On Bob Saget and The Power of Love

 

You likely know by now that Bob Saget has died.

This, of course, calls for a deluge of heartfelt tributes whenever we lose a person of this magnitude. 

Betty White.

John Madden.

Sidney Poitier.

Of course, there's the whole "in threes" thing but I just gave you four. So...

But I've marveled at the outpouring since Saget's death -- far too young at 65 -- was announced on Sunday.

Now, I can't tell you I was a Saget "fan." I saw some of "Full House" back in the day and was mostly "meh" on it. I'd heard about his comedy and his ability to balance "dad" characters with being absolutely filthy.

The "funniest video" genre lost it for me pretty quickly. Ha. Grampa fell in the cake. OK.

But, come on, how could anyone dislike Bob Saget? I sure didn't and I like him even more as I learn things.

We loved him. Everybody did.

The cast of "Full House" has spoken -- even the Olsen twins. 

The cast of "How I Met Your Mother."

Ben Stiller.

Jon Lovitz.

Micahel McKean.

Ken Jeong.

Jimmy Fallon.

Jim Carrey.

Gilbert Gottfried.

All posted remembrances online, among others.

Pete Davidson had someone else post how Saget tried to help him through his issues.

Even some as disparate in theory as Ben Folds wrote something touching on his Instagram page.

Then Jimmy Kimmel spoke a gut-wrenching tribute.

What struck me was there were a few things in common. Among them was how everyone marveled at how warm and lovely he could be and still turn on the charm to drop a filthy, unrepeatable joke on you. That, friends, is talent.

(For sure, if you've never seen his appearance in "The Aristocrats," prepare yourself and watch it. It's gross, filthy, disgusting, repugnant, shocking, and brilliant. I laughed and lurched at the same time.)

They all said he was about the best person you'll ever come in contact with. He was truly nice and not in a bad way. He wasn't holding a knife behind his back.

He'd help you in any way possible. If you had any trouble, he was there. Good times and bad.

They all -- every since one of them -- said he'd randomly text "I love you."

That -- that last part -- is what has hit me the most.

"I love you."

It's something I've started saying more and, yet, not enough.

Sometimes you know the audience that you can't or shouldn't say it to. Often it isn't responded to.

But it needs to be said and said with truth and feeling.

Because despite whatever preoccupations or predispositions you might have, there's far more love in all of us and that includes me. I get the reputation I have and I've got a good sense for the people who think I'm a straight-up a-hole. In truth, I have no patience for phonies and value loyalty and honesty. I call out nonsense (or fighting the urge to call it out). 

The rest of the time I'm likely being a wise guy. Or I'm hoping to make you a better person somehow.

But I love you all far more than you know. I'm grateful for all of you.

It's something I know deeply and feel stronger about as time flies expeditiously by.

We're not here for a long time (but we're here for a good time).

To be honest, I come from a family that, overall, doesn't say such things. We just don't. Certainly not enough. It's not a criticism. It's just a fact.

Yet there's me, screaming it sometimes from inside. Time is just so short.

And so, this is what Bob Saget's passing reminded me of.

Love.

Love each other.

Say it.

More importantly, show it, especially to those who don't want to hear it.

The power of love is a curious thing indeed.

Thanks, Bob.

We loved you too.

You Know, Both Can Be Correct

 

Kirk Herbstreit and Chris Fowler (ESPN)

I enjoy reading sports media columnists. I read a ton of Bob Raissman in the New York Daily News "back in the day."

I always found that stuff to be useful to learn what criticisms exist along with news and notes about the industry.

To be clear, that didn't mean I always agreed with Raissman and, to be honest, I criticized him extensively at times, including the fact that he'd never called a game and wouldn't know how to.

Moments ago, I saw a tweet with a video from Andrew Marchand of the New York Post. Again, he's a must-read for me.

He has a podcast (like everyone) and the basis of his rant was about Chris Fowler, the ESPN lead broadcaster for college football. Fowler, on his Instagram page, posted a video discussing the process of calling four games in 11 days.

Marchand took umbrage.

"People work every day," he said. "Some people work seven days a week. Nobody wants to hear how it's tough and hard..."

OK. Fair enough. Or is it?

WHO'S DOWN: Chris Fowler for Instagramming how difficult it will be to call four big games in 11 days.

🍎https://t.co/3wY0p1DTKA
🟢 https://t.co/ktUCUgRjkS pic.twitter.com/p89cAwSHYQ

— Andrew Marchand (@AndrewMarchand) January 6, 2022

On the other hand, I watched Fowler's video and found no place where he was complaining about four games in 11 days.

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by Chris Fowler (@chrisfowler)

If anything, I found it interesting to go behind the scenes and, frankly, found it comparable to posts I've written here night after night, where I've detailed my runs of 15 games in five days or whatever.

To me, it's part of the progress.

So, sure, while Marchand isn't totally wrong, he certainly isn't right. Because, like so much in life, he could just not watch the video at all.

No, I think Marchand -- aka, "Clicker" -- gets just one click in my review here. 

Maybe it's a personal thing for me. Like I said, I've written at length about those fun runs in Trumbull and the brutal heat of Stamford in 2019's baseball tourney and other weather events and travel-related things from my play-by-play adventures. I sometimes wish I had written more consistently during the height of the HAN days.

Then again, maybe not.

Yes, I certainly get that I don't have ESPN standing behind me and I'm not flying across the country and I'm not doing national games.

I'm the smallest drop of water in the ocean. I drive to most of my broadcasts and do all kinds of grassroots things. I have minimal information to prep with.

I'm not comparing what I do to what Chris Fowler does.

I mean, Fowler looks a little weary in the video but also excited and overwhelmed to get to do what he does.

How's that any different from what I write here?

I just watch Fowler's video again. He's explaining the process of the 11-day stretch and, if that's "complaining," well, I simply disagree.

Beyond that, another way that Marchand is wrong is that Fowler IS working, and working throughout the 11-day stretch. If you paid attention to the video, it's clear he was doing prep for each game, including Zoom meetings and whatever else.

Granted some of that prep might be on luxury planes (compared to what I would be flying).

No, while Marchand is certainly entitled to his opinion, of course, this feels like he takes an "L" here.

It's a huge nitpick.

It made for good content, I suppose.

They'll Never Learn

 

Pittsburgh Steelers quarterback Ben Roethlisberger looks to pass against the Baltimore Ravens during the first half of an NFL football game, Sunday, Jan. 9, 2022, in Baltimore. (AP Photo/Evan Vucci)

You'd think they'd learn a thing or two from "The Heidi Game."

Which they sort of did. That was when officials at NBC bailed from a compelling Jets/Raiders game to air the classic children's movie. The Raiders came back and won the game after the Peacock broadcast departed for the film.

A few years later, a similar fate occurred up against "Willie Wonka and the Chocolate Factory." This time, NBC didn't bail, and, for the most part, games stay on with the usual "60 Minutes will follow in its entirety, except on the West Coast" (on CBS, of course).

As a Steelers fan, I'm used to games likely not airing on Sundays in favor of the Jets and Giants. Like it or not, they're the local teams (even if they're embarrassing).

