out of nowhere today.

I lost my cool.

I've just had it.

You with the "But. Her. Emails" crap about Hillary Clinton -- FOUR YEARS LATER -- it's over.

You with the Trump obsession? He won. Now defeat him in November.

You with the pro-Trump stuff? Go win, if that's what you want.

You're each the reason I'm considering either staying away from social media or departing it altogether in late October/early November. I'm just trying to figure out how to keep this stupid blog going.

You -- ALL OF YOU -- are why we're so divided.

But I snapped today for more than just that.

I've just had it.

I've had it with people who say they care about the athletes, and clearly care only about themselves

I've had it with the perpetual whining. It's clear you want things only your way.

I've had it with the constant immunity that I see. Everyone gets a trophy! Don't pick on them!

So we're here.

I'm sick of where we are and where I am.

And I've said enough.

Fourteen Years

I was happy to call Ernie Banks (Mr. Cub) a Facebook friend.

Today, it's the podcast.

It seems like everyone (or, most everyone) is trying to do one. Heck, I host two and have guested on several others.

Back then, everyone else was trying their hand at something else. I was intrigued but, in my usual cautious way, I decided I wouldn't try it until I was truly ready.

The last thing I wanted to do was start it and quickly stop (you know, like my "Tales From the Booth" podcast, and I'm ashamed of that).

So, on this very day, I finally jumped in and wrote my first post on Exit 55.

It was Thursday, Aug 17, 2006 when I convinced myself to press "Publish" on a post I wrote on Aug 16 while watching the groundbreaking ceremony for the "new" Yankee Stadium.

I knew Babe Ruth was turning in his grave. I was turning in mine, if only because I knew part of me died that day.

I poured that sadness, rage, and bitterness into post number one, put online nervously at 7:00 a.m.

Two-thousand nine-hundred forty-three more posts have emerged since that first day.

I don't know if I'm a better writer than I was then.

I feel less confident as a writer than I did in 2006, I'll tell you that with complete certainty.

I believe there have been some good posts but nothing that great. Just a guy at his computer, writing down thoughts that are -- YUP --various and sundry.

Giving just enough that you "know me" but not giving everything.

I will tell that when I feel something emotional -- normally choking back tears -- I've hit a good note.

I've bled for you. Yes, true. I've exposed embarrassing things and sad things and poignant things and triumphant things and funny things.

I know I've written things that were dumb and, quite often, I said more than I should. I took risks I probably shouldn't have taken. I've written things in a style that has opened questions.

"Was that post about me?"
"What was that post about?"
"What's going on? Are you OK?"

I don't know -- when you get right down to it -- if the blog has been a good thing or a bad thing. Perhaps both, I suppose.

And I was truly close to ending it. I thought about it many times.

By 2018, I was down to just a total of 35 posts. I felt uninspired and generally worn out. I felt I had nothing to say. I also felt that nobody cared what I wrote and, in truth, the blog had become passé.

I read the work of Jeff Pearlman and Susan (she doesn't need a last name) and others and just felt embarrassed. I can barely talk, let alone write.

The words of my professor from my freshman year of college about being a good writer felt like a distant memory. Even now, I'm still stunned at those words. I'm not sure I believe them.

As we sit here in the midst of a pandemic, I don't know where I fit in, but here I am nonetheless.

I took a final stab at a couple of last posts in 2018. Once again, I planned to hit the ground running in 2019.

I had long considered doing a post-per-day and then stopped every time.

John Nash challenged me, even if it was halfheartedly. It was the kick in the backside I desperately needed to give the blog one last hurrah.

That went from being an encore to my second act, one that has gone on for 596 consecutive days.

I've evolved personally and professionally. My life was entirely different 14 years ago. Many of my beliefs were soon shattered.

I became a survivor and reinvented myself, with radio and my love of my inner circle sustaining me. But I also became far more cautious with people, and all of that is reflected in my radio.

And so, we will roll on into tomorrow, bad grammar, awkward punctuation, and other writing flaws be damned.

I thank you, loyal reader, for hanging in there with me. I know some of you.

I'm grateful for all of you.

Nothing is guaranteed. But, if there's a tomorrow, then I suspect they'll be a post.

See you then.

Elton John

Elton and Bernie

Reggie Dwight has had quite the career.

Renamed Elton John, of course, he became an immortal musician in the annals of pop/rock music. Perfect melodies combined with the lyrics of musical partner Bernie Taupin create a catalog of indelible masterpieces.

John's eponymous second album truly launched the performer towards being, ahem, Rocket Man.

For a stretch, from 1970-1976, Elton John did literally nothing wrong. Have a look at his singles from 1971-1976. There are very few clunkers in there.

Why is Sir Elton on my mind tonight? Because my A-Team partner, Chris Erway, messaged me this morning and told me he had watched the movie Rocketman. Given our nature of discussing such things on the air, especially during blowouts, he wondered if I could pull a top five list together.

Yes. Yes I could.

In no order, I'll give you five (and a few more).

- "Funeral For a Friend/Love Lies Bleeding" The first song (or songs, as they're two songs that were merged into a suite) I thought of. Pure dark brilliance for over eleven minutes using music for a funeral to morph into a breakup. It opens Goodbye Yellow Brick Road in the most menacing way.

- "Harmony" The close to Goodbye Yellow Brick Road finds Taupin's words optimistic but John's music foreboding. "Gee, I really love you and I want to love you forever." Something's up there.

- "Honky Cat" Saturday night. Crompond Diner. A grilled cheese sandwich. The jukebox. The sounds pouring out of it. "When I look back, boy, I must have been green..." The "WOOO" at the end can still produce goosebumps.

- "Mona Lisas and Mad Hatters" New York City is awesome. It's also raw, gritty, and not altogether as glamorous as it might appear, especially in 1972. Taupin's lyrics are very direct. I think of it almost every time I'm in the subway. "Subway's no way for a good man to go down..."

- "Your Song" Sweet. Saccharine. And that's exactly the point. It's Susan's favorite song, and the line we've both talked about many times is his stumbling over her eyes, ending with "Anyway, the thing is, what I really mean...Yours are the sweetest eyes I've ever seen." Some love songs just get to the point. This does.

Ah, but there's more beyond those five.

- "Grey Seal" Forget the Goodbye Yellow Brick Road version. Go check out the original version, which I got on the To Be Continued... box set is purely magical. The arrangement and beat are magnificent.

