Staying Quiet

 

Note: Not my stats

OK, OK. 

Message received.

Last night, I wrote a breakdown of "Help," the 1965 movie starring The Beatles.

It was received exactly as I feared it might.

*crickets*

Oh, I know, some read it and some liked it.

But, stat-wise, it was a dud.

I wish I didn't see the numbers but so it goes. Most of the time I don't see numbers in radio since WGCH doesn't participate in a ratings book. I also don't have access to the streaming stats for WGCH or Local Live. However, I see the stats for the online efforts on my own sites (social media, Robcasting, and the blog).

Do those stats matter? Well, no, not really. A lot of things I write aren't intended for a particular audience necessarily but, that being said, a good reaction can be encouraging.

And it's tough to not let a low number be discouraging.

I mean, nobody is going to weep for me over this nor should they.

Some things land and some things don't.

I don't regret writing the post as I had a little fun with it.

Just as I don't regret a tweet that I posted earlier that was critical of the sports broadcasting business and the constant entitlement that I witness.

Yet I should have stayed away from the keyboard.

Still, since I opened the box, let me say that some of what I've seen just makes us all look bad.

And I'll stop there because, clearly, I lack the tact to say either nothing or speak in measured tones.

So, yeah, tonight seems like a night to chill out.

I have a Renegades game tomorrow at 11 a.m. (!) so I'll need to be on the road during rush hour, even if it's going the opposite way. 

From there, I'll make my way to Trumbull to call Little League baseball since tonight's game was postponed due to the threat of bad weather. Babe Ruth baseball went on and played so I have to back up covering them to Thursday.

Somewhere, I'll have to find a few minutes to put more fabulous content together.

*****

Today is the 14th anniversary of Bobby Murcer's passing. The details are forever embedded in my mind as to where I was when I heard about it. 

His impact -- that of a man that I met three times -- is immeasurable.

Yet, I hasten to write about him since I feel like it's sometimes too much.

So, I'll just say that it's a sad reminder of someone I greatly admired.

Help!

 

Yeah, yeah, yeah, another Beatles post (see what I did there?).

I was reading a story earlier today about revisiting "Help!," The Beatles' second movie, released in 1965.

Look, it's no "A Hard Day's Night." Where "AHDN" was shot in black and white on a small budget with a simple plotline and script, "Help!" was filmed in color with a larger budget and more locations along with the movie magic of the day.

It's been said many times that our heroes were stoned basically the whole time they made the movie, directed by Richard Lester, who also directed "A Hard Day's Night."

Some familiar faces were in both movies, especially the always fun Victor Spinetti, who played the TV director in "A Hard Day's Night." Spinetti was responsible for one of my favorite lines in the movie when exasperated, he says, "I see it all now, it's a plot... a plot..."

Of course, it's John who looks at Norm, the band's manager in the first film, who authors another great line when he utters, "You're a swine."

That is another key difference in "Help!" The Beatles