Blackouts often cost us in New York if there's a possible extra game. We're normally good for three on a Sunday here before "Sunday Night Football."

I miss the days of having the Connecticut channels also. It meant we had a bonanza of pigskin.

So, to be honest, I didn't expect to have the Steelers and Ravens on TV today, especially with the Giants playing at the same time and airing on FOX.

CBS had the Steelers/Ravens, airing locally on WCBS, Channel 2.

I settled in for what could be Ben Roethlisberger's final regular-season game.

It was the usual game between the two teams. They punched each other and didn't score a lot. Down 10-6 in the fourth quarter, the Big Ben Show did his thing again, hitting Chase Claypool for a touchdown with 2:54 to play. That capped a 10-play, 50-yard drive to take a 13-10 lead.

But, credit to the Ravens as they drove 40 yards in seven plays for future Hall of Famer Justin Tucker to drill a ho-hum 46-yard field goal and tie the game.

To overtime, they went.

More punches were exchanged before Ben got the ball back. Keep in mind that a tie did no one any good.

I should also add both teams had playoff hopes (and I admit, even if they do get in, the hopes are slim). The Indianapolis Colts -- who had to beat the dreadful Jacksonville Jaguars -- not only lost but looked bad. More than that, Jags fans were decked out in clown attire to mock their general manager.

Yeah. 

Back in Baltimore, Big Ben was marching the Steelers on a 15 play, 65-yard drive that took 4:28 off the clock.

At least, that's what I heard.

Because as the clock struck 4:20 p.m. and Ian Eagle was calling the game on CBS -- the famed "Tiffany Network" -- a voice, cloaked in legal speak, spoke words that I didn't think they'd be stupid enough to say.

Due to NFL contract rules, CBS would have to leave the Steelers/Ravens game that was gripping viewers for a (mostly) meaningless New York Jets/Buffalo Bills* game.

The quote went something like that but I was too astounded to believe what I was seeing and hearing.

*OK, look, I'm sure it's not meaningless to Bills fans and even the five Jets fans watching. But, come on, what will you truly -- really, honestly, truly -- miss in those first few minutes? Even if there's a score, it's not like you're missing the end of the game. I mean, the thing is, even if I'm not a fan of the teams playing, if the game was that good, I'd want to see the end. That includes if my team is the one whose game is about to start.

The steam began to build in me.

I tweeted at CBS and the NFL. A waste of time, I know.

Contract, schmontract. Utter... well...er...horse hockey.

See? I kept it clean.

I kept thinking they wouldn't. They couldn't. It's "Heidi-esque." The game is...so...close...to...ending...

They bailed.

Calmly, yet through gritted teeth, I spoke.

"Alexa, play Pittsburgh Steelers from Sirius XM."

Through the magic of radio/internet, I listened to Bill Hillgrove and Craig Wolfley on a delay. I actually knew the Steelers had already won thanks to Twitter (my fault for looking).

Chris Boswell kicked a 36-yard field goal and it was over.

So Jets fans can watch their game. Same with the Bills. The TV is now off. I'll go do laundry.

We don't learn lessons from this stuff. We don't care that the fans get screwed on a near-daily basis. Raise ticket prices! Go on lockouts and strikes! Who cares?

Then they wonder why many (waves hand) order merchandise from...ahem...lowe-priced places.

Or just stop watching.

And before you say, "Get Red Zone," I have enough financial concerns in my current life. No. That's currently not an option. Nor was running to a bar that was playing the game (I know of one in Carmel) and, why should I, when it was on in New York before they tried to act like "Heidi" was about to air?

Ponderous, man.

Anyway, the Steelers won. Big Ben will play again next week (assuming the Raiders and Chargers don't play to a tie tonight). The Steelers will lose then and it will all be over.

But, dare to dream. That's why we play the game.

And why we often moan about those who bring us the game.

Throw those stupid contracts in the fire and start over.

Fans deserved better today.

What we didn't see in NY (thanks, NFL/CBS)

Ouch

 

My view for dodge ball

I was nearly face down in the snow today.

Oh, wait. We'll get there.

My great-niece Gabby celebrated her fifth birthday today with a party at a trampoline place in Cheshire, CT.

So, being the clueless, single uncle that I am (including no Sean today) I first made a Target run with a suggestion of what to buy as a gift. My mission was clear and I accomplished it. However, I have zero confidence that I but anything good.

I keep believing I'll rebuild myself one day. Somehow.

Having left Mahopac early, I made my way to Cheshire without incident. The trampoline park felt like it was in the middle of nowhere, in the usual kind of soulless metal building that one would associate with such a place.

Albeit one with a giant "muffler man" sitting near the entrance off the main road.

Still, it's not for appearances, especially on the outside.

Inside was a lot of fun.

I had 40 minutes to sit and wait for the others to arrive but we soon gathered together and I prepared to watch.

That would allow my sister and I to talk as the kids jumped.

And jumped.

And jumped.

Then the adults began to tentatively approach the convention of jumping.

Laura and I kept talking as she was hoping to avoid the prospect of being on the trampolines. Her granddaughters made sure she wouldn't forget a promise she made to participate.

I admit, my inner 14-year-old was fighting with the reality of my 53-year-old bones. 

"If you go," I offered, "I'll join you."

So I signed the waiver that felt like I had given my life story, donned their special socks, and, well, I jumped.

There was a dodge ball area where I spent the majority of my time, proving that I could still dodge both a wrench and a ball.

I dodged, ducked, dipped, dove, and dodged.

I plucked my adult nephews with the heavy foam balls.

I bounced.

I laughed.

I made sure to stop occasionally as my body reminded me this was a bit strenuous.

Yet, the 14-year-old in me was bummed when the bell sounded for our time to end.

The adult wasn't thrilled with the sweat forming on me.

But pizza and cake awaited.

The fun of being a kid had reached its conclusion.

Shoes were put back on. Food was consumed. Arcade games were played.

It was time to go and I walked with the family back towards our cars.

That's when I elected to cut across a low wooden fence. You know the type. It basically serves as the boundary in a parking lot row.

Right foot? No sweat.

Left food? Sweat.

It hooked and, like a statue, I tumbled to the snow. Not quite face down, but still pathetically down.

Sure, my left shin hurts and has a delightful welt.

Sure, I was covered in snow from nearly head to toe.

Sure, the bones and muscles that were already sore from trampolines were planning even more pain.

But the most pain?

My pride.

I was mortified.

So I'll feel all of that tomorrow as I watch football but I could revel in the fact that, while I'm perfectly aware of where my driver's license says, there's still a little boy who knows how to have a little fun.

At least my gift was a hit.

For Teddy

Cam Atkinson via Twitter

I didn't know Teddy Balkind.

You need to know that.

Oh, I know he was a junior varsity hockey player and a defenseman, and a sophomore at St. Luke's School in New Canaan, CT. I know that now.

Since then, I've learned Teddy went to elementary school in New Canaan before he went to St. Luke's. He skated at New Canaan Winter Club. I've heard other things. Wonderful things. Some corroborated, some not.

These are just scraps. Fragments. They're sketches of a life lost. There's so much more to be learned. They need to be learned. We all need to know about Teddy.

