Can I Get a Boost?

 

*Photo not meant as an endorsement of "Big Pharma"

It was 12:24 p.m.

Don't ask me why but I take note of such things.

The needle went into my arm and was fairly painless, just as I remembered it was almost a year earlier.

I hate needles, to be clear. Yet, this was nothing.

I'd followed all of the instructions. I had a short-sleeve shirt under my long-sleeve quarter-zip. I was 15 minutes early and checked in online as I pulled into the parking lot of the CVS in Mahopac. I went where directed and, before I knew it, it was over.

"You're all set," the business-like man said after giving me my Pfizer booster shot. "Stick around the store for 15 minutes. You can go get your card."

Yeah. The card The one thing I screwed up. I left it out in the car in the parking lot.

I returned to the lot to retrieve the card and pondered how the CVS had once been a Grand Union supermarket (when markets really weren't so "super") and, later on, our beloved Tom Kat sporting goods store. The church I was baptized in, now empty, was across the street.

There's a lot of history around there for me.

But, anyway, I grabbed the card and went back inside. I sat and waited while he boosted another patient, got the card out, put more air in the blasted tire (grumble bleeping BJs), grabbed lunch, and came back home.

I'm going to fill up on liquids before I try -- key word! -- to go to Brunswick for hockey.

I wish I had gotten boosted sooner but given I had a few colds through December and January it felt best to wait until I was feeling better.

This post isn't meant to put any pressure on readers to get any vaccine. I'd be honored if it inspired someone but, otherwise, you do you. I decided a year ago I wanted the vaccination and, once the booster became available, I was ready for that also. This is what I believe in.

But, belief or not, I also can't do certain things without vaccinations. As I've mentioned, I'm supposed to be on a plane to London in April to moderate a Hunt Scanlon conference. 

And, as we know, there are places you can't walk into without it. I'll be in New York City next month for the next Hunt Scanlon conference. If I join Paul Silverfarb the night before to grab dinner, you can guarantee people will want to see our vaccine cards.

So, the jab, er, job is done, and I'm good with it.

Great, even.

I'm proud to have done my part.

Did I mention the tires aren't done yet and I don't have an answer as to when it will be resolved?

So, hopefully, you'll hear me from Brunswick at 5p this afternoon.

Hoping to Bounce Back, Amirite?

 

This is BJs in Linden, NJ, which is not the store in this story.

Today was the day! 

The Great Tire Caper would come to a close!

I got ready, filled the bad tire with air, opened the garage, and found it was snowing.

No! I wouldn't be stopped by a few flakes. Sure there was a Winter Storm Advisory that called for ice but it wasn't supposed to get bad until after I had my new tires! Bring it on!

I gently guided the car to BJs in Yorktown Heights. For you old-timers, that was once on a plot of land that had a store called White's. I always remember getting a soft pretzel there, probably after dinner at the nearby Crompond Diner. Then it sat as an empty parking lot for years and the building was boarded up.

I was at BJs in time for my 9:30 appointment. I walked in, said why I was there, handed them the key and the lock for the lug nuts.

"Give us 90 minutes, tops," came the reply.

I went into the main part of BJs. I was prepared to take my time and walk the entire store. It seemed like a good time to assess my membership and see if I really wanted it to continue!

I strolled the electronics.

I looked at storage bins (thinking about an apartment).

I looked at everything preparing to go see the food other stuff.

I was down near the pet supplies.

I had put an ear plug in to listen to the "Office Ladies" podcast as they were recalling the holiday episode where Pam is given the teal teapot. Fun fact: Jenna Fischer was offered several options and chose the teal one.

And then?

My phone rang.

Now, I don't normally take calls from numbers I don't know but this one said "Peekskill" and while I might not have been in "The Friendly City" as my mother used to call it (she was a Peekskill girl, after all), my spidey senses told me to take it.

"Hi, Robert, can you come back to the tire shop?"

Damn.

You know how your boss asks if you have a minute? Nothing good is coming, right?

I admit I expected them to find something sinister.

Instead, they found...

That they didn't have the tires in stock.

Now, I'm sure you have questions, right?

Allow me to tell you that I had ordered the tires via BJs website last week. So, basically, from Tuesday or Wednesday, that order was in their system.

Somewhere along the line, I probably should have gotten a phone call about this, no?

Well, I didn't.

"OK," I said sternly. "What are we going to do about it?"

Maybe I should have snapped. Maybe. But I went into the silent, "fix the problem" mode. Which means I'm calmly boiling.

I liked the guy behind the counter. He was apologetic and there is something to say for that, regardless of how bad this was. They were going to make everything right. I was sure of it.

So he began to search his inventory.

"I've got good news, and I've got bad news," came the reply.

Honestly, as I see it there was no good news. Sure, he had tires in my size but he three of one brand and three of another.

Not four of one.

Wait! A FedEx truck drove by...nope. No tires. False alarm.

"So, maybe you could go to another location."

I mostly gazed out the window towards the Popeye's chicken and the Dunkin Donuts that is in the old Slender Magic fitness salon of a lifetime ago.

I was seething but, again, I didn't want to snap.

Going to another store defeated the purpose as the snowflakes fell and the prediction for ice lingered in my brain given I had four tires that were of varying degrees of awful.

How soon could I get my tires? Could be tomorrow. Wednesday. Thursday.

"Just order them and get them as soon as possible," I said.

"I'll get you right in," he said.

Look, here's the thing at this point. I'm not looking for free tires but, for what it's worth, how about a little something for the trouble? Like, you guys -- you -- effed this up. I ordered the tires. I followed all protocols. You didn't call me.

Make it right.

I've got possibly 24 games over the next month or so, including a trip to New Jersey this weekend.

I'm not sure I'll be rushing for that new BJs membership at this point.

It's a Mad Mad Mad "Mad World"

 

So I'm not going to be "that guy" but that picture did make me laugh.

Picture? Meme? Let's not split hairs.

This is not a "get off my lawn" post.

I've talked many times about my inability to find much in the world of contemporary music that grabs me. Of course, a large chunk -- perhaps all -- of the blame falls on my shoulders. I've sort of given up. Radio is far too rigidly formatted to the point where it's easier to just say "forget it."

Therefore, I listen to talk or The Beatles Channel. Or some other station. Or a podcast.

Older radio formats were a little wider, for what it's worth.

So, yes, I blame myself.

But, sure, I could see that being me in the picture above.

I'm not going to further my cause with tonight's tale. My friend of a year or 40, Jeff Terranova, reposted a video of Curt Smith -- part of the duo Tears for Fears -- playing the 1982 song "Mad World" with his daughter.

First, the original song is great. But this was just fantastic. It was clearly posted during the time when so many musicians were resorting to uploading DIY versions of their music as the pandemic intensified.

Here I was, listening to it on my MacBook which has fairly decent speakers for what it is.

But I also had a new pair of noise-canceling headphones, purchased primarily for my upcoming trip to London (among other things). This seemed like a good time to try it out. I could listen to the original "Mad World."

Which I didn't have.

So, sure, I went for the version on YouTube.

OK, cool.

Then I read more about the album it came from, "The Hurting." Let's just call it dark.

In the middle of the New Wave and the New Romantic movements, this was was different. This was more like Joy Division or Ultravox as opposed to OMD or Spandau Ballet.

So I, who still appreciates buying an album, began to dig. Now, I will also gladly cheat for financial purposes and buy a hits album. In fact, that's where the confusion came in. I have a Tears for Fears hits disc that I bought in the late 90s and, yet, "Mad World" wasn't on it. In fact, every other hits disc I looked at had "Mad World" on it. But it also had every other song that I already had: "Shout," "Everybody Wants to Rule the World," the Beatlesque "Sowing the Seeds of Love," etc.

OK, then, I'll buy the single. Come on! It's $1.29!

I strolled to the computer. 

I bought the song.

The computer looked at me.

"Buy the rest of the album for..."

A classic album, I thought! Deep! Dark! Dig in!

Damn you, marketing.

Damn you, Jeff.

I bought it.

And so, friends, as I write tonight's love letter to a Sunday, I'm listening to Curt Smith and Roland Orzabal sort through childhood trauma as inspired by the work of American psychologist Arthur Janov. His patients included John Lennon, who took what he learned and turned that into the primal screaming found on the "Plastic Ono Band" album of 1970 (just listen to "Mother" or "Working Class Hero" as prime examples).

