Know (and "No") the limits

 

That, apparently, is a human hamster wheel

I'm a staunch defender of my loved ones and serve as the voice of reason.

"Take a break.You're running yourself into the ground."

"One day at a time."

"Win today. Then conquer tomorrow."

These are the same things I should be telling myself and, often, don't.

"Just tell me everything will be OK," I said to someone I really trust. "But only if you mean it and it's true."

Sometimes, when the anxiety/stress/whatever is off the charts, those are the simple words I need.

"Compartmentalize. Don't get overwhelmed."

I've been on a crazy schedule of staying busy. Now, that's fairly standard operation procedure for me, but I feel like it's been on hyperdrive since Sep 4.

It was driving to and from little league games and calling them.

It was driving Sean to and from his mother's house (those days are, effectively, over).

It was (and is) constantly doing stuff at the house.

My brain runs. Not a marathon. Oh no. A sprint.

In a nice case of serendipity, I picked up the video depo position with Dan and Craig and feel like I'm actually contributing to society again. I'm not sweating every bill (as much as usual).

It's work that I'm enjoying but, as I've highlighted, can be very last-minute. There's no set schedule.

But it's also my priority, along with the Renegades, Hunt Scanlon, Connecticut School of Broadcasting (or whatever it's called now), Local Live and others that...er...pay.

I struggle with saying no.

Produce this podcast, help set up equipment, voice sounders and liners and commercials. 

There there's #The4pmBreak and Friday mornings with Tony Savino on WGCH (10 minutes, but still) and I know I'm forgetting other stuff.

Oh, and don't forget the dogs*it blog.

Vacuum, wash dishes, keep cleaning the house, feed Sean, laundry, garbage...

And then?

I collapse on the couch after having substandard ravioli in an empty, cold house after Sean has left.

And fall asleep.

At 6:30 p.m.

Within these words is some complaining, but not as much as it sounds like I'm doing.

I get it. Everyone is busy. I'm nothing special. Believe me, I know that.

Oh, I'm past grateful for the work. Somehow that will all sort out as we head into 2021, especially with the Gades truly ramping up (COVID-permitting, of course).

But some things might have to be put aside. Crazy me, but I should probably do some things for me. Which I've tried to do by allowing myself to watch Netflix (at least in our COVID world).

Oh and I'm on a web show this Sunday. More details as they become available but that gig is simple: I'll be asked questions and I'll talk. I'll talk about roads and maybe sports. Honestly, I have no idea, but I can do that.

This is why I laugh when members of the Play-by-Play group on Facebook that I am an admin for grumble over our self-promotion rule.

In short, we ask that it be limited. Of course, if Mike, Shawn and I had our way, it would be eradicated.

Keep in mind, none of us promote anything. Mike seems to always have a game going on, for instance. 

And, let's be honest, I don't promote games, "Doubleheader," "The Clubhouse," the dogs*it blog, or the -- what, four? -- podcasts that I'm a part of. None, repeat, none of it gets promoted in that group. That's why I have personal pages. 

The bigger point is that I have to stay on top of this stuff, for my own sake. I have to recognize some limits and recognize that "no" doesn't have to be fatal. I'm so used to guilt when I reject something. Old habits and old demons don't necessarily mean that past is prologue.

Paraphrasing good ol' Bill Shakespeare. That will get me some bona fides.

The Presser

I watched the Yankees/Renegades press conference with great interest today.

The Gades' show was all virtual, carried via Facebook Live. Vice President Rick Zolzer was joined by longtime Yankees' reporter Sweeny Murti to host the event, with help with team President/General Manager Steve Gliner.

The Gades were joined by members of the Yankees family as well as the Goldklang Group, who own the team.

Joe Torre made an appearance! Bernie Williams spoke and played "Take Me Out to the Ballgame!" Nick Swisher! Brian Cashman! Bucky...freaking...Dent!

I watched it! All of it!

I watched and listened to the questions from the media.

Still, there was a surprise.

The team name will remain "Renegades" but the uniforms will change.

I was not expecting that.

Michael Kay made an appearance to make that announcement. Kay could have said, "SEE YA!" to the old unis, but didn't.

Pinstripes and a glorious interlocking HV!

Which I get to describe at least 65 times next year (and, if I have it may way, more).

As for the new unis, I found myself thinking one thing: Here's my credit card! I don't care if I work for the team, just give me more! Take my money!

Interlocking HV? Interlocking NY? Pinstripes? Bring it on! 

Again, as we spoke last night, we await the schedules and more details. I keep thinking that we won't see the first pitch before May due to COVID-19, though I kept hearing April throughout the press conference.

Whatever the case, I get more anxious every day.

I feel for the Mets and Red Sox and other fans who aren't happy with this change. The very nature of minor league baseball isn't always about the affiliation. It's about the fun of the ballpark and watching these remarkable young athletes as they take their important steps towards fulfilling their dreams of playing in MLB.

*****

I've not spoken much about my dad lately, as I've really sort of beaten myself to "get over it" 30 years after his passing. But, forgive me for a few words as I remember him on his 91st birthday.

Ninety-one. I can't even imagine. I see him as he was at 59.

I would have loved to see him still be with us, obviously. He missed out on a lot, from all of my sisters kids, to my own Sean, as well as each of the great grandchildren that have enriched our world. 

Plus, I miss his counsel. I would have loved to know what he had to say to a lot of stuff.

Literally, everything that has happened over 30-plus years.

Some of it would have thrilled him.

Some? No. No. No. I can't make that clear enough. No.

Anyway, I miss him. I miss both of my parents.

That's basically the message.

The MiLB Invitations

The Mid-Atlantic League?

Today was the day many have been waiting for, and I've been obsessed over the news since it broke.

Today was the day that 119 teams (with one -- Fresno? -- still to be worked out) received invitations to affiliate with Major League Baseball teams in a reimagined Minor League Baseball.

There are some who are elated and some who are devastated.

Now, we already know that Hudson Valley has aligned with the New York Yankees beginning in 2021.

We also know about Somerset, Scranton/Wilkes Barre, and Tampa as the other Yankees' affiliates. These are done.

There are others who are set as well, such as the Mets, who announced their new affiliates a few weeks back.

Some have trickled out before MLB told teams to stop.

The news broke a little after noon with the list of the 119.

Because these are mostly invitations, a lot of things aren't confirmed, meaning you can't really line up leagues just yet.

There's speculation that the Renegades will wind up in a High-A Mid-Atlantic League. Well, today, we learned (confirmed, as I had a feeling) that Brooklyn (Mets), Jersey Shore (Phillies), Aberdeen (Orioles), and Wilmington (Nationals) expected -- repeat, expected -- to be a part of the new league.

But, wait, that's only five. Who's the sixth team, as promised?

There's plenty of chatter on the interwebs that closest remaining High-A team is Bowling Green.

Kentucky.

I checked, for fun (because I'm obsessed and a bit nuts). Dutchess Stadium to Bowling Green, KY is a 14-hour driving commitment. It's nearly 1000 miles between the two.

Now, that of course excites me to the point that I'd probably ask to do a game there (sponsor it as "Rob's Road Trip"). Could be fun!

(10:41 p.m. UPDATE: JJ Cooper of Baseball America, who has owned this story, posted a breakdown, saying that the Mid-Atlantic League -- the MAL, as I'm calling it -- will have 12 teams. He has more on the travel issues here. Additionally, I've seen on the interwebs that maybe Greensboro and not Bowling Green will be in the Gades' division. But this all just proves how we're really only beginning the fun.)