But I didn't know anything about Teddy until 8:26 pm last night. That's when I got a call from Chris Erway.

"Did you call a hockey game at Brunswick?" Chris asked. There was concern in his voice.

My mind was clear. No, I had been told all varsity hockey games were off at Brunswick until next week. In fact, I had no broadcasts. My wallet wasn't pleased but so is the life of broadcasting right now.

But, back to the call. Chris said there had been a death at a hockey game.

I wondered if there had been a mistake. Brunswick, GA? Brunswick, OH? Maine?

No. Brunswick. King Street. Greenwich, CT, USA.

I found the story Chris and his wife Genna were referencing and, well, I'm not sure I remember what I thought.

I was stunned. I remember that.

Sketches. That's all I had.

I've heard from people since then. Lots of people. Friends. People who also didn't know Teddy Balkind but all were grasping to understand what had happened.

Teddy Balkind was a junior varsity hockey player who died playing the sport.

Nothing more needs to be said.

Teddy is with the hockey gods now.

The hurt extends beyond the ice. It's not unfair to call this a loss for everyone.

Brunswick. St. Luke's. Players, teammates, coaches, trainers, rink personnel. Fans, families, and the hockey world and beyond.

Everyone is sad tonight. Martin St. Louis, who has kids who have played at Brunswick. Cam Atkinson, who is from Greenwich. 

Both tweeted condolences.

People famous and otherwise sent their regards.

All impacted tonight by Teddy's loss.

I've tried to wrap my mind around it. I can't imagine. I don't want to.

I'm a father. Teddy's father was there. On the ice.

Sketches. This is what we have.

Hockey doesn't matter tonight and yet it does. Somehow, more than ever. That's the hockey world for you. That's what hockey players do. They play. They come together in the best way they know how: to play and to honor their brothers and sisters in the sport.

Tonight, many are playing for Teddy.

We'll never get an explanation for the lives shattered. 

We just have sketches. For now.

I hurt for my friends  -- those I know at Brunswick. Plus those I don't know. Plus the St. Luke's community. Plus the hockey world.

There's nothing logical about it. It's all just a bunch of sketches.

Tonight, put a hockey stick outside and leave the lights on. Or a puck. Or just hug each other.

Be kind.

Do it for a player you've likely never met or never heard of but will now never forget. 

Do it for a sophomore at St. Luke's School. A defenseman. A hockey player. A boy who attended elementary school in New Canaan. Who skated at New Canaan Winter Club.

Do it.

For Teddy.

Bring It! I Guess...

 

It's supposed to snow overnight.

Of course, it's no secret I'm not a fan of winter or snow. I've done my fair share of driving in it and getting stuck in it.

Remember the Halloween storm of, what was it, 2011?

It took Sean and I roughly three hours to get from Greenwich to Mahopac, which included a point on the Taconic Parkway where we slid so badly that I assumed we were going to hit a guard rail (we didn't) and a stretch where we were stuck because I couldn't get any more traction.

A random soul showed up and pushed us out. Yet, maybe 10 minutes later, we slid again, going down a hill in the Lake Secor area of Mahopac.

We walked the rest of the way home.

I'll say this. While I'd be in favor of being a snowbird in Florida right now or even hanging out with Kristy and company in North Carolina (or Jon and crew in Richmond) I'm content if a storm hits...

...and I'm home.

Look, it's not ideal, but if I have to choose, then let it snow if we're safe. Of course. That's common sense, I'd say.

I'm not criticizing you snow types. You love it and have at it!

Now, I'd want to be fully stocked wherever I am (again, assuming I'm home). I want the ability for meals, snacks, and beverages with no concerns. Preferably, of course, no loss of power and no other hardships. I realize I'm asking a lot, I suppose.

From there, it needs to be fun. I mean, it's a snow day, right?

Maybe a good movie or movies or something to binge. I've begun to dive into the UK version of "The Office," for instance. I saw some of it years ago which is why (like many) I was so skeptical of a US version.

In the end, I was wrong. It was hard to not recognize greatness.

That's what she said.

But I'd forgotten just how different the UK version is. The language and jokes are much bawdier compared to our puritanical TV on the networks here.

Understanding the accent by comparison also takes a bit of skill.

But, there are only 14 original episodes of the show so the commitment isn't that intense.

That makes for a nice binge-watch on a snow day.

Of course, be careful what you wish for because, after the storm is over, there's still a driveway to clean. Maybe the stairs also.

Since Sean is here, his car needs to be cleaned as well.

I hope -- hope -- the snowblower fires up tomorrow but the numbers aren't concerning for this storm so I can't say I'm worried but it's still a factor. I don't know of any snowplow friends these days.

I don't know Mr. Plow (that's his name, that name again is Mr. Plow).

Look, there's nothing I can do about it. It's not like I'll be traveling tomorrow. It's not like I have a game to call (sigh). No, in fact, I have work from home, so I'll be here. I can't run away from it. 

So, I guess, let it snow.

Within reason.

Patience, Old Grasshopper

 

A lonely equipment case

I should be driving home from my first broadcast of 2022 tonight.

Alas, it was not to be.

Nor will I be calling games Friday or Saturday. They were both on the calendar and are not going to happen.

The reasons aren't necessary. Sure we can guess but I was told the games were canceled or postponed (both are accurate) and that's all I needed to know.

Keep the mixer and headset in the (new) hard-sided case. Hopefully, next week will work out.

Oh, it makes me crazy that's for sure. And, sure, I can go call games elsewhere. But there does come a point where doing it on my dime isn't entirely acceptable. That's not to say I won't make exceptions (there are a couple of those coming up) but I also need to pay bills.

There's no question the FCIAC and even the SCC in Connecticut and maybe even Section 1 in New York could all use a game of the week concept. I'd be happy to put Robcasting audio with Local Live video. Or just audio. Or whatever. But the bottom line is I'm happy to call the games in the style that I know how to do. 

Meaning it's not about me. 

This is sort of what I was talking about at the end of last year. Yes, I'm crazy proud of every broadcast but I don't want to simply call games to add more numbers to a spreadsheet. The games, the athletes, the broadcasts all matter. 

Recently, a topic in the Facebook Play-by-Play group caught my attention. It essentially mentioned broadcasts that feature either just "natural sound" or dead air in breaks.

I bit my tongue as I watched everyone get their high horse out of the barn before I chimed in. I explained how most of the Local Live broadcasts I do feature minimal production because that's what is requested.

Watch a Brunswick broadcast sometime. When I take a break, there's either crowd noise or no noise. I'll turn the mics off completely if I think something will be said that might be bad.

I have first-hand experience in this.

Now, if a game is on WGCH, then that's a different story, but we've only done one of those since 2019.

Still, there was a hint of outrage. 

"LAZY!" came the cry!

"No!" I said. If that's what the client wants then they get it.

I'm not new to this. Look, I can argue all I want for "the right way to broadcast" and have for 30 years. What good does it do me?

I've had those discussions literally everywhere. I had them at Kraft/Philip Morris, HAN, and schools that I've worked with. Still, there comes a point where you lose that battle and win the war.

At the end of the day, digging in for my principles will ultimately be a losing cause.