Deep stuff. 

Nobody said music had to be pretty or happy.

Yeah, yeah, yeah.

Curt Smith in the "Mad World" video

The Broadcast Shall Go On!

 

Remembering Teddy Balkind at The Hartong Rink

I mentioned that Thursday was quite the adventure. The heavy rain thrashed me around as I drove from Mahopac to Greenwich. The return trip wasn't as haphazard but still gave me grief.

Then, after discovering water in the basement (since cleaned up) I found a leaky tire (aka "flat").

While not ideal, Friday's sleet/ice storm allowed me to stay home and not stress over it. I only had an appointment made for my booster shot on Saturday.

As for fixing the tire, before you ask, I have an appointment on Monday. I will have four brand new tires and the drama will shift to something else, I'm quite sure.

So, with that said, I had to somehow survive the weekend. Let's face it, even if I didn't go out today or tomorrow, I'd still have to get to BJs on Monday morning for the mounting of the new tires.

OK, so I'll just stay home. No need to go out, even for the booster, right?

Then I got a text. Friday's storm had already cost Brunswick a game against Albany Academy. their head coach Mike Kennedy told me that there's a group message of coaches that stays active for anyone seeking a game where there's an opening.

Trinity-Pawling was looking for a game. 

Brunswick now needed a game.

Bingo. Match made, even though they'll also meet on Feb 25 at the Hartong Rink.

I got the text from Wayne McGiullicuddy and my heart sank.

On the one hand, "Game? Broadcast? SURE!"

Plus, well, employment. Always nice.

On the other hand...the tire.

So now the conundrum was fully in place. I woke up this morning and decided to see how it all played out. I felt risky and irresponsible if I went out.

The first decision was to postpone the booster shot. One look at the white driveway told me that it wasn't necessary. I was going to let the morning go a little longer to allow the sun to hit the road.

So I prepared as if there would be a broadcast. That is to say that I went through the motions. Just in case. I gathered the Trinity-Pawling roster and my scorecard (patent pending) and went about my morning.

Then I saw the road was dry. I decided that, at the very least, I'd drive to the local AutoZone* to get a lug wrench (the one with my car is shamefully awful), price a jack (my father had one that mysteriously disappeared years ago), and, for laughs, buy a Fix-a-Flat-type of product to have with me.

*Ever since Sean was little, he would hear the AutoZone commercials with the line, "Get in the Zone..." and he'd whisper "AutoZone." I can't hear it any other way and, oh, by the way, he still does it if I say the first part of the line.

So, as I did on Friday, I used my air pump to reinflate the tire. It held well enough to gingerly back out of the garage and hit the road for the five-minute to ride to AutoZone.

While I didn't buy a jack, I did buy the lug wrench and the Fix-a-Flat. Hopefully, I wouldn't need either of them.

I put just a little more air in the tire when I left. So far, so good.

I grabbed a wrap at the nearby Stop and Shop (in, again, Baldwin Place). Me, eat a spinach wrap? Desperate times, friends. The last thing you want is a disoriented, exhausted, hungry broadcaster.

With the first two stops out of the way, I took a deep breath and began to move towards Brunswick. For those new to the party, Wick's athletic facilities are located on King St. in Greenwich near Westchester County Airport. I often joke that if you wander into the woods on the west side of the campus, not only will you be in New York but the TSA might want to chat with you.

In reality, you'd probably encounter the public access terminal road, but still, it's a risk.

The rink and gym are in a building between the Pre and Lower Schools. The Upper School (the high school) is actually in downtown Greenwich while the Middle School is on the former Tudor property across the way on King Street. The new soccer field is on that property, with a tunnel connecting the two campuses.

I made my way through Westchester County, taking it easy along I-684. The "low tire" alert eventually came on in the car but I was able to reach a parking spot outside the rink without incident. I was safe and put more air in the tire.

I had made it. The broadest went off mostly without problems, save for something with my audio via Mixlr for a chunk of the first period. Proving my point how audio matters, especially for those in the car, I've noticed an uptick in listens on Robcasting, even if it's a very minor number.

Audio matters, people. So does the ability to call a video broadcast and make it a hybrid audio description.

Brunswick won an exhausting, hard-fought (literally) 6-5 contest. The Pride from Trinity-Pawling roared back (yes I went there) with two goals late in the third to tie the game before sophomore Sean Gibbons sent the crowd home happy.

For the second time in a couple of days, there was an injured player on the ice. Putting my money where my mouth is, I delicately deflected until the player was back on their skates. I'm careful with any injury during a game but you can probably imagine where the sensitivity is heightened at The Hartong Rink and will be for some time.

To that end, without fanfare, a small number five now hangs just inside the entrance in honor of the late Teddy Balkind. A classy gesture for sure.

After the game, I packed, returned to the car, reinflated the tire, and drove away.

Another trip to Stop and Shop awaited because I needed dinner. I would have preferred Wegman's but wasn't going to risk going anywhere that wasn't on the way home. With food procured, I returned to the home of Squeaky the Cat.

The broadcast happened. I didn't need to call it off the computer from home (I considered that). I was safe, I was smart, and I made it. In the end, it wasn't as dangerous or irresponsible as I had feared.

You know me by now. I skip games only when I simply have to. Today wasn't one of those days.

I'll get the booster. In fact, I checked for times today before I came home and it didn't work out but there are plenty of other appointments.

Another day is done.

Another game called.

The next broadcast is scheduled for Tuesday.

A Friday Story Goes Back in Time Unexpectedly

Photo, obviously, courtesy Westchester Historical Society

So I told you about my drive home last night. Though I worried about the rain and how I was thrashed about as headed to Brunswick, the drive home was purely uneventful.

Hold that thought.

I made it out of Greenwich and climbed NY Route 120, connected with 22, and grabbed 128 at Armonk. I moved along 117 through Mount Kisco to Bedford Hills. I crawled along Cherry Street* and turned left on 35.

*"Crawled" is the right word. They don't like being a cut-through so there are speed bumps galore.

I merged onto 100 and floated onto 139 before driving US 202 to NY 118. I was so pleased that I stopped and picked up dinner in Baldwin Place.

By the way, does anyone call it Baldwin Place anymore? Baldwin Place is a hamlet in Somers, literally on the Westchester County line. The shopping center there is known as Somers Commons but no one my age can even think of that property without calling it the Baldwin Place Mall.

I know, this is a wild diversion, but hang with me. The Baldwin Place Mall was -- for a time -- our spot. It was part-indoor mall and part-outdoor shopping center. There was no true "anchor" store, if you will, though I suppose the grocery store (Pantry Pride or whatever it was at a given time) was the largest parcel on the site.

There was a men's store (Robert Hall) and shoes (Kinney) and a bakery and a Sears catalog store. Not a full store. Just a few showcase items and a counter to place catalog orders.

There was a dry cleaner there also but we're best to not discuss that due to the contamination that blew the whole thing up. Well, that and the proliferation of larger shopping enclaves in Danbury, Poughkeepsie, and White Plains. Most notably, and closer to home, the Jefferson Valley Mall opened in 1983 and fate was sealed for Baldwin Place.

Oh but back to the memories. The mall really did have a lot of things, including the fantastic Book and Record which was a store of, well, that. Books! Records! HEAVEN!

There was a Radio Shack and Joe's Pizza and a couple of women's stores to bore growing boys who then made sure to go to Book and Record. 

There was a movie theater that became a roller skating rink (no shock: you didn't find me there often) and a steakhouse (The Bum Steer) and Nescott Drugs and Embassy which was, theoretically, a "five and dime." You know, a variety store.

Plus there was the Studio Deli, which my father liked. The hot dogs were tasty.

McDonald's was also nearby among other amenities.

Eventually "the mall" fell into disrepair and became an eyesore. That's why it's almost shopping that Somers Commons is there today. While you can still find signs that say "Baldwin Place" on them (and a post office...located in Mahopac) I often feel like nobody calls the actual location that anymore.

It felt like with the decline of the mall that the name became passé.

Maybe not.

Wow. Big digression there.

Anyway, I was going to tell you how I discovered some water in the basement last night and that I had a flat tire.

I counted my blessings. While annoying, I'm getting tires on Monday and I was able to reinflate for the moment. Let's face it, I got home. Let's start with being happy about that.