Then there are the Lowell Spinners, whom the Red Sox aren't putting in High-A for 2021 but are kicking the tires about a return in 2022. 

But, what needs to be recognized is that not everyone will accept these invitations once they see whatever fine print there might be. So MiLB and MLB (really, MLB) needs to have a Plan B, and I'm sure they do. They might even need a Plan C.

Now, I need to pause for a moment to recognize that a lot of people have been impacted by this news. A lot of people around teams who have given everything to baseball. A lot of cities and towns who are hurt tonight. They're feeling raw and I certainly don't want to celebrate this.

I'm reading reactions from Albany to Auburn to Norwich to Trenton and beyond.

On the other hand, I tweeted at the Wilmington Blue Rocks about my excitement to do games there (potentially, and I would drive there). They followed my account immediately.

It's a scary time. Change is brutal. Change is scary.

Could this turn out to be good? In some places, no. It's terrible.

In other places, it's great. 

But, in truth, it will all take time.

The Renegades will hold a press conference tomorrow at 1 p.m. that will air on their Facebook page. I will be watching online as well with great interest. The Yankees and Gades have promised a good show.

There are still more steps to be finalized. The leagues need to be decided. The schedules need to be drawn up. The promotions need to be decided. Travel plans need to be made. On-field questions as well.

And there's a broadcaster who is screaming to get going.

Oh, and there's still a pandemic in charge.

There's a long way to go before we hear, "Play ball."

This is really phase one of the new MiLB.

From Cardinal Stadium in Greenwich

 

Photo courtesy Butch Bozzuto on Facebook

It's Dec 8 and I started the day thinking about John Lennon and Monday Night Football and the culture-changing night that occurred.

I was planning to explain how it was Frank Gifford who was an MVP that night, as he implored Howard Cosell to make his now-famous announcement as the contest between the Dolphins and Patriots headed towards a potential game-winning field goal.

John Smith's field goal was blocked, the game went to overtime and the Dolphins won on an Uwe von Schamann 23-yard field goal. Final score: 16-13.

I heard about Lennon's death the next morning from my sister. I was 12.

It was forty years ago.

There would have been many more words but then my friend Butch Bozzuto texted me.

"Look at Facebook. (The) stadium project has begun."

I looked at his page.

I shared it to mine.

My heart felt something I didn't expect. I should have been dancing. YAY! The bleachers are coming down! Better days are coming!

Sure, I feel some of that and definitely will be anxious for the completed project as we get closer.

But, as I saw the booth had been torn down, I also got emotional.

I could count up the events. The games. Greenwich football, soccer, lacrosse, track and field, GYFL football, graduation.

I walked that field with my son. He and I spent a lot of time in the booth. I feel like part of him was raised there, and he immediately recognized it when I showed him a picture of lying on the bleachers.

There were even times that I climbed to the roof, having to call a game up there, but often to run wires for our old transmitter unit.

I didn't know when I called my last game there -- Greenwich vs. Westhill 7-on-7 football on Oct 17, 2020 -- that it would be my last time in that booth.

Maybe I should have stayed for an extra minute before leaving.

So ends 20 years specifically with that booth, beginning on Sep 22, 2001 when I called St. Joseph/Greenwich. It was the first game after Sep 11, as the Greenwich game at Norwalk had been canceled. 

I called a previous season there as well before a fire created a need for a new booth in those bleachers.

Twenty-one seasons of climbing those bleachers. I won't miss that.

But a flood of memories flew by. Of families and players and Sean (Adams and Kilkelly) and Chris (Erway and Kaelin) and coaches and Brian Kennedy and Dick Leonard and Evan Dubin and Nick Fesko and DJ Furano.

Of the athletic directors and many people who came up to the booth.

Of the people who worked those broadcasts with me.

Of George and Nancy Chelwick and a lot of Kit Kat bars.

I hated that booth.

But I loved that booth.

I loved the air conditioner and the heater. But I hated the view at night when the stadium lights were too bright and we had to use lamps to see because the glare was impossible out the window.

I loved my window -- the one that I would climb into to call action to the right.

The east end zone, of course.

I hated that window when people would come over to ask for announcements to be made (I'm not the public address announcer) or to turn music up or down (again, not my job).

Or the fans screaming at officials -- sometimes profanely -- outside said window.

But there were also the families -- Jimmy Capp, the Gioffres, the Riscicas, the Bernsteins, the Ducrets, the Warzohas, the Longos, the Weigolds and others who would wave to us and send us food and welcome us into their worlds.

I dealt with heavy snow there and crazy rain and thunderstorms and hot weather and cold weather and we were (mostly) safe in that booth.

But I remember rain coming through the hatch.

I'll tell people about 2002, when Greenwich and New Canaan played to a scoreless tie in a mud bowl on a horribly rainy day. Of 2000, when Staples won but Greenwich almost pulled off a miracle to win. Of the Greenwich/West Haven game in 2013 that started on Thursday and ended on Sunday with a furious Big Red comeback.

Of the great teams, especially those state champs of 2006, 2007, and 2018.

And I'll talk about the night that something kept knocking the power out in the booth during a game between Ludlowe and Greenwich. I think that was the night I got an email -- just to add a kick to the gut -- about how much I sucked. The veracity of that email was never verified and there were those who thought it was a hoax.

I get it. Really, I do. It's a set of crappy old bleachers and a booth that was too small for those of us who were in it.

Greenwich deserves better. They've been craving better for years. Now, they're going to get it.

Everything will be better in the future. 

I don't know how this will all play out but I do dream of a room for WGCH to broadcast games as we've done since 1964.

Yet, today, I find myself feeling a bit nostalgic as I watched video of the booth -- dare I say, "my booth" -- come tumbling down.

The neighbor is probably furious at the noise.

Derek Jeter spoke about memories when old Yankee Stadium closed in 2008. 

"There's a lot of tradition, a lot of history, and a lot of memories," Jeter said. "Now the great thing about memories is that you're able to pass it along from generation to generation."

So that's what we'll do. We'll talk about everything that happened in those bleachers. We'll talk about what we saw. I'll talk about the games in the booth, and the few I called in those bleachers. 

I'll tell people about John Sullivan and Pat Wilson and Tyler Robinson and Pete Salvatore and Joe Poletsky and Ricky Riscica and Jeff DeVico and Gavin Muir and Tysen Comizio and Coach Al and Coach Marinelli.

I'll tell them about the cake Jack Feda sent up to me for my birthday.

I'll tell them about the laughter and the sardine-like conditions.

I'll tell them the good and the bad.

Nothing is changing but everything is changing.

Things are going to be better at Cardinal Stadium. Much better.

The future is bright for more days when #FlyBigRed will ring out.

I hope my voice will be a part of that.

The Stillers lost. That's good.

 

Pittsburgh is a great city. It's a unique mix of culture, blue collar, white collar, and a whole lot of neighborhoods.

While I've only been there a few times, I've been immediately taken in by it. There's a lot of charm in the Burgh.

They also have their own unique accent and dialect. You know it if you've heard it.

They don't go downtown. They go dahntahn. They say "yinz" as a form of "you all," as in: "Yinz goin to the Stillers game? We can get some Primanti Brothers n'at dahntahn after."

"n'at=and so on"

I'm sure I'm not paying it true justice but hopefully you're getting the idea. 

Oh, and the "Stillers" are of course, the Steelers, and Pittsburghers are often known as "Yinzers."

Some are crying in their Arn City (Iron City Beer) tonight, following the Stillers 23-17 loss to Warshington (Washington) tonight at Heinz Field.