I could tell you the story of the position we had for a basketball game that I specifically asked to not have. But, you get my point.

So, yeah, I'm all about doing things "the right way" if such a thing exists.

But, at the end of the day, all I can do is adjust and roll with the punches (hopefully, no punches are thrown).

Today, I lost connection to WGCH during "Doubleheader." Bob Small and I ultimately elected to bail out of the radio broadcast and I did the rest of the show on the internet.

No harm. No foul.

The balance of the show was goofy. I picked on people (those without a sense of humor shouldn't listen). I laughed. It was what I had to do.

The alternative is to get angry and I prefer that I don't do that. This was more enjoyable.

Survival. It's what's for dinner.

The next broadcast is coming.

Eventually.

I know Brunswick is onboard.

The question is: Does anyone else want in?

Life is a Highway and They Were Stuck on it All Night Long

 

I-95 South at US 17 near Fredericksburg, VA, 8/29/18

I'm still trying to wrap my head around it.

Sure, I've slept in my car, frankly, many times. The hours and life that I lead have caused me to take many a power nap. Sometimes it's been due to exhaustion.

Other times, like after calling basketball at Post University, it's the weather that made me car-bound.

Still, say you're on Interstate 95 heading towards Richmond, VA. You know the weather isn't great (accumulating snow, etc) but you've taken your chances.

And then?

Traffic slows up.

Then you stop.

Completely stop.

And, for the most part, you don't move for 24 hours.

This isn't some bad apocalyptic movie starring Will Smith. This is real.

It happened.

I take note of these things wherever it occurs. Crazy snow on I-80 in California? Sure. I see it on the Weather Channel.

Trouble due to lake effect snow on the New York State Thruway (I-90)? Oh yeah.

Snow in Wyoming or Colorado or Utah? Yes, yes, yes.

Roads close. Travelers get stuck. It sadly happens too often.

But, roughly 30 miles south of Washington, DC?

I'm intimately familiar with this part of I-95 and perhaps you are as well. It is -- and no other nice way to say it -- a traffic nightmare. For years it has been clogged by some of the traffic in the nation just by its very nature. I've said it before: I was taught by my father to have a healthy fear of Washington rush hour and I can assure you he was correct.

However, constant construction on 95 has been an issue for years, whether it was for the reconstruction of the infamous "Mixing Bowl" interchange where 95/495/395/Capital Beltway meet and merge or for the addition of more "HOV Express" lanes.

Now, to be clear, I only travel these roads maybe once or twice a year. Rarely more. I can't even imagine doing it on a daily basis. That being said, I've gotten used to having my head on a swivel when I'm in the area, prepared to dash off 95 onto one of a number of side roads to try to get around any issues.

I've normally got WTOP radio on to listen to traffic reports.

In this case, with snow accumulating, trucks jackknifing, and the moisture turning to ice, people were stuck.

The only thing one could hope for was that they were prepared with food and blankets and anything else. There were people traveling with pets and children and so on. It wasn't pretty.

It also wasn't warm.

There have been times over the years that I also loaded my trunk with a sleeping bag or a blanket and a shovel in case I got into some kind of a weather mess -- like that one at Post U.

I took note of the Virginia issues before going to bed last night, never imagining it would still be going on when I got up this morning but The Weather Channel told me otherwise.

From there, it was back to WTOP for me and they've done a great job.

I-95? A mess.

US 1, which parallels 95? Ditto.

It didn't matter where you were. From Exit 104, where the Aunt Sarah's Pancake House used to be to Exit 152 up towards Dale City, I-95 was locked both ways.

I mean locked. This wasn't like the time I sat in traffic in the middle of the night on I-684 for three hours. Police eventually had us turn around and drive the shoulder southbound in the northbound lanes to go down one exit and head off to wherever we were going. That was nothing compared to this but, I'll always remember that it was cold and I had plenty of gas in the car. 

Indeed, I went to sleep.

But in Virginia there were no answers to so travelers became friends. Food trucks making deliveries opened up to feed their fellow strandees.

Whether in Spotsylvania, Fredericksburg, Ladysmith, Stafford, Thornburg or Ruther Glen, people did everything to make the best of it.

When The Weather Channel sent a reporter to an overpass above 95, I couldn't help but smile.

"He's standing on 207 at exit 104," I said to no one. Sean and I had just used that exit back in July.

As I write (it's 8:12 p.m.) the mess has been cleaned up but, apparently, Interstate 95 is only slowly reopening and US 1 is bottlenecked.

The road surfaces are also freezing again.

Have I mentioned I hate winter?

Be safe, my friends in Virginia and traveling through.

It's funny how this is a stretch I used to love to drive.

Let's say it's not a favorite anymore.

I'd imagine the probably thousands of people who experienced this aren't too fond of it either.

Steelers Quarterbacks

 

(Photos: Sporting News)

I was a Dolphins fan as a really little kid.

I knew some of the names. Bob Griese, Mercury Morris, Larry Csonka, Jim Kiick, Nick Buoniconti. They were the faces on the plastic Slurpee cups we acquired from the convenience store near my grandparents' house in Florida.

Still, I didn't really watch or study them. That changed with my falling for the Pittsburgh Steelers a few years later.

Early in their Super Bowl XIII win against the hated Dallas Cowboys (sorry, Patrick Urell, who still owes me a quarter but said he wouldn't pay because of "the spread") I found myself admiring the work of quarterback Terry Bradshaw.

He instantly became my favorite player. I also became fascinated with quarterbacks.

Bradshaw was sadly out of football after the 1983 season and the Steelers began an odyssey as they searched for their next signal-caller.

Cliff Stoudt started most of 1983 due to the elbow injury that would end Bradshaw's career. After that, the Steelers turned to the following...

Year/QB (Number of Starts)

1984 Mark Malone (9) / David Woodley (7)

1985 Mark Malone (8) / David Woodley (6) / Scott Campbell (2)

1986 Mark Malone (14) / Bubby Brister (2)

1987 Mark Malone (12) / Steve Bono (3)

1988 Bubby Brister (13) / Todd Blackledge (3)

1989 Bubby Brister (14) / Todd Blackledge (2)

1990 Bubby Brister (16)

1991 Neil O'Donnell (8) / Bubby Brister (8)

1992 Neil O'Donnell (12) / Bubby Brister (4)

1993 Neil O'Donnell (15) / Mike Tomczak (1)

1994 Neil O'Donnell (14) / Mike Tomczak (2)

1995 Neil O'Donnell (12) / Mike Tomczak (4)

1996 Mike Tomczak (15) / Jim Miller (1)

1997 Kordell Stewart (16)

1998 Kordell Stewart (16)

1999 Kordell Stewart (12) / Mike Tomczak (4)

2000 Kordell Stewart (11) / Kent Graham (5)

2001 Kordell Stewart (16)

2002 Tommy Maddox (11) / Kordell Stewart (5)

2003 Tommy Maddox (16)

Mark Malone

There's a lot of "ugh" in there. Don't get me wrong, there are some good moments in there also. Malone took an undermanned team to the AFC Championship after 1984 and Brister had a bit of a folk hero about him, especially when he took the Steelers on a fun run in 1989.

