Hey Jude!

 

It's Julian Lennon's birthday.

So, to that end, happy birthday to Julian as he turns 58. 

But this is perhaps only tangentially about Julian Lennon. Oh, sure, I like the music I've heard of his, particularly the songs that become hits. Some of it takes me back to high school and some pleasant times.

In reality, this is about the vibe I felt when I read it was Julian Lennon's birthday.

I messaged Susan when I saw it. We've had many deep conversations about music. She's made me appreciate Joni Mitchell more. We've shared a love of Billy Joel. I've probably helped her understand The Beatles a little better. I think I shocked her with my knowledge of The Monkees and that I didn't mock them.

And I know she likes Julian Lennon.

But I'm wildly digressing here. Oh, sure, I could do the "deep dive" on this whole subject but it has literally nothing to do with Julian Lennon or why I'm writing this in the first place.

Anyway, I messaged Susan to say it's Julian Lennon's birthday and, in my usual stupidly witty way, I included a song lyric to honor "Jules."

You know, "Jules," or in this case changed to "Jude" by Sir Paul McCartney.

"Hey Jude."

"...it's Julian Lennon's birthday," I wrote. "May he take a sad song and make it better."

And then it hit me.

What a profound thing that McCartney wrote. Incidentally, John Lennon thought the song was about him but also helped McCartney with the song, specifically on the line "The movement you need is on your shoulder." Macca was going to pull the line but it was John who told him it was great and to keep it. To most Beatles nuts (Hi!) that line strikes as very emotional.

But back to taking that sad song and making it better.

I mean, as we chat here in the year of 2021, isn't that literally what we have to do?

It hit me as I sent the message to Susan. It wasn't entirely a stupid, corny "Rob joke." It was more than that.

To explain, let's go to baseball. Consider the number of people complaining about the runner on second base rule in extra innings. Heck, my own gripe about the stupid Nike swoosh on the front of the uniforms, especially the Yankees?

No, I'm not going to stop, but my answer is that I simply won't buy any jerseys with that on it. Shame on MLB first and then shame on Nike. So it goes. They'll all survive.

In the case of the runner on second rule, it's not going anywhere for this year.

But.

If the alternative was that we wouldn't have baseball, what would you do?

And so, in the most labored metaphor in history, we're taking a sad song and making it better. The runner on second rule could go away after 2021. It was put in place for 2020 in part so that there could be a season. It was to avoid lengthy games unnecessarily. There was the notion it was for safety.

It is a theme of the "Years of COVID." 

I've finally come to grips with how much my own life has been a drag for over a year because I felt like I was in denial about some of it or something. I can't quite explain it.

So, to me, it feels like there are so many things where I have to take that sad song and make it better.

The overwhelming thought, as I typed that stupid joke to Susan this morning, was that there's often nothing we can do about certain things. Sure, we need to gripe. I need to get stuff off my chest. That's part of why I started writing nearly 15 years ago. To an extent, a longer point is that I've changed in that regard, to be honest. Oh, the stories I haven't told!

But, when life gives you lemons, make some damn lemonade. Throw some vodka in it if it helps. Do whatever you've got to do to move forward.

And thus "Take a sad song and make it better."

Happy birthday, Julian.

Teach your students well

 

I got to teach play-by-play today and I couldn't possibly be happier.

Oh, I couldn't be more exhausted either. But that's a different topic.

I teach two classes (normally) at CSB Media Arts Center: Radio Sports (and Sports Radio Performance) and TV Sports Highlights. Original, I know.

In reality, the TV Sports Highlights class becomes more of a talking class in which I can explain a bit about what goes into a TV report but unless I have someone to run the TV studio controls, we stay in the classroom.

So, in this case, with two students especially interested in the play-by-play world, I focused on that today.

It's a difficult balance. There are inevitably students -- the majority of them -- who see "sports" on the schedule and curse the day I was born. My goal is to always have students understand that what I'm teaching can be applied in many aspects of broadcasting and even life. 

Play-by-play is describing. It's reporting. You will use it somewhere other than sports if only to tell your loved one what's available at the grocery store when you were sent to get something completely different.

So long as the students are respectful (if not engaged) then we're good and this group was very much that. Believe me, I'm not dumb. I know a couple of students were completely bored with me. One literally darted out the door the minute I wished them luck and ended class.

But, on the other hand, one of the non-sports students approached me to say that what I taught today included lessons he will live by for the rest of his career.

I preach having that ability to be multifaceted. It's why Susan calls me a Renaissance Man, which is a title I greatly appreciate. I treasure it.

I told the story of Marty Hersam and I interviewing someone from a women's boutique a few years ago. People laughed at two guys doing that but I thought we were great, having the smarts to ask about trends and letting our guest promote the business.

"Fake it to make it," I told my class.

I was asked what makes a good broadcast and I outlined RIEE in detail, in which a good broadcaster should Report, Inform, Educate (or Enlighten or Elaborate), and Entertain. To that end, I used The Great Scully as an example. Just hear Vin's call of the Koufax perfect game and everything is right there.

I was able to utilize Doc Emrick and Al Michaels and others as examples of the greats.

I played the three calls of Hank Aaron's 715th -- Curt Gowdy, Milo Hamilton, and Vin -- to compare and contrast.

I was also asked what makes a good analyst. To that end, I explained what makes Chris Erway work so well. He watches basically everything but the ball to focus on filling the pieces that I don't. Plus he knows my cadence and knows when to interject. Chris also knows where to add humor.

The chemistry of a booth is so important. Always. I'm blessed to have worked with so many great analysts and am able to adjust when I have someone thrust upon me, which I think is a difficult and dangerous thing to do.

But I also explained what not to do. Who not to be. Don't be the constant circus clown. Don't make it about you because, despite what you might think, the broadcast isn't about us. It's about the athletes and coaches. We inject some of our personality.

Your highlight reel needs to indicate that you can call a game. I don't care how cute your pithy lines are.

Your reputation and personality matter a bit also. Again, chemistry. If you've been called "a disease" then that's tough to come back from.

And, no matter what, not just anyone can really be a play-by-play announcer. Oh, anyone can try. Anyone can put the money up to be one, I suppose. That doesn't mean you have the ability.

I offered examples of all of this to the class. I offered video and audio samples to let them decide for themselves.

But it gives me great joy to pass whatever I've learned onto them. I love telling the stories -- personal and otherwise. I love explaining HAN and Majic 105 and WGCH and WREF and everything else.

I love telling the tales of sleeping on the floor at GCH and of the rush of covering breaking news and how, as a "sports guy" I've done everything to stay relevant.

"You have to be a little crazy to do what we do," I said.

If a student is open to hearing it, I love passing it on. I love infusing that passion.

"Just don't take my job," I always say.

But I'm equally pleased that I didn't fall asleep while teaching. I explained that I finished the video depo at 4 a.m. and literally climbed into bed as soon as we were done. Before I knew it, the alarm sounded to get me up to drive to Stratford. Plied with only one cup of coffee, I did the class and I admit I was getting weak at the very end.

I came home and, with Rascal at my side, I passed out for a nap.

And with these words typed, I will enjoy some Yankees baseball before I head back to bed. Another video depo awaits tomorrow.

The schedules changes. Constantly. So we try to be adaptable.

It's all part of what I teach.

I almost forgot

 

It was 10:21 p.m. when I suddenly had a revelation.

I hadn't written the #P365 post!

So, here I am. But, what am I here to write about?

I've been up since 5:30. Wait, scratch that. I've been up -- on and off -- since 5:30 this morning.

I recorded The Owner's  Box Horse Racing Podcast (back to "Owner's" since I no longer own a horse) at 7 a.m.

I was back in bed not long after 8 because I said yes to a deposition that was to begin at 8 p.m. Thus, I'm sitting here now.

Knowing I had a long night ahead of me (and that I have to be in Stratford, CT at 9:30 tomorrow morning), I paced myself. I grabbed two short catnap-like breaks. I did stuff on the computer. I ran out to get a sandwich.

And here I sit. Exciting, right?

On the other hand, I spent a bunch of the day setting up my...TRUMPETS, PLEASE!...Hudson Valley Renegades email address!

Ladies and gentlemen, send all complaints to radio@hvrenegades.com.

Which, honestly, is the same email the radio broadcaster has used for years. Literally, years.

As I cleaned things up, I saw emails dating back to 2012.