I watched between producing two podcasts and whatever else I was doing (n'at).

When a tipped ball landed in the arms of Washington's Jon Bostic, I felt deflated and annoyed. This could have produced a classic Adams Rant.

Nope. I felt relieved. The Steelers dropped to 11-1, and deservedly so.

They were outplayed by an undermanned Baltimore Raves team last week and deserved to lose. They pulled more of the same today.

This time, in what has come be known as a "Mike Tomlin loss," they did indeed lose.

Look, I love Tomlin (Tawmlin) but, much like former coach Bill Cowher (Caher), the Steelers have these moments where they play down to their competition. Take nothing away from Washington. They won and deserved to.

But now, 12 games in, the Steelers have to get it back together. They have a world of doubters.

Including me. I think Kansas City is far better in the AFC. I actually expected the Steelers to lose to Buffalo next week (and they might still).

The undefeated season was a wonderful thought, if only to shut up the members of the 1972 Miami Dolphins, a team that I loved as a kid.

Yet, if we're really being fair, the '72 Dolphins were a team of good bounces and good fortune. They didn't dominate. They just played good, steady football.

And they won. That's the name of the game.

That's what the Steelers were doing this year, but they got sloppy and got picked off.

History isn't always kind to these wannabe perfect teams. Shall we discuss the Patriots, who went into the Super Bowl at 18-0 and left at 18-1?

No thanks. I want no part of that.

So give me this loss. Give the Steelers the chance now to play as the underdog and get their heads out of their backsides.

They've got the Bills, Bengals, Colts and Browns left. They might lose two more.

Hopefully that will be enough to shake them up.

Otherwise, there will be a lot of sad yinzers dahntahn n'at.

For better example of Pittsburgh English, please check out Pittsburgh Dad, who can be found all over social media.

Donovan Mitchell did a good thing

 

Donovan Mitchell is an NBA all-star and a slam dunk champion.

He's a legit name in the NBA.

Donovan Mitchell also attended Greenwich Country Day School in, yes, Greenwich, CT. His mother was a pre-K teacher at GCDS and his sister also attended the school.

Donovan, aka "Spida," attended the school from third to ninth grades. Greenwich Country Day has only recently joined Greenwich High, Brunswick, Greenwich Academy and Sacred Heart Greenwich as the high schools in town.

Spida wanted to give back to his school and pledged 12 million dollars. Read the release from the school to find out more.

Amazingly -- nah, it's really not -- not everyone was thrilled. There were complaints that Donovan Mitchell should donate his money to underprivileged schools, as opposed to making an endowment to his own school that he's clearly proud of.

And, to be clear, GCDS is a private school. It's not cheap to attend it. All true.

But, call me crazy, whether it's Oprah Winfrey, LeBron James or Spida Mitchell, it's their money, right?

That doesn't mean you have to agree with it but why thrust that negativity onto the interwebs?

Oh, I know. It's what we do.

These schools have to raise money also, and GCDS is trying to enhance their facilities, especially after becoming a high school.

I mean, it's just amazing.

This one was happy to keep responding with the same tired routine. Look, that's just one example.

Don't get me wrong, Bridgeport, CT does need help, for instance. I've seen that personally. But if Spida Mitchell wants to give to Greenwich Country Day School, that's his business.

It's December. We've been through a bad year. We have a president who is an embarrassment in that he refuses to simply accept defeat gracefully.

The same behavior that was exhibited four years, and I'll be completely consistent in that.

COVID numbers look bad again.

Many of us are just trying to get through the season.

So can we just look at a good gesture by a student looking to give back?

Maybe even put on the phony "wonderful holiday season story" face.

There will be plenty of time for the toxic negativity later.

Or, maybe just stay quiet.

The newest project

 

Seabiscuit

John Nash and I have begun a new podcast.

Well, John has. It's his baby. I'm the voice. I'm the pro, just trying to make it sound good.

It's a role that I'm decent at.

It's called "The Owner's Box Horse Racing Podcast" and I look forward to see what we do with this.

Now, before you whinny at me, I'm no expert. John has a small portion of ownership in several horses, including the winner of the 2020 Kentucky Derby, thank you very much. I can approach this from the common man point of view. Plus I'm somewhat-decent at interviewing.

So, we'll get guests to tell stories from the world of the ponies.

Does this mean I've forgotten about my own podcast (sigh), "Tales From the Booth?" Hardly. If anything, it reignites the drive for it.

That, and Mike Hirn's prodding.

Tonight's was easy. In truth, it might never actually run. John and I did a 24:47 chat as an introduction.

Then I set about finding music. That, friends, is perhaps my least favorite part of the process of this kind of project.

This goes for commercials and promos and so on. Want me to voice something? Cool. Happy to do it. What? It needs music? Oh...fuuuuudge...

It's tough when you have such a musical brain. You KNOW what you want it to sound like.

John wanted something upbeat. So, I set about checking out the websites.

Another thing about music is that it can be difficult to find things without stipulations. I have some sites that are truly royalty free, especially if you don't change the song and give credit.

Still, I listened to a ton of songs tonight. The thing is, you know almost immediately if it won't work. Within seconds, I'm out. The beat I'm looking for could be in your song, but you have the first notes to pull me in to see if that's the sound I want.

First impressions and so on.

It took a while of pressing play and changing sites before I found something. You'll have to wait for the finished product to hear it for yourself.

I still wonder if the music was the right choice for "Tales From the Booth" just as I wonder about "Doubleheader." In the case of DH, I'm always getting messages from people saying, "Hey, listen to the music in this commercial. Sound familiar?"

It would be a tedious exercise to go back though all of the songs over the years, from "The Press Box" to "Tee Time" to "The Clubhouse" to "Nutmeg Sports" along with all of the other talk shows, as well as the sports themes that I've found for play-by-play.

And I still have to come up for a format -- music included -- for the Renegades broadcasts. Of course, I'm like a caged animal on that topic.

Soon, grasshopper.

It will all work out.

Sinatra and Spotlight

I was watching on Netflix tonight after a long deposition day.

I found a documentary about Frank Sinatra.

Here's the thing. Francis Albert Sinatra -- arguably, our greatest male singer and pop star -- was done by the time he was 35.

Like, done. He'd be run off by everyone. He was down on his luck. He was in trouble financially.

But with the support of his volcanic then-wife (marriage number two) Ava Gardner, he got a role in the movie From Here to Eternity.

Frank Sinatra won an Oscar for the part Private Angelo Maggio. Around the same time -- 1953 -- Capitol Records took a chance on the 38-year-old.

The greatest comeback ever was underway. 

Frank would sing "The Best is Yet to Come" and he could have been singing about himself.

Crazy popular -- Beatles popular before the world knew what the hell that was -- Frank had girls screaming at him as he crooned in the 1930s and 40s.

But, quite honestly, he hadn't even hit his best work. While the songs he created with Harry James and Tommy Dorsey and his solo work on Columbia Records were all great, we hadn't seen anything yet. Beginning with Songs for Young Lovers, Sinatra went on an absolute tear. He knew how to work with the best arrangers and performers and nobody -- and I mean nobody -- could translate a work like him.

I always laughed when I'd hear about the singer/songwriters because "they write their own music." Now, that's definitely true, and it's a wonderful trait. Obviously, as a Beatles nut, I love them all.

But Frank didn't write music. Call him one of the exceptions to the rule.

Yet, he was in control in the studio. He could almost conduct in the place of the brilliant Nelson Riddle and other arrangers.

He could act. He could sing. He was the total package of an entertainer.

He also had no tolerance for racism, openly embracing Sammy Davis Jr.