However, Brunswick has thrown a game on the calendar tomorrow and I have my booster scheduled (spare me the politics).

Oh, yeah, and the water. By this morning, I was standing in my robe vacuuming the small amount that was now a lot more. In fact, it was four-plus shop vac buckets full of more.

The balance of the day was consumed with a deposition where the witness didn't show up and menial tasks around the house. The rain, er, ice made it easy to just stay home.

That, and the tire.

Tomorrow's another day.

So much for a quiet weekend.

That was the Studio Deli at one time.

Thursday at the Rink

I've long said the broadcast booth is my sanctuary.

Today, I needed it.

Nothing bad happened. It's just a day in which I have a lot of things on my mind and -- normally -- I'm able to check out during a game.

There have been very few games where I haven't been able to do that. In fact, I would guess the number has been under 10. Maybe even under five.

The falling rain, combined with my tires (getting replaced on Monday) didn't help things as I sloshed around. it was bad enough that I departed I-684 at the Mount Kisco exit after driving it for just a few miles. I used local roads the rest of the way to Brunswick and then from Wick back to Mahopac.

The drive home lingered in my mind at the rink but it did not deter me from calling a 6-2 Brunswick win.

Before the game, I was chatting with a friend who wanted to stop by. He gave me an unintentional boost by talking about ways he thinks I could help students more than I do around Brunswick. 

I guess that's what I've often thought as well.

"You're a teacher," he said. "I can tell."

Well, by definition, no I can't say I'm really a teacher. Sure I instruct at CSB but teachers are more official than I am. They have the training and everything else. They're outstanding.

I'm an instructor. A rank novice at best.

But I do love teaching broadcasters of all ages to be a professional. That's where those who think I'm some big monster don't get. I'm always actually trying to make them better. The constant narcissism and diva behavior don't help them. 

Be a professional.

That's what the friend of mine was saying. Sure it's great to see kids (and others) get their shot but if nobody is guiding them towards creating a professional broadcast and understanding the flow then it's all for nothing.

Enter: me. I can help.

I like it.

Oh, so to the ride home. I decided I wouldn't take any highways. It would be all main/back roads.

I steadied myself for another sloshy ride which now included dense fog and bright headlights.

I didn't have an issue.

We live to fight another day.

New tires on Monday and onto the next battle.

Tonight I'll Just Say 'Thanks'

 

Photo: Downy (not my laundry)

There's laundry to do.

I want to put new sheets on my bed.

And, oh yeah, I'm tired.

So I'm willing to keep things to a minimum tonight. I got a nice note from an unnamed friend yesterday, telling me to keep telling the stories that I've been telling. It is cathartic for sure but it's also nerve-wracking.

The response to last night's apartment hunting announcement has been very kind. While I appreciate the words of support, it's the responses that had actual action (there were one or two) that meant the most. I'm in touch with a realtor and we'll take it from here.

I've tried to imagine transitioning a living room into a place for Sean when comes over, if necessary. I'm just trying to make it all work and, if I'm being really honest, it could really be a short-term thing.

So thank you, especially to Jim Campbell, for putting me in touch with a realtor. Thank you to everyone else for the love and support.

I was back on the hockey front today, calling Brunswick against Lawrenceville* today. The Bruins won and it was one of the broadcasts that I felt decent about. I felt "on," meaning I was OK with the flow of everything.

That doesn't mean it was great or anything like that but it was better than most I guess.

*Lawrenceville was where Huey Lewis went to school and I threaded a few song titles into the broadcast. Let's see, "Heart and Soul," "Simple as That," "So Little Kindness,” plus lyrics to "The Heart of Rock and Roll" all got mentioned. I could have done more, of course.

I actually had a woman stop by following the broadcast to introduce herself to me. She said she was from Florida and that she's gotten into watching her grandson play on the broadcasts -- and I'm still stunned by this -- because of me.

Like, me? What?

Another parent stopped me outside and said that his daughter is embarrassed every time I mention her on the air (her brother plays for the team).

"Truth is," the father said, "she loves it. She tells her friends. It's a big deal because it's you. You're a local legend."

Er. OK. I might feel stronger about that if I was calling more hockey around Greenwich but I digress.

Anyway, it's not about me. I just love calling the games. I'd like to believe it's what I'm meant to do.

I wish more people felt that way.

That's for another time.

I wore myself out today, so this is all for tonight.

Again, thanks for the support. We'll figure the living space out soon.

WANTED: PLACE TO LIVE

 

The Exit 55 Classified Section

WANTED: PLACE TO LIVE -- Looking for 1-2 bedroom apartment (contingent on 20-year-old non-troublesome son) in Danbury, Brewster, Carmel, Mahopac, Greenwich, Stamford, or basically anywhere in-between. Must be pet-friendly for three-year-old ultra-sweet but somewhat shy (and weird) black cat. Price is everything. Affordable would be great. Needed soon. Like, quite soon.

So, in short, I need to move. After 58-plus years, it's time to clean out the house and relocate (No, I'm not 58). I'm nervous but, frankly, it's time to come out and say this. 

Depending on where I move Sean will likely continue to live with me every other week. I've pondered a one-bedroom scenario where we give him a comfy living room and I've pondered a two-bedroom scenario. I can be swayed either way.

I'm open-minded. In truth, due to the life that I lead, I would prefer something with a washer/dryer simply over the concern of having time to go sit in a laundromat. Beyond that, Sean and I are pretty quiet and don't cause a lot of fuss. We rarely have company and Squeaky just goes about his day as well.

Honestly, we'll be great tenants. 

Sean tends to get up late morning and go to bed late while I'm all over the place depending on depositions, games, etc. Even then you won't really know we're around. Sean is on his computer or under a headset talking to his friends.

Me? I do my broadcasting but I'm pretty quiet.

Sure, I love music but I don't tend to play it loud and, even then, I keep things peaceful during late night hours. Even my depositions are mostly low-key affairs regardless of time.

Work? I'm gainfully employed, thank you very much. Dan and Craig keep me busy with depositions. Brunswick and Local Live keep me loaded with games. Hunt Scanlon keeps me going with podcasts and conferences.

Etc...etc...and so on. I'm busy and making a fair income.

So, there you have it. Any help is appreciated and I'm actually not really stuck on the places I mentioned above. The right situation could work. It's a very flexible time for me.

Reply: Me. Here or via social media channels or cell.

Please note: I'm very nervous about all of this.

Thank you.

Rethinking the Post

 

Another random picture: I want Tom Baker's voice occasionally
(Tom was the Fourth Doctor on "Doctor Who" ... 
if I need to explain that ... )

So, I made a mistake.

Sadly, I knew it at the moment but I thought maybe it wouldn't be bad..

I tried to kill two birds with one stone. I could write about depression and Bell Let's Talk along with admitting a few things I'm currently facing (more to come!).

I also thought I could address Joe Rogan, Neil Young, and Spotify. To that end, I initially wrote a longer version before deleting most of it.

"Leave it basic," I said out loud. "Just enough to acknowledge it."

Today, instead of literally anyone acknowledging what I wrote personally, the only comments were about Rogan.

Again, to be clear, I'm blaming myself. It should have been two separate posts.

I accept it and got what I deserved.

I was initially annoyed. I thought I'd just write, well, not a lot tonight. Honestly, what good would slapping readers on the wrist do?

No. I can't make it clear enough. The fault is with me.

Sometimes two different topics can run together. In this case, I couldn't do that. It's too toxic (huh...Tox...) a topic.

The minute I noted Mr. Rogan, Young, etc, that became the focus. Nobody was going to give a damn about mental health, my need for a place to live, or anything else.

So, this is clearly a case that is not about you. It's me.

The Spotify topic is one I should have gone nowhere near and the reactions probed my point.

So I'll learn from my mistakes.

Or I won't.

But I accept the blame.

Oh, and full disclosure, I'm on at least two podcasts that are on Spotify (and elsewhere). 

#BellLetsTalk and Joe Rogan

 

This is a random picture of a bear. For no particular reason.

Joe Rogan depresses me.

Well, no, maybe not. OK, I'm mixing things up here so let's start over.

First, the serious stuff. The annual #BellLetsTalk day passed on Thursday and I didn't know it. While I realize it's an attempt by an obnoxious corporation to curry favor with the public, it also marks the day that I talked publicly about depression for the first time a few years ago. It was something I struggled with given that I've long heard whispers of how "there's no such thing" and "it's just an attempt for attention."