- "Madman Across the Water" This is the dark Elton John. The deep one of "Don't Let The Sun Go Down on Me." Oh sure there's brilliance in all of it but there's something crazed about this.

- "Sixty Years On" Religious references aside, I want to hear this on my sixtieth birthday. Just saying.

- "Tiny Dancer" I think I'm contractually obligated to mention it. I didn't need Almost Famous to teach me this, and don't forget "Levon" which I've always seen as a companion piece.

- "Philadelphia Freedom" There's so much I love about this song, from Elton and Taupin's writing of the song for Billie Jean King for a tennis team of the same name, to the song itself that so on point for the oncoming bicentennial when it was released in 1975.

- "Empty Garden (Hey Hey Johnny)" I was probably too cold to it when it came out in 1982. There was a run of John Lennon tributes, including "All Those Years Ago" from George Harrison and the tough emotion of "Here Today" from Paul McCartney. I get it now. I get all of them now.

We're all still knocking and no one is answering.

I realize I haven't even touched on "Saturday Night's Alright For Fighting" "Rocket Man" or "Crocodile Rock" or "Daniel" or "Bennie and the Jets" or "I Guess That's Why They Call It the Blues." I love every one of those and plenty of others.

Plus "Don't Go Breaking My Heart," which should somehow be a law that every couple should perform as a duet at least once. WOO HOO!

John's supernova dimmed a bit as the the late 70s went along and he'd have peaks and valleys in the 80s. I was probably done right after "I Guess That's Why They Call it the Blues" but there were often glimpses from ol' Reg.

Still, as the past 30 years have come and gone, Elton John is still there, with a catalog of mind-blowing music.

I'm grateful to first Chris and then Susan for inspiring me to do this deep dive.

The Pessimism Panel

According to Eugene Thacker on Lithub, these are the patron saints of pessimism:
Philipp Mainländer, Emil Cioran, Michel de Montaigne, and Friedrich Nietzsche

I wanted to give this post a subtitle: "Don't let the bastards get you down."

I'm truly trying to laugh more at those who head up the Pandemic Pessimism Panel (PPP), including a few writers, columnists and, well, just others.

Sometimes my patience can get tested. You try to engage in dialogue and then find your thoughts have been deleted.

OK, game on...or off, in that I'm just done with you at that point.

We're eight days shy of a full month of baseball season.

Some -- many -- said it would be done a week in.

Then the Marlins happened. "We're doomed," was the cry.

Nope. Still playing.

Then the Cardinals happened. "It's over," was heard.

Nope. Still playing.

Today, a member of the Reds organization tested positive. Nobody else did but their series with the Pirates has been halted.

And yet? They'll all be back.

It's ridiculous, but the Cardinals traveled in 41 rental cars to begin the process of trying to play 53 games in 44 days. You wanted to go to a casino? You wanted to ignore the protocols? Now you pay.

And you play.

Game back on.

Further, spare me the "asterisk" crap. This season -- same for the NHL, NBA, and anyone else -- counts all the same.

If you win, you're the champion. The PPP will continue to try to tear it down, but these are strange times. The ring was still be big and gaudy.

Not playing was never an option for the pros.

It's

A

Business.

Yes, there could be strange anomalies, like a player hitting .400, and we'll have to figure out how to handle that. But there really was never an asterisk on Roger Maris hitting those 61 big flies in 1961.

Did MLB have a plan? It's completely fair to say no. Did you have a plan for everything this year? It's completely accurate to say no, once COVID came along.

That's not to defend MLB or Rob Manfred, who has done a woeful job. He has watered baseball down in myriad ways, but it's clear now to see why the seven-inning doubleheaders HAVE to happen, like it or not.

Let me put it this way: I've watched probably as much sports, if not more, than usual since they've all returned. I've inhaled it.

I don't care about the canned crowd noise. It's a background sound.

I don't care about the cardboard cutout fans. I either ignore them or laugh at them, especially when you see something different in there.

I also don't care that the Yankees have not done the cutouts and have tarps on their seats.

One of the few things that has bugged me (besides the Nike logo -- and I'll never get past that) is the fake crowd thing that FOX is doing. It's horribly done.

I'm not bothered by the broadcasters that aren't on site, unless it's noticeable. I'm bothered by ESPN's presentation and in-game interviews, but whatever.

I've loved watching sports in 2020, because Babe Ruth forbid, I'm GRATEFUL to have sports in 2020.

I'll take it over nothing.

Someone asked a columnist (President Pro Tem of the Pandemic Pessimist Panel) if they even liked sports. I've asked that of another senior member of the PPP and their answers (or lack thereof) are garbage at best. Spare me how you've covered sports since Roosevelt was in office or whatever. That tells me nothing, except it's a job. I once covered the board of finance. It was part of my job. Doesn't mean I loved it.

The answers and the constant "Debbie Downer" nonsense speaks of people who don't want to work.

Most noticeably, it speaks of those who want it to fail so that they can say, "I told you so."

And yet.

Yet.

Yet?

We're still here.

The CIAC might not play this fall (and, my guess, winter will also be in deep trouble, because what's going to change?) They've tried, but I think there are PR and lawsuit concerns. New York is also hedging their bets on playing high school sports.

But keep an eye open. There are grass roots leagues springing up. Locally, baseball is nudging towards a fall schedule and will pounce in Connecticut if (when?) the CIAC shuts the fall down.

Don't be surprised if other sports do the same. If they can get the facilities and insurance, they will try it.

They'll have an opportunity for a broadcasting partner also.

I love sports. I'm thrilled they're back. I stay true to my belief: The PPP should take the balance of the year off and come back when things are "normal." But, then, what would they have to complain and be miserable about?

Delete my thoughts if you want.

The human spirit gets beaten a lot. Lately, it's been getting walloped almost daily.

But, thankfully, many don't quit that easily.

It's not easy, and we're learning as we go along, but...

#TheyWillPlay

*****
The co-conspirator, John Nash, wrote a simply heartbreaking and stunning post on "The October Weekend." He opened a wound on himself with a story of loss on multiple levels. I have nothing else to say, other than I encourage you to read it.

On The Air at Any Cost

I wrote yesterday about how I was taking a stab at seeing if I could get some sponsors for game broadcasts on WGCH.

If you don't know, WGCH doesn't run on good will. They -- we -- operate as a business, needing to pay for the usual operations.

A tweet just a few minutes after I published what I wrote last night seemed to refer to what I wrote and took an opposite view without mentioning the post.