Bubby Brister

Then there's O'Donnell. Damn you, O'Donnell. The thing is, I liked him. He helped get the Steelers to Super Bowl XXX.

I knew they didn't have a great chance against the Cowboys in that Super Bowl.

But, then, they did have a chance. A great chance.

They trailed 20-17 with 4:15 remaining. I warned people to avoid me if it got that close.

And then O'Donnell threw an interception. He threw three total.

I'm still in therapy.

O'Donnell was gone to the Jets after that.

Neil O'Donnell

Oh, I tried to believe in Kordell Stewart and Mike Tomczak and loved "Touchdown" Tommy Maddox, who led the Steelers through a furious comeback in a playoff game at Heinz Field. Sean was just a baby but I danced around the apartment with him when they scored with a minute to go. His giggling with glee is a special memory.

Still, the Steelers needed "their guy." They have a horrible history of misfiring on quarterbacks, including Johnny Unitas and Len Dawson. Plus they didn't draft Dan Marino.

I actually promised I would buy a jersey (a replica) if the Steelers drafted a quarterback in the first round. They hadn't done that since picking Malone in 1980.

As the 2004 draft came near, there were three quarterbacks being discussed. It was fairly clear that Eli Manning would go to the Chargers with the first pick -- whether he liked it or not. Ultimately, Eli would be traded to the Giants for Philip Rivers.

That left the third option for Pittsburgh: Ben Roethlisberger from Miami of Ohio.

The Steelers took him with the 11th pick and I ordered my jersey a few days later.

I'm wearing it tonight as I watch him in what is likely his last home game.

The jersey, like Ben, has seen a lot. I've seen a lot also. The jersey is peeling in spots and I mostly use it to sleep in or mow the lawn anymore.

Ben got to three Super Bowls. He won two.

I'm also in therapy over that third one.

There have been incredible thrills. 

There have been lows also. the motorcycle crash and the rape/assault allegations are just two of them and I don't brush those aside.

Those are just off the field. There have been on-the-field miscues also.

Considering everything, the thrills have been aplenty. 

I loved watching him play.

I didn't love everything about him.

But if he's leaving, I'll take it. He's no worse than in second in Steelers history (remember, I'm a Bradshaw guy).

As for what's next?

It would be preferable to not wait 20 years to get a franchise quarterback.

AB

 

(Photo: screenshot)

a) Antonio Brown is sick.

b) Antonio Brown is a selfish diva narcissist.

c) Both A and B

d) I don't have a clue.

The correct answer is d). I don't know what's up with AB. I do know he was once a member of the Pittsburgh Steelers with an electric smile and all-world skills.

He was a joy to watch and the NFL loved him.

Then something happened. Some think it was a big contract. Others think it was a nasty hit in the playoffs by Vontaze Burfict of the Bengals. Still, others say he was like this all along.

Again, I have no inside knowledge so I have no idea.

Of course, every genus is lining up with hot takes on all sides. 

For me, I just hope he gets whatever it is that he needs. 

The scene at Met Life Stadium in New Jersey was hard to watch as Brown flung off his jersey and shoulder pads as well as his undershirt and sweatbands before he ran through the end zone, flashed a "peace" sign to fans, and disappeared.

Then he left the stadium.

After the game, Bucs coach Bruce Arians said AB was no longer a member of the team. If you're keeping score, Brown has committed a lot of untethered behavior since (at least) late 2018, when he said he wasn't happy with his role on the team and blamed Ben Roethlisberger.

I'm. probably best to not discuss Big Ben and the geniuses who think they have all the answers on him. I do know that whatever happened with Ben in 2009 was 12 years ago. No charges were filed and he's been spotless every since and blah blah blah.

I've enjoyed watching him play. I was also angry with the accusations at the time.

So I'll leave it right there.

I know mental health is serious. 

But, like I said, I know nothing.

Most likely? You don't either.

The First Post of '22: Kinder and Gentler

2022 goal: More soothing cat pictures

We join you from the "Exit 55" nerve center where a debate is raging.

Rob: OK, so for what it's worth, it's 2022. 

Brain: So what? When has that ever really had an impact on us?

RA: It doesn't but, still, when we look at the blog, this will be a noticeable one because it's the first of the year.

BR: OK, so...what?

RA: I don't know, maybe don't make it suck?

BR: You're losing me here.

RA: I don't want the first post of the year to feature some silly rant that I'll look back on and be embarrassed by.

BR: So you're saying you don't want to be a jerk? When has that ever stopped you?

RA: I'm turning over a new lea...

BR: Are you making a resolution?

RA: NO! NO! Not me. I'm just trying to be nicer. For a minute, at least.

BR: That's better. Say, did you see the tweet from a "broadcaster" about doing a Go Fund Me for The V Foundation in honor of Dick Vitale?

RA: I mean it's a noble cause, of course, but why are you doing that to me? Are you trying to get me riled up? 

BR: Oh...I don't know... (evil grin)

RA: So you mean the tweets where, initially, it was all about how he loves Vitale and, in the next post, he tweeted a video of his own work where he tagged Vitale because let's face it, he just wants attention from Dickie V? It's all about him, not Vitale...

BR: Mmmm hmmm... (grin grows)

RA: It's just insane narcissism and...wait...I see what you're doing and it's not going to work.

BR: Come on, now, old boy! This is your opportunity to drop the hammer about the exploding narcissism in the broadcasting world! Like the one who basically tweeted how lucky the audience and schools were that he was calling the game! This is your chance! Hammer time! Do it! DOOOOOOOOOOO IT!

RA: Yeah yeah yeah. That's enough. I'm not going to write about that in the first post of 2022.

BR: No, of course not. I wouldn't dream of pushing you to do it.

RA: OK, but why are you laughing?

BR: Oh, no reason. I'm sure we'll come up with something good to start the year with on the blog. Hey, how 'bout that Winter Classic? Let's do that hockey!

RA: Oh yeah! It's a bummer without Doc Emrick. But I'll still watch. Hey, what are you doing?

BA: Nothing! Enjoy the game! (presses "Publish")

Imagine

 

Peace.

Three Cheers

I've long believed that something can start whenever desired.

So it was that I wrote a post on Dec 30, 2018. I wrote about -- shockingly -- play-by-play and a live stream of classic baseball games, including Game 4 of the 1943 World Series.

The post was basically what you've come to expect from "Exit 55." At the same time, there was a method to my madness.

I had written -- to that point -- 34 posts in 2018 with the Dec. 30 entry included. I thought it was either time to write or time to say goodbye. To that end, I had debated whether I would write some kind of farewell or just walk away quietly.

But I wrote the post and it felt good. Yet I often ramped up my writing around the turn of the calendar.

I had toyed with the idea of a post-per-day before, normally around the same time each year.

Each effort had failed but this one felt like it had a finality to it. Do it or stop.

The next day, John Nash wrote about his idea for a post-per-day project and suggested it was something he'd like to see me try.

I noted it in my post on Dec 31.

Then I wrote again on Jan 1, 2019.

And Jan 2.

Jan 3.

4...

Today is the 1,097th consecutive day with a post. It's the third anniversary of starting this crazy idea.