We'll leave those harrowing words for another time. Be all of that as it may, I still wanted to acknowledge Bell Let's Talk as I have for the past few years. I still have ups and downs and am going through a time of great transition. Perhaps I'll elaborate more in the future but the short version is, for one thing, I will soon need a place to live.

(And I just began to shiver writing those words. Incredible that I should feel that way.)

It's a nerve-wracking time and a time in which I've arguably never felt more alone.

If you want to believe that is attention-seeking well maybe it is. Call it a cry for help.

I'm trying to reclaim my life after, say, 15 years. I've been stuck in neutral with occasional glimpses of moving forward and back. I'm content with a lot but don't have benefits (for instance) and feel like I lack stability.

So I'm hoping that will get resolved. Soon.

Again, perhaps I'll say more in the future but the point is mental health issues are real and something people -- more than are willing to admit -- struggle with every day. 

That's why I try to be here for friends and family, even if only to listen. Admittedly sometimes I should listen more and talk less.

But I'm here. That's the point.

OK, so back to Joe Rogan. Joe Rogan is an idiot.

See? That's easy. He spreads nonsense and, if I'm being honest, I've never been a fan.

Spotify, as you've probably heard, is a place to get his podcast. Neil Young, noted musician, basically gave Spotify an edict: "Rogan or Young."

Spotify pulled Young's music, per his request. Others have followed suit, including the legendary (jeez, that's putting it mildly) Joni Mitchell.

That leads some to think that Spotify chose Rogan over Young.

Some say that's not the case. Those people feel Spotify honored Young's wishes. That doesn't mean they're endorsing Rogan.

And I've decided to stop here. I had more written but, as we've long discussed (and evident in this very discussion) we lack the ability to have civil conversations. I'll add that I don't think anyone wins here. I'll also add that nobody looks good. So there's that.

And Joe Rogan spreads dangerous information. That doesn't mean I agree with Neil Young.

That's all I've got.

Other than Rams/Bengals.

Super Bowl in two weeks.

That is all.

Hoover This

 

Tom Brady isn't the GOAT but let's leave that right there.

We're not here for that (Jim Brown and Lawrence rank higher in my eyes).

If the news of Brady's retirement is true (his agent is telling different stories) then people will have plenty of time to fawn over him.

But it still gives me a reason to post a favorite story that Tom Brady plays a part in.

First, you need a little context. Once again, I'm delving into something I rarely discuss: the time around the end of my marriage.

It was 2008 and things were, well, bleak. I lived in a separate room and she would often cook meals for just her and Sean.

Yes. 

Yet we'd still do some things together, like spend Super Bowl Sunday at her parent's house. In this case, it was the Giants/Patriots game -- Super Bowl XLII.

To be honest, I didn't have a huge rooting interest but Sean, who had played baseball for the Giants at one time in Carmel, told me that's who he wanted to win.

And, if we're being transparent, my ex's eventual second husband is a huge Patriots fan.

*****

I should stop here and say that I've long been so cautious in discussing any of this because of 1) Sean, 2) her parents, siblings, and other family members, and 3) it's undignified. So I've barely written probably 5% (at most) of what I could tell you from 1987 to the present day. I continue to learn things. See things.

Even tonight.

Oh, there's a book for sure.

But I think this story is kind of funny.

*****

It was a typical Super Bowl gathering (other than the tension between us) at my former in-law's house. We had chili dogs and watched the game. 

While I had a pit in my gut over the events going on, I just quietly watched the game. I took it all in. I marveled at the Giants' approach, remembering how they gave New England all they could handle in the last week of the regular season.

The Giants did what I always felt should be done. You could rattle Brady by hitting him and that's what they did. The Patriots held just a 7-3 lead heading into the fourth quarter.

I felt content if the Patriots won, not really bothered if they were the first team to ever go 19-0, surpassing the 17-0 effort of the 1972 Miami Dolphins. They'd be only the second undefeated team of the Super Bowl era.

For the most part, I just wanted a good game.

But.

In the back of my mind, a snowball began to build. Basically, a year of bad stuff (and lots of other items) began surging through me.

The Giants took the lead back at 10-7 early in the fourth quarter.

I sat quietly.

Sean -- noted Giants fan (I kid)  -- paid next to no attention. Keep in mind he wasn't quite six and was playing.

Brady, seemingly working his "magic," found Randy Moss for a score with 2:42 to play. It was 14-10 Patriots.

I sat quietly. I kept telling myself that I had no rooting interest.

Eli Manning -- helping cement his own legacy -- directed a 12-play, 83-yard drive that featured two iconic moments. The first one, of course, was Manning's scramble on third-and-five from the Giants 44. Eli's high throw was trapped against the helmet of David Tyree for 32 yards. "The Helmet Catch" was born.

The second play happened with :39 to play. Former Steeler Plaxico Burress ran a slant and go to the left side of the end zone and Manning lofted the ball perfectly. Burress grabbed it for the go-ahead touchdown.

At once, I burst. The months of being demoralized and emasculated with things that I knew and how I was being treated popped (and we were just getting started). 

"SUCK IT!" I said. I looked straight at the TV as I burst from my seat on the couch.

The Giants went on to win, 17-14.

I sat back down, fairly embarrassed. It just sort of happened. It wasn't scripted. I surprised myself. I don't know if anyone understood what had just occurred.

It was dumb.

It was petty.

It was also glorious and hysterical.

So became "The 'Suck It' Super Bowl."

If that's it, thanks, Tom. Or thanks, Eli.

Or whoever needs to be thanked, thanks.

A New York Moment

 

People love New York. They also hate New York.

Like, hate, New York.

Tonight we had one of our moments. It was loud and obnoxious and everything that New York always is.

Madison Square Garden -- fittingly, "The World's Most Famous Arena" -- roared as Henrik Lundqvist was honored for his distinguished career with the New York Rangers.

His number 30 was raised to the rafters, concluding a ceremony that featured an eloquent speech by former Ranger Kevin Weekes, gifts from the likes of John McEnroe and others, and the presence of Lundqvist's family. Royalty also reigned with Mike Richter, Brian Leetch, Adam Graves, and Mark Messier in attendance, decked out in their blue sweaters.

As always, The Garden did a phenomenal job putting on the ceremony. There was nothing cringeworthy or painful. There were laughs, tears, and cheers.

I've attended ceremonies honoring other athletes before and have watched plenty of others. This one was tremendous.

There are some athletes I've been tough on over the years. Bernie Williams immediately springs to mind. I love Bernie but, man, I often felt like something bad was going to happen when he stepped to the plate. Obviously, it was unfair.

Same with Lundqvist. I growled at "The King" nickname. I snorted at the PR appearances. The GQ shoots. Playing guitar on Jimmy Fallon.

I just wanted a Stanley Cup.

I must also note Harold's mom Pat. She was a great Rangers fan and a huge Hank critic. I can't help but wonder what she'd think tonight.

Personally, I was touched by everything.

Oh, I knew my criticism was silly but we expect excellence, especially from some more than others. We demand it. Was some of the criticism warranted? It probably was. Sometimes I felt the media gave him a pass but, honestly, that's all in the past (see what I did there?).

I had the opportunity to be around Hank a few times. Once was at MSG against the Columbus Blue Jackets, with Greenwich's own Cam Atkinson in the building. Henrik gave up three quick goal and was pulled late in the first period.

Columbus went on to win, 4-2. 

Late in the game, I was sitting with Paul Silverfarb in the media section of the Chase Bridge and glanced at the monitor under the clear desk where I was sitting. I spied Henrik, wearing a baseball hat, on the TV feed. I snapped a picture on my phone and, Apple being Apple, the picture turned 90 degrees.

"Sideways Sad Hank" was born.

In the locker room, Henrik tended to things quietly and wasn't speaking to the press. So was his intensity.

The next time I saw him was in an interview room at Yankee Stadium following a victory in the Stadium Series against the New Jersey Devils. He was happy, charming, and answered every question.

He never stood taller than he did just a few months later, helping to guide a Rangers team to the Stanley Cup Finals against the Los Angeles Kings. While it was a competitive series, with three games going to overtime (and two to double overtime) the Kings won the series in five games.