He also embraced scandal, whether he liked it or not. The marriages. Ava. Mia Farrow. Cries of communism. The so-called mob ties.

He created records for literally every mood. I've said it before. I'll repeat: Do not listen to Frank Sinatra Sings for Only the Lonely is you're battling any depression. It's the most gorgeous, brilliant and sad album ever. But there were plenty of upbeat, beautiful songs of love, patriotism, and joy.

But, most of all, Frank Sinatra is cool. The absolute epitome of cool. Sure, you can say Clooney's remake of Ocean's 11 had a certain charm to it, but Frank embodied Danny Ocean in the 1960 original. Dean Martin, Sammy, Peter Lawford, Joey Bishop, etc get the advantage.

And, yet, is it possible the Sinatra fan has aged to the point where we don't talk about him? Beatles fans are still plentiful. Everything since as well. But the people who brought me up on Sinatra -- my parents -- are both gone, for instance. 

It struck me as I watched this documentary that I feel like we don't talk about him as much as perhaps we should. Maybe I'm wrong. He's not forgotten, of course, but I wonder if he has faded.

He was brilliant. He hated rock and roll, but he had business smarts, starting his own record label. He also had the brains to bring Elvis Presley on his TV show after The King of Rock and Roll returned from the Army in 1960. The two did a duet mashup of "Love Me Tender" and "Witchcraft." This was long before Bing Crosby and David Bowie did their famous duet.

Brilliant.

I realize we've sort of lost track of history. I hope that's not really true. If you know Sinatra, embrace it and teach it to younger music fans. If you've never listened, well, I don't know what to say other than try it.

It's (dare I say) frankly some of the best music ever created.

******

So I'm trying to be better about taking a little care of myself and decompressing. I allowed myself a little chill out time last night (like I'm doing now).

I sat on the couch.

I put on The Flight Attendant on HBO Max and allowed myself to watch the two new episodes. I discovered the movie Spotlight was on Netflix, which I had never seen (I really suck). Susan and I were texting each other. She has seen it, of course, so we synced up and watched it virtually.

A side note on that: I could probably do a whole post on that movie alone as it was simply fantastic. I can't highlight any one acting performance as they were all exceptional. But what I did text Susan after having a few minutes to decompress was that I was actually proud -- for a moment -- to have anything to do with journalism.

A longer post would probably take me into a dark alley of thoughts about the content of the movie, so let me just leave it at what they did. What the Spotlight group did at the Boston Globe was the kind of work journalists are supposed to do. 

Susan very much is one of those journalists, and she did similar work in Connecticut for the Darien Times. 

On being up early

 

I don't think of myself as either a morning person or a night person.

I tend to avoid labels to begin with. That's probably why I couldn't be categorized in high school.

I tend to adapt to staying up late or being up early but, perhaps if forced to choose, I might be more of a morning person.

As I wrote yesterday, I had to be up at five this morning. That's not necessarily too early for me so I didn't see it as a big deal.

But I awoke to my alarm and stepped into the office before daylight.

Of course, it got me thinking about hitting the road. Those hours will always make me think of that.

Oh we've gone over it so many times, but as we sit in a pandemic, there's a different feeling.

I'm not as broke as normal and I have a car that isn't a lease. I can actually drive!

In fact, speaking honestly, I've only put maybe 4,000 miles on my car since the end of June.

Essentially, that's unthinkable for me, given I was capable of 500 miles per week.

Still, I can't say I feel comfortable just jumping in the car and going away. Oh, sure, I can take a ride, but there's also that feeling that it is somewhat irresponsible. You know, COVID and so on

If I'm guilty of having a conscience, then sure. Throw me in jail. I'm not really sure that's a bad thing.

Amazingly, we can freely roam in New York. So, think about that. I can drive from here to the edge of Long Island. I can drive to Rouses Point or Wellesley Island at the Canadian border. I can drive to Ripley at the Pennsylvania border. Some of those drives are 3-6 hours or more in length.

Put that into perspective. I can make Fredericksburg or Richmond, Va in 6-7 hours.

It's slightly insane, but those are the rules. What changes when I cross into any other state?

Still, the numbers are the numbers, so I respect the rules.

So, back to my point. I can do a day trip to any other part of New York. Heck, I can even get a room and stay somewhere. No testing when I come home. No quarantine.

It is sort of tempting to jump in the car and go...but where? I was throwing scenarios around in my brain. But, I would most likely be alone on this journey. Sean has admitted he likes Cooperstown and would go back there. It's shocking that he likes it but why question it?

Otherwise, a drive to...who knows where? One that doesn't include Waffle House (remember: there are none in New York)? He probably wouldn't be interested in that.

Of course, I'm overthinking all of this (a trademark of mine!) but it's what occupies my mind when I'm up early for work and am otherwise zoning out.

I love travel and I miss it. It's why I don't really mind the bus trips with a sports team or driving to places just...because.

There's a reason I say I'll drive to games somewhere. I hear it all the time: "You don't want to that drive."

Oh?

So forgive me if I'm waxing a bit poetic about getting out of bed at a ridiculous hour to drive in the dark on some peaceful roads.

Even if I can only see my state.

The foolish project

 

Behind the scenes during The Clubhouse
(clockwise from top left: Dave Torromeo, Rob, Mark Jeffers, Bob Small)
The mixer in question is to the right

I have to be up at five tomorrow morning to kick off a day in the video depo world.

Plus it's almost 11 p.m. so I figure this needs to be a quick post.

I finished the last Clubhouse episode for 2020, trying it out on a mixer that I borrowed from Dan Macom. It's one that Mike Hirn has been imploring me to buy for months.

So I kept the setup very simple and everything worked just fine. Really, it was great.

It will sound great with podcasts (the now three that I'm involved with) and other things.

Then I decided to tinker.

After folding laundry, of course.

Yeah, let's blow up the studio -- again.

Not long after starting the project, I began to realize just how tired I was and that I couldn't turn back. I had to finish.

And the blog hung over my head.

This all contributed to my own anxiety building to levels that are tangible. Literally. I can feel it.

Because I'm an idiot, if I haven't mentioned that.

So I got the studio to a point that I could live with, but I know this story. I've read this magazine.

I don't like how the computers are positioned. I'm not in love with the tables.

I'll soon be blowing it all up again.

And this mixer wasn't quite doing as much I necessarily wanted. It lacks the number of inputs I'd prefer to run different devices.

Oh, whatever. I needed to step away and stop obsessing.

Things to think about.

Tomorrow.

When I'm up at five.

December

Found online

I don't know how to make this any clearer: there is no magic potion.

We're sitting here on Dec 1 and I can already hear the cries for 2021 to begin.

"THIRTY DAYS TO GO!"

Sure, thirty days until the number changes on the checkbook.

Beyond that, what?

COVID isn't magically disappearing like that.

There's a vaccine that is getting closer to reality but do you really think you can stop wearing your mask at 12:01 on 1/1/21?

Er. No.

Look, I'm not trying to be The Grinch here. Unlike those on the Pandemic Panel, I see things through a realistic prism.

We're going to hit some kind of "normal" and I'm really hopeful that will happen in "Q1" of '21, though Dr. Fauci -- King of All Things COVID -- has said we might not really lose the masks for some time.

I feel for people. It's been so difficult. Friends -- loved ones -- haven't seen their friends and loved ones in a full calendar year. They haven't been back to to their parents' houses in just as long.

And I get there are some who say, "That's your problem. You've stopped living your life."

OK, fair enough, but I respect those dealing with those kinds of decisions. Everyone has their reasons.