However, I was able to slightly personalize it.

That's what my email signature will say, at least for now.

These are, to me, the dumb little things that make me so happy.

I also downloaded the 2021 New York Yankees media guide and I have to admit seeing a page about the Gades in it made me smile. It's on page 413.

Keep in mind I've had various copies of Yankees' media guides since probably 1981. Yes, I'd actually buy one, and this was before they became a little more publicly accessible. So to see a team that I work for listed in it? Come on. That's crazy stuff.

To some, this is old hat. To me, this is big but I've always felt that way. I've never gotten jaded. I'm always amazed.

Anyway, I'm babbling and I see time is getting short on Apr 6, 2021.

I scratched the first baseball itch yesterday as I called the Brunswick game. But that magic date -- May 11 -- is 35 days away.

Broadcasters matter

 

My view at Brunswick (2019 photo)

My quiet Sunday...er...Easter Sunday had me working on tech stuff and other things around the house as I got ready to open the 2021 spring season.

I worked on integrating this app to that sick to that device to that wifi. 

And so on.

I set up ESPN on Roku as well as on a Fire Stick.

Oh, look, I thought, there's Pitt/Notre Dame college baseball. I'll use that to make sure things work. I've had an affection for Pitt ever since Dan Marino played football for the Panthers.

The view of Pitt's field came into play along with what it sounded like profanity almost as soon as I turned it on. 

"Hmm, must have been a hot mic," I mused out loud.

Thom Brennaman was nowhere to be found, 4-0 lead or otherwise.

No broadcaster would explain what happened. That's because there WAS no broadcaster. A game shown on the ESPN app was without an announcer.

How pathetic.

A throw was so wild the runner went to third (from first base). No idea who the error was on or who any of the players were. A senior named Nico Popa homered. I only know that because I saw he wore number one and I looked him up. The Panthers won, 3-2. At least that's what the graphic said.

This wasn't some high school who couldn't (or wouldn't) afford a voice. These were the Universities of Notre Dame and Pittsburgh. This was also the ACC and ESPN. Something tells me they could have ponied up some cash for someone to call the obviously one camera shoot. Hell, I could have tried to call it from here in New York and been better than silence.

There's this perverse thought that we piddly little broadcasters don't matter. We're replaceable and anyone can do it. We're not worth the money we get.

I've railed about this before. There are countless parents who think they can just grab a headset and start talking.

I used to think this way also. I used to think I did nothing special. Then I let someone try it while calling a game with me. I quickly learned I was wrong. Even then, those who think they can describe a game can't carry a broadcast and those are two very different things.

I've gone down this road so many times. There's no point.

Pitt and Notre Dame couldn't have found two kids to sit Charles L. Cost Field and describe this game? And, more to the point, call it radio style since it was a one-camera shoot?

Despite what everyone thinks, the video doesn't show everything. The good broadcaster -- TV or radio -- fills in those gaps. The camera doesn't catch every little element in the stands or around the field. That's where we come in.

Except none of that could be relayed on this announcerless mess.

I'm sure there's a reason. Maybe they couldn't find anyone on Easter. Maybe they didn't want to find anyone on Easter. Maybe they didn't want to pay anyone. 

Maybe they just didn't care and figured the viewer was lucky to have the video in the first place.

Thankfully, Brunswick isn't like that. They did their first three hockey games without me due to COVID. They were able to bring me to the rink in February. They said the response to my being there was great.

Later today, I'll get my first crack at Brunswick baseball. My first baseball call since Oct 3, 2020, when I called the Connecticut Little League championship.

Those good nerves will start to kick in. I'll get to the field, in need of lineups and maybe even rosters. I'll try the scorecard I devised last year and these are the final games before I decide if I like it enough for a 60-game season.

Even that matters. The scorebook. It's a personal preference and don't let anyone tell you differently. Many like the Bob Carpenter book, developed by the TV broadcaster for the Nationals. I've been aware of it for years and have never liked it. That doesn't mean it's not a good book. Far from it. It looks great but it doesn't suit my style personally.

Keeping a clean book that can be understood is its own art form. Keeping that and still calling a game? Well, it's not easy. 

I'll be doing at least a 60-game book for the Gades. That is if I don't also keep score for the 60 road games.

Oh, where was I? That's right, the broadcaster.

Look, I've tried in every way possible to explain our importance. It pains me when I see the craft minimized, regardless of how. It gets minimized by shoddy work or by simply not employing one.

The best of us are the ones who do just enough to be noticed without being flashy. At the end of the day, we do our job.

For me, that starts today because Brunswick puts a value on that.

My fellow voices roll their eyes when they hear that I call the game from right field. That's where the camera seems to best suited and I can get power from the scoreboard. Who cares? It beats NOT being there.

Try watching it without the description. It will make a huge difference.

Game time is 3:30.

Happy...holiday?

Today's a holiday. At least, that's what I see online.

Alexa says so. My calendar makes reference to it also.

So...good food, family, fun, FRIVOLITY!?

Surely, it HAS to be more fun than the holiday was in 2020, right?

But, wait. I'm looking around. It's just me and #TheCat.

Heck, I can't even get the memo right for "What to Wear on a Spring Holiday!"

I'm in gray comfy pants, slippers, a t-shirt...and my black Mahopac Baseball hoodie.

I'm supposed to be in pastels. Nice colors and so on.

I mean, this is fine. It's all on me. No hopping bunny and eggs. Just a black cat. We'll figure out some food. The cat will sleep. Maybe I will also.

If the weather gets nicer, I'll take a walk. I keep toying with taking my bicycle out also. But it's not quite warm enough to just sit in the yard, even in -- duh duh DAH! -- The Pod!

Which might be on display tomorrow at Brunswick.

Oh, hey, wait, in the midst of my Gilbert O'Sullivan "Alone Again (Naturally)"-based diatribe, I forgot to mention that I'm finally back on the air tomorrow calling sports.

And specifically, a little something I call baseball. Or Base Ball. Or rounders.

Game time is 3:30 p.m. and as we really don't do pregames on Local Live for the Brunswick coverage, I'll plan on talking to you in the 3:25 range. That's enough time to read the lineups and dive into the call.

Later in the week, I've got Brunswick and Trinity-Pawling twice, first on Friday for lacrosse at 3 p.m. Then on Saturday, I've got the Bruins and Pride for baseball at 4 p.m.

There might be a second game on Saturday (non-Brunswick division) but I'll hold that news until it's confirmed. Something different is in play.

No need to explain the whole upcoming schedule but my dance card has filled up a bit with games. If Brunswick is home for a game there's a solid chance I'll call it. There's even one really cool road trip planned in early May. I'll tell you the details as we get closer.

Plus I've got a youth baseball tripleheader in Milford, PA coming up on WYNY Radio (!) on Apr 17. Again, probably more details as I get closer.

And I hope Mahopac would like a visit. I know Trumbull does (thanks, TEN and Jeff Alterman).

Incidentally, the WYNY call letters were once licensed to three different frequencies around New York City but are now on 1450 AM in Milford, PA along with 106.9 FM. That's where I'll be heard in just under two weeks.

Save for road trips, when I'm not calling the Gades, I think I'll have my hands full with broadcasts and podcasts and video depos and more through the summer. Then Greenwich football returns and let's hope things keep rolling.

If life goes right, I hope to throw in a visit to North Carolina. I think there's some family that could use a visit (and I know I could use it).

It will be a lot of juggling. 

Anyway, if Easter is your thing, then enjoy it. 

Given where I am, it's just April 4.

Just me, a TV, Rascal, and Rev. Al Green.

TV or not TV

 

Maybe I told this story so excuse me if you've "seen" it before.

My TV died roughly a month ago (Get it? "Seen?"). I was in bed watching a documentary when I heard a pop and the TV went dark. In my subsequent research, it appeared to be something in the family of a fuse although I heard it might involve more than that.

As my friend Marc Ducret said, "If you're not comfortable with a soldering gun..."

Nope. I'm out. Plus it didn't seem economically feasible.

So, then, just go without one? I had one in the living room and I feel greedy even talking about this.

I was prepared to just do without but my niece Stephanie got me to at least think about it.

"I bet you can find something reasonable!" she said.

And so I began my obsessive research.

"Don't ignore Wal Mart," Stephanie said. "You might be surprised."