I sat in a hotel in Meriden, CT preparing to call three baseball championships the next day.

I yelled when Alex Martinez scored off a rebound in double overtime.

Henrik just stayed down on the ice before coming to his knees. He had given everything.

Respect. Sad, but respect.

He left for Washington -- it's a business as we all sadly are reminded -- but never played a minute. Heart surgery ended his career.

No, he never won a championship. We have those who are never able to mount that last hurdle.

Ernie Banks. Ted Williams. Dan Marino. Don Mattingly. John Stockton. Jim Kelly. Ty Cobb.

Henrik Lundqvist.

Each is a legend in one form or another that never won a title.

It doesn't take away from the quality of the man or the greatness of his achievements.

He's a New York icon.

He is beloved.

He's King Henrik.

We had a New York moment tonight to honor him.

Big Ben's Best

 

Ben Roethlisberger officially retired today.

I'm not here tonight to talk about his legacy. On the field, it's rock solid and legendary. He's not better (my opinion) than Terry Bradshaw but he holds his own and will waltz into Canton in five years.

Off the field, we know it's messy, though I think we can all agree that it's been clean as a whistle since 2010.

No, I'm here because when I think of Big Ben, I think of a few things. I think of that excitement of the Steelers drafting a quarterback in the first round after years of middling players.

I think of going to my one -- sadly, one -- Steelers game in Pittsburgh, in Ben's rookie year, 2004. The "Stillers" beat Washington (I don't dare use their name at the time), 16-7. Ben was a pedestrian 9 of 20 for 131 yards. He was sacked four times. Jerome Bettis -- forever, "The Bus" -- ran 31 times for 100 yards and a touchdown.

Of course, I think of Ben in the playoffs, making the AFC Championship in his first year and winning the Super Bowl in his second. 

But it's his second Super Bowl, on Feb 1, 2009, that stands out. Maybe he should have been the MVP but it's irrelevant. He was the man that night.

And, personally -- that's where the story is going -- I needed the Steelers to win that night. Bad.

Oh, you can go through the archive and find the posts I wrote from that time.

For those of you who don't know, 2009 wasn't a shiny, happy time in my life. The process towards the end of my marriage was slogging along. We still lived in the same house but it was, at best, ice-cold.

I slept in my office on a twin futon from Ikea.

Life went on every day and I'll let those couple of paragraphs stand as the quickest representation of what it was like. A topic for another time.

Sean and I had actually awakened on Super Bowl Sunday in Pennsylvania. My baby great niece Emma was having a birthday party.

Oh, let's throw in that I got a ticket on the New Jersey Turnpike and the cop questioned Sean as if he might have been abducted. He was doing his job and I get that but it was awkward and, frankly, it freaked Sean out.

So, yeah, I needed that Super Bowl. It's dumb and it wouldn't have mattered if the Steelers weren't in the game. But they were.

We drove back home on Sunday afternoon and made it in plenty of time for the game. His mother would not be joining us. She spent the weekend where she would eventually move and get married.

Sean hung in with me for quite a while, watching the game and getting excited (for as much as his almost seven-year-old brain could process).

He made it into the second half before he began to drift off. I helped him to bed and said goodnight.

On the field in Tampa, the Steelers had built up a 10-0 lead. The Arizona Cardinals cut that to 10-7 and were heading towards a score as time ran out in the first half. Kurt Warner tried to force a pass into Anquan Boldin two yards deep in the end zone.

James Harrison intercepted the pass at the goal line over the middle and rumbled 100 yards for a touchdown.

In Carmel -- where we lived at the time -- I was unhinged. Despite what you think, I'm normally not like this.

I danced..."Go...Go...GOOOOO!" before throwing my arms up in exaltation.

It was 17-7 at the half. The lead stretched to 20-7 in the third quarter.

A 13-point lead! A great defense of Harrison and Troy Polamalu and LaMarr Woodley and James Farrior and Ike Taylor...swaggin. How could they lose?

And then?

Then?

Larry Fitzgerald -- truly an all-time great -- caught a touchdown with 7:33 to play. 20-14

OK, no need to panic.

The Steelers went three-and-out. Still, trust the defense.

The Cardinals drove to the Pittsburgh 36 before they punted. They pinned the Steelers on their own one with 3:26 to go.

But they've got this! Pound the rock with "Fast" Willie Parker! Throw short passes! Keep matriculating the ball down the field, boys!

Ben hit Santonio Holmes on a gutsy call on third-and-10 at their own one. First down, baby! Move the chains! Arizona would have to use their timeouts (two remaining)! The sixth Lombardi trophy was on the way.

And then I saw it.

A flag.

Holding. Justin Hartwig. In the end zone. 

That's a safety, two points for Arizona, and they get the ball. 

20-16 with 3:04 to play. Trust the defense.

Sean, thankfully, is a deep sleeper. That could work against him but, in this case, it was a good thing, as his maniacal father paced the house on Collier Drive. 

1st and 10 at the Steelers 36: Warner threw incomplete. I took a deep breath.

2nd and 10 at the Steelers 36: Warner dropped and threw over the middle. Fitzgerald was matched up with Harrison. The throw was on the money.

"Thirty, twenty, TEN!" Al Michaels said on NBC. "Arizona has the lead!"

23-20.

I was sick.

This wasn't happening.

There was 2:47 to play and the Steelers had two time outs. They needed a field goal from Jeff Reed to tie it and possibly go to overtime.

They had Ben.

As sick as I was, there was hope.

They started the drive with 2:30 to play.

When the Steelers had a holding penalty on first down, my sickness grew. They were now back at their own 12. But Ben, avoiding the rush near his own end zone, hit Santonio Holmes for 14. Few -- ever -- were better buying time in the pocket (sometimes too much time) than Big Ben.

They were at their own 26 and in hurry-up mode. No need to panic. Nate Washington couldn't hold on to a deep pass to the right side as the clock dipped to the two-minute warning.

It was third-and-six at the Pittsburgh 26. Facing a blitz by Arizona, Ben threw high and Santonio pulled it down at the 39. Thirteen yards and a first down.

Breathe, Rob.

Nate Washington took in a quick pass for 11 yards and another first down but couldn't get out of bounds to stop the clock.

1:15...1:14...1:13...

"And it's become a little bit windy here," Michaels said. Those aren't words you want to hear when you need a field goal to tie the Super Bowl.

Ben ran for four yards on first down to the Arizona 46. Timeout, Steelers, with 62 seconds remaining.

I picked the wrong night to stop sniffing glue.

Realistically 20 yards would get Reed in place for a 43-yarder. Still, nothing wrong with being greedy. Ben, head coach Mike Tomlin, and offensive coordinator Bruce Arians decided to get greedy.

Roethlisberger took a four-step drop. He pumped. Then he threw and hit Holmes at the Arizona 35. At that point, they were looking at a 52-yard field goal.

But Holmes wasn't done. Defender Aaron Francisco fell and Santonio turned the sideline. He kept running as he broke back inside.

He was tackled at the six yard line. Oh, they were in field goal range now. 

The Steelers took their last time out.

I aged.

Life flowed through my brain. So many emotions.

This was no longer about a field goal.

Go win the Super Bowl, Ben.

He emptied the backfield with five wide receivers on first and goal at the six. He looked right and pumped. Then he threw high -- seven yards deep -- towards Holmes, who Arizona simply couldn't seem to stop. He had eight catches before that play.

But nothing is ever easy and the ball sailed incomplete.

Second and goal at the Arizona six with forty-three seconds remaining. 

The house was empty and quiet, as Sean slept. Michaels, John Madden, and 70,774 nuts in Tampa were the soundtrack.

Plus me.

Hoping.

The play started with Ben in shotgun and Mewelde Moore lined up next to him in the backfield. He would peel out as a check-down receiver, creating five options for Ben. Moore went to the eight as Ben dropped back.

Washington worked over the middle. Heath Miller streaked along the left hash marks. Hines Ward turned near the three and waited.

Holmes went towards the right back corner of the end zone.

Al Michaels -- calling a brilliant game -- spoke:

"Roethlisberger. Has time..."

Ben held the ball out in his right hand. Then he pumped. He directed traffic with his left hand. He danced to his right.

Then he cranked and let it go.

"Throws to the back of the end ZONE..."

I watched Homes. It's what I would normally describe as "climbing the ladder" but it was more than that.