Me? I've gone with the common sense and following the rules, but even I pull a rock once in a while. I walked into a local store yesterday with my mask in my hand. I quickly threw it on my face before anyone could say anything but I was still embarrassed.

So we simply have to make the very best of this month. As of now, I see no way that I'm not here -- home -- on both Christmas Eve and Christmas Day.

Sean does everything in his power to play things down the middle with his parents, especially now that he's driving. He's completely rotating weeks between us. Week on, week off. 

Traditionally, Christmas Eve has been with me.

This year, if he goes back to his mother, and I assume he will, than I will likely spend Christmas Day with Rascal. I don't see anyone doing anything in my family, just as it happened on Thanksgiving.

And it's OK. Really. Thanksgiving was fine. I appreciate the couple of offers I received but it was for the best to stay home. Sean couldn't travel due to college and we were comfortable.

Thus, I'll probably do the same for Christmas, if that's how it all plays out. I did Christmas alone once before (2014). That time, I was fairly miserable, even if I didn't even know any better. This year, I'm OK with it because it's really the nature of the beast this year.

As I've said, I know my North Carolina family would love to have me there, and might even need me there, if only for emotional support and occasional comic relief. But I can't justify it due to the pandemic.

I can't ignore or disrespect this thing. The virus has been in control for the majority of 2020.

It didn't go away with the announcement of a new resident of The White House.

It's not magically going to stop when we flip the calendar.

So we simply feel grateful for the same things we've felt grateful for.

We're resourceful. We're survivors. We should be bigger than how we've behaved.

So we'll suck it up and get through it.

Like everything else, focus on the small moments.

Bring on December. Let's get through these days. Just don't expect things to change that soon.

The last-minute

 

I thought I had the day off.

Sure, I had "Doubleheader" at 4 pm but it seemed like my night was open to chilling.

It's the danger of the freelance world, of course, especially in a pandemic.

Of course, it's that same pandemic that really created the videography job that I'm also doing now.

So on a day in which the weather was really bad (rain, wind, and potential power outages), I thought I'd just be around the house.

OK, I also went to the grocery store. How about me? I actually left the house and drove off my street. I last did that on Thursday morning!

I had things I wanted to do around the house but (as it always happens) I kept getting interrupted. Standard operating procedure.

I was also picking out music for a new podcast. As you know, I love music and have a decent ear for it (though I'm sure that's subjective). So because I have an idea of what I often want, I detest the process of finding theme music for a show or background music for a commercial.

Oh, I did it and it wasn't brain surgery this time, but it was just another part of the day.

Just before showtime, Dan Macom checked in. He's my boss in the depo videography world.

"Can you work tonight?" he asked.

What do I always say about adapting? Bang! I was in.

Then he texted me back.

"They canceled."

Blast.

Still, another text.

"A different one opened up!"

So I was set.

This is why I'm very tough to pin down. I have "The Clubhouse" on Wednesday, which is actually costing me a night of work because I'm already committed to it. In the next week or two -- so long as Uncle Ned Lamont doesn't screw it all up -- I'll be back to teaching at Connecticut School of Broadcasting (now the CSB Media Arts Center).

Plus I have my series of podcasts for Hunt Scanlon, "Talent Talks," that I'm really proud of.

Then there's the podcast that John Nash is starting (thus, nosing around for music) and I'm helping produce and host. 

All of this is making me realize that Mike Hirn and I have to restart "Tales From the Booth." I loved doing it but it got to be a lot of work.

We know there won't be any games before late January in Connecticut. New York doesn't look much more promising.

Sure, Local Live could step in with an out-of-state gig. Anything can happen. But it's probably going to be a while before I'm doing any events like that.

So I stay open to adjusting for Dan and Craig Jones and the wacky world of videography, just like I did tonight.

And tomorrow night.

In truth, I don't like last-minute things but as I've discussed before, you have to be ready to adapt. Or, at least as ready as possible.

Come 2021 with the Renegades, this could all change. We'll just keep an eye on it.

*****

I'm aware that the minor league story keeps shifting a bit. Four former New York-Penn League teams are joining the currently five-team MLB Draft League.

The Williamsport Crosscutters, Mahoning Valley Scrappers, State College Spikes, West Virginia Black Bears all depart the former NY-Penn league, joining the Trenton Thunder in the new league.

Things are starting to fall into place and we should soon know who is in the league with the Renegades for 2021. So far, we only know the Gades and Brooklyn Cyclones are in the new league.

Oh, sure, I can speculate, but so can you.

All questions will soon be answered.

At least I hope so.

See you in the Spring

 

Not a very exciting photo, but it satisfies me

Somewhere along the line, I began to obsess over my lawn.

There was a point in the summer where I was backing out of the driveway with Sean and I lamented the height of the grass.

"It's so high," I said. "I have to cut.."

"Oh would you STOP?" he said, cutting me off. "It's fiiine."

So I'd keep those words in mind but, of course, he didn't have to deal with it when it would get too high and clump in the push mower that I continue to use because the ride on tractor that I thought was gone for good still hasn't been returned.

That's a whole different story.

Oh, and before you say that he could cut the lawn, let me say a few things, most notably being that I like caring for the lawn. He also doesn't come here to work for me. He'll help me where asked. I also have an issue asking for help, which sounds deep, and is, and we're not going down that avenue.

I reach a point every November (ish) where I try to get out to the yard one more time to sort of close it out. I wasn't sure I'd get an opportunity but it's basically what I did this whole weekend.

I walked behind the mower on half of the yard on Friday. That's the side that grows the highest. It's also the side with the most leaves.

See, despite how much I like keeping a decent lawn, I'm not a great leaf cleaner. I don't rake much. I blow some leaves but I don't get insane about them. Not really. Normally, I have a tractor that I just let do the dirty work of mulching it all.

The tractor seemed to be dead. I had someone look at it. He essentially told me as much and, this was probably even a year ago. Then, magically, it was mentioned to me that it was fixed for a small amount if I was interested. All I had to do was say "yes" and I'd get it back -- just in time to mulch the yard!

A month later, it's still not back here. So, there's that.

I basically cut each row of the heavier side twice. It seemed to be the only way to truly clear the leaves. The crazy thing was, there weren't that many leaves, but the ground was damp. Thus, the leaves were wet.

I tried to convince myself I was done on Friday as my feet hurt and my muscles ached.

On Saturday, in an empty house, I went back outside. I decided to do the other half of the yard. 

This time, it was more of the same. Cut every row, essentially, twice. 

I even brought out a rake for some of the grass I cut Friday where I still felt I hadn't gotten enough of the leaves.

Again, I was sore when I finished. A hot shower felt fantastic.

I looked out the window.

It just wasn't good enough.

The thing is, I'll look out those windows all winter. I'll see it.

In other years, where I didn't get to the leaves before the snow hit, I spent the winter months shaking my head at what I saw.

I looked out the window behind where I eat meals. It's the one spot on the dining room table -- always my father's spot -- that is actually clean. The rest of the table has had stuff on it since Mom died.

I could still see leaves out that window.

I went back out today. The mower stayed in the garage. I returned with a rake.

I went back to the heavier stuff and cleaned more up.

I went to the view outside the dining room window and cleaned that up also.

Finally, I decided I had to let it go.

I had to declare the season over, barring some warm weather.

I went back to the window.

"It's sufficient," I said.

In other words, I have a hint of OCD and nothing would be perfect.

I don't have a green thumb. Never have. Some (of this, I have no doubt) are critical of my caretaking of the flower beds (read: weeds) and no, I'm never going to be a handyman.

