Hi

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

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

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

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

And that was just Monday.

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

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

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

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

Name To Be Determined

Photo: Sean Adams

So it happened.

A new car.

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

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

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

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

This one needs an explanation...

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

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

One last picture on top of Charlie

And hello new friend.

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

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

Fouth of July, 1936

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

You can hear that show here.


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


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

 

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

Charlie

Today might be the last day for an old friend.

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

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

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

Sean and Charlie, 2004

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

So, yeah, moving forward.

The Skins Game

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your mileage, or course, may vary.

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

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

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

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

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

Imagine that. A sense of humor.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

At the Ballpark

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

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

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

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

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

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

Becoming Part of the Story

(Martin V. Hersam photo)

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

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

Then something happened.

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jet Skiing (aka "Goodbye Cruel World")

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

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

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

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

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

Rob: "Um...sure."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

OK, we're good. So far.

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

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

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

Screw it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Give Me the Keys, and I'll Drive You Crazy

I'm going to guess, er, one person will get that the title of this post is a reference to a Huey Lewis song title.

That's all I've got on that.

But yes, I'm coming to you LIVE from sunny, hot, humid, but beautiful Key West, Florida. Lisa and I arrived last night - tired, slightly tweaked, but no worse for wear. I think I'm starting with a cold, but it's nothing I can't beat. Go to Publix, grab some meds, and voila!

This is a different vibe for me than from a lot of places. It's not a true "beach town" but there are a few beaches around here. It's a tourist town, for sure, and a partying town, without a doubt. Yet it's great to be here, and I have no complaints.

I suppose I was a little disappointed in the drive down US 1. Lisa's parents started driving from near Melbourne, FL around 8:00 yesterday morning, and it took them NINE HOURS! By comparison, it took us not quite four, with various slowdowns.

It is quite surprising that it isn't mostly four lanes all the way, for instance. Hell, you get squeezed to one each way for long stretches, including ones where you can't pass. That caught me off guard. Not exactly what I expected.

In Big Pine Key, you MUST slow down to 35, and believe me, they're too happy to pull you over if you don't. I watched it happen (and thought it was going to be me, as I was going - GASP - 39).

But we made it here without incident, and are settling in for the next few days. I'm told I need to chill, and so I will.

It's hard to go wrong, when the view is this.

By the way, I did pass a Waffle House last night without entering. Yes. You ready that correctly.

We've already hit the touristy stop, where we passed on waiting on line for a personal picture.

I already got my 95 "ends" photo, and though I drove past the US 1 "end," I will go back and get pictures when I feel right.

Oh, and there's a Beatles connection here at this hotel! Another post for another time!

OK, off to the pool.

The Long Drive

State Archives of Florida, Florida Memory, http://floridamemory.com/items/show/163903
(Photo by Jim Malas).

I'm getting on an airplane next week and heading to Fort Lauderdale. From there, I'm driving (with Lisa) to Key West.

Ah, Florida. A state I never thought I could live in but as I get older, I find I'm miserable in the winter, so why not just be hot?*

*There are deeper thoughts in regard to this, but for now, that will suffice.

Of course, road dude that I am (even if I haven't been as much of one lately), I will be sure to get a shot of the southern terminus of US 1. I only wish that they still had the colored signs (US 1 was red, as was US 19, but US 301 was yellow, 27 was green, and so on).

The whole thing is gloriously remembered here.

Yet with time being short and all, I'm stepping on an airplane.

I'm not anti-airplane, per se. Yet if given the choice, I would drive. It's just how I'm programmed. I'm not afraid to fly either. I'm largely unfazed, to be quite honest. But...given the choice, I'm behind the wheel.

As we got closer to this trip, I half-heartedly offered to drive from New York to Key West, believing that I could do it in two long days. Of course I knew this wasn't realistic, but it was fun to dream for a moment. In reality, it makes no economic sense and is a poor use of our time.

Conversely, I resent airlines. First, we all know they're overpriced. Tickets are too high to begin with, followed by the utter insult of baggage fees. Of course, if you want to fly out of Stewart or Westchester, yeah, that's going to cost you more. But now factor in the cost to get to and from the airport, or to park your car there.

In...sane.

Now, the schedules. Well, we all know that the airlines can't work around you or I, so that's a lost fight.

Next is security. Of course, they have a job to do, and need to keep us safe, but the airport experience isn't really a whole lot of fun anymore. At least I feel like people are watching at all times, and again, they should be.