Three Arizona defenders were nearby. The pass had to be perfect. Ben, arguably, never threw a better ball.

Santonio reached and tapped.

"And it is..."

Come on. Do this.

"CAUGHT FOR A TOUCHDOWN," Michaels growled. 

A brief moment passed.

"BY HOLMES!"

Santonio hugged the ball like a long-lost friend.

A few seconds passed before Madden -- calling his last game -- could only muster one word: "Unbelievable."

"Incredible," Michaels added.

In Carmel, I didn't care who heard me. They could hear me rattle the house from the Moon for all I cared.

As the eight-play, 78-yard drive concluded, I let loose.

"YYYYYYEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEESSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS"

Like the classic cork, I popped. It all rushed out of me. 

I was out of breath.

There were still 35 seconds but, with the extra point, the Steelers now had a four-point lead. Warner and company needed a touchdown to win. If that happened, all I could do was tip my hat.

People will always talk about "the Helmet Catch" the year before and Lynn Swann's magic in Super Bowl X. This catch -- Holmes tapping both feet down while snagging a ball that only he could catch -- stands right there.

Still, there was time. The Steelers gave the Cardinals the middle of the field and Warner exploited that to get to the Pittsburgh 44 in two plays. Arizona burned their final two time outs.

Fifteen seconds. That was it.

Warner scrambled but couldn't avoid LaMarr Woodley, who knocked the ball loose. It rolled forward and Brett Keisel -- always fear the beard! -- recovered it.

But.

Wait.

A flag, fortunately, after the play on Woodley. So the fumble stood but there was still a review to confirm that Warner's arm wasn't moving forward (thus an incomplete pass).

The fumble was confirmed. Ben gathered the crew in the victory formation, then took a knee to end it.

Pittsburgh 27, Arizona 23.

I smiled. I exhaled. Eventually, I'd sleep.

The house would get emptier a few months later, then fill up as Emma and family moved in with us for a fun stretch. We were all gone by the spring of 2010

But that night -- Feb 1, 2009 -- the Steelers were on top of the world. 

The roller coaster of emotions came back into the station with euphoria.

It took a while before I got any sleep.

Thanks, Ben, for a wild ride.

See you in Canton.

Choices

Sunset outside Brunswick's Sampson Athletic Center.
Looking towards Westchester County Airport

 

I had a choice today: basketball or hockey?

Brunswick's winter schedule has several of these conundrums on them.

Admittedly, it's a bit of a dance. Which game should I call?

I am -- by definition, I suppose -- the "voice" (cringe) of Brunswick hockey and basketball. Plus football, baseball, soccer, lacrosse, and perhaps lots more. One can dream.

My gut told me that basketball was the correct decision because I had just called hockey on Monday. I want to be fair to both teams.

Yet, one could compare the games and draw their own conclusion.

Brunswick basketball has injuries to key players and was taking on a physical team from Suffield Academy.

Brunswick hockey -- ranked number 4 -- hosted the 18U team from South Kent. That could be an excellent game.

Whatever the case, I decided that basketball deserved the attention.

You need to know that I like both coaches and coaching staff. You also need to know that I like both teams. I also love both sports. And, for what it's worth, my number of hockey broadcasts is basically the same as my number of basketball broadcasts.

On the court, Brunswick had a four-point lead -- 14-10 -- before Suffield Academy reeled off 20 straight points and never looked back.

Final score: 64-43.

As that went on, I kept an eye on hockey, updating viewers as I called the basketball game. The two games were played maybe 100 feet apart but all I had to do was watch on my iPad to monitor the action on the ice.

That game, on the other hand, went to overtime before South Kent ended the Bruins' six-game winning streak, 5-4.

Broadcasters often prove their worth in games that might be lopsided*. We tell our best stories then work harder to remain engaged, not just personally but for the audience. The student-athletes deserve the best coverage I can give them whether the game is close or not.

*I'm choosing my words carefully because these are teenage athletes and the last thing I ever want to do is say anything offensive. I admired how hard the Brunswick kids continued to grind even as any chance of a comeback began to slip away.

I love watching sports like that. Not everything has to be about wins and losses. The beauty of sports is often found in the little things.

Oh yeah, and I love calling sports.

So I guess that's what I'm trying to get at. I've called many games that seemed one-sided or, frankly, were one-sided. Still, our job as blabbermouths is to continue to do the basic tenets of play-by-play" Report, Inform, Educate, Entertain.

It's not some pithy "hey look at me" #LCRR nonsense (you'll have to look on Twitter for that). It's reporting the damn game and trying to keep the audience engaged.

So whether it's a 5-4 overtime thrilled or a 7-6 walk-off a home run or a 57-0 football blowout, I'm going to call it essentially the same. Sure, the entertainment factor might increase in a game that likely appears over but my goal is not to be a circus clown (Do I amuse you?).

Next up is girls hockey on Friday though I'm extremely dubious on that game between Section One East and Greenwich. I have my doubts that game will happen due to the weather. Frankly, I currently have tires that are round and made of rubber.

That's where it ends. So going out in snow/ice/blech is not a smart move.

There's always Brunswick hockey on Saturday but, chances are, that will get wiped out also.

So, currently, I suspect the next broadcast will be Monday at Brunswick.

For hockey. 

The next time basketball is around is Fri, Feb 4. There's also a basketball game that same night.

My gut is I'll go back to the hardwood.

Everyone deserves coverage.

More On the Hall (or "Moron Talks More About The Hall")

History is messy. That's a fact.

I wrote about who I would have voted for enshrinement in the Baseball Hall of Fame last night.

The reaction was basically like a tree falling in the woods and nobody hearing it.

So, allow me to waste more of your precious time.

The National Baseball Hall of Fame and Museum is, just that, a museum. It is supposed to tell the story of the game of baseball.

Under no circumstances am I a fan of Barry Bonds. I've heard far too many incriminating stories -- yes, stories -- about what a miserable individual this guy is. But he could also hit and field and play some ball.

Yes, his father was also traded one-up for an outfielder named Bobby Ray Murcer but I'm not going to hold that against him, despite the fact that six-year-old Robbie is still devastated.

When Bonds came to play the Yankees in an interleague (pfft) matchup, I went with excitement on a Friday night. I also enjoyed every moment of it when Mike Mussina struck him out as part of a 2-1 Yankees win.

The Hall is loaded with a mixed bag of characters but they're all there to tell the story of the game. Don't tell me you have a bat or a sock or some other trinket from a banned (or unofficially banned) player. It's just hypocrisy.

Put Pete Rose in. Yes, we know about the gambling. We get it. But, as I said, history is messy. We yell about educators teaching our kids, well, what about us?

I welcome walking into the Hall of Fame with Sean or anyone else and telling them the stories.

"Pete Rose was a hell of a player but an absolute train wreck of a person," I would say. "He gambled on baseball, which is rule number one. The biggest no-no of all! See? It says it right here on his plaque. He was even banned from giving a speech in exchange for his election. He gambled as a manager and there are still questions about what he did as a player. He's a degenerate. However, you can't argue about what a player he was. Great slap hitter. More hits than anyone. Led The Big Red Machine with Bench and Morgan and Perez and Foster. Great player. Awful person."

There. 

I can do this all day. Shoeless Joe Jackson, come on down! Bonds, Clemens, Sosa? You're next!

As I said in my explanation of Rose, my Hall of Fame would say Rose was thrown out of baseball for gambling. I'd say the same on Shoeless Joe's plaque. Pete would not be allowed to give a speech either. Oh, he'd talk, and he'd never stop, but he's not addressing the assembled crowd on Induction Weekend.

Baseball -- and the Hall of Fame -- need to move forward. Yes, the Hall is a sacred place to me. I speak in reverent and mostly hushed tones when in the gallery, which is cathedral-like to me. But those plaques include as many saints as there are sinners. Those plaques include many wonderful people who really shouldn't be Hall of Famers but, well, they are. They include myths who were fair enough players but made the Hall because of a poem (Tinkers to Evers to Chance).

Now just because the Hall of Fame has made mistakes before doesn't mean they should make them again. Putting the much-maligned Harold Baines in doesn't mean there needs to be someone else to "make up" for that.

And, look, we all know Baines was a questionable decision. It was controversial. But it also happened and it's over. Harold Baines was a really good player and an extremely decent and humble man. Let's let it go and move on. That doesn't mean the drink should be further watered down.