MacGyver? To an extent, yes. But Tim "The Toolman" Taylor? Nope. Not really.

So give me my lawn.

When I mentioned it to Sean on Friday before he left to DRIVE home, he took note.

"It's your baby," he said. "You're proud of it."

I suspect this is the final time I'll be worrying about the leaves here. I think they'll be someone else's thing by Nov. 29, 2021.

So, I figured, I might as well go out on a high note.

Living up to his name

The crime scene

I named the cat Rascal because he's shown some crazy tendencies but also because that's the name of the mascot of the Hudson Valley Renegades.

You know, the High-A affiliate of the New York Yankees.

And for the love of San Diego Chicken I've had a picture of Rascal (the mascot) put on my Facebook wall enough times to remind me.

Or The Philly Phanatic. Or even...sigh...Gritty. 

But never "Dandy." 

Anyway, I was working in the office for a bit on Thanksgiving. Rascal (alternate title: "Squeaky") followed me, as he frequently does.

Much of my current office setup is ad-hoc. I'm typing on a keyboard on a folding tray table and there's another folding table to my right. I have a rolling cart nearby as well. One day I'd like to have my real desk back but this is the reality for now.

My laptop is a foot or two to my right.

You need all of this to understand that setup as Rascal unleashed carnage.

He stepped onto my open laptop. I reached to shimmy him away.

Cue the "Benny Hill Show" theme song ("Yakety Sax").

Rascal jumped. A lamp got knocked over. A can of seltzer slammed on the floor and begin to spill. The mouse for the very computer I'm typing on went flying. Something happened to the laptop -- I'm still not sure what.

I stayed calm.

Sure, I did...not even come close to staying calm.

I think I wove a tapestry of obscenity, that as far as we know is still hanging in space over Lake Mahopac.

A lot of...everything...came flying out in one embarrassingly moment that could have been cathartic but wasn't even close.

For a moment, the laptop looked dead. The screen had that appearance of having been impacted.

I was furious.

The computer I'm working on was given to me by Craig and Dan for work -- as in, you know, my real life. Not something I'd want to break. Call me crazy.

I was seeing red. 

Sean came running. That cat went running.

I'd soon want to run and hide.

"HAD to get a ******* cat, didn I?"

I won't give attribution on that quote. No need.

I set about assessing the damage. For the record, Rascal was fine. He tried to come back into the room a few times and I quickly rebuffed him.

I had to clean up the seltzer, which didn't get on anything electronic. I closed the lid of the laptop and opened it back up to discover it was fine. It's still as slow as ever otherwise.

The work computer was unaffected, but the right button on the mouse is sticking a bit.

The lamp was a loss. I can't get it to work.

In the end, truly the only thing damaged was my pride (and the lamp), as I was mortified.

I finished everything and left the room.

He tried to approach and start making nice

Rascal and I kept over distance overall.

He jumped up next to me at one point and even walked across me. The seemed like the first steps towards moving on.

Until this picture:

It was like he was trying to remind me that he still has a lot of kitten tendencies in him but not to give up on him.

He came to this house to keep me company and help some healing.

He also came here to be spoiled, which he is.

But he's still a little guy and there's some growing to do.

He probably learned no lessons. I'm hopeful I did.

In our own ways we're both adjusting

The legend of "Destructocat" had officially been born.

He's a Rascal though. No question about that.

The Queen's Gambit

 

It's a show about chess.

Yet everyone is raving about it.

So often, I'm not in the cool kids' room. In fact, I mostly avoid it. 

After all, a wise man once said: "Cool is a rule but, sometimes, bad is bad."

Sometimes I'm ahead of the curve. Many times, I jump on much later. Then, I get stubborn and don't jump on at all.

I have too many examples to cite. 

I've heard all of the praise for the The Queen's Gambit, the Netflix show about a chess prodigy and I'm here to tell you that it lives up to the hype.

I pretty shut down after "Doubleheader" ended on Wednesday afternoon. I'm in this weird place of having nothing to do, so I did the unthinkable: I watched TV.

Oh I still did laundry and took care of whatever Sean needed and mowed the lawn today and cleaned leaves and whatever stuff I did. But, still, I watched TV. I feel guilty typing those words.

I finished up The Haunting of Hill House before rolling through the first three episodes of Kaley Cuocco's The Flight Attendant on HBO Max. Funny, intriguing stuff with the star power of *knock knock knock* Penny. Her character is Penny on steroids; everything that Sheldon described her as on The Big Bang Theory.

With those finished the NFL having run out of Thanksgiving games (thanks, COVID), I decided to try The Queen's Gambit.

Wow.

I know, not exactly Siskel and/or Ebert in that review, right?

The whole cast is exceptional -- led by Anya Taylor-Joy, who brings her Beth Hamon to life as a teenager. I won't give anything away, except to again say the cast is phenomenal. But, more than that, as a period piece, it does a remarkable job of taking the viewer on a unique ride through the 1950s and 60s.

Again, you'd think a story that largely revolves around chess would be snore-inducing, but that's not even close to true. You don't need to know anything about chess to understand it. I don't really know a lot about it and haven't played in years.

The sets are great. The locations are great. The representation of the era are great.

It harkens back to a time when it acceptable to smoke and everyone dressed more formally. It presents it all with a certain level of whimsy for what was, while reminding us gracefully that our past also can be cringe-inducing.

Watching the characters evolve -- especially Beth Harmon herself -- is part of the magic of this seven-episode ride.

One last thing: chess play-by-play? Really? 

So, for whatever this post is worth (read: zero), The Queen's Gambit receives the Exit 55 Seal of Approval.

I'll call anything

JV Hockey -- Darien at Greenwich -- 12/28/2019

 

It was Nov 2002 and WGCH was evolving.

We were in the waning days of the Becker ownership (RIP, John T. Becker) and we were trying different things. One thing was "Mommy Drive," meant to get moms listening as they were in the car with the kids.

I was asked to do sports reports that included youth sports. Those would run during the afternoon hours -- drive time that was now "Mommy Drive."

It seemed silly but I was and am still a team player. So I did reports and conducted interviews as requested.

Then?

"You're going to go call the youth football championships," I was told.

"I'm sorry. What now?"

The GYFL, the youth football organization in Greenwich, wanted us to broadcast their championship. There were three games: Bantam, Junior, and Senior divisions.

For reference purposes, the bantam players are as young as eight, while the seniors can be up to 14.

I admit I was skeptical of the whole thing. How would we pull this off?

We arrived at Western Middle School in Greenwich to see that, as promised, we'd be calling the games from the back of a flatbed truck. Our power would come from a generator. There was a scoreboard and it may or may not work. My recollection is that, mostly, it didn't.

But we got rosters and powered through it.

My skepticism was gone. The championship games were at Cardinal Stadium the next year. No more need for the generator. We'd still get rosters and, yes, they're sometimes hit or miss, but it was all as organized as anything else I've covered.

I've called those championships several times since then. Some years, we had the whole game. Other years, I did the whole thing solo.

I bring this up because there was a thread on the play-by-play page on Facebook in which a member professed they'd never call junior varsity games again due to shoddy rosters.

Most of the members responding to the thread agreed. Literally, as of press time, only three have disputed it: Shawn Sailer, Mike Hirn...and me.

What the GYFL taught me was that I was willing to call anything. If you've asked me to be there, I request power, a decent view, and rosters. 

I'll sit with you as you write them up, if necessary, or whatever we need to do to piece it together.

I've done middle school girls basketball. I've gone on the air before a varsity game and picked up the call of the JV game. I've called it. All of it.