As for on the plane itself, well, that's a personal thing. I suffered with an unexpected case of claustrophobia, and was heading for a panic attack, on a red eye flight from Los Angeles to JFK in 2011, and have never forgotten it. I felt a similar case flying to Las Vegas in 2012. Not fun. I haven't had it since then but I'm very cognizant of it, and will be for a long time.

After that, it's just boredom. I want my road. I know, we can't always get what we want. But I like the freedom that the highway affords.

In the end, it's all talk and personal preference. The bottom line is I'm going away.

And I really need to do that. Really.

Field of Dreams

Those who know me well enough might know the story. They know that, in the spring of 1989, it wouldn't have been wise for me to go see "Field of Dreams" at the Jefferson Valley Mall.

They would also be working in hindsight. As I went there with my girlfriend that night, I thought I was going to see a baseball movie with Kevin Costner. It wasn't supposed to be heavy lifting, and goodness knows I needed to be light at that time.

You see, my father had just passed away that March, so a baseball movie was EXACTLY what I needed. However, the movie I should have been seeing was "Major League" or maybe "Bull Durham" (which came out in 1988).

Instead, we got a nice fantasy film, based on a book, that had flaws (Shoeless Joe Jackson batting right-handed), and a nice story. It also had some comedy at times, and lots of old baseball uniforms. And it had Burt Lancaster, who probably overacted a touch, but what was the harm?

It had a lot of things that we baseball fans enjoy.

It also had a father-son back story, and ended with the now-deceased father showing up wearing a model of an early-20th Century Yankees uniform. It isn't an exact Yankees uniform (or Highlanders, if you please), but it is close to the model they wore between 1909 and 1911 (sans pinstripes).

Still, the interlocking NY is there. The pinstripes are thrown in for effect. And father and son have a catch.

I was the last one out of the theater because I was dumbfounded and now shaking.

The movie, in many ways, has not aged well. Critics don't quite love it so much anymore. I still have a framed movie poster that I've since moved. I'll still watch it when it comes on, and I still enjoy it, personally. At the same time, it's a test of will to get through that last scene without reaching for the tissues.

Joe Posnanski decided to revisit the movie and his own connection with it, and wrote about it on NBC Sports Hardball Talk.

By the way, the list of "best" baseball movies from Kyle Smith at the New York Post that Joe displays is laughable. "Fear Strikes Out"? Holy wow that movie is horrible.

That's another post for another time.

Catching Up

Pondering the menu at Strasburg Rail Road

Time, as usual, doesn't allow for lots of stuff. As a result, Exit 55 has suffered. Let's see if I can do some quick hits here (a la Off the Bench).

*****
Sean and I went to Pennsylvania for a weekend again. This time, we visited the Amish Country of Lancaster and the surrounding area. We hopped a first class train on Strasburg Rail Road, which made him feel like a big shot. We had waitress service, rotating cushioned chairs, and plush surroundings being pulled be an engine made in 1906.

We ate the usual stuff that we like: Waffle House. Krispy Kreme. Sandwiches and snacks from Wawa. We dealt with traffic, especially driving to Pennsylvania. We rented a car (a Hyundai Elantra...not bad).

We crashed in a Holiday Inn in Morgantown that was, initially, unacceptable. Our first room smelled so bad that I wondered if we had made an awful mistake. Turns out it was a smoking room (which is mind-boggling to me in this era) but the front office quickly gave us a different room.

It wasn't the Ritz. It wasn't Spring Hill Suites in Scranton, where we stayed in 2013. It wasn't supposed to be. In the end, it was fine.

We'll always have our Philadelphia story to tell, where Sean discovered that, after a fun time in the Franklin Institute, our car was being towed away. Thanks to the help of the Philadelphia police department, a cab ride, and roughly $275, we got the car back unscathed. I worried on several levels: I could tell Sean was afraid that stuff had been stolen (it hadn't). I worried that the rental car was damaged (nope). I worried about the obscene amount of money that Philly jacked me for (legitimate).

At the end of the day, it's a story to tell. I still don't completely believe that we were parked in a tow-away zone, but I wasn't going to be able to convince the cop. So it goes.

Thankfully Sean saw the car being towed. Otherwise, I would have thought it had been stolen.