Yes, I'm a "small Hall" guy but I'm also a "fair Hall" guy. I want the best of the best. Otherwise, I want to start a "Golden Diamond" that elevates Ruth, Cobb, Mays, Gehrig, Aaron, and yes, Bonds, to another level.

I think we all agree that Bonds and Clemens used PED's. Most of us -- if we're being fair -- would say the same about Ortiz and a few others (again, Hi Queens). I know a few Yankees (Giambi, Pettitte) used. These are facts. 

When it comes time to address Carlos Beltran (who is up next year) and Jose Altuve and the Astros, put what happened on their plaques.

Tell the story of the game.

That's the job.

Don't just write a Hallmark card.

I love Cooperstown. I've often thought of packing up and moving there to work for the Hall. I think they should have an official broadcasting historian and game broadcaster and I'm more than willing to be that guy. Oh, they sort of have those, but I can handle the gig as well. I'll call all of the games over at Doubleday Field.

One needs to dream occasionally.

But Cooperstown -- or at least baseball's Cooperstown -- is also built on a lie that ol' Abner Doubleday went to his field and mapped out our National Pasttime.

Sigh. Not even remotely true. There's no truth that Doubleday -- who's buried in Arlington and whose grave I've visited -- ever SAW a baseball game. He certainly didn't invent it.

The game came in parts from England and other places and was refined in the USA. It evolved throughout the 19th century.

It didn't start in Cooperstown. It started everywhere.

So if they can fix that mistake but still accept that Cooperstown is the mythical home of baseball, can't we tell the truth about our grand game?

The Hall of Fame has truly stepped up to tell the correct story of the Negro Leagues and the All-American Girls Professional Baseball League. It continues to adapt and, as we say in our common tongue, "do better."

Well, "do better" on the plaques that hang in that hallowed gallery.

That's your job.

Tell the story.

The Hall of Fame Ballot

 

Hall of Famer Sean Adams in Cooperstown, 2012.

Tomorrow's the day we find out if anyone has made the Baseball Hall of Fame.

Personally, I love it. I love the process and the debate. I love the conversation.

So, because nobody asked, I'm going to do my own ballot that nobody wants.

You're welcome, planet Earth.

There are 30 names on the ballot and you can choose up to ten. You're going to like this or not like this. Keep in mind I'm a "small Hall" guy, meaning I'm not Oprah Winfrey.

"YOU GET A PLAQUE! YOU GET A PLAQUE! YOU GET A PLAQUE!"

Let's do this. I'm going to rattle my choices off in no particular order.

1) Barry Bonds. Yup. Look, we're not inducting the best people. Bad people are already in the Hall of Fame, though it's time to stop the myth about Ty Cobb. He wasn't that bad. At all. The numbers are remarkable for Bonds but very stained. The court of public opinion is fairly firm that he used PED's and isn't the home run king. However, the record book says he is. As with Mark McGwire, Sammy Sosa, and others, we applauded for the most part*.

*OK, I didn't because I was skeptical and disgusted the whole time. In fact, I remember many people really sickened when he passed Hank Aaron for career home runs. Still, overall, we were complicit as a society. Bud Selig applauded and he was as guilty as anyone. He's also in the Hall of Fame. Shameful.

Still, while not the GOAT people try to make him out to be (Babe Ruth says hi), we have PED users in the Hall of Fame already (I'm glancing towards LaGuardia for some reason). Whatever the case, Bonds would get my vote. His enlarged head should get its own plaque

2) Roger Clemens. You basically can't have one without the other. Look, I can remember getting tickets to Yankees/Red Sox in the Bronx and being legitimately excited to watch Clemens pitch. To an extent, isn't that what it's all about? From there, the numbers are pretty great. Like Bonds, there's guilt even if there isn't enough proof. But I marveled at Clemens. I was there the night he struck out his 4,000th batter and won his 300th game. No bias intended. I'm just saying he was great. He is a Hall of Famer in my eyes.

3) Alex Rodriguez. The numbers are as flawed as Bonds. Completely stained. He admitted guilt. He did his penance. He's also, largely, rehabbed his image. Oh sure people still detest him but he's a fascinated character study. He's also among the greatest ever to play shortstop AND third base. He's also a jackass who used PED's. Still, 3,115 hits and 696 home runs? Certain benchmarks once almost guaranteed you for the Hall of Fame. A-Rod won't get in this year, nor should he necessarily, but I want him on the ballot to continue the conversation. But, man, did he piss me off and I say that as a father of an A-Rod fan years ago.

4) David Ortiz. Oh this is soul-crushing. I'm not big on DH's unless they're next level. And while I think. he's a good guy and glib and charming I also think he's a huge phony who has been a media darling. Thus, given we're all fairly certain (I get it -- conjecture abounds) that he failed an "anonymous test," if I vote for A-Rod, I will vote for Big Papi. He hit 541 home runs and was at the forefront of giving Boston its greatest baseball glory (my God but those words hurt to type). He was monstrous in the postseason. He hits the target for me, regardless of being a DH and a PED user in my eyes.

5) Curt Schilling. This is where you know I'm trying to be fair. As people go he's not exactly a great guy. But he's got one of those key numbers -- over 3,000 strikeouts -- and I'm striving for consistency. I still struggle with certain things but the postseason puts him over the top. Plus it might be fun to see the writers -- who he asked to not vote for him -- vote him in. I don't like him but that's not how this works. To be honest, I could pull him in favor of another name but no. It's the Hall of Fame and I believe in being fair.

6) Sammy Sosa. He has become a pariah in baseball circles but that still doesn't take away 609 home runs. Quick, who has hit over 60 home runs in a season? Now, who hit over 60 three times? Right, Sammy Sosa. You likely cheered him. You likely loved his personality and the tapping of the heart and the kissing of the fingers. As with Bonds, Clemens (and, to me, McGwire, who will also get his day) you were likely complicit and it's OK. 

7) Gary Sheffield. Again, there are certain numbers that work for me. Granted I used to be able to name every member of the 500 home run club and the Steroids Era killed that. But I loved watching Sheff hit. I didn't necessarily love watching him field and that's definitely a downside here. However, 509 home runs. That's enough.

8) Scott Rolen. The offensive numbers don't blow me away but third base is incredibly underrepresented. It's a position where defense is also a star (think Brooks Robinson and I'd have a more realistic conversation about Graig Nettles if we could). But Rolen did hit over 300 home runs and 2000 hits. However, I struggle with "Hall of Very Good." Still, I believe a vote for him keeps him on the ballot to keep reexamining. I think time and defensive metrics will serve Rolen well.

9) Billy Wagner. Here's the thing, Wagner (foolishly) used "Enter Sandman" in the town where the Sandman pitched night after night (though he'd have an Astros hat on his plaque unless you're smoking something strange). Mariano Rivera IS the Sandman. I think there are certain positions -- DH and relievers -- where you have to be past exceptional to make the Hall of Fame. Mariano is. Obviously. Billy Wags was a great closer. He had 422 saves and a 2.31 ERA. In no way -- on no planet -- am I picking Wagner over Mo but the comparison isn't necessary. In a world of Mo, Rollie Fingers, Goose Gossage, Lee Smith, Bruce Sutter, Trevor Hoffman, Dennis Eckersley, and Hoyt Wilhelm, Billy Wagner is a worthy enshrinee.

I'm sold on most of the first nine that I've selected, but I'm arguing with myself over Andruw Jones, Jeff Kent, Manny Ramirez, Todd Helton, and a certain Mr. Andrew Eugene Pettitte. I even want to acknowledge Mark Teixeira but I just can't. If I take Andy Pettitte, I'll hear about bias. The guy did win 256 games and was a wonderful postseason performer. In terms of WAR, Pettitte is 10th on the ballot, while Ortiz and Sosa, for instance, are much lower. Additionally, I'm not voting for Omar Vizquel so long as the character issue exists and he has character stuff that would need to be cleaned up. He's not a sure thing to me, so no. I gave this a lot of thought and...

10) Manny Ramirez. I know, he's a wackadoodle but, so what? So was Dizzy Dean, and we find him lovable if we're being fair. Manny B. Manny has 555 home runs and if I'm putting the other steroids users in then I'm going to be consistent. He was as much a part of the Red Sox run as Ortiz but, again, there's an agenda with Big Papi. Manny was never that great with the media.