If I don't get a roster, as I didn't with 7-on-7 football a few times, then it's up to me to handle it how I wish. I made the best of it and actually wasn't bothered by it. I did my best. The broadcast was still professional. What more was needed?

I called JV hockey last December, in the Greenwich Winter Classic. The Greenwich Athletic Foundation asked me to do so, and I was going to be there for the varsity girls and boys games on Robcasting and WGCH anyway. 

So, why not? They asked. I said yes and had fun calling Darien and Greenwich. Again, I worked solo and was pleased with how it all sounded and looked.

It took a little work to dig up those JV rosters, but I harassed enough people to get them. 

Check out the game broadcast for yourself (the game begins after the 13-minute mark). I don't think I struggled.

I realize rosters at lower levels can be hit or miss but, with a little work, you can secure them more often than not. So if the game involved eight-year-olds, little leaguers, Babe Ruth Leagues, American Legion, Freshman, JV, Varsity, college, or pros, I'm there. I've encountered roster headaches at literally every level.

At the end of the day, it's not about me (shocking, right?). It's about the athletes and coaches. I'm the conduit. I'm the reporter, the storyteller. 

So I was a more than a little surprised at the reaction of my fellow play-by-players. Stunned, actually.

But, when you get right down to it, they can have that approach.

I'll call their broadcasts.

Tomorrow is Thanksgiving

 

Baldwin Place, NY. Thanksgiving, 2019

It's Wednesday, Nov 25.

Normally, I'd be pouring over notes.

Have I printed my scoresheet? It's the same one I've used since 1999. I've touched it up a bit over the years, I suppose.

Enter the team names -- visitor and away -- along with any pertinent details. Senior Day? Playoffs? Homecoming?

So, in this case, it would say Greenwich Cardinals vs. Staples Wreckers on Nov 26, 2020 at Cardinal Stadium in Greenwich, CT.

Chris Erway would be my partner and Sean Kilkelly would be the studio host. I put their names on the sheet as well because, honestly, I get overwhelmed and don't want to forget. Hell, I even put my own name on the sheet.

There would be rosters to print and stories to pour over. Where is Greenwich in the state rankings? Are they in the playoffs? What are the scenarios? What's Staples' story?

By this point, I'd know all about Greenwich. But perhaps there's a statistical item to note. And the history. Fortunately I have the matchups all the way back "BR" (yes, "Before Rob") or, in this case, 1997.

I'd have to make sure the alarm was set. I'm always at the stadium -- Greenwich, Staples, Boyle in Stamford or even Danbury High School -- very early. 

For most games I tend to be 90 minutes to two hours early. Admittedly, for late afternoon games, I arrive a little closer due to time constraints and types of setup.

But special games? I soak it up. I'm there early. Sometimes three hours early.

That didn't thrill the people in the Carrier Dome that time we drove up for a Rye/Chenango Forks championship game in New York. However, I couldn't risk lake effect snow or any other problems during a four-hour drive. Plus, if I'm going to make the trip, I'm going to make it worth it. So we were there early, Carrier Dome staff be damned.

In the case of Thanksgiving, two to three hours gives me time to make sure the booth gets opened and we get out space established. That's not a problem in Greenwich, of course. Sure, I lost my corner thanks to the scoreboard installation a few years back but that's showbiz. A new booth there will resolve that anyway. I was only in that corner for 17 years or so. No big deal.

No, Brian Kennedy would make sure I have a spot. Chris and I are always taken care of. Once Ian Barto stopped joining us, we basically eliminated the sideline reporter. Not that I'm against bring the role back. Just nobody else has offered or qualified.

Gotta be on your game to join the "A-Team" of course.

Early arrival on Thanksgiving means time to set up and make sure things work. It's one broadcast that is definitely widely listened to. Then I can go to the tailgate, have an egg and cheese sandwich with chili and whatever else they have around. Grab some coffee, orange juice or even a mimosa -- virgin, of course.

I swear. 

Really.

I still remember the time that MSG Varsity -- by their choice, our competition -- decided to film us at the tailgate for their pregame B-roll package. They had no idea the plates and people they were filming were the opposite broadcasters. 

I always liked the tech people on those crews. Occasionally you ran across a jerk producer, like the one who yelled at me to turn the music down in Trumbull. Do you see the problem there? 1) I don't work in Trumbull and 2) I'm a broadcaster. Not a sound engineer for Trumbull High School.

There's a reason why I walked around a job later one telling my colleagues, "Don't act like MSG."

Indeed, MSG left Fairfield County and, gosh, they were replaced by...who was it again? A three-letter thing as I recall...H...A...what was that last letter?

Weren't they the ones that I told to not act like MSG?

Ah, it will come to me. Now it's Local Live rocking the FCIAC. I can't remember the name of the lead broadcaster there either.

Oh well. I'm sure he (or she) is terrible anyway.

All of this should or could have been in play tomorrow. The game. The setup. The prep. The early departure -- on the road around 6 a.m. and taking the picture of the sun rising on Baldwin Place Road, where it meets US 6 and NY 118. It seems like I take it every year.

Tradition.

The game would end and I'd be off to Thanksgiving dinner somewhere. It was Pennsylvania one year. Shelton another. I went back home a few times. I even stayed in Greenwich once or twice. We went to Golden Corral a few times. Don't knock it. Mom seemed really happy, as goofy as that sounds. The family thing was getting complicated so we simplified it: Mom, Sean, Stephanie, me. It was glorious, actually.

Of course, we know the reality. It's all out the window. Travel restrictions have piled back up. Football is off in Connecticut.

Stephanie is off to see her sister and mother. Mom, of course, is having her own Thanksgiving with Dad, I hope. Sean is here with me.

We're not going anywhere.

I have turkey in the house. Boar's Head.

Football will be on TV. I'll actually see the Lions kick off in Detroit for the first time on Thanksgiving in 20 years.

I'll miss high school football tomorrow.

It will be weird.

It already is weird.

But it's 2020.

Do the right thing and let's not have this happen again, OK?

A conversation with The Cat

 

I was at a loss. I had a headache and I was tired. Plus I was also working.

I looked at Rascal.

"I've got nothing," I said. "No topic to write about."

"I can tell," he squeaked. "You're toast. Plus you look like (bleep)."

"Thanks."

"Well didn't that guy tell you yesterday on the Zoom call for the podcast that you have a 'face for radio?'"

"Yeah. Because I haven't heard that one a few times in 30 years or so."

"Well stop being a tired old.."

"Is this supposed to be helping me?"

"Not really," he purred, before stopping to give himself a bath. You know, that classic move of licking his paw and rubbing it all over his face. "But it's helping me."

Damn. He was right about that. He seemed fairly amused, if not proud of what he was saying.

"You realize," he continued, "that if you keep talking to me, and interrupting me from sleeping/napping/whatever it is I do, that I'll be back to bouncing off the walls and walking across that table you're working on. Who are you 'Zooming' with tonight?"

"Singapore," I said, shocked that he'd been paying attention. "Same as those other nights I've sat in here."

"You don't want to wind me back up again, do you? I'm sure Singapore would just love that."

"Well..."

"I saw there was a cat in the background of that Zoom call yesterday. Do you expect me to be all docile like that thing?"

"Well, yes. Most of the time."

"Hahahahahahahahahaahaha."

"You've literally been of no help to me," I added. "You were sent here for me. Keep me from the blues and so on."

"Ha! Like do the dishes and some laundry and vacuum? Maybe some handyman stuff? Are you on crack, man? Oh, wait. That's me on catnip. All of that stuff is on you, Dude.