So now Sean hates Philly (congrats, City of not-so-Brotherly Love). And the Eagles, Sixers, Flyers, and Phillies can lose everything from now on. Never was a big fan of that city.

But again, so it goes.

*****

HAN Radio is steaming along just fine, thanks a bunch. On Saturday, John Kovach, Josh Fisher, and I got to call a high school game at Dodd Stadium in Norwich, Conn. As usual, anytime I'm in a minor league facility I'm happy. So broadcasting Darien's 7-1 victory over Norwich Free Academy was a highlight.

The two teams couldn't have been more accommodating. Beyond that, the Connecticut Tigers - who play their games in Dodd Stadium, were equally accommodating. Plus everyone was happy to see us. It made for a great day.

It also reminded me how much I'd like to do a lot more. I miss calling minor league ball.

*****
I should care about Albert Pujols reaching the 500 home run club. I should be thrilled that there was major league baseball history last night. Yet, for some reason, I'm just not.

I know it's the steroids thing. Of course it is. The 500 home run club, a thing that I could name all of the members of at one time, has become watered down. Even 600 - a club that had just THREE members forever (Aaron, Ruth, and Mays) now has right. Those five new members each joined the 600 club since 2001...and you know what era that is.

I wish I felt more excited about it. I just don't.

*****
I've stayed away from the Mahopac race incident that came out of a basketball game earlier this year. I haven't avoided it, but also didn't feel that I had the time to invest in it to discuss it properly.

I still don't really, but I don't want to ignore it.

I struggle with the notion that Mahopac is being branded as some sort of racist haven, for lack of a better phrase. I grew up there. I live there. My family is still around there. All of that being said, I'm really not involved there. I work in Connecticut. My girlfriend lives far north of there. I wish I could call games at my old high school, or be a little more involved, but the bottom line is that I sleep there.

Yet Mahopac is still home, and a place that I dearly love. It troubles me deeply that these things were said, and those tweets were published. Whether the behavior is racist, anti-Semitic, homophobic, or anything else, it is unacceptable and shouldn't be tolerated.

I'm disappointed that members of the town I live in - from the high school I attended - allowed this black eye to happen.

But don't paint the entire town that way. I found the Journal News editorial especially galling, since I'm not sure they even know Mahopac exists for news until something like this happens. If it didn't occur in White Plains or Yonkers, they don't care about it, until it's sensational. Yet here they were, throwing their two cents in. Brett Freeman, the publisher of Mahopac News, wrote a very pointed response.

It was unacceptable, to be sure, and I wonder if all of the facts are truly known. Regardless, my town got a black eye, and I didn't like it.

Life on Social Media

I like social media. I can't stress that enough. I enjoy going through the daily collection of posts, tweets, and so on. To an extent, it's how I get my news (confirming my sources, of course), and certainly entertains me.

It also allows me to connect with people I've never met, still talk to, and reconnect with others.

I get a kick out of an old friend "liking" a status or a post of some description, and certainly enjoy the dialogue.

But.

As we've all discovered, there's a really bad side. There's also a dark side, and we're not talking about that.

Now, understand that I'm not identifying any one person. As I've become a bit of a student of this, I've discovered all types.

We have bloggers, of course (HI!). We have tweeters (yeah, me also). We have Facebookers (uh huh), Instagram (yessir), Foursquare (sigh) and so on.

I don't do Snapchat, for instance. So there's that.

But you get the point. I like it. I also don't want to be...er..."that guy."

As in, yeah, he's that guy who comments on everything. Always has something to say. Tries to come up with a smug comment, or something snarky. At the same time, he's that guy who is always being hateful, and...

Sigh. It's mind-boggling.

Maybe there are people who do say that about me, and that's fine. Maybe I've been blocked, or people have reduced what they see on my feed. Maybe I post too much about Sean, Bobby Murcer, the Yankees, the Steelers, HAN Radio, Huey Lewis, roads, radio, The Beatles, and so on. Guilty as charged.

In many ways, to be successful in this era, you have to be a part of social media (certainly depending on the industry). Every time I think about walking away or shutting down my Facebook or Twitter accounts (especially Facebook), I realize that, generally speaking, I need it for WGCH and HAN Radio. I promote stuff, so I see the usefulness.

We're not talking big world problems here. Just something I'm thinking about. Because I don't want people sitting around a table talking about my social media behavior. I've seen it happen (not about me, per se).