Tough calls but I can live with these especially since I'm not really doing a ballot. Keep in mind, my ten are as much about making sure these names stay on the ballot for further evaluation as it is to endorse them for the Hall of Fame. I could have been swayed to pull, say, Schilling off for Helton.

I think the BBWAA has a huge task and I'm fine with how (most) of them do it. Tomorrow night, we'll find out how well they did their job for 2021. Keep in mind, Clemens, Bonds, Schilling, and Sosa all fall off the ballot if they don't get in tomorrow. Then they move to the veterans' committee for further evaluation. That will complicate things even more because there will be a logjam but that's a problem for another time.

We get our answers tomorrow.

Not As Drawn Up

 

1)Not remotely as beautiful or delicious as anything Susan makes.
2) At least I didn't dump it like Kevin on "The Office."

I planned to be on Zolz's Poughkeepsie Nissan Sunday Sports Show today on Z93. I promised I'd be there but, of course, life throws us curve balls occasionally.

Still, with an egg and cheese sandwich and a cup of coffee, I began the drive from Mahopac (or Guam, per Zolz) to Poughkeepsie.

Oh, and if I do say so myself, we had a really good show, despite the absence of Frank Pomarico. I'm usually the third wheel with those two (me? Third wheel on a broadcast?) but I have a blast with those guys.

We did our playoff predictions. The thing to know is that I had a one-game lead on Zolz heading into today but I just pick games without worrying about losing. Don't get me wrong, I want to win but I'm comfortable.

I picked Tampa Bay to beat the LA Rams. Well, that didn't come true. Zolz -- wanting to catch me -- picked the Rams. I've picked the Kansas City Chiefs in the nightcap. He wants to take the lead again, so he picked the Buffalo Bills.

The Chiefs just won the most insane game. I'm back up by one.

All good. All fun.

My day went nothing like that after. At one point I was supposed to see my sister but that plan fell apart for her. I was also supposed to work another overnight tonight and that also went pfft.

The thing is, it was a good reason. The technology tonight being used was different and the last thing I want to do is poorly represent our group. At the same time, Dan and Craig didn't want to put me in a bad spot. It's not a reflection on me. Instead, they'll take the bullet and teach me for the future.

I would have taken the ball and am bummed to lose the income but they'll take care of me.

On the other hand, I made plans based on that job tonight, including moving a podcast recording session I had scheduled for tomorrow morning. I didn't want to risk going to be at 4:30 tomorrow morning to be wiped out when we recorded. 

We'll do it Tuesday.

So instead I spent the afternoon working my way down US route 9 from Po'town to Fishkill. 

For Shawn Sailer: US 9 goes from Laurel, DE to Lewes where it crosses Delaware Bay via ferry to Cape May, NJ. Then it comes up through New Jersey, crosses the George Washington Bridge, and proceeds through New York to Champlain at the Canadian border. Technically, it dead ends at the border but in reality, it ends before that near Interstate 87. You're welcome.

I'm traveling to London in April with the Hunt Scanlon crew so I decided to look for a few things. Chief among them is comfortable pants to travel in, so I walked around Marshall's and TJ Maxx as well as a nearby Burlington store.

I walked out empty-handed.

I went down the road to the Poughkeepsie Galleria mall. It occurred to me that the mall opened right after I graduated from high school so I've been going to that place for over 34 years but I digress.

I looked at shoes and some other goodies, including noise-canceling headphones. The thing is, I want to knock myself out on the flights and listen to music or podcasts or whatever. So I'm fact-finding, I guess because, again, I left without buying.

Onto Wal Mart in Fishkill where I looked at Wild Mike's frozen pizza. Sean introduced me to that last summer and we both really liked it (as frozen pizzas go). Much like Rice Krispies, the pizzas are hard to find these days.

I walked around and, again, swung and missed. I couldn't even find some ground beef to make chili.

Sigh. That would involve a grocery store trip.

All was not lost as my pursuit took me up into Hopewell Jct. Admittedly, if you don't know, that took me out of the way towards home but we needed milk in the house for my fake Rice Krispies.

So I got my milk and ground beef and some yellow rice.

I could salvage things after all. I'd have chili, watch football, and hang with the cat.

Oh, remember the Facebook thing I mentioned yesterday? Well, the thing is it's too cumbersome to try to explain but the gist of it was that there are two play-by-play groups. One was created because the originator was thrown out of the first one (long story). Self-promotion is the hallmark of that second group (not the one run by Mike Hirn, Shawn Sailer, and me). Well someone questioned that constant self-promotion and that led to him being ejected. From there, the story gets frankly really bad and I just wasn't going to sit idly by while it went on. I'm astounded at the behavior of some, especially when the person who was thrown out is mourning a family tragedy. No compassion and a lot of hypocrisy. I couldn't watch it happen.

But I was told, "I have talent." Thanks a bunch.

Jeez. The latest edition of "Broadcasters Behaving Badly."

The thing is, one of them says they self-promote because they're looking for work. But, let's be real. What potential employer or sponsor is going to look at that behavior and say, "THAT'S OUR GUY!"?

Anyway, that's more time than I should have spent on that, but I felt you deserved a little more context.

Too Busy!

 

You need a basket to play basketball. Nice work at Brunswick today.

It's 11:05 p.m. and I need to write a post. 

Oh, I know, I should have started hours ago. Get on this!

Well, other things crept up.

I caught up on a little sleep. I went to Brunswick. I called basketball. I'm currently working another overnight deposition.

I hear there's a chance we might not go all night but I've heard that before. I'm prepared to go to bed at 4:30 tomorrow morning again. I just try to hear the cash register KA-CHINGING!

In between, I navigated Facebook foolishness between fellow broadcasters. The story is too long to try to explain but I did my best to mitigate the egos and ridiculousness of it all.

Oh, I argued and made my thoughts clear but I walked away with my head held high.

It wasn't about me but it was a situation that I still could address.

And I did.

So I came home, jumped straight into working the overnighter and cranking other projects.

With that, I almost forgot to write the post!

I mean, not entirely, but I looked up and realized it was approaching 11 p.m.

And here we are.

So that's my Saturday night. Things to concentrate on as I work before another long day tomorrow.

Power Through

 

I went to bed at 4:35 this morning. So ended 17 hours between two video depos.

Just to give you an idea of what's going on.

I was out and about for the first time in four days today. See, that's the thing with the video depo world (and working from home). It's very easy to get trapped or simply complacent with being home. I love working from home. Love, love, love it. But, yeah, I have to get back into the world occasionally.

Thankfully, I had a hockey game to call today. Brunswick hosted Delbarton on Local Live. The Bruins scored twice in the first minute and cruised to a 4-1 win.

I was supposed to be on Local Live and Robcasting. Which...yeah....OK.

The thing to remember is that some of the infrastructure goes months without being used. There is an XLR jack -- basically a three-hole port for the layman -- that I plug into to transport audio from my mixer on the balcony of the Hartong Rink. 

It's a different setup in the gym, where I basically plug into what you might see as a headphone jack.

Then Local Live picks that up and away we go.

Except...

Prior to a few weeks ago, the last time the Hartong Rink XLR was used was March 12, 2021. Somewhere between then and now, a gremlin got inside.

That's my story and I'm sticking with it.

So when you watched Brunswick hockey, you heard a lot of static and a little of me. I'm there but it's a tough listen (well, it's always a tough listen). I'm told it could be fixed by my next hockey broadcast on Monday.

So it's demoralizing when you know, basically, you're broadcasting to yourself.

Or, in this case, today, Susan and Shawn Sailer (thanks, guys!). Literally, that was my Robcasting audience.

Two.

And while it is tempting to just blow the broadcast off, the game and the professionalism win the day.

I admit there was a point where I just wondered if I should go home. That happens when it feels like it's all falling apart.

But, no. The show must go on and I called it with heart and soul, occasionally cracking jokes about the situation at hand. Humor is my best friend in those spots. I also joked about the person who ignored my backpack on the chair that was serving as a placeholder because he just had to have a spot along the railing right next to me.

I literally put that chair there to give me a little space, creating a small broadcast booth of sorts. But, no.

Back with basketball tomorrow then a depo tomorrow night then off to join Zolz on his Sunday morning show before another depositing Sunday night. 

It beats not being busy.