The Channel Four News Team celebrates the achievement

You know the deal by now. I've often revealed too much and, yet, not as much as you might think. Oh, the things I haven't written about.

You know the emotions I've dealt with. 

You know the losses and the triumphs.

You know about the parking lots and strange locations I've written from.

You know when I wrote from a stadium or San Francisco or Brockton or Stedman, North Carolina.

In total, since Aug 2006, I've published 3.445 posts, including this one.

At this point, it's a habit. It's something I think about every day. The posts are probably better earlier in the day but they're not always logical to create. The ones written under duress and late at night are more slapdash.

As has been said, there might have been some home runs and some not. I'll leave that to the critics to discuss.

There are stances I'm proud of taking and things I cringed about. There are some posts that meant a lot.

I think I'm more well-rounded and wiser -- hopefully, a better person -- but I'm not sure I'm a better writer.

I'm sorry to those I've ticked off. Still, thanks for reading.

I'm grateful to all for clicking each link.

When will this end? I don't know. It will happen one day. It has to.

There have been days that I just thought I'd stop. There have been nights where time was running out and I thought it made sense to skip.

There have been moments where I couldn't wait to get to the computer. There have been dark moments where it felt over.

Yet here we are and we'll likely be back tomorrow. Some days I know what I want to say ahead of time. Others? Well, I sit down and write. You all probably know that I'm best when I ad-lib.

I can't predict we'll complete the fourth year of Project 365 but we'll get it started and see where it goes.

Editing the Highlights

 

I have a process that I do after each broadcast.

I publish the game on Robcasting via Mixlr so that it stays in their showreel archive. Then I open the audio in an editor and do some basic cleanup, including changing the file's bit rate so that I'm not filling up hard drives.

Then, before uploading each broadcast to Mixcloud and Archive.org, I pull out any highlights.

Obviously, highlights can accumulate over the year, especially if you want to do a year-end collection.

Well, we're at the end of the year and I just reviewed all 167 highlights.

From there, I tried to edit down to just pertinent stretches of audio, meaning most of my moments of shutting up and letting crowd noise take over is removed. That also means there are limited appearances by analysts (don't worry, Chris Erway, you made it).

And? When I was finished, it was a monster file at 14:33.

Yes, fourteen minutes and thirty-three seconds.

So, back to the drawing board I'll go. I'll listen to the whole file and pull more highlights out. There is no magic time I'm trying to get down to but over 14 minutes of highlights just seems obnoxious.

I'm always trying to represent everything and everyone. I'm trying to get so many names into the collection. Kyle McDonald and Derek Craft and James Nelson and Anthony Volpe and Josh Breaux and Oswald Peraza share space with Michael Salandra and John Scarlata and Jack Wilson and James Iarapoli and Thomas Foster and Danny Lauter and Chris Gaine and a lot of others.

I try to find the laughs, like when I called John Scarlata's pick-six against Trumbull while trying to put a hoodie on. Or when, after snacking on candy, I broke out, "Break me off a piece of that Kit Kat bar" following a big play.

I don't normally have a "call of the year" (I leave that to those begging for approval from STAA) but I'll gladly submit both the walk-off home runs by Breaux and Volpe.

But I try to catch all of it. Jake and Jomboy? Yup. Trumbull winning the Babe Ruth Tourney? It's in there. Delaware Valley Youth Sports? Yes.

Not everything can make it. Not every name can be represented. Realistically, there's probably a lot I can slice off of that.

Yet it does highlight (blech, bad pun) how special all of it was. I didn't call a game in January and was pretty quiet for most of March yet I stayed as busy as ever.

Still, I didn't have any highlights in the package of Brunswick baseball or lacrosse. I don't have anything from Section 1 soccer. 

My guess is I might have had other things on my mind as the highlight system isn't always perfect.

Or, and this is likely, I told myself I was terrible and there was nothing worth keeping.

I wanted to find a better segment of the 100th-anniversary baseball broadcast we did in August but it was a bit too cumbersome.

So I'll chop and cut, and hope to play it this week on "Doubleheader." Short of that, I'll post it somewhere, regardless of how narcissistic that feels.

It's no secret I am protective of this industry because I just hear so much bad (the past 24 hours alone have me on alert for my well-being). I realize it often makes me look bad. I also realize I often lack a filter and call out garbage.

In the long run, I'm trying to give tough love but I don't think many will ever understand that. In truth, I'm a teacher and think I can help (which I realize is foolish). Many don't watch to be taught and/or think they're "too good" for some small-time broadcaster like me.

But I'd like to see people get better and the sports broadcasting business improve as a result. We're in this troubling time where basically anyone thinks they can do it.

They can't.

I'm not saying there's a course they have to pass but sometimes I wish there was something to gain a license!

Silly me, caring about quality.

So, I'll go back to editing now.

The Football Sundays of My Youth

 

Pat Summerall and John Madden

Just three days after the All-Madden special on FOX, John Madden has died at the age of 85.

The tributes will rightfully pour in but, for me, that ends a special time of broadcasting.

I've alluded to some of it in the past. My Sundays in the fall and winter consisted of "Monday Night Football" and various other voices. There was Charlie Jones and Bob Costas and (the Great) Don Criqui and Jack Buck and Frank Glieber and Dick Stockton and Tom Brookshier. Just to name a few of the play-by-play voices.

But, the big voices (and dare I say, "The A-Teams") were Pat Summerall and John Madden on CBS and Dick Enberg and Merlin Olsen on NBC.

My but it was glorious.

Summerall was steady and a man of few words. He was of the Ray Scott school of word economy: "Simms...Bavaro...touchdown Giants." 

Then Madden would come along with the telestrator and a few "BOOMS" and away he'd go.

Merlin Olsen and Dick Enberg

Enberg was the Renaissance Man, equally adept at anything he called and oh so wonderful at football. His timbre controlled the action but punctuated the big plays as necessary.

Enberg: Draw to Byner. Ernest Byner...

Olsen: Fumble!

Enberg: Fumbled the ball and Denver has recovered! OH MY!

After the excitement died down, the thoughtful Olsen always stayed understated like Jonathan Garvey or John Michael Murphy, the characters he portrayed in "Little House on the Prairie" and "Father Murphy." It was always so strange to think this soft-spoken man with the easy sense of humor was such an anchor of the Rams "Fearsome Foursome."

Olsen left broadcasting far too soon for my taste, departing NBC in 1989 and breaking up that iconic duo. He spent some time at CBS and was soon gone from the booth. He died in 2010.

Madden and Summerall moved to FOX in 1994. Summerall initially retired from FOX in 2002, following Super Bowl XXXVI. FOX lured Summerall back to the booth a handful of times, including his last call -- the 2010 Cotton Bowl.

Summerall died in 2013.

Enberg, having moved from NBC to CBS and ESPN, called everything from the NFL to tennis to golf and basketball. But he loved baseball and, in 2009, accepted the job as the TV voice of the San Diego Padres. He stayed there until 2016, calling his last game on the same weekend that Vin Scully retired.

Enberg died in Dec 2017 

Madden moved onto ABC for "Monday Night Football" and then to NBC for "Sunday Night Football." He retired after the Steelers beat the Cardinals in Super Bowl XLII.