It raised a few eyebrows.

So, let's climb into this.

WGCH, as I said, is a business. To an extent, as much as I don't want it to be, so is Robcasting.

However, do you know exactly how many things I've done "for love of the game?"

A lot. I just don't really boast about it. In some circles, people get mad at "free labor" but I have my reasons. So, let me give you a few a few examples...

Remember that Bottom of the 9th tournament I did at Dutchess Stadium last week? It earned me a hot dog, a bottle of water, and a bag of chips.

The work with Mahopac baseball? I got a (great) sweatshirt (and have made friends who want me to be their lead broadcaster for the school district).

The Babe Ruth tourneys? A program and a t-shirt. Maybe a sandwich and a drink. Then, families brought me a t-shirt from Maine and a hat from Norwalk and Rhode Island. I got Del's lemonade from Rhode Island also. Plus a sign that says "KEENE" from New Hampshire.

The Babe Ruth tourney in Stamford? I almost got heat stroke from it. That's about it.

The two girls state hockey championships Mick and I called? We barely got a "thank you" but it was about giving the girls the play-by-play coverage they deserved, and I stand firm on that.

Or TEN (the Trumbull Eagles Network)? I helped Jeff Alterman build it and he bought me dinner and had me join him at the THS football banquet.

Mahopac vs. Carmel hockey brought me a sweatshirt and a hat. Plus, again, friends and relationships, which evolved into helping out with working for them as a public address announcer.

I did boys basketball at Fairfield Ludlowe, where my friend John Dailey would have me call every game. He gave me a gift card.

Greens Farms Academy basketball? King School football and basketball?

Remember the Greenwich Winter Classic games on WGCH? Or a lot of other (non-football) WGCH broadcasts? Or the Greenwich Town Party? Or the Greenwich St. Pat's Parade? Or Doubleheader?

It's an honor to just be there, I guess.

But people remember. I'll get the occasional message, asking me to cover something.

I've built a friendship with former Waterford, CT coach Dave Laffey because of it.

Same with Mike Buswell in Trumbull, who gave me a hat.

I'm no hero. No statues or Halls of Fame are necessary. I love calling game. It's my happy place.

So don't be fooled. Not everything I do is that way. There are bills to pay. Child support. A car. And more.

I had an arrangement with the Greenwich Cannons and then just started doing games for fun, because the team and their fans deserved it.

And I love what I had with Fairfield American Little League Baseball. In fact, they (and the league) wanted more this year and they took great care of me.

There are reasons for all of this. While I certainly want my value, I also realize I'm building those friendships and business relationships. Personally, I get to keep myself fresh. I get to use new equipment and try different things.

I often get to spend time with friends (Jake Zimmer, Dan Gardella, Shawn Sailer, AJ, Kato, etc). They've been a huge part of these broadcasts. Not everyone wants to do it for free, and I completely get that, but many do because of the experiences and the fun of what we do.

And, perhaps most of all, I'm able to get out of the house. Sometimes, it's the closest I have to a social life.

That, however, doesn't mean I shouldn't be compensated. I'm not a kid. That would have been all fine and dandy in my teens when I would have happily interned and kept practicing to get better. Those opportunities weren't as rich as they are now. I love seeing what New Canaan and Darien have done. I want Greenwich, Brunswick, Greenwich Country Day, and more to do it and would love to be the leader of one.

I want people to say, "Wow. That's good. Really good. You shouldn't do this for free," and, in some cases, that's worked.

But things have paid off in helping to build Robcasting and getting WGCH whatever prominence I can get them. And I try to do the same for every group I'm involved in -- from TEN to Local Live to the Renegades. I have a reputation as a play-by-play announcer and sports journalist that I'm proud of.

Sadly, even in the middle of a pandemic, things must go on for WGCH. Personally, nobody will take much pity on me.

Thus, the post last night.

But, I appreciate the wonderful feedback I did get (and all that I got personally was positive). There could be things happening (Fairfield/Trumbull/Greenwich/elsewhere) but we know the virus is boss. So, we could once again be looking at some grass roots ideas.

I guess we all just have to stay tuned.

Love of the game, the craft, or otherwise.

Sports This Fall (and Beyond)

I'm not a salesman.

Really, I'm not.

There have been myriad attempts to make me one, so much so that my heart literally sinks and my stomach turns when it comes up in a job interview or work situation.

"Have you ever done sales?"

Then there was the one job (actually, there were two) where I made it crystal clear before accepting the job that I was not a salesperson, only to get into the job and have them try to force sales on me (one of them in Greenwich, and it wasn't WGCH).

Would a salesperson like me to ride along to explain what I/we do to a client? Sure! I've done it and it's gone well. But make the call? No. No. No. No and, if I haven't made it clear yet: No.


And so it is (burying the lede which might get me excoriating in some circles) that I come to you tonight.

As of now -- at this moment -- sports are on the calendar for the fall in Connecticut. We'll still awaiting a final word from New York.

I feel -- with every ounce of certainty in my soul -- that these games should be on the air.

Professionally.

In the case of Greenwich High School, Local Live will have so much of it covered and their product is great and I'm thrilled to be a part of them. But, the games should have a professional voice.

HI! (Raises hand!) Let's get WGCH (and me) involved as your "voice."

My story is simple: I have over 20 years as a play-by-play announcer. Nearly 30 as a broadcaster.

Let me lead the way.

You want a student involved or another person? Sure -- maybe that can be worked out.

But sponsors are needed to get these games aired.

If the games are at hours when WGCH can't air it, then leave it to me to put the audio on Robcasting.

Look, fans (most likely) won't be allowed but I (most likely) will be. Let me be your conduit to get the action to your radio/smartphone/computer/TV screen (again, with Local Live included, where installed).

I've believed that local media -- print/digital/broadcast -- matter now as much as ever to relay the sounds (and sights) of local sports.

I want to show you and your audience that WGCH (and Robcasting) not only is still very much alive but that we still matter.

Make me a busy man. Make me even sleep at the radio station if necessary!

While Greenwich High is normally our first priority, prove me wrong! Come on, Stamford, you guys once had WSTC. Bring on ROB on GCH (and, again, Local Live where possible).

Port Chester? Rye? Harrison? And so many others?

(And, hi Mahopac. Robcasting and I are home and awaiting your call)

Now, to be clear, I'm not speaking for Local Live. I'm saying I work a lot with and for them. If you have a Local Live installation, chances are I can run my equipment through that and make it all sound great.