To that end, I found myself in a Target the weekend that Eric died to zone out for a few minutes. Then I hurried over to a nearby Best Buy. Just research. A break as I drove home. I was checked out.

The research intensified. What was I willing to pay? How big of a TV did I want? Could I move the living room set to my bedroom?

Again, I'll acknowledge that this is an embarrassing first-world problem, all things considered. It does, however, make for a decent blog post when it's after 10 p.m. on a Saturday night as I try to watch the Final Four.

The questions continued in my mind. What brand? Who did I trust?

I'd enjoy visits to Best Buy locations in Cortlandt and Danbury and Norwalk. I'll stroll the Targets of Bethel and Mount Kisco.

I shopped online at Costco and PC Richard and Amazon as well as the aforementioned Target, Best Buy, and Wal Mart.

I had some spare time yesterday. Still, nothing clicked. Best Buy had a Westinghouse at a reasonable price. Stephanie had been firm about what she believed I should look for (a Roku 4K smart TV being among the features). I didn't read great things about Westinghouse TVs and, really, when I think of that brand, I think of radio and KDKA and 1920.

I'm a geek.

Easter, of course, is this weekend. While Easter is not necessarily my bag usually, it wasn't really fun to realize that I'd be utterly and completely alone since Sean left Friday night. Of course, Rascal is here and he produces stimulating conversation.

Anyway, the point is if I was going to buy a TV, it would be nice to have it in time for tomorrow so that I could just chill out.

Beyond that, some stores (Target being one) are closed tomorrow. 

So, OK. I'll go to Wal Mart in Fishkill. That tends to be a good location.

I stood. I looked. I obsessed. Something wasn't right. I didn't like the prices. 

I looked on the Wal Mart app. They had a feature-rich TV at a good price in Newburgh.

I got back in the car and shot across the Hudson River, longingly glancing towards Dutchess Stadium as I drove by.

Otherwise, Newburgh was a failure. For the first time, a salesperson approached me, in Wal Mart.

"The app says you have three," I said.

"Yeah. I tend to get rid of them fast," he countered. "There might be more on the truck that might get put out tomorrow."

Here's where I'm completely to blame. Up to this point, I'd already driven unnecessary miles on a quest due to my own hangups. As we finished talking, the salesman mentioned a larger-sized TV. Stubbornly, I declined because it wasn't what I had set in my mind.

In truth, the TV he showed me was only a few dollars more and probably a better value. I beat myself up as I left.

Then I went to Target in Newburgh.

Then I went to BJ's in Newburgh. Their prices were worse than Wal Mart on similar TVs.

I should tell you that I went to the Fishkill Wal Mart for a variety of reasons, including how much I don't like the parking lot of the location nearest to me, in Cortlandt.

And yet, as I left Newburgh, I steered the car onto US 9W south. Next stop, Cortlandt, via the Bear Mountain Bridge.

I walked in. I went to electronics. I surveyed the situation. I'm not good at being spontaneous with these decisions. I argue with myself over money and guilt. There's nobody standing with me to tell me to stop being ridiculous.

At this point in the day, I was exhausted and hungry. I convinced myself it was only money and I could return it if it was bad.

And so, after all this silliness (again, my own fault) I bought the very TV that the salesperson in Newburgh recommended.

I hauled it out without a cart and stuffed it into my car.

It's a nice TCL Roku. The price, all things considered, was reasonable. It's working quite nicely. The picture is nice. The sound is nice. I'll work to make up for the purchase.

I picked up a unique youth baseball broadcast coming up in a few weeks. That will help.

I have to be good to myself once in a while.

Though, as I said, it does give me a story to tell you.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I'd like to watch the end of the Gonzaga/UCLA game.

On my new TV.

Visiting Mr. Allen

 

Mel Allen was and will always be "The Voice of the Yankees."

He was the first to have the title, "The Voice," attached to him. The title could basically be retired with him.

An institution in sports broadcasting beginning in 1939, Mel lived a life that took him from his native Alabama to New York where he became arguably the most famous sports voice ever. He, Red Barber, Bill Stern, Ted Husing, and Graham McNamee were the dominant names in the earliest days of the business.

Mel died in Greenwich in 1996 and is buried in Stamford, almost in the shadow of Westhill High School.

I'd driven by the cemetery many times. I'd call games basically within a mile of the legendary man's grave.

I didn't know until only a few years ago.

I've been planning to find the right time to visit his grave and with the countdown rolling towards the opening the Renegades season, I felt like today was perfect.

Upon arriving at the cemetery, I found that the gate into the grounds was closed. Temple Beth-El synagogue was close by and a small gate connected to it by walking across a driveway.

Something felt wrong about that but I still made my way through the gate.

Fortunately, the cemetery wasn't big because I was literally armed with a section number.

B6.

I had no other directions.

I was able to find section markers that were small and metal. I found the D section but then I saw A. 

It took a few minutes on a slightly overcast, chilly Connecticut morning, but I found the family plot near the back corner of the cemetery.

It's marked "Israel-Allen" because Mel's was born Melvin Israel on Feb 14, 1913. Mel took his father's middle name as his on-air name at the urging of CBS when he was hired in 1937. Allen was a smart man who passed the bar exam at the University of Alabama.

Thus his father wasn't pleased, thinking Mel was wasting his education to become a broadcaster. But Mel was where he belonged. By June, 1939, Allen was a part of the broadcasts of all three New York teams. Mel was on the field for Lou Gehrig Day that July.

As the disease that took his life worsened, Gehrig told Allen, “Mel, I never got a chance to listen to your games before because I was playing every day. But I want you to know they’re the only thing that keeps me going.” 

The words left Allen in tears.

Mel's grave marker in Stamford is small and simple. There are no ornate markings. No mention of his famous phrase: "How About That?"

No mention of the Yankees or "The Week in Baseball."

Just this:

MEL ALLEN

BELOVED SON

BROTHER -- UNCLE

1913 -- 1996

I looked down at the headstone. With the goal of finding Mr. Allen's grave achieved, I felt like there was only one thing to do since it's what we have in common.

We talk. So I spoke.

"I'll try to not embarrass you, Mr. Allen," I said. "I'll take the things I learned from you and Mr. (Red) Barber and Mr. Scully and honor the profession.

"Since I'm joining the Yankees broadcasting family in a distant way, I just wanted to visit you. Thank you, sir."

And I walked away.

The Mel Allen I got to hear in the 70s and 80s was not quite the same as he was as a play-by-play announcer in his glory years up until 1964. He was the avuncular voice of "The Week in Baseball" by the end of the 70s. He was the play-by-play announcer for Old Timer's Day at Yankee Stadium and, eventually, returned to calling some games on SportsChannel.

Broadcasting was his life. He kind of waded through life after the Yankees didn't renew his contract following the '64 season. He tried calling some games through the balance of the 60s. But until he returned to The Bronx for Mickey Mantle day -- June 8, 1969 -- most said he felt adrift.

Mel never married. He was "The Voice of the Yankees." This piece on Sabr.org from Warren Corbett does a nice job of encapsulating Mel's bio.

I met him once in the flesh, at the very first Yankees Fan Fest in 1991. I still remember him telling me it was nice to meet me. 

Nah. It was an honor to meet you, sir. 

I won't screw this thing up. It's too important to me.

But in the same way that I want to honor the previous voices in Renegades history, and am trying to connect with the broadcasters in the High A East (or whatever our league will be called) I also wish to remember and educate people on the Yankees announcers.

Mel was second, in truth, following Arch McDonald in that 1939 season. However, no audio exists of McDonald on Yankees broadcasts (at least none that I've ever heard).

But there's plenty of Mel on plenty of games and shows.

"Hello there, everybody," he'd say, as he'd open the broadcast to tell us another "Ballantine Blast" was "Going, going, it is gone!"

He's still the best announcer in Yankees history. He's still among the finest overall sports broadcasters ever, probably top 10 at worst. Among baseball announcers, he sits in my top three.

No, Mr. Allen, it was nice to meet you.

It was nice to honor you by visiting your grave today.

Thirty-two days until the Gades open on the road. Thirty-nine until the home opener.

(You probably know the final line but I'm still going to say it)

"How about that?"

Baseball is back

  

Me, circa 1977. The passion for baseball is still as strong as ever.

It's the most wonderful day of the year. Or at least one of them.