I find it sad, but I guess it's like anything else. A few apples can spoil it. Such is the balance, and the thought that maybe it's me who needs to back down. Just ignore it.

Or simply deal with it and move on.

Robot Zombie

This is a robot zombie. He has hung on the door leading to the upstairs at home for roughly three years.

You can probably guess it's the work of Sean Adams.

Sean put that on the door as a way of scaring me, but it has done nothing but make me smile every time I have looked it. Though lately, the zombie has been hurting. To hang in such a place means that it can get hit and, ultimately, ripped.

Robot zombie was in pretty bad shape, and it had reached the point where he needed to be addressed. Though I'll eventually look to preserve it, I just didn't want to see it taken down. I'm not ready to. So with the help of some packaging tape, our friend was rebuilt.

We have the technology.

I'd call him the Six Million Dollar Robot Zombie, but we simply don't have that kind of budget.


You wouldn't be wrong to assume that some of this is about not wanting to let go of Sean's youth. That is completely correct.

Plus, like I said, it makes me smile. I'm not sure I need to analyze it any more than that.

Hank Aaron and 715

It happened 40 years ago tonight, and it's one of my earliest baseball memories.

Hank Aaron hit a 1-0 fastball off Al Downing of the Dodgers to eclipse the mark set by Babe Ruth when he walked away in 1935. While the arguments that compare eras and the dead ball, and the Negro Leagues and so on factor into the discussion, the most clear factor was that by the end of the night, Aaron had 715 home runs, and Ruth had 714.

My point is that we're not here to debate better players and such. Let's just relive the moment itself.

That night, there were three different play-by-play men behind the microphone. It probably comes as little shock that I have all three of them. Arguably, the most famous is Milo Hamilton's excitable shout on the Braves radio broadcast. His call is the last in the montage embedded below. Vin Scully, baseball's witness to seemingly all great historical moments, was at the mic on the Dodgers broadcast and is in the middle. NBC, recognizing the importance of the game back when baseball on TV was truly a special and important thing, dispatched Curt Gowdy and company to Atlanta Fulton County Stadium. That is the first call of the three.

I won't even try to tease you. You know which of the three below is the call that I prefer. The professional it-isn't-about-me call of Vin Scully.

Listen for yourself.

Wrestlemania

Lisa and I returned home for a day of fun in New York and just sat on the couch with the TV on.

We had some Big Bang Theory and Modern Family viewing time.

I found a Bruce Springsteen March Madness concert that was being live streamed.

On Twitter, I saw some buzz about Wrestlemania.

See, here's the thing. I wonder if something is wrong with me. I say this because, as a red-blooded American male, I have never - ever - not even slightly been into wrestling.

Yeah, I met Captain Lou Albano at the Carmel bowling alley in 1985 or so. Nice guy. Very nice guy.

Sure, I know the names: The Rock, Mick Foley, Mean Gene Okerlund, Hulk Hogan, Andre the Giant, and on and on. Yup. Got it.

I drive by the WWE (once, WWF) building in Stamford a lot.

I've even watched some. I had friends who were really into it, and they had me watch it.

It just never took with me. Maybe it was the "story lines" or I just always had something else that interested me more. I'm really not sure.

I mean, I'm supposed to be "shocked" that the Undertaker lost (I understand that was a big deal, at least according to Twitter). According to this article on Forbes, gamblers knew it was coming.

So congrats to them on their 30th Wrestlemania and all. It's an achievement for sure. Millions of people love it, and if nobody's getting hurt, all the better.

It was just never my thing.

At My Desk in Ridgefield

I took this right after HAN Radio officially got off the ground. (RA photo)

I shouldn't be here. No, I shouldn't.

I should be long gone. Somewhere else.

But I'm still at my desk. Jeez, I could have left probably four hours ago.

So what's wrong with me?

Really, nothing. I'm actually fairly content. There is something about sitting at my desk, with the office either empty or nearly empty that gets my blood going. So I'm still here, plugging away. Getting the spring schedule ready for baseball, lacrosse and more. Preparing for our tribute to Sue Wolf tomorrow. Thinking about Sean and I going away, and where and so on.

Just doing stuff.

Don't get me wrong. I'm here because there's no game to broadcast. No WGCH show to do. Lisa is just getting done with work. Sean? Sigh...not with me.

You see where this is going?

I've created something that I'm crazy proud of. Business cards showed up today. Who would have thought this? I mean - really?