Let's load up the sponsors. Get in touch with me and I'll put you in touch with the right people at WGCH to make it all happen.

Let's partner with everyone!

The message I got this morning told me everything for sports on the radio (which is HUGE almost everywhere else in the country): "Need sponsors for that."

OK, challenge accepted.

You've just received my sales pitch.

Let's go.

(Yes, I'm aware that the CIAC situation is rapidly evolving but with time being short  -- and hockey, basketball, and more still to be played eventually -- my message still stands)

They Will (Supposedly) Play

I'm shocked.

No, really, I'm shocked.

Dave Ruden tweeted earlier this week that the CIAC football committee recommended that football be moved to spring 2021.

I thought that the idea would be rubber stamped, with all fall sports to eventually follow.

Today, the CIAC Board of Control took the rubber stamp and threw it in the garbage. The ink was dry.

They are planning to play football -- and all fall sports -- in 2020.

There's just no way I expected that.

Look, I was very pragmatic about this whole thing. If the decision was that it was best to not play then I was willing to accept that. Many coaches weren't happy about the season being moved and let their feelings be known but it felt like it would be to no avail.

Athletes were also upset.

Media had their say as well.

Shockingly, I was a fairly calm voice in the room.

But, strike all of that and reverse it.

Fall sports can play on.

I went from assuming that I would have a crazy quiet fall to back to awaiting a schedule and figuring out how we are going to broadcast it.

I remain pragmatic. Is it truly safe? Is it not? The answers differ and I think it should be up to the players and their families to decide if they want to play.

It's also up to Chris Erway and me to decide if we're comfortable broadcasting (which we've discussed and we both feel we can do it and be safe about it).

Are the schools comfortable with us being there? What will the limitations be? There are so many things to figure out now.

Beyond football, I'd be happy to see more sports get called around my world, and I'm throwing the door open to making sure those sports get the coverage they deserve.

So I'll leave the complaining to others. I know this: I feel more comfortable with athletes together on a field than not on a field. But it will take a concerted effort to follow the protocols and be safe.

And -- I feel at any minute -- it could all fall apart.

Would I be surprised if they don't play? If this whole thing changes? No, not at all. This is not a business, as opposed to the pros, and even Div. 1 college football (let's be honest: it's a business).

But, I did think that the CIAC, much like the PAC 12 and Big 10 conferences, would postpone the season, in part because of -- wait for it -- "the optics."

To be honest, I wouldn't blame them.

This is a bold move by the CIAC.

One that I'm intrigued by.

Where, in the pros, #TheyWillPlay (and they will), this is different.

I'm in. But I'm fascinated.

And, maybe, confused.

Six Hours of Hockey

I'm gushing about the just-completed Columbus Blue Jackets/Tampa Bay Lightning playoff game.

Or, should I say, 2.5 playoff games! That's right. They were well into the eighth period -- the fifth overtime -- before Brayden Point rifled a shot past Joonas Korpisalo for the game-winner.

It's the fourth-longest playoff game in NHL history.

I will no doubt question the sanity of those who don't like hockey tomorrow on "Doubleheader." Especially playoff hockey.

Plus, for my Greenwich friends, the game included by Cam Atkinson and Kevin Shattenkirk. Those two have ties to Greenwich, as Atkinson is from there and Shattenkirk played for Brunswick (and who was his play-by-play announcer? Hmmm).

Speaking of play-by-play announcers, what a phenomenal job by Gord Miller, on the call for NBCSN tonight. He, Mike Milbury, and Brian Boucher kept their energy up throughout the broadcast. I know other crews no doubt did the same, but I watched the NBCSN call, so my respect goes to them first.

I've experienced my share of long broadcasting days, but a 6.5 hour game? Er. No.

But it's more than just the voices. It's every person behind the scenes of a broadcast, which can be fairly extensive when talking about NBCSN and the respective team crews. On the radio level, the crews are much smaller.

But, regardless, the point is that everyone, from pre-game to in-game to post-game deserves a tip of the headset tonight.

Just great.

(Oh, and for those of you still complaining about games still being played or whatever you're complaining about, stick it for tonight. This was epic. This was special.)

*****
Oh, and before we wrap it up, the new Robcasting mobile studio pod, aka "The Rob Pod," showed up today. No, it's not the green one (that one is still on order but I found this one the other day).

It's tall enough for me to stand in and still has room for equipment. Hopefully it will keep the equipment cool on hot days and out of the sun as well. It will also keep things dry.

At worst, I can sit in it in the yard.

And, yes, I might still get the green one (if only so Mick can continue to give me grief).

However, I have no need to use any of them for a broadcast for the foreseeable future. But, one can hope.

Sometimes, that's all we have.

So There's That

Thanks to Mahopac Softball for this mask. Only $10 and it's comfortable!

It's 10 p.m. and I'm devouring two chili dogs that might kill me. So, I've got that going for me.

Here's how the day started, and I hesitate to tell this story: I was scheduled to host a podcast recording session this morning. So, after the usual Monday hijinks, including a fast run through the grocery store, I returned home and made sure everything was ready.

"I should have a drink with me, in case of dry mouth," I thought. I'll grab a seltzer! I'm always thinking ahead! #Preparation

So, I walked over to the little fridge, blindly grabbed a drink, popped it open and took a swig...of this...

I bought some Yankees beverages for my nephew's birthday party (as well as my soon-to-be "nephew-in-law"), My nephew is a Yankees fan (I taught him well). My in-law is not, but it's all good.

After both laughing and cursing at my faux pas, I placed the wayward beverage aside.

The podcast went off without a hitch and I quite enjoyed it.

And then I finished the beer.

*****
I'm not sure when my next game is after tonight. I'm not panicking or complaining. I just don't know.

I've been told there might be a few things at a few places but nothing is firm.

The phone has mostly gone dead, and with today's news that football is almost certainly moving to the spring of 2021 (and, let's be honest, the entire fall season is likely not far behind), I wouldn't be surprised if I'm not under the headset again for some time.

I hope I'm wrong, obviously, but one has to be realistic.

Still, I'll treasure the last six weeks or so. Baseball proved again that they can play and #TheyWillPlay.

I enjoyed each phase of Danbury, the tournament Dutchess Stadium, and the Greenwich Cannons, who wrapped up the 17U championship tonight.