Baseball comes back in parts for me: 1) Major League, 2) High School/Prep School, 3) Minor League, 4) Youth/Summer/Legion. I realize I've left out college (I suppose because nobody seems to want me right now so there's no investment there at the moment).

OK, that's making it a little too involved, but stay with me here. The true kickoff -- the one we really all wait for -- is today. 

Major

League

Frickin' 

Baseball 

Is

BACK!

OK, I know. You hate the runner on second in extra innings and the seven-inning doubleheaders and the pitch clock and the DH or lack of a DH or the AL with the DH and the NL without the DH.

For one minute, shut...up...please!

Today, everyone was 0-0. Hope sat right in front of us.

Yes, the Blue Jays ripped the Yankees' hearts out but it's one day. One of 162.

The Mets and Nationals didn't play due to COVID with Washington and they won't play until Saturday. The Red Sox and Orioles didn't play due to the weather.

But our glorious game was back. When the lineups were introduced at 12:45(ish), very little mattered. When the first pitch was thrown at 1:05 all was right in the world. I wasn't thinking about stupid rules or Rob Manfred.

I might have thought about teams that strike out too much (Yankees, New York) but that's what we're SUPPOSED to think about -- the game. This great and wonderful game that has been my "one constant through the years" (Field of Dreams) was on my TV screen.

I prepared for "Doubleheader" and worked on myriad minutiae as Michael Kay, David Cone, Paul O'Neill, and Meredith Marakovits spoke in the background -- only on YES.

As with last year, when the sport was fighting with itself, we are simply happy to have the game out in front of us where it belongs. We've come so far -- think about it, we really have. Sports, for some of us, has been front and center in helping us have some kind of whatever this is.

We worry about armageddon at the end of the year as the collective bargaining agreement expires and the two sides remind us of what I've been saying for years...

It's a business.

By all accounts, it's going to be bad. But, let's worry about that after it's all over in the fall. For now, let's enjoy it.

For you -- the non-baseball fan -- let me try to teach you this game in a way you've never seen or heard it. Ask me to take you to Cooperstown to explain it's great history. Let me show you why when the nonsense of everyone messing with the sport is stripped away, the simplicity of the lack of a clock, combined with the game literally never being over it's over (paraphrasing one Lawrence P. Berra) gives baseball as much excitement as any sport.

No day like the opening day of baseball season can produce such emotion in me. I love the introductions, the first pitch, the buzz in the ballpark. Seeing the players in the crisp new uniforms for the first time just makes everything seem right. The year is truly in front of us. The snow is gone (except for Detroit) and the temperatures will only improve from here.

Welcome home, baseball, my dear friend of so many years. Six years ago -- Apr 5, 2015 -- I sat down and wrote when some have called one of the best things I've produced here. Maybe it is and maybe it isn't but it was something that flowed very easily from my keyboard that day.

So I'll link it here, with the hope you'll read it. Maybe I can't make you a baseball fan but I hope you'll recognize and understand the passion I have for it and the grip this game has had on me since I was a little boy.

Once again, play ball.

Historic voices

 

Sean Ford and me calling the Gades and the Oneonta Tigers,
Dutchess Stadium, Aug 17, 2008 (Nancy Adams photo)

It's taken a year but I've finally begun to do the things I wanted to do for the Renegades' broadcasts.

We still have to figure out other details but one thing I had thought about was connecting with each of the lead broadcasters in the history of the team.

I figured I had a unique perspective, given I've been going to Gades games since they arrived in 1994 and had broadcast the team off and on since 2001.

But...was I sure of who those voices were? I knew some even though I'd never met them. I knew enough from my own brain. My own memories.

And, of course, my own experiences.

I thought it would be nice to pull together an archive of audio samples. Perhaps I could blend them together as part of the opening of the broadcasts. I wasn't sure exactly where this could go.

Most of all, I wanted to unite all of us as a group of people who had this unique opportunity, beginning in 1994. I wanted to write the story.

First up was the original team broadcaster, Bill Rogan, whom I connected with via social media yesterday. He quickly accepted my request and we chatted a bit online. By the end of last night, I had two calls from Bill and maybe more to follow. Bill was with the team from 1994-1998.

Rick Schultz was with Bill before Rick took over the lead role in 1999 as the Gades marched to their first NY-Penn League championship. Rick, as we speak, is pulling that call together to send to me.

By 2000, Sean Ford was in the driver's seat. I know Sean very well and we remain good friends who don't talk to each other nearly enough. He'll be hearing from me soon. Sean was first with the team in 1999. By 2001 he met this strange guy who would officially get his turn as lead broadcaster 20 years later.

Even if Sean doesn't send me anything (and I know he will) I also know I have a few calls of his in my own collection.

Sean, Harold, and I marched up to Massachusetts for a weekend that included calling the Gades at Fenway Park and the following day in Lowell. 

Geoff Brault followed when Sean didn't come back after 2008. Geoff welcomed me into the booth several times during the 2009 season. We've remained in touch ever since. I'm certain I have some audio of him but I also suspect he'll send me a few highlights. Geoff remains an outstanding broadcaster working at Marist College.

Geoff and I had a fun-filled experience at Aberdeen, MD that included losing power thanks to a mammoth thunderstorm. The IronBrids brought in generators to light the booth and restrooms for the night.

My memories of 2010 are vague but I remember working two games with Nick Gagalis, while Gary Ayd ran the show back in the studio. If my memory is decent, Gary joined Nick at Dutchess Stadium while Nick traveled to the road games. I've remained in contact with each of them. I remember calling one game with Nick on Staten Island and the next day at Brooklyn where we had to pass a phone to each other to call the game.

I was going to join for a few games in 2011 with new broadcaster Jacob Wilkins but it just seemed like we couldn't get the timing right. It also felt like I was an old guy standing in the way. This is when it occurred to me that maybe my time was done. For his part, Jacob moved on to prominence, including as an update reporter on WFAN and Sirius XM, where I would frequently hear him. Now he's with the Binghamton Rumble Ponies. We connected on Twitter last night.

Ben Gellman-Chomsky was with the Gades in 2012. He was the first to message me about this and said he'd look for some audio. 

Gregg Caserta followed in 2013. He has stayed active with the Reading Fightin' Phils (one of my favorite ballparks) and we also connected on Twitter so I'm hopeful for some highlights from him.

The 2014 name -- one that I initially struggled to come with -- with Chris Marasco, but I found him on LinkedIn and he graciously accepted my request to connect. I'm also hopeful he'll find a few highlights.

I'm fortunate to know the 2015 broadcaster, JJ Duke, who was in the Greenwich High football booth with Sean Kilkelly for one of the years that I was at HAN. He's going to pull some audio together and send it to me.

And that leads me to the last lead broadcaster, Josh Caray. Josh called the Gades from 2016 until the end of the 2019 season. He's a text away and I should be able to get something, even if I look in my own files. When Josh needed a weekend off, I got a call asking me to step in for him.

That was where the door reopened for me. When Josh announced he was leaving to join the Rocket City Trash Pandas, I texted him to see if he'd be around for that whole season. As he was, I wished him well and said I hoped to see him at the ballpark. Then fate came my way, I auditioned live on the air, and we're now 41 days away from the home opener.

The important thing is to get each person's voice represented somehow. Each one of them deserves to be recognized. Teams remember their players and managers and executives. As a passionate sports broadcasting historian, I felt this was a small thing I could do to honor the legacy of the Renegades and the voices who reported on all of those games prior to 2020.

I will then begin to write the next chapter in the extraordinary story of the Hudson Valley Renegades.

Part I was the Texas Rangers era (1994-1995).

Part II was the Tampa Bay Devil Rays/Tampa Bay Rays era (1996-2000).

Part III is the New York Yankees era, which begins officially on May 4.

From Bill Rogan through me, these are the voices who have brought you the action. While I'm not new, I still look forward to putting my mark on this story.

I'm making more of it than I should

I'll always be proud of co-hosting the 2019 Greenwich Town Party with Sean

*I had hoped to be on the air today but the job I started at 6 a.m. didn't finish until well past 4:30 this afternoon, so no "Doubleheader" today.

It was a Sunday morning in 1997 and my radio future was sketchy.

I had dabbled -- that's the word -- in broadcasting since 1990, going from Majic 105 as weekend overnight DJ to a stretch where there would be nibbles but no bites to joining WREF in Ridgefield.