Something will happen tomorrow. An email, a phone call, a text, an ichat will set me off. It's just the passionate way I conduct myself.

But no, not tonight. I'm working.

Happily.

It's My Bad, Dude

One needs to own up when things go wrong. When all else fails, let Vin Scully be your voice.



True dat.

Blogging on HAN Radio

As part of my thing at HAN Radio, I want to occasionally add some writing to the mix.

So I did a little something here. It includes the same picture as above (thanks to Liz Skalka for taking it), and some thoughts on the crazy week that just ended.

It began with Greenwich beating New Britain in basketball. That was nothing.

In New Haven the next night, John Kovach and I watched EO Smith/Tolland topped Masuk, and Newtown take care of Tri Town (boys hockey). The next night, we saw Darien knock off Notre Dame-Fairfield, and Fairfield Prep take overtime to dispose of Notre Dame-West Haven.

Then came Thursday. I had the night off!

On Friday night, we called Daniel Hand's one-goal DII Championship win over Amity. John, Josh Fisher, and Paul Silverfarb helped me preside over, arguably, our best broadcast yet.

To Saturday.

It started with the emotional Newtown victory over Smith/Tolland for the DIII title. Again, one goal. Overtime. Chris Kaelin replaced Paul at ice side for this one.

John, Josh, and Paul then took a bag of equipment and set us up at Mohegan Sun. We'll get back to them in a moment.

Then in the Division I championship, Fairfield Prep got a goal midway through the third (just seconds after one had been waved off) to tie the game. They got the game-winner in OT. Kato and I couldn't believe what we were watching.

I left New Haven (the Yale Whale is such a cool place)

I had become a lightning rod for dramatic games!

In the meantime, Josh, John, and Paul began calling the Lauralton Hall/South Windsor girls Class LL championship at the Mohegan Sun Arena. Yes, that meant we were broadcasting from two different sites, with two different setups! It opens up more opportunities for us!

I thought I would join them at halftime, and maybe be the courtside reporter for the rest of the game. But, alas, no. I visited with Mr. Imus and his coffee.

I'll be the first to tell you I didn't like that feeling. But it all worked out.

I came back for my third call of the day - the Class LL boys championship between Bridgeport Central and Fairfield Prep.

By 11, we had finished, broken down the equipment, and had caught up with our significant others for a well-deserved beverage. We all had breakfast together on Sunday back at Mohegan Sun, then went our separate ways.

I won't forget this week for a long time. We've called 58 games since November 22. I've specifically called 56 of them.

Special times, indeed.

Anatomy of a Call

I completed my second night of calling games at Ingalls Rink (aka the Yale Whale) in New Haven last night, and it ended with a flourish.

In the early game, Darien advanced to the Division I championship game with a 3-1 win over Notre Dame of Fairfield. Good game for sure. Decent crowd.

The nightcap? Phenomenal.

Fairfield Prep took on Notre Dame of West Haven. The Jesuits of Prep grabbed a 2-0 through two periods and opened it up to 3-1 with just over 12 minutes to go. The Green Knights got the score to 3-2 at 8:34 of the last period and tied the game at 12:34.

We went to overtime. Over 3500 were in attendance at the Whale. New Canaan goalie Mac Wright told us on Twitter that the doors were closed and there was an overflow crowd outside watching through the windows.

I'd like to believe a few listened to John Kovach and I on HAN Radio.

At 5:45 of overtime, Matt Wikman strolled up the left side, moved in towards the net and shot...



At first, I was really happy with the call. It was excitable. John and I allowed the crowd noise to fill.

Then I listened to it a few times. I'll still take it...but...

I wish I had climbed back on the call a little quicker after John finished his analysis (as the play began).

I wish - this is my biggest regret - that I had given more details. You have no idea that Wikman came up the left side...across the Green Knight blue line...and through the left face off circle.

You don't know what kind of a shot it was, or what kind of effort Knights goalie Wade Conlan made.

I'm OK with the excitement of the moment, I guess. I would have been a touch happier to insert the final score into the call, but I did say it after the end of the clip.

Maybe I let the crowd noise go too far before commenting (that's not in the clip).

Maybe I'm nitpicking. A lot of things go on in a moment like that, and this is hardly the first time I've done this to a big play-by-play call of mine. It goes with the territory.

I'll still take it.

I guess.