I also enjoy the community aspect of all of it. The families appreciate the effort, and tell me how the grandparents or aunts and uncles are listening. Many of the fans scatter around me while I call the game and I actually am amazed that I'm not unnerved by it.

The headset creates a false sense of security, to be honest.

I don't cut up as many play-by-play calls as one might think. If I don't like the call that much, then it just stays in the complete game file. But if I don't hate it, then I'll give it some life. Tonight, there were two moments of significance, beginning with a home run by Felipe Echeto.


Check this out on Chirbit

Then, with the Cannons in control, it was time to wrap up the title in a low-key style.


Check this out on Chirbit

There's no need to "freak out," have my voice change, overmodulate, and blow people's ears out. No catchphrases necessary. Report it. Be informative. Educate/Enlighten and Entertain. Simple, no?

They're number one. No question.

And so, friends, that's it for now. Is it scary? A little, I suppose, but no worse than many people who are struggling for work.

As for football being postponed until spring, I'm pretty rational about it. Had they played, I would have been shocked but was ready to go broadcast as much I could. Since they're not, I can appreciate their cautious approach, even if I don't always agree with it.

I feel bad for the players and coaches and families, but I'm hopeful we'll all get back on the fields again soon.

Until then, we'll see what doors open.
 

Notes On August 9th

Sean Ford (left) invited me to Fenway

Two items struck me today in the memory department.

First, I played softball on this day in 2013. It was there, after a hard-fought game (I know no other way to play) that I popped the question on HAN Radio (and the Network, etc). It would take three months to bring it to fruition and Paul Silverfarb was partner-in-crime for the whole thing.

Despite literally everything, I'm still awfully proud of it. The stories will live on and they'll only grow. I'd one day like to see all of us recall how special it was but I fear that's a pipe dream. Too much to work through.

And, yes, that includes me.

Then there's Aug 9, 2008. After working in the studio as the game analyst (yes, I really did), I wrapped up the broadcast, went home, got some sleep, picked up Harold, and drove to Boston.

I kept saying I'd believe it when it really happened but I walked into Fenway Park as a professional broadcaster. I kept waiting to be stopped. They wouldn't have my credential. We weren't allowed on the field. Something wasn't going to thwart us.

I deal with this crap of "#YankeeBoy" which is truly something you can't say if you really know me.

Susan, who was at that softball game but didn't talk to me, knows that I bleed baseball. Then comes the Yankees. I'm more about the game -- the sport.

And so, as a lover of history and the sport, I was overwhelmed at being a broadcaster at Fenway Park. ALL of my heroes worked there at one time or another. Seriously. Think about it. Vin Scully not only called games at Fenway but much of his career STARTED at Fenway, thanks to the Maryland/Boston College game that he was assigned in 1949.

Doc Emrick and Red Barber and Mel Allen and Dick Enberg and Scooter and White and Messer and...

Me.

Babe Ruth and Lou Gehrig and Ted Williams played there. Bobby Murcer played there. Don Mattingly. Paul O'Neill.

And I was broadcasting a game there. I was sitting in the dugout, doing an interview. I was inside the Green Monster. I just stood there and soaked it all in.

I've probably told all of these stories. It was a weekend of an enormous high, and a fairly dreadful low, when I found out why my son didn't hear his father on the air at Fenway Park. No, I'll never quite get over that.

When the game was over, Sean Ford (the true "Voice" of the Renegades) packed up and headed out to catch the bus. Harold and I sat and watched some of the next game before convincing ourselves to make the walk back to my car at the Prudential Center. We really didn't want to live but we went and had a good dinner before heading to Lowell for more baseball the next day.

It's a weekend and an experience I'll always treasure.

Back to baseball tomorrow, and hopefully not for the last time in 2020. (Robcasting, 5:30).

Posting Early

Dunkin Donuts -- NY Route 52, Fishkill, NY

The day often gets away from me and I wind up posting later on.

Sometimes, I'm up against the time to hit "Publish" and stick to one post per day.

With plans later on, I don't know if I want to take the risk, so here we are. There will no brilliance in this post. It could almost be a continuation of last night.

My God, but Facebook Junior High Schools' doors were wide open again. I'm seriously too old for that nonsense.

So, here I am today, feeling bad for friends and loved ones still without power (shame on who or what has allowed this to happen). Seriously, I've been fighting guilt, while feeling fortunate to have power AND internet (not one and the same).

I'd certainly love to jump in my car and run away but COVID-19 (is it OK if I talk about that here?) has taken many of those options away. Sure, I can go anywhere I want in several states, but I can't go see my North Carolina family, as I have every year since 2014. I can't quarantine for two weeks. It's not an possible for me.

To that end, Sean and I have bounced a few ideas around but it's all easier said than done under life's current circumstances.

No point in talking any further about COVID, as the sign says in the picture. I have to admit I laughed at it, and I guess it's their right to enforce thought control in their business. It still made me laugh.

To that end (last point), how in the world can 250,000 people safely gather in South Dakota? Yes, I know, protests are OK and so on. But, still, is common sense truly dead?

The governor seems unfazed tweeting, "We've been 'Back to Normal' for over 3 months, and South Dakota is in a good spot."

Here in New York and Connecticut, we question safely returning to schools and playing sports (and debates rage) but 250K in Sturgis is cool? And, yes, for the clowns on the interwebs, I'd politely discuss that with those in South Dakota out of curiosity because I don't have the answers.

Not everything has to be a heated debate or lead to violence or, dare I say, deleting comments on said interwebs.

My first reaction can sometimes be great and I'm pretty good when it comes to judging first impressions. That being said, there are times when simply stepping away is the right course of action. So, I did this morning, and went out to clean my yard of the remnants of the tropical storm.

Breathe, Rob. Breathe.

So, before I shut down for today, here are a few other pictures of interest.

I love this. That's what signs on New York roads looked like many years ago. It can be found up in Dutchess County, on an old segment of NY Route 52 (the full current route goes from Carmel to Narrowsburg -- Hi, Shawn!).

Those, dear reader, are chicken and waffles nachos from Chicken Coop in Baldwin Place, NY. It's maple bacon (!) chicken pieces with slices of waffles and cheddar cheese. Yes, really! (There were also scallions, but that's not happening with me)

There are no nacho chips. No Tostitos to be found!

There were heavy and gooey and fantastic and might be better suited for earlier in the evening, as opposed to making sure there's enough antacid for the middle of the night.

Anyway, I've prattled on enough. Enjoy your Saturday.