"Look, you know the deal. I know Bandit, Fred, Chico and a few others taught you that. I do what I want basically WHEN I want. I'll sort of do the snuggle thing occasionally. But it's on my terms."

He had me. Checkmate. Plus, he had called me "Dude."

The Cat pondered his next move. Go bug Sean, on his computer a room away? Go ignore the food in his dish? Make further messes in a variety of ways? Bite the hand that feeds him -- literally?

All in good time, I suppose. He opted to finish bathing before he curled up on the bed.

"Find a topic, Bro," he said, mockingly, perturbed that I had bothered him. "You do this every night. I'm going to sleep. Since you're going to try to sleep late tomorrow, I'll wake you up nice and early."

Those last words oozed out of him, as if he were stalking a mouse. Then, he paused.

"Write about that."

So, I did.

Monday monotony

 

Am I in Facebook jail or just on probation?

Amazing. Simply amazing.

Common sense, they say, isn't common.

I have a tradition of responding to all birthday wishes. I've caught up on the calls and texts. I still have to get to the ones on LinkedIn. I've answered the Instagram and Twitter ones.

And I tore into Facebook tonight.

Well, it seems Zuckerberg and company have a limit to the number of things you can comment on. This, astonishingly, includes saying "Thank you" to birthday greetings.

Check, please, right?

So I've tried. Those I couldn't recognize got a "like" from me.

It's funny, I've actually considered turning off comments on my birthday before and now I feel like I should have. Not because I don't appreciate the kindness -- I do -- but because of utter foolishness like this.

So now I feel rude for not finishing. So it goes.

*****

Oh, to follow up on yesterday, I'm listening to George Harrison's All Things Must Pass. Hare Krishna, but it's a great masterpiece of music.

Simply the group assembled around George was mesmerizing. George and Ringo Starr. Eric Clapton. Billy Preston. Peter Frampton was there. Phil Collins(!) plays congas on "Art of Dying." Bobby Whitlock and all of Badfinger and Ginger Baker and Gary Wright and Klaus Voorman are all there.

The result is an album (well, three records) that still hold up very well.

It's great for so many moods. Driving and thinking and more.

*****

Yesterday was truly wonderful. I watched Back to the Future with Sean, talked to a few people, watched more The Haunting of Hill House, had a funny Facetime call with Susan and special guest star Kathy and generally took it easy. I'm grateful. Truly.

*****

Today is Doctor Who Day. I realize that doesn't quite register with many but it does for me, mostly because it's become a bond between father and son. I've mentioned here before that I knew of Doctor Who but wasn't an aficionado at all until Sean got into it. I'm still no expert but I care about it.

Doctor Who debuted the day after John F. Kennedy was assassinated in 1963 on the BBC. Despite a break and definitely issues with the quality of writing and production values, it's still rolling after 57 years with its next episode being teased for Jan 1.

Sean knows far more than I do and I know that the current stories aren't his favorites at all. He loves Jodie Whittaker as the thirteenth Doctor but the writing has been so-so at best. So I don't like seeing his interest wane in it but I guess phases and tastes change.

In any event, happy anniversary to the peace-loving, jelly-baby eating, bow tie wearing (bow ties are cool) time lord from Gallifrey. This is what that first episode looked like.

A deck would be lovely

I'm sitting in the living room, having just finished sipping a cup of coffee from my favorite mug. It's from South of the Border, and it features various images of the famed tourist trap.

You know a good mug when you find one. It's sized just right. It feels just right.

And I like how it looks. It's often perfect to gaze at with a sense of whimsy for days gone by and hopefully days to come. Dumb as it may seem, there are still people I'd like to take there with the hope that they can see it for what it is, as opposed to being hung up by one thing or another.

Some find it cheesy. Some find it politically incorrect and even offensive, not knowing the backstory. Some get it and find it fun and nostalgic. That's who I want to take there.

Things are quiet. Sean is asleep, not more than 15 feet away in his bedroom. Funny thing about his room. It was last used by my niece and has a border of sunflowers at the top of the yellow walls. He never elected to change anything. We put some pictures up -- baseball images, along with a few signs and other effects. But, in reality, he couldn't care less. His computer is there (it's a laptop but it never leaves his room). He has what he needs.

In the living room, the TV is currently off. I'll resume streaming The Haunting of Hill House after I finish writing. Susan got me into it. I know the book and its author, Shirley Jackson, mean so much to her. I bought her a T-shirt with the cover of the book on it when I was in Boston a few years back. Like me, she looks at interpretations of "sacred" works dimly, but she was overwhelmed by this one. She asked me to watch it and I admit I'm hooked. It's not my genre but the characters and storylines are just great.

The cat -- brat that he is -- is asleep on a mat five feet away. My mother had a thing for area rugs and bath mats that she could make into area rugs. This one used to sit near the microwave. He began tunneling under it so much that I just moved it out here.

My feet are up as I sit on the couch. It's not often that I have these kinds of moments. I just finished listening to a BBC documentary on the George Harrison album All Things Must Pass as it approaches its 50th birthday next week. It may shock you to know that I don't have it or many other Beatles' solo releases. I don't think I'll ever go all-in on that concept. I don't think I need John and Yoko's primal screaming.

It feels like the days of collecting music are over for me. If anything, I find myself pondering selling much of it or even giving it away, as I've put pretty much everything on my computer. I'd keep certain things of importance (The Beatles, Huey Lewis and Billy Joel are probably at the front of the line). Given the days of being in this house are likely dwindling, it's time to think about scaling down.

It's dark and fairly gloomy outside. Showers are expected today and it's pretty chilly. It's a good day for the aforementioned Netflix idea and perhaps downloading All Things Must Pass. I know I probably need a few more Lennon and McCartney releases. Perhaps there's a Ringo one that's worth it also.

And, oh yeah, it's my birthday. I guess that's why I'm struck by the peace of this moment and feeling so pensive. Sadly, this room would have been buzzing with my mother sitting in the chair a few feet away. She would have had the TV on, whose service will soon be turned off in favor of just using whatever streaming I can get access to. I'll keep the internet on and turn the phone number off that has been here since 1963.

There's no point anymore. The phone just gets marketing calls and the TV is mostly quiet since the end of baseball season.

It should be sad to see that empty chair, and it is, but there's also a certain resignation. My father died in that spot (different chair). My mother died there also. I'm not letting that diminish or depress. Just stating a fact. I miss them both. I think they delighted more in birthday celebrations than I did -- and do.

No, if anything, I'm pondering a brighter future. I've got a lot of living left to do. The aching back and knees and shoulder are a fine reminder that we're well into the latter innings but that doesn't mean I won't take each at-bat seriously.

This game still has a lot left in it.

About the only thing missing from this scene is warm weather and a deck to sit on. Oh I have one -- the chairs aren't that comfortable -- but it's only 40 degrees and it's covered. It gets literally no sunlight, even if the sun was out.

So that's minor, and here I sit.

My idea of a celebration is simplistic. Give me my loved ones. I don't need anything big. I need laughter and food. It's Sunday and we're in a pandemic. So, today, Sean and Rascal and I will keep it quiet. Being brutally honest, I'm not even sure if Sean knows that it's my birthday.

And so, to the next chapter. Quoting from George Harrison, in "Beware of Darkness":

Watch out now, take care
Beware of the thoughts that linger
Winding up inside your head
The hopelessness around you

No hopelessness today. Only gratitude and love for the world I've been a part of, the world that I've created, and those who have surrounded me to share it.