WREF came along at the perfect time as my corporate job at Kraft Foods was being moved to Chicago. The thing was, I could go to Chicago but Kraft wasn't going to pay for relocation for any of us. Obviously, that was a non-starter.

So getting to join WREF as a board-op and air talent was a blessing. At least, I thought so. I was a board-op for Ridgefield High School football and I was playing some music (mostly big bands and the like which I was quite comfortable with). I was given a Saturday morning shift. I even had a news anchor! Maybe I'd found a home.

Not so fast. The news anchor didn't show up a few weeks in. I eventually found out the station had been sold and we'd soon be out. WREF's studios would leave Ridgefield -- I turned out the lights as the host of the last air shift -- and it would be over.

I served as "Assistant General Manager" while the turnover took place. Meaning I answered phones and listened to the radio and tried to figure out if I wanted any of the equipment.

As for that last shift, it was a Sunday afternoon and I had some family in the studio when one of the guests told me today was my last day. Er...what? Sure enough, he went and bought a copy of The Ridgefield Press -- oh, the irony -- and there it was.

As I was speaking my farewell, the line cut out and it was over. All I could hear was static on the studio monitors.

But two friends at WREF -- Steve Goodwin and the late Luke Michaels -- told me it wasn't the end of the world. They would put in a good word at another station they work at. 

WGCH in Greenwich.

And so, as WREF was dismantling the studios on route 35, I was going to the building next to the Food Emporium grocery store on Dayton Ave.

It was Sunday, Mar 30, 1997. Twenty-four years ago today.

Steve trained me and I was to fill in for him the next Sunday.

I learned which reel-to-reel tapes went on the proper machines and the carts I was supposed to play and the intricacies of the board and the microphones and everything else. There would likely be no air time but I was in radio, at least for a few days.

I took that knowledge and did my best with it the following Sunday, having raced from New Jersey where I spent the night with my nephew Michael on a scout trip at Liberty Science Center. So, what I'm saying is, I was on little sleep as I flew -- yes, really -- on the Cross Bronx.

Eventually, I met the WGCH characters: Jim Thompson and Dima Joseph and Bob Small and others. Bob, no doubt, yelled at me for screwing something up. It was the first time but it wouldn't be the last and he found out eventually that I'll yell right back. That's why it works after all these years where we both know we want the best of what we do.

I'd meet more people as time went on. John Iannuzzi and Sean Kilkelly and Laura Smith along with salespeople (yes, we had them!) and ownership (the wonderful late John T. Becker) and management and sponsors and so on.

I thought maybe I'd be forgotten after the first shift and I sort of was Once again, I dabbled, as a last resort around WGCH when a board op was needed. Somehow I eventually got asked to run the controls for a football game (John Jay and Ossining) and I started hitting it off with the sports director, John Connelly. I did some more board op work and was allowed to do the halftime show. John liked what he heard and soon made me the pregame and postgame host. It was a role created for me in that I served as the person signing on and off of the broadcast, including all "throws" when we returned from commercial.

That meant I was on for hockey and basketball in the winter of 1988-99.

I became the go-to. Need a board-op? Sure! An engineer for a remote? Happy to do it! Come in on Christmas Eve for midnight mass? Why not?

I did a home improvement show and a golf show and other shows that I don't even remember. I hosted "The Trading Post," writing down the requests of listeners who wanted to sell whatever they had around the house.

On Jan 28, 1999, I did color on a hockey game between Trumbull and Greenwich. I had no business doing it but I had to fake it to make it. Then, on April 10, I called my first game: Port Chester and Greenwich baseball.

I'd found a home. 

That fall, I called Section 1 football on our then-sister station, WVIP in Mount Kisco. That's the very same station that I once won a contest on back in...gulp...1984. I knew who the first Monday Night Football game was between (Jets/Browns). I was listening in the car from White Plains all the way home and ran upstairs to call in. I won movie passes and I don't think I ever used them. I still have the audio of them talking about me.

John Connelly left WGCH in the summer of 2000 and I was soon tapped to take on the sports director role -- now part-time -- and call Greenwich football.

Things have changed a lot since then. Tony Savino joined the station a few years later. Other faces came and went and returned. We moved from Dayton Ave to Lewis St. Our old tower is gone. We're on FM now to go along with our AM signal.

I do a Friday morning sports chat with Tony Savino and "Doubleheader" and "The Clubhouse." I host occasional special events, such as the Greenwich Town Party. If it all works out, I'll be back on Greenwich football this fall for my 23rd season of being associated with them and 19th as...nope, not gonna call myself "The Voice"...lead broadcaster.

Oh, it's been a ride. I've slept on the floor of both Dayton Ave and Lewis St. I've literally been in both places at all hours. I've helped put it on the air and take it off. I've seen technical issues and wound up in crazy circumstances.

I've got stories I'll tell and others I might wait to tell. Statute of limitations and all.

I've covered election night and read the news and covered tragedies and breaking news and triumphs. I've interviewed many great people -- familiar and otherwise.

I've received countless kind words that are extremely humbling and have seen criticism that was hurtful and, sometimes, fair.

And so, perhaps I'll just copy this post and use it again next year when my 25th year comes to an end.
Shockingly, I try to do this without much fanfare. It's always been about the listeners and the extended community. I really don't like being the story.

I just try to keep WGCH and AM radio as relevant as I can.

There are no guarantees. I know that now more than ever. Things change and when the inevitable end comes for me I know I'll be grateful for a quarter of a century at WGCH.

Thank you, Greenwich, and beyond.

Onward, listeners!

To be clear...

(please note Rascal sleeping to the right)

OK, so we need to talk.

Things I wrote and/or tweeted didn't come across correctly, so let me try again.

Yesterday's post was meant to show understanding for the boys D1 FCIAC Hockey Championship at Dorothy Hamill Rink in Greenwich.

It was supposed to support Greenwich and New Canaan High Schools.

It was supposed to support the Greenwich Athletic Foundation and Birds Eye Sports and Local Live -- all of whom had a role in producing the broadcast.

It was supposed to be understanding of NCTV 78 and the broadcasters who wanted to be at Hamill Rink but couldn't.

It was supposed to be supportive of Hamill Rink itself, who has been hyper careful about crowds due to COVID protocols and who allowed New Canaan parents to attend the game.

That's where things went astray.

I was saying that I understood all of it.

Gus Lindine and Jay Egan -- the two ADs -- worked together on everything. The rink and Local Live, spearheaded by Kevin Devaney, Jr, came together on the broadcast.

Local Live has been great in working with broadcasting groups such as the Greenwich Athletic Foundation, DAF Media, and New Canaan. 

For what it's worth, guess who loses when that happens? Me because, most of the time, other broadcasters are used (save for the few times I've jumped on with DAF Media).

But I wasn't trying to portray any villains.

This is an unusual year and there simply wasn't room at Hamill for NCTV.

I was trying to let these young broadcasters know that I've been there. There have been games -- many games -- that I felt I should call, just as they're feeling.

I remember when Brewster High School represented Section 1 on a state championship run in 1999. I called a lot of Section 1 football that year...then couldn't do the final in Syracuse.

I remember when Mount Saint Mary College went into the playoffs in 2010. I was their broadcaster. Nope.

Greenwich played in a girls basketball state final. Nope.

HAN Network got boxed out of calling basketball at Mohegan Sun due to the NFHS Network in 2015. We were allowed to do hockey that year but weren't allowed back after that.

These are the ones off of the top of my head and there are others.

I chose my words carefully all night Saturday and the same goes for last night. I didn't even comment on the actual announcers for any of the games, including the basketball games.

But when the texts and emails and phone calls happen -- all very understanding, I must add -- I feel that I need to clarify.

Look, I love that I've called 51 FCIAC Championship Games.* I consider it a huge responsibility and an honor.

*I discovered my database had a mistake and I was off by one.

I've called probably more Greenwich athletic events than anyone since 1999, including 23 FCIAC Championships. I miss it. Can you blame me for wanting more?

But I should have stayed out of it or chose my words differently. Understood.

I tried to advocate, basically, for everyone. I was trying to sympathize.

Most of all, I'm always looking out for the athletes, coaches, and families.

Hopefully, that clears it up. Inquire within with questions and concerns.

Thirty-six days until the Gades open.

Paying it forward

 

Darien won the girls hockey FCIAC title back in 2016. I called it on HAN.