I'm going to try to do the same.

Diplomacy

My father gave me many gifts.

I have his eyes (I wish they were as blue as his but no complaints).

I have his smile.

I also have his temper and sense of -- how do I say this? -- self-loathing? self-deprivation?

But one of my favorite things from him is his ability to be diplomatic.

He was his own Switzerland.

I can still hear him, as Rome was burning around us once, looking me in the eye on a hair-brained idea of mine years ago, saying, "It's just not gonna fly, Wilbur."

I continued to make my case.

"It's just not gonna fly, Wilbur."

I was undaunted. So was he.

"It's just not gonna fly, Wilbur."

He won. My God, but it was brilliant.

He tried to patch up more splits than a seamstress.

And I love that ability, not that it always works.

When two people you know (one you're close to) get into a snit, I work to soothe it.

I grab a roller and smooth it all out.

Even if you want to go rip s*it on one of them.

Oh, don't get me wrong. I have the tell-it-like-it-is gene also.

The true gift -- curse? -- of such diplomacy is that it masks that ability of being able to rip one to shreds.

What I'm saying is, when I let that guard come down, I let loose and, normally, I scare myself.

So, I go the diplomatic route.

Anyway, I'm babbling because I'm teetering on this very thing right now.

It will cool down.

Thanks, Dad.

A Day at the Ballpark

I can't wax poetic every time I'm at Dutchess Stadium.

Home of the Hudson Valley Renegades.

And I was in the radio booth.

My booth.

No, I can't, so I won't, except to say I loved every glorious moment -- from setting up to calling two games to eating a hot dog before going back to the booth and hosting "Doubleheader."

By then, it seemed like every member of the Gades family was gone.

Except me.

I could spend many more days like that.

Just saying.

Instead of rhapsodizing about it, let me just post today's broadcasts and call it a night.

The Next Day

Trace amounts of carnage outside the Robcasting command center

"This guy wants a f***ing tent."

We were making the best of it, and I went back out to see if I could get dinner for the family. Sean waited in the car while I went into Peppino's, one of the probably 15 or so pizzerias around us.

Yes, really, there are easily 15 pizzerias in Mahopac and just across the town/county line in Baldwin Place.

And that's where I heard that quote. The owner and staff were working via generator. No lights were on. The pizza maker was wearing a headlamp as he ladled sauce onto the crust of someone's large pie. Extra crispy, please.

The owner was taking orders in between bouncing to the oven.

It was chaos. Controlled, but still.

"Peppino?...Peppino?...Yeah, sure, we'll have tables tomorrow. We're very busy. Yeah, sure. We'll make it happen. All right."

Click.

"This guy wants a f***ing tent."

I'm still not sure if he was serious.

I saw no way we'd have power back. We've often been fortunate on this side of the Pac. Yet, something felt different about this power outage. But we were prepared.

Having seen the explosion in Beirut and, truly, having basic human decency, I have enough of a clue to know that this was an inconvenience at best. But it makes for (hopefully) a good post on an irrelevant blog.

After the power went out, I took a walk and ran into my neighbor, Sharon, who was waiting to hear from her adult son. We both shook our heads. This was a little different and, we felt, worse than the initial reports.

Storms fascinate me. My inner "weather chaser" will come out, even it it's just to walk to the main road and see what's going on. But, duty called.

I went out to put gas in my car. The gas stations of Baldwin Place were buzzing, but not crazy. Others had gas tanks out of their trunks for generators.

Cell service seemed dicey at best but I felt I could find a signal to do "Doubleheader" on my computer, as opposed to via phone. I parked outside of the McDonald's in Mahopac and did the show. I had hoped maybe we'd get some calls or tweets, but the audience was quiet. The whole reason Bob Small wanted me on yesterday -- and I agreed with him -- was so that we could do our public service. I didn't really want to babble about sports. I wanted to be helpful and talk about anything.

I wanted to do pretty much what I did during Superstorm Sandy (2012), yet only for one hour, as opposed to seven.

Maybe I did help, even if it was to entertain and inform.

On the way back home, I noticed the gas stations now had "energy crisis" level backups of cars looking to fill tank. I sat in those 1970s lines with my mom at these same gas stations.

I had barely walked in the house when dinner duty called. So, I went back out to see if I could find food, and that's when I got some of my favorite chicken parm on the planet, at Peppino's.

Where there weren't, to my knowledge, any "f***ing tents."

Sean and I ordered in person and sat in the parking lot. He is a patient soul, thankfully.

All the while, I'd either let the car run a little or keep the battery on so that we could charge anything that needed charging.

Still, his patience boiled when he couldn't get so much as a passable cell signal at home. Cell towers seemed to be messed up.

With dinner finished, I still wanted to post Tuesday's "Doubleheader" online. I wanted to get it out there for Jonathan Rios and WON 920 The Apple/WEAF 9240 The Liberty (I'm stubborn* that way). Oh, and there was the blog.

*Or dedicated, as Doug Kerr wrote online. In all honesty it's part dedication, part stubbornness, part insanity. We all go a little mad sometimes. Or at least Norman Bates says so.

Back out I went.

I thought -- I really did -- that we wouldn't see power again last night. I assumed we would be out for a day or more. This one just seemed bad.

It had the feeling of being worse than Superstorm Sandy.

So I drove up the road, just looking for a passable signal that would let me jump online, check in on things around the world, and get back home. But nothing was strong enough up to the Taconic Parkway, even if the nearby gas station had power.

Then I went down the Parkway to Jefferson Valley. The Taconic seemed to be OK and JV -- or, "The Valley," as my dad called it (nobody else did or does) -- had a few traffic lights working, but not much else.

I sat in the empty parking lot of a small grocery store plaza (DeCicco's). Only the pizza place and the Chinese restaurant were open.

And I got online.

And that, friends, is where I got the blog online from.

I returned home, detoured at one point back to where I had just driven from after I came across another tree in the middle of the road, and settled into an easy chair for what I thought would be a long night.

I grabbed my trusty Radio Shack shortwave/AM/FM radio, put some AA batteries in it, and started listening to the Rangers.

Baseball and the Yankees would have also been great, because baseball on the radio is life, but there was no way I was going to listen to the Mets over the Rangers at this point.

And, allow me to say, radio for the win in these moments. I love online broadcasting and certainly love TV, and all forms of broadcasting, but in a time like that, there's a battery-operated radio FOR THE WIN! Go buy one if you don't have one already!