We lost Big John today.

It's not to say that we haven't had other great and wonderful NFL voices before and after but the 80s felt like a golden era for broadcasting. Certainly, Jim Nantz and (yes) Joe Buck and of course Al Michaels and countless others have blessed the NFL broadcast booths week after week.

This was special though. 

And this was nostalgic to me.

This was a big part of my youth. 

Sundays meant making game predictions and watching the first half before the inevitable call to the dinner table at 2:30 which, fortunately, almost unilaterally meant halftime on the 1:00 games. Then it was right back to the TV (which, hopefully, I'd taken over in the living room) before the 4:00 games.

It meant scouring the newspaper to find the broadcasting assignments or simply hoping for the best. Wait, Broncos/Seahawks from Seattle (back when the Hawks were in the AFC)? That probably meant Enberg/Olsen. I'm all in!

Cowboys/Giants always meant Madden and Summerall.

Plenty of BOOMs! and "Oh my's! were to be found and seen and heard.

Dan Fouts would throw a touchdown to Kellen Winslow.

Dan Marino would be lighting up the Miami sky.

Lawrence Taylor would knock someone silly.

The Steelers and Browns would wrestle in the mud in Cleveland.

Joe Montana would be fawned over.

It was a great time. A wonderful time to grow up and be a football fan.

It was, of course, innocent.

The air has since been deflated from the ball and the clock has run out.

Thanks to the big four NFL broadcasters of my youth -- three of whom were active on the field at one time.

Thanks to John Madden, as authentic a man as you'll ever encounter.

A special broadcast booth awaits.

Thanks For Joining Me

 

Hey everybody! Look at the Rodecaster and P4!

Barring any changes, my 2021 game broadcast schedule is finished.

I'm already glancing at my next broadcast, which will likely be on Jan 4 or 5 for Brunswick.

Oh, I had thoughts about games to call this week and last. I reached out to Jeff Alterman to see if he wanted to do anything with Trumbull and his TEN Network.

We bounced a few ideas -- including a basketball tournament in Stratford -- but after talking with people there learned 1) they don't have wifi in the gym and 2) cell service is bad. Now, I called basketball there once before (a first-round playoff game between Greenwich and Stratford on Mar 6, 2006) but I don't recall if we had phone issues (my memory says yes).

So, given I would have called the game on my own dime, it didn't seem worth the gas and effort. We bailed.

I toyed with a few other things, including Greenwich's Winter Classic but, when I thought about it, there just seemed to be no reason, except me proving a point that has long been proven already. So I felt content to back off. Maybe next year.

My oh my but we've been down this road too many times. It's sad that many think they can just show up and do it and have the power to do so. All good. I'm fine.

Sure, I could probably call more games every year -- a lot more -- but the number just doesn't seem to be relevant. Yes, I'm super proud of every call -- all 137 this year, with well over 100 being solo calls -- but I'm also big on quality.

That 137, by the way, is a record, and I don't take it for granted, but...

It all just feels like an exercise in ego-stroking. I say I've done 137 games and someone will be compelled to say they did 150! 160! 200!

Show them a picture of the arena you worked in or the equipment you broadcast with and they'll always try to top you.

Nah. I'm good.

Quick side story, there's a guy who is always tooting his own horn on "the socials," especially in a group I belong to. He posts every positive review and comment he receives and, the other day, he posted his "broadcast channel" logo not once but TWICE! The logo makes it clear: 40 years!

Ick.

Anyway, I laughed about it with Shawn Sailer and Mike Hirn who both had the same reaction. Me...being me...I added to my existing Robcasting logo...

Original logo courtesy of AJ Szymanowski. Embellishment by me.

That's right! Robcasting for FOUR AND A HALF YEARS!

In other words, who cares? That and a couple of bucks get you a subway ride.

As for 2021, I busted my heart, soul, skull, butt, and sometimes my voice for every call. What I did and hope to do again doesn't work for everyone but it works for me. We've been through this. You show up with charts and pretty colors. I show up with a roster, a scorecard, my computer, and my brain.

I'll carry the memories of all the calls but I think I'd be happy to review them at another time. I'm proud of the work I did. I hope listeners and viewers are also.

A few weeks off isn't what I want but, in some ways, it is wise. For one thing, I had a chest cold and worried about my voice (I'm fine). For another, well, COVID part...er...what number are we up to? I can't help but wonder if maybe games should have taken these few weeks off as well but I respect those who keep everyone safe and smart.

These few weeks gave me a chance to deal with other things, including getting my trusty Zoom Podtrak P4 off to the manufacturer. As I type, I am the recipient of a new P4. The old one (less than a year old) was having dropouts and that's not ideal when broadcasting.

But I'll be right back under the headset in 2022. 

Same as always, I suppose.

In Awe

 

Photo: John Nash

John Nash is the once and forever co-conspirator of #Project365, which will soon hit three years. The idea was something I had considered for years and he supported and encouraged me to start and keep it going.

John texted me the picture at the top of this post earlier today. Taken in the Mall of America, it marks where home plate was at Metropolitan Stadium in Bloomington, MN. The mall was built on the site of the stadium after the Twins and Vikings left for the Hubert H. Humphrey Metrodome following the 1981 season.

Eventually, the Twins moved to Target Field and the Vikings made their way to U.S. Bank Stadium.

Metropolitan Stadium reminds me of Fran Tarkenton and Alan Page and Harmon Killebrew and Rod Carew. I can see coach Bud Grant breathing steam on frigid days and Gene Mauch managing the Twins against the Yankees in the summer.

That's where John comes back in. It seems he decided to treat himself to a trip for Christmas. He booked a voyage to Minnesota to see his beloved Vikings in person. He's been posting updates on his Facebook page as well as posts at his great blog, The October Weekend.

I'm a combination of delighted, astounded, and a touch jealous (in a good-natured way). As someone whose favorite football team plays eight hours away (Pittsburgh, of course) and loves travel, I admire his level of whimsy and commitment to doing this for himself.

For the record, I haven't seen the Steelers in person since 2004 when I attended my only game at Heinz Field.

I try to have glimpses of this kind of spontaneity and yet that always level-headed side keeps me from doing such things.

"I can't afford it."

"The car isn't up to the trip."

"I have to be at home for (insert reason here)."

I've watched life go by.

I texted with both Kristy and Hector -- my niece and her husband, who live in North Carolina -- yesterday and each one said to me they'd love to fly me down there, especially if they'd known I was going to spend Christmas solo.

Hector still wants me to come down next weekend to watch college football with him, which we did once before when they were up here.

Still, there's always something. COVID, work, the cat, cost, Sean, etc. All are legit. All can also be answered of course.

I'm not saying I'm flying or jumping in the car to go to North Carolina next weekend but John's meander to Minneapolis reminded me that I need to start living again.

Actually, it was another reminder because I'm often yelling at myself about it.

Sean and I were talking the other night when he noted Pittsburgh -- a city he's never been to.

John's post came right back into my mind.

"We should go to a game in Pittsburgh," I said.

"That could be fun," Sean said.