I finally got to watch the recent retrospective on Doc Emrick that NBC produced back in February.

Of course, it was great. It was about Doc.

One part that particularly stuck out to me was his relationship with Fort Wayne broadcasting legend Bob Chase. Doc did the same for broadcasters of all ages. He took the time to talk to them, listen to their audio, and critique.

Just as he counseled me for a few minutes on "The Clubhouse" late last year.

That leads me to a broadcaster named Austin Platt.

Austin wanted to be part of the call of yesterday's FCIAC D1 Championship Game between Greenwich and New Canaan, where he is a senior. New Canaan's TV 78 wasn't allowed to broadcast it as Greenwich was the home team.

Local Live distributed the game, produced by Birds Eye Sports. I believe the Greenwich Athletic Foundation was involved as well.

Local Live is the official broadcaster for the FCIAC semifinals and championship. In a "normal" year, I might have been under the headset for some of those games, at least in basketball. Maybe even girls hockey. I've been boxed out of the boys hockey final for a couple of years.

This, of course, is not a normal year.

So, as you've gathered, in full disclosure: I do work for Local Live. I've worked with Birds Eye as well. I've also worked with the Greenwich Athletic Foundation on football.

I bring this up because I know some -- not all, but some -- of the moving parts. However, I don't claim to have any inside knowledge on this.

Still, those in New Canaan were annoyed and all I can say is that I understand. It's an awful feeling to put your heart and soul into all of it and feel like you're out for one reason or another.

I'm pretty sure Jeff Alterman and the Trumbull Eagles Network (TEN) would have liked to call the Ridgefield/Trumbull FCIAC girls basketball title on Saturday night.

I've watched teams that I've covered -- Greenwich and other FCIAC teams as well as Brunswick and more -- have other outlets call the big game. I stewed when I tried to watch as they clearly didn't know the team like I did. Like it or not it was out of my control.

I've even offered to go call stuff on my dime. Smart? No, but it speaks to that desire to reach the finish line.

I wasn't thrilled to be sitting on the couch all weekend.

It's a hard lesson. A very hard lesson.

It's easy to feel that rage. You think -- you're certain -- you'll do a better job.

Austin Platt probably thought some of those things as well. But he didn't project that.

He tweeted a short thread: "It's a shame I couldn't call the FCIAC Championship today, but I really can't complain. For the last two years I have had the distinct pleasure and honor to call both @NCPuck and @NcGirlsPuck games, and find my niche in hockey. In just two years, the teams combined for 3 FCIAC Championships and countless moments I will always cherish, including the Shane Mettler 2OT winner last year and Grace Crowell's championship OT winner just a week ago I truly hope this is the start of something special for me, regardless of where I end up."

It's no fun to take that high road, but that is an incredibly wise attitude to have. It's also the right thing to do.

I stood right next to the NC crew last year as I called that OT winner by Shane Mettler on Local Live. As I was working with a raw voice, I saved everything for the call and kept to myself.

I'm not here tonight to say anything bad about anyone. The game was covered. That matters. I know Ben Talbott, Mike Morales, and Birds Eye always do good work. I like the Local Live crew and the Greenwich Athletic Foundation.

I have no doubt that Dylan Pescatore, Austin, and the NC crew would have done a fine job as well, just as Damian Andrew does in Darien.

And you better believe I would have done my best to call it had I been offered.

That's not how it played out.

I get the anger. I get the hurt feelings. We all want the ball. That's how it should be.

Kudos to Austin Platt for swallowing his pride and showing class in handling this situation. It will serve him well and I messaged him privately last night to tell him that.

I suppose that's where I'm coming back to Doc Emrick. Like Doc, Bob Chase, and anyone else, I love talking about this business. I love critiquing calls and teaching the business. I love teaching play-by-play (and I'll be doing that at CSB in a few weeks).

I'm a tough judge. I'm a protector of the play-by-play business, which often makes me look bad, I suppose. I have such little patience for what I see and hear lately.

But I love talking about it. That's the exact reason I teach. That's the exact reason I like being an admin in the Facebook group.

I was so happy when Spencer Pierce -- he of Greenwich now attending Syracuse -- asked me for some help with a project. He interviewed me for a few minutes today and I'm happy to be in touch with him and so many other broadcasters.

I'm nobody. I know that. I'm not Doc Emrick. But I believe in taking the knowledge that I've picked up and passing it on wherever I can. The only thing I ever ask is that they don't take my job.

That's a whole different problem.

And for those who think I'm tough on them, let me say there's a method to my madness. I want you to be better. That's the short answer.

When I talk with broadcasters who want to listen, I talk about attitude. Stop being entitled. Stay humble. Be gracious. Be ready for anything. Learn how to tell stories and describe (like on the radio where nobody can see the action). Don't exaggerate. Don't be a circus clown.

Prepare for the criticism and listen to it but decide if there's anything to it and move on.

Report. Describe. Give the score...a lot.

Grind. Make friends. Network. Don't burn bridges. Be open-minded.

Be passionate and, honestly, a little crazy (such as driving to a college to call a doubleheader, knowing you might spend the night in your car due to snow).

Austin seems to have that. So does Spencer.

They'll both go a long way.

There's no jinx

 

Fox Sports, 2013. Ogando soon lost the no-no

This is my third attempt to write a post tonight.

The first one was too vague and I didn't want to do that.

The second attempt was less vague. Nope, that didn't work.

The third attempt erased everything and went with a whole different topic.

The real topic involves broadcasting and contracts and bias and a lack of quality and the likelihood that my head might explode.

*****

Have I mentioned that broadcaster jinxes are utterly stupid?

The question was asked today on the play-by-play page on Facebook: "What is everyone's opinion on the broadcaster jinx when it comes to a no-hitter or perfect game?"

As usual the high and mighty got high and mighty. To them, there's only the right way (that is to say their way).

To me, there's what I do. That's what is right for me.

When it comes to no-hitters (and perfect games), I follow the lead of my idol, Mr. Scully. I call it as I see it.

I believe in reporting what I see. If there's a no-hitter, it's my responsibility. Your mileage may vary.

This does not mean I'm right.

Now there's a certain nuance to this. I have to report it. That's my job. But I'd prefer to do it while out of earshot of the players I'm covering.

Still, this topic once led to a lengthy discussion between me, Jake Zimmer, Dan Gardella, and Shawn Sailer. We were in Trumbull, CT calling the 2017 Babe Ruth New England Regional Tournament. Jake, by his own admission, would have once avoided saying what was going on.

In fact, he said so today.

"I always believed in the jinx," he wrote. "Rob Adams, who’s mentored me for years, convinced me otherwise. It admittedly took a while."

Thanks for the kind words, Jake. I hate the whole jinx thing but many -- led by Vin Scully -- have taught me well. Of course, Vin called 23 no-nos and perfectos and always said those magic words.

But I've also listened to and watched countless others.

We have no impact. None. Zip. Zero.

But...the other side will tell you we do.

I can tell you about Rob Futia, an outstanding Greenwich Cardinal from years ago. Rob was a very good free show shooter and I noted that on the air.

I explained that he had hit 51 in a row (I think that was it).

And then?

He missed the next one.

His mother was not amused and walked straight across the floor after the game to me.

I laughed. Awkwardly. 

She did not.

When I talked to Rob Futia about it, his reaction was typical for him.

"You didn't jinx me," he said. "I should have made it."

And that's the thing. We don't have a say. If we did, wouldn't we make the team we work for win a lot more? That's good for our wallets.

Anyway, there's no jinx. At least in my opinion.

And that's probably all I want to say about broadcasting tonight.

There are 45 days until the Renegades' home opener.

I bought a bath mat

I wound up with a day with nothing to do.

Dan tried to get me a job but nothing came to be.

The FCIAC boys basketball championship was tonight. The girls is tomorrow. So is the boys hockey championship. It would have been nice to add to the previous 51 conference championships I've called.

None of it was meant to be.

So I considered having a "me day." A day trip would have been nice. Heck, even grabbing a room for a night and coming back tomorrow.

But no. That didn't happen. I had to be around for "Doubleheader" if only because of my stupid pride.

Instead, I decided to go look at TVs at Best Buy. Plus there's a Moe's and that will do quite nicely for lunch.

I first went to the Wal Mart in that shopping center. I needed to pick up a bath mat when something struck me.