As Kenny Albert called the action, I realized that I couldn't keep running to Jefferson Valley or McDonald's just to put a blog online. That's the equivalent of Cal Ripken staying in the lineup everyday while hitting .250 just to keep The Streak alive.

All good things must end.

So I started to talk to Sean about ideas for a getaway. A day trip or an overnight or two. Anything to pass the time.

And, then?

LET THERE BE LIGHT!

We looked at each other.

"Don't jinx it," he said.

We were out for a little over six hours.

And so, my dear readers, rumors of the demise have been exaggerated.

I can't express with enough certainty how fortunate I feel. Nearly 700,000 are out in Connecticut.

Many are saying this is worse, power-wise, than Sandy, which was a more dangerous storm (my opinion).

So, I count my blessings, knowing that a lot will be "normal" today in my life.

I might -- just might -- even broadcast Greenwich/Westport baseball today.

Who known?

Maybe I'll have a f***ing tent.

No Power

The view inside a dark Peppino's Pizza to get dinner

This is all I've got tonight.

The tropical storm rolled through and took a lot with it.

Power is out. Internet is shot. No TV.

Good ol' radio? Sure, but you'll need batteries.

I did Doubleheader today from the parking lot of a McDonald's.

In my car.

I'm insane.

This could be the bitter end of Project 365 or whatever we wish to call it at this point.

If it is, we tried to fight to the bitter end. I don't have high hopes for tomorrow but there are far more pressing needs than if a blog streak continues.

I watched the trees sway and heard them crack. I saw the power dim and rise and go out and come back and then go away for the time being.

If you can't reach me, now you know why.

Our modern communication is so important and we feel so lost without it (and, yes, we're spoiled).

Be safe, everyone.

Pay no attention to the crazy man broadcasting from his car!

A wayward branch that impaled itself in the grass

NY Route 6N in Mahopac has a small problem

Pitching Change

Mr. Torre is calling for the right-hander

I don't have it tonight.

I gave it my best but my fastball has even less than usual.

Of course, nothing minus nothing still equals nothing.

A curve? Slider? Cutter?

Screwball?

Nope. I've got nothing.

I tried to fight my way through and not let the team down.

You know, be a grinder.

But I gave it all and I'm just fried.

The crowd sees it.

The coaching staff sees it.

The manager sees it.

So, it's time to give the ball to the bullpen.

Although, here, that means things just end.

So, the world wins this one in the game of life.

We'll try it again tomorrow.

On August 2nd

I wasn't going to write about Thurman Munson.

It's been 41 years to the day since he died in an airplane accident at the Canton-Akron Airport.

It was life-changing as a sports fan.

You know where you were when you heard it (my parent's living room). You remember those details, up until it ended with "The Bobby Murcer Game."

Just typing those words can still induce chills and a lump in the throat.

I wrote about Thurman last year on this date.

I'm sure there are other posts in the archive.

I mean, it's 41 years. Why are we still talking about him?

Because he mattered so much. Reggie put them over the edge, but those 70s Yankees were about the stunning pitching of Ron Guidry (perilously close to being a Hall of Famer) and Graig Nettles (if only he had a better batting average; his defensive exploits were every bit as good as Brooks Robinson) and Catfish Hunter and Ed Figueroa and Mickey Rivers and Chris Chambliss and Sparky Lyle and Goose Gossage and Bucky Dent and Willie Randolph and Dick Tidrow and...Billy and Bob Lemon and Ellie Howard and Dick Howser and...and...

But it all centered around the recalcitrant Munson. The Tugboat. The reluctant captain.

With Ted Simmons getting elected to the Hall, the voices have begun to speak up for Munson again. Look, I'd love it, but he only played 11 seasons and that hurts him. Voters seem to have concluded that he was breaking down when he died at only 32.

Simmons tops Thurman in most of the traditional offensive numbers, in part because he played 21 years and had 3,300 more at bats. Munson had a better batting average but Simmons had a better WAR.

Munson played in seven All-Star Games, won the 1970 Rookie of the Year and the 1976 American League MVP. Munson was also a decidedly better postseason player.

Simmons played in eight All-Star Game and never had a top five MVP finish.

Look, I'm not here to tear down Ted Simmons. I was shocked when he got into the Hall of Fame, and I remain shocked because I'm a tough judge. But he was a key component of both the Cardinals of the 70s and "Harvey's Wallbangers" with the Brewers, especially making a run to the 1982 World Series.

But, in true "whataboutism" form, I can see where this would further reopen the conversation for Thurman Munson to be in the Hall of Fame.

It was generally accepted in the 70s that Johnny Bench was the "gold standard" for catchers. Then it was a dog fight between Carlton Fisk and Thurman Munson.

Then came Simmons and Gary Carter and Gene Tenace and Bob Boone. The 70s were loaded.

So, it sure would be nice to see Thurman earn a spot.

I'm not holding my breath.

But, people of my generation are pausing once again on Aug 2 to remember Thurman Lee Munson. What would have happened if...?

Would he have left the Yankees for Cleveland? I'm not sold on this one.
Was he truly done as a catcher? He would have curtailed his catching to play either first base or DH.
Was his productivity truly declining? Yes but I'm not convinced he couldn't rebound with less catching in 1980.

Too many what-ifs to consider. Do the Yankees get Rick Cerone in 1980? Other moves? Are the 1980s that moribund? Probably because George Steinbrenner was hellbent on screwing it all up.

But, we know this: our captain (and funny, younger generations will think of Don Mattingly or Derek S. Jeter when talking about captains, while older ones think of Lou Gehrig) and leader has been gone for 41 years.

His death hung over the Yankees for a long time. They made the playoffs in 1980 and the World Seris in 1981 but it was a long highway to glory after that.

If the Stadium were open tonight, fans would pass by the Munson locker that was lovingly moved from the old Stadium to the museum in the new one.

It should always be a shrine; a place for fathers to tell their son about number 15.

Grown men will still choke hard every time they play a Thurman tribute video in the Stadium.

So, here I am, writing again about Thurman Munson on Aug 2nd.

As I should.

Staying Calm While It's Hot

Toph Genaro (#2) warms up before the game

It was a great day for baseball at Greenwich High School.

The Cannons were hosting Fairfield and Shawn Sailer was in town to join me for the call.

But the heat certainly presented a concern.

I worry a little about my skin -- but I made sure to to put some sunscreen on before the game. I also had my equipment bag and decided to use that as a place to hide my computer from the rays of the sun.