He and I have conjured ideas over the years. I've wanted to take him on an Amtrak trip -- even if only to Philadelphia, Boston, or Washington, DC because he loves trains.

We've also talked about going back to the baseball Hall of Fame in Cooperstown. I mean, it's three hours away. I haven't been in six years (heading for seven). Shame on me.

So go to the Hall of Fame.

Go on that Amtrak trip.

Go to the Haskell Library or Houlton, ME.

Go, Rob. You're waiting for something and it's time to stop!

More importantly, go John! I admire your ability to go on adventures and I think this is a great Christmas present.

Sadly, the sports gods do not care about such things. The Los Angeles Rams beat the Vikings, 30-23. The Vikings -- the Purple People Eaters -- dropped to 7-8 with the loss.

Fran Tarkenton asks for quiet at Metropolitan Stadium
as the Vikings host the Packers in 1976.

The Vikings are a team with a frustrating history, including four Super Bowl losses (including Super Bowl IX against Pittsburgh), and some absolutely gutwrenching defeats in the conference championship game. Don't talk to a Vikes fan about Roger Staubach, Drew Pearson, Gary Anderson, Brett Favre, or Blair Walsh.

Their fans are rabid and remarkable.

Today, John Nash was among them. Sorry for the loss. Happy for the trip.

Travel on, John!

As they say in Minnesota, "Skol Vikings!"

So...This is Christmas

 

What might have been: Vin Scully and John Madden

In the end, circumstances kept my Christmas quiet.

Honestly, it's been fine. Nice, even.

I didn't sleep well last night (probably too excited for Santa's arrival) so I actually fell asleep at one point during the day.

Otherwise, I watched a lot of TV, talked to The Cat*, texted and messaged with many, and (at times) forgot it was Christmas.

I'm not a "Crazy Cat Person." Honest.

I also still have plenty of food from the magical elf.

Honestly, I'm fine. 

Also honestly, it's easy to forget that it's Christmas.

The highlight, for me, was the absolutely tremendous tribute to John Madden that aired on FOX.

Now, to be honest, John hates the Steelers. Literally, that's a fact. That didn't come across via his broadcasting but even now, 49 years later, he still moans about the Immaculate Reception.

If you don't know, Madden was on the losing end of that greatest play in NFL history. Also, Steelers/Raiders was a fierce rivalry in the 70s.

Additionally, Madden was a CBS guy mostly doing NFC games. I was an NBC guy, adoring the team of Dick Enberg and Merlin Olsen as they did mostly AFC games.

Lastly among Madden's early partners was a guy mostly known for his baseball play-by-play who had a chance to be Big John's CBS partner. Guy named Scully. Pat Summerall was chosen to be Madden's partner instead. In the end, it all worked out fine.

Incidentally, the guy who told Scully that he wasn't getting the Madden partnership (and, thus, Super Bowl calls) was Terry O'Neil. Mr. O'Neil's son Liam was the starting quarterback at Greenwich High School and I got to know them.

But back to the Madden special. For me, it felt like so much of my life watching football went by my eyes. It reminded me of the NFL I fell in love with. I knew of the early 70s of Madden's Raiders and the Dolphins and the Cowboys and so on.

Then I came into my own with Madden, Merlin, Montana, Marino, and the 80s.

I watched a ton of games with Madden on the call, including his very last game, when Ben Roethlisberger threw a dime to Santonio Holmes on the side of the end zone in Tampa in Super Bowl XLIII. It was bliss for me and time for John to step away.

He's 85 now and has lived a fascinating life as one of the most important people in NFL history. The special made it clear just how truly beloved he is, in case it needed to be said.

He's a national treasure. No question.

The show was spectacular. If you love the NFL -- I mean, truly love and appreciate its history -- find a way to watch it.

Christmas, 2021 had unique circumstances. In the end, I want everyone to get well and be good to each other.

Let's eradicate COVID or get it under control.

And with that, Christmas is over.

Christmas Eve

 

DEAR EDITOR: I am 8 years old.

Some of my little friends say there is no Santa Claus.
Papa says, ‘If you see it in THE SUN it’s so.’
Please tell me the truth; is there a Santa Claus?

VIRGINIA O’HANLON.
115 WEST NINETY-FIFTH STREET. (letter to the New York Sun, printed Sept 21, 1897)

*****

Christmas Eve has evolved over the years for me.

I suppose the holidays have also.

As I wrote recently, a favorite Christmas Eve is one my mother would have preferred to have forgotten. She was in rehab, recovering from open-heart surgery. Yet those of us who gathered around her felt a certain relaxation and, dare I say, joy.

I'm not sure I've felt that in the years since.

Still, life is what you make of it.

With nowhere to go, Sean and I continued our recent tradition of watching movies and eating dinner. Our prior movie selections have been "Avengers: Infinity War," "Caddyshack," "Psycho," and "Fargo."

This year we opted for a double feature of music biopics: "Bohemian Rhapsody" and "Rocketman." Though I've seen both of them, Sean had expressed an interest in seeing them. I made sure I wasn't "that person" and kept most of my knowledge to myself, both historically and in terms of the movies.

As for the food, we had an elf that likes to feed us hand me a bag of steaks, shrimp, garlic bread with cheese, and other delights. There also might have been a few rice balls that this elf is known for.

Oh, and I added a cheesecake from Junior's in Brooklyn. So, yeah, we were sufficiently fed.

The movies were great, each in its own way. I'd probably lean more towards "Bohemian Rhapsody" but that's only if I have to give you an answer. Rami Malek as Freddie Mercury is just one of a collection of remarkable performances in that film. The Live Aid segment to close the movie is off the charts and is a time capsule for me, even if I didn't see it live.

While it isn't ideal for either of us, we both seemed fairly content with the evening. It's still not the same, sitting just a few feet from Mom's chair. My parents literally lived and died in this room. That's not an attempt to be maudlin. It's simply a fact.

I think we'd both like to be a little more settled in 2022. It's been a long path to what's next and we're both anxious to get there.

To be blunt, I want to be in a different place physically, emotionally, and spiritually in 2022. It's time. 

I'd like to believe I'll recapture a little bit of holiday magic though I haven't seen it in several years and I don't know if I ever will.

But, let's not be a downer. We made the best of the night and my heart is full.

Sean heads back to his mother tomorrow and my Christmas plans are, well, up in the air based on COVID. My family keeps getting hit and I'll figure it out in the morning. Still, it's OK. There will be football to watch and I've been staying busy around the house.

*****

While we live in a dour world of people who want to break down "It's a Wonderful Life" into being sexist and whatever other nonsense they sling at it, I believe in thinking that it's a movie from 1946. To further analyze it is to say that George Bailey was a good and decent man who was also flawed. His beloved wife Mary adored him and was the rock of everything, saving everything.

Why not just enjoy the movie?

Just as we did tonight, watching the stories of two flawed legends. No further analysis was needed.

*****

So, yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus, just as the New York Sun editorial (written by Francis Pharcellus Church) said in 1897. He or she is what you make of it.

Just like life.

And Christmas Eve.

And I heard him exclaim as he rode out of sight, "You can tell everybody this is your song!"

And to all, a good night.