I've never bought a bath mat before.

Now, you say, how is that possible? Well, someone else always bought it. Oh, I'm sure I might have stood there while it was picked out and I might have even paid for it. But actually, do the whole thing myself?

No, I'm fairly certain I've never done it.

I wish I could give you a more dramatic story than the one I'm about to tell. I considered a few options. There were some different choices. Some were more cushioned than others. Still, others had different designs.

Nowhere did I find whimsical adhesive ducks because that's what would have made Sheldon Cooper happy.

So I found one. It was rubber and gray and not very exciting.

Armed with that, a box of saltine crackers, and a box of Rice Krispies I made my way to the registers and paid.

So ends the excitement of the bath mat purchase, which might be symbolic of something.

As for the rest of the trip?

No TV. Best Buy wound up ticking me off. So I decided to go think things over at Moe's.

Which had gone out of business.

I worked my way home to do the show.

I put the new bath mat in the tub. As I removed the old one -- purchased by Mom -- I couldn't help but laugh.

It was the same exact bath mat.

It was rubber and gray and not very exciting.

A perfect summary for a forgettable day.

The image changes

 

Things have changed since this picture was taken in 2019.

It's time for us to do what we do.

We've been uttering it since, what? 2008?

Three words: "Keep moving forward."

Whether we like it or not, we have to.

The future will be difficult but we'll keep trying.

Those still with us in that picture above need to keep the ball rolling.

Two faces from that picture are now gone while we've added one.

Personally, I'm numb.

That's honestly the only way to describe what I'm feeling tonight.

Numb. Lost. In shock.

I've been this way since September.

That's literally all I have. We'll start again tomorrow and see if we can get through another day.

Then we'll try the day after that.

And repeat.

The excitement builds

 

Forty-eight days until the home opener.

Life, whether we like it or not, must roll on, so I've done some work and had two meetings with the Renegades this week.

I also did some teaching at CSB yesterday. Each of these things allowed me some time to not think about my family and Eric and everything that is going on.

We were supposed to gather today for Eric's funeral but the weather backed it up until tomorrow. So I took a job for Dan and Craig this morning, thinking I'd have a full day on my hands.

Nope. The depo was over in 20 minutes.

I have been emailing with the Gades' new Director of Digital Media and Video Production, Zach Neubauer, who invited me to the stadium for a meet and greet. We were trying to settle on a time when the case came to its quick conclusion. I asked if he was available and he quickly agreed to get together today.

This came less than 48 hours after I met with Steve Gliner and Joe Ausanio to go over the details -- those that are available anyway -- of the game broadcasts.

No, seriously, we're seven weeks away from the first home game and there's still a lot to do. But now I have some clarification that allows me to start things. My meeting with Steve and Joe also allowed me to connect with Zach, who is new to the Hudson Valley but is going to push a lot of things in the right direction.

We'll be working together a lot as I begin to fit into my role in the Gades family.

As I said -- just as in the meeting with Steve and Joe -- not everything is worked out but things are starting to come together.

I think you can look forward to my writing for the team (which I previously knew) and, of course, calling the games. There could be more and that's all to be determined.

This was a welcome respite from the real world. The booth -- any booth -- is my sanctuary. Being in this stadium that I can call "mine" brought me a good feeling. I can't forget about all the troubles and I do my best to smile and laugh but the pain and the thought of my hurting family was omnipresent.

Still, I was in a good place. I climbed the stairs and visited the two radio booths. To be honest, I'm not even 100% certain where I'll call the games from due to making sure I'm socially distant from fans.

There are still lots of things to work out. As it has been all along, flexibility and adaptability will be crucial. As of now, I see no way that anyone will be joining me for broadcasts. If that changes, Chris Erway and Jake Zimmer, and others will get the call.

But each meeting -- virtually with Steve and Joe on Monday and in-person with Zach today -- gave me that feeling of promise.

Monday's meeting gave me the official feeling of relief to know that it's not a dream.

I really am officially the play-by-play announcer for the Hudson Valley Renegades, the High A affiliate of the 27-time world champion New York Yankees.

I can finally say it: I'm a broadcaster in the New York Yankees family. No, it's not the Yankees. But it doesn't need to be either. No matter what, I'm now a part of a group of people that stretches from Arch McDonald and Mel Allen in 1939 through to Red Barber, Phil Rizzuto, Bobby Murcer, and on to Michael Kay and John Sterling. Those are the major league guys, of course, and I'm far below that.

I don't care. There's a line to them and it's beautiful.

There are 41 days left until first pitch in New Jersey, which I'll likely be watching from home. If that's really the case, it's a bummer but it's OK.

There are 48 days remaining until we gather at Dutchess Stadium.

As Casey Kasem would say, "The countdown rolls on."

Eric Allen

 

This is his preference. Keep the focus away.

Fly, Eagles Fly!

On the road to victory! (Fight! Fight! Fight!)
Fight, Eagles fight!
Score a touchdown 1, 2, 3! (1! 2! 3!)
Hit 'em low!
Hit 'em high!
And watch our Eagles fly!
Fly, Eagles Fly!
On the road to victory!
E-A-G-L-E-S!
Eagles!

- "The Eagles' Victory Song," written by Charles Borrelli and Roger Courtland

Eric Allen would want you to know he's an Eagles fan.

Well, scratch that. First, Eric would want you to know about Meaghan, his wife of barely seven months, and of Carson James, his son of only 14 months. These were the loves of his life.

Carson. Yes, as in Carson Wentz. Now-former Eagles quarterback.

He might talk about how he and Meaghan met, which was painstakingly reproduced for a video that was shown at their rehearsal dinner last August.

They met at a Cumby. A Cumberland Farms. Seriously. It's like fairy tale stuff.

But he wouldn't want the attention. He'd dodge it and change the subject.

Yet, since you asked, he'd happily talk about the Eagles.

He'd grumble -- with a smile, and always a smile -- about how awful the Eagles were.

He was a Philly boy despite being a Connecticut guy. 

He went to Fairfield Prep but went to college at Temple to be close to his Philly teams, including those Eagles.

Temple, who played their games at the Linc. Lincoln Financial Field. Home of the Philadelphia Eagles.

And, as I'm writing, Eric's Eagles have just signed Joe Flacco. I can hear the grumbling off in the distance.

Smiling, of course.

FIGHT! FIGHT! FIGHT!

Short of marrying Meaghan and bringing Carson into the world, Eric was probably the happiest when those Eagles helped prove that a Sir Tom of New England was, indeed, no GOAT and that a guy named Nick Foles knew that a Philly Special could run past Sir Tom.

The likes of Eric are a rare breed. They're not here forever. So it was when Eric left us last Friday night.

Still a baby himself at just 34.

A family is distraught.

This was not some theoretical "good guy." This was a good guy. A great guy.

People who have never met him wish they had. 

But Eric wanted to meet all of you.

"How are they?" he'd ask. "I hope to meet them one day." 

He cared.

He texted me after his birthday party out of the blue a few years ago. I didn't know that he even concerned himself with me.

"...I know that drive is a pain and it was really awesome to have you and everyone there."

There were texts. Many texts. About football and my mother and Meaghan and becoming a father.

"And I won't hold it against you if you turn him into a Yankees fan!" he said, regarding Carson after the baby was born.

Perhaps most special to me was this one following Sean's graduation:

"...Got to hang out with Sean a little, he's a really good kid with his head on straight. He's gonna do good things."

What sucks, if I can use that term, is that everything was just getting started. At 34, things were there for Eric Allen. Wife. Kid. Life.

Loved. Beloved. The best was yet to come.

Now there's simply devastation and he'd hate all of this attention.

Hit 'em low! Hit 'em high!

And yet, there's a story of how he'll carry on, at least in my house. More than just the treasured memories of time that was so short but something tangible. 

It's probably no shock that all roads lead back to Sep 4, 2020, and the grandmother he adopted, who loved him right back.

His sadness at my mother's passing was palpable. We texted during the day before we each went about our business. At 7:16 that night, I decided to text him to see if there was a place where Shawn Sailer, Paul Silverfarb, and I could grab a socially-distant beverage.

Eric had other ideas. Instead of going to a place, he wanted me at his place. For Eric was all about wrapping his arms around his loved ones.

That's a thing I'll remember. The first hug I allowed in the pandemic -- of all people -- was Eric, when he saw me for Mother's Day as we all tried to keep our space. But he was having none of that. 