It worked. For a bit.

On the field, Greenwich and Fairfield gave us a good game, with the Cannons trailing 2-0. Greenwich was struggling to find offense against Fairfield started Phil Hogan.

Shawn's blog has a complete breakdown of the game.

Fairfield's Jack Hernandez led off the fifth inning with a double. Shortly after -- unbeknownst to both Shawn and me -- the broadcast went dead.

I eventually looked at the computer and saw that it was still on but that we weren't "driving levels." In other words, we weren't on the air.

Heat? Internet? Both? My guess is the heat was the ultimate villain, causing the computer to fail.

Our generator also ran out of gas later on, so we had that going against us.

These things gnaw at me. I continued to try to call the game, and keep the action going, not sure if we were recording or not.

As I take each broadcast like it's the last, I felt the adrenaline drop and the disappointment rise as I left GHS.

In the end, a couple of large chunks of play-by-play were lost. After the game, I shopped around for some smaller pop-up canopies that I can set up and break down on my own (given I'm often doing that alone).

(Note that I'm looking for something probably under 10x10. Again, it needs to be easy for one person to setup, breakdown, and carry.)

I was unsuccessful.

So, I came home and recorded segments to insert into the game broadcast that recapped the lost action.

I do my best and lament the missteps, even when they're not my fault. Still, I'll beat myself up that it is always my fault. I'm in charge.

I could have left the computer off until it was almost game time.

I could have made sure more gas was in the generator.

I...I...I...

Ultimately, there's nothing I can do, but move forward to the next broadcast.

But, soon, I'll at least have a new item to combat the sun...

I mean, honestly, what do I have to lose? I can sit in it. I can put the equipment in it. It's a start.

But I'm still looking at canopies also, given there might be a football season beginning in late September, and I see no way that Chris Erway and I will be any booth.

Oh, and here's the game broadcast from today.

Goodnight, Chet

It was a Friday -- July 31, 1970.

By all accounts, news was light that day. The Kansas City Chiefs won the 37th NFL Chicago All Star Game, beating the College All-Stars 24-3.

Richard Nixon was president and the Vietnam War was still raging.

With no internet and a whole different immediacy of reporting, the TV evening news still very much mattered.

On that fateful night, fifty years ago, one of the most iconic TV catchphrases was uttered for the last time:

"Good night, Chet." "Good night, David. And good night, for NBC News."

In truth, Chet Huntley -- a stoic newsman from Montana -- and David Brinkley -- more wry and witty than his partner, from North Carolina -- disliked their signoff on The Huntley-Brinkley Report. Newsmen (and newswomen, I'm sure) tend(ed) to be a far more cynical lot and preferred to not fall prey to such frivolity of cliches.

I can't say for sure Walter Cronkite, competing with the duo over on CBS, truly loved his "And that's the way it is" to end each CBS Evening News.

Huntley was seen as a future Edward R. Murrow and, in some ways, had the same appeal, though he didn't quite reach that height and is, sadly, somewhat easily forgotten in the annals of great journalism. Most people know Murrow, Cronkite -- even Brinkley -- as well as Peter Jennings, Tom Brokaw, Dan Rather and other more modern names, but sadly Chet Huntley's name goes largely unknown.

However, when they were in their prime, they were as popular -- and as famous -- as anyone. Frank Sinatra sang about them. Sammy Davis, Jr. would stop what he was doing to watch them.

They came together at the Democratic National Convention in 1956 and the duo showed such chemistry that NBC -- struggling in the ratings with John Cameron Swazye trailing Douglas Edwards over on CBS -- paired them up beginning that Oct 29.

Initially, it floundered a bit, and even President Dwight Eisenhower let the network know of his displeasure with the change.

Soon after, it worked. That chemistry, in truth, was funny, because they didn't see each other often. Brinley anchored in Washington while Huntley hosted from New York at 30 Rock. A technician operated a switcher between the two.

They had a lot to deal with over 14 years. Besides the elections of the era, the duo, and colleagues including Frank McGee presided over the Kennedy Assassination (McGee did an equally admirable, though often forgotten, job as compared to the more-famous work of Cronkite), the conflict in Vietnam, the civil unrest of the late 60s and the assassinations of Robert F Kennedy and Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.

Cronkite, in fact, would be part of their undoing. Tastes changed, and Uncle Walter became the flavor of the late 60s, especially with his gripping reporting about the Vietnam War and the Apollo 11 moon landing.

And so, Huntley announced he would retire on Fri, July 31, 1970. The video quality for the entire show is a black and white raw feed (they were in color by then, and I'll post that at the bottom of this post), but the words of both anchors -- especially Huntley -- struck me as sad.

First, here's part one from that night.



And, here's part two, from 50 years ago tonight. Huntley's farewell begins at 8:40.



"I might also remind you that American journalism, all of it, is the best anywhere in the world....you have bolstered my conviction that this land contains incredible quality and quantity of good, common sense, and it's in no danger of being led down a primrose path by a journalist. At the risk of sounding presumptuous, I would say to all of you: be patient and have courage, for there will be better and happier news one day, if we work at it."

Damn. Damn. Damn.

As you can probably guess, we have a lot of work to do, and that we have, sadly, been led down several primrose paths by journalists.

I still believe in journalism. I know it still exists. I see it in every ounce of blood, sweat, and yes, tears that my friends and I shed. But I also realize there's a lot of bad, and I suppose I'm best to just leave that soap box right there.

Huntley went back to Montana where he died a little over three years later, on March 20, 1974. Brinkley stayed at the peacock network in a variety of rolls until 1981, when he was quickly grabbed by ABC. Brinkley became an elder statesman of journalism, presiding over This Week with David Brinkley until 1996. One of the great people of the industry, he died in 2003.

Those newsrooms probably smelled like stale cigarettes and plenty of alcohol. I won't bother to highlight how we still have a ways to go in terms of different faces in those rooms.

But, by the pen of Murrow, reporting the news was something special back then, wasn't it?

The show ended with at a title slate, and a birth and death date for the Huntley-Brinkley Report.

Eventually, the strains of "Symphony No. 9 in D Minor, Op. 125, second movement," played by the NBC Symphony Orchestra as conducted by Arturo Toscanini, sounded out over the credits, and the era was over.

Goodnight, David, and goodnight for NBC News.

(I promised you the color version of Huntley's farewell and it's preceded by a kind nod from Cronkite)