It was the first time Mom and I got to see Carson.

But on Sep 4, a cat named Binx rubbed up against me in their apartment. I petted him. He seemed friendly. He also seemed to want to eat my chicken parmigiana.

"Do you want him?" Eric asked.

I laughed.

"I'm serious."

We texted over the next few days. His support following the passing of my mother was so important if only to tell me how "those Pinstripe dudes look like s*it recently!"

I asked if he was really serious about the cat.

"Yes, he's available!"

My world seemed to think I needed this cat, whom I picked up on Sep 13, brought home, and eventually renamed Rascal.

And Squeaky.

And he's going to be called Eric from time to time also.

Fly, Eagles fly!

Sadly, as I went through my texts, I was reminded of times around that same stretch in the fall when he told me he wasn't feeling so great and that he had to get it addressed. I told him I'd come kick his ass if he didn't.

But we just didn't know what was going on.

And now?

Now?

He's gone.

It doesn't make sense. It never will.

Thirty-four.

We've asked those big questions before. We've expressed that anger before. 

Why? Seriously, Why? If I may, WTF?

There are no answers.

Now you know why I wrote about grief and the awful day that was Sunday.

Eric Allen has left us. We're better for knowing him. We're sadder for losing him.

He got to see his Eagles finally win the Super Bowl. Finally.

E-A-G-L-E-S!

Fly, Eric.

Fly.

Nissan

 

We interrupt the moments of deep thoughts that I've been producing since Friday to give off some slight rage.

I say "slight" because I know there are those who look away when this happens while others find it like an accident at the side of the road. They want to stop looking but can't. Then we have those who love the "Rob rants."

Not many go for the "don't care" category.

Anyway, and yes, I realize I have been fairly profound and I will explain more in due time.

I bought another Nissan -- my third since 2015 -- last June.

I will tell you that I really haven't been thrilled with any of those buying experiences and the cars have been...fine.

But the one I turned in back in June -- the definition of why I shouldn't do a lease -- set me up over mileage along with some slight damage due to something that kicked up on 95 and hit the quarter panel. Plus there was the time the tree fell on it.

Still, as the dealer explained to me, "talk with Nissan when you get the bill and tell them about your extenuating circumstances (transporting Mom, COVID, etc). That might (read: should) help.

I waited for a bill that didn't arrive.

Suddenly, by the end of July, I received a letter saying I'd been placed in collections and started receiving phone calls from a Georgia-based phone number.

One other thing to know: there was a previous financial issue in late 2017 with the car because a particular place I worked for had stopped paying me and, as such, I couldn't pay for the car.

That place still owes me money for unpaid invoices. Not a small amount either. I've tried to settle and they've ignored me. 

You can connect the dots as to which former employer it is.

But back to Nissan.

So, if you're keeping score, no letter appeared and I've been placed in collections, and they wouldn't work with me on future loans in the first place (note that I paid every last drop of the 2017 issue off within a month and was in good standing for the rest of the loan). Then phone calls start?

Then my mother dies.

Yeah. Eff Nissan by then.

I let the calls go for months until finally, I wrote Nissan a letter. The collections agency -- while the messengers -- can go to a special place in purgatory but we can circle back to them.

I explained every portion of what had gone on during the ownership of that car and how 2020 had impacted me. I discussed transporting my mother to and from dialysis three and four times a week, thus adding more miles. I explained that I was, essentially, her caregiver, especially in 2020. I further called their business practices "inexcusable," especially so callously putting customers into collections in a pandemic.

From there, I mentioned how their dealers had been a nightmare (one, in particular, in Connecticut? Oh yeah.)

I made it clear -- I was done with them and I have no problem telling friends, family, readers, and listeners that. Will it have an impact? I'm doubtful but we miss 100% of the balls that we don't sing at right?

Sometimes we still miss when we swing the bat but that's not the point. 

I finished with this:

Should you or your agency try to phone me, please have the decency to leave a voicemail as I do not respond to phone numbers that I don’t know. I’m only aware of your agency calling me having done a reverse lookup and seeing the sheer disgusting volume of calls originating from the Atlanta, GA area.

Thank you for your time. I hope you have survived your own experience through this pandemic.

I mailed it on Feb 16 and received a new bill -- direct from Nissan -- last Friday. They had revised the dollar amount with no explanation. No acknowledgment of anything. Just a bill that appeared to be reduced by 25%.

Figuring it was time to stop the battle, I went straight to my computer and paid it electronically.

Then I promised myself I would answer the phone the next time the collections agency called.

Which was today at approximately 1 p.m.

Through gritted teeth, I answered the call. The first person -- a girl -- started with the presentation.

"I suggest you talk to Nissan as that bill was paid (on Friday)," I told her. She said I had to speak to a representative.

Were they just trying to make my head pop?

So the rep  -- a guy -- got on the call immediately. He, too, began with the "May I speak with" nonsense, reminding the call would be monitored, and he needed to confirm my address and date of birth ("Just the month and year').

"I suggest you talk to Nissan as that bill was paid (on Friday)," I told him. From there I had to explain how I paid.

Now, mind you, they KNEW Nissan had sent me a new bill because they called me with the revised dollar amount.

Niceties finished. Call completed. Transaction done.

I told them I would be pleased to provide proof of my payment -- I can easily get screenshots and the email that confirmed the details.

"We'll call if we need anything else," he said but was certain the transaction would be posted.

You do that. Call back. Try it.

I owned two Hondas from 1995-2014 and loved them both.

My mother was thrilled with three Toyotas in the last years of her life.

But it will take a lot to get me near a Nissan again.

Never say never but I know what I would prefer and I'll make sure to keep telling this story.

A lovely day

A beautiful shot of Westport, CT (Photo: Higgins Group)

It was beautiful out today.

It was what you'd want in March. The temperature was in the 60s while the "real feel" was closer to 70. In truth, I made the mistake of wearing jeans. It was a perfect day to break out shorts.

I popped on a polo shirt -- that gray one I wear a lot. A bargain, it was, only costing me something like $7.99 in Reading, PA years ago.

Despite all of those happy-sounding words, I'd be very much OK with forgetting today ever happened. In fact, the whole weekend could use a do-over.

Or a never-happened.

Time will tell these stories, I suppose because my brain doesn't forget certain things.

Nobodys will, actually.

Oh, sure, I'm happy to remember a time walking around a park and being in downtown Westport, CT. I love bookstores and I was in a Barnes and Noble that was quite nice. 

I'm a fan of bookstores. A big fan, in fact. I was all in with the Borders and Barnes and Nobles of the 90s and "early aughts" just as I was with the Waldenbooks and, closer to home, Book and Record of another time*.

* With locations in including Putnam Plaza in Carmel and the Baldwin Place Mall just south of Mahopac in, well, Baldwin Place.

I could spend a lot of time reading the books and perusing the music and glancing at the magazines and making plenty of purchases.

But the book store business has changed dramatically of course. It has to reinvent itself and I liked this approach at Barnes and Noble today in Westport, CT. It didn't need multiple floors and a cafe.

I can't hate on Amazon but it is sad how we can't just jump in the car and shop in entirely the same manner anymore. It takes orders over $25 for free shipping and even then it can be a several-day wait.

Where, at least in the electronics world, I could just go to Radio Shack "back in the day." But, we've created on our own beast.

This is not meant to be a Clint Eastwood meme, thanks all the same.

So it was nice to be in a bookstore. It was nice to hear sidewalk musicians playing and small but socially appropriate crowds watching.

I never really thought of the suite to close Side 2 of Abbey Road as an acoustic performance but sure, why not? It didn't sound bad at all as I strolled and pondered my need for a cup of Dunkin Donuts' coffee.

Sorry, I'm not calling it "Dunkin" any more than I'm calling the bridge across the Tappan Zee by the name of the father of the embattled state of New York.

Aesthetically I will take today for all that it was worth. The weather. The bookstore. The coffee. The (brief) walk in the park. Yes, please.

Emotionally? No, thanks. Let me forget about March 20 and 21st, 2021. Perhaps even some of March 19.

Why?

Let's go with my March Madness brackets. They're awful; a victim of upsets.

It's a reminder that the month of March can be a beast, I suppose.

Some days are great. Some are not. 

The perfect embodiment of its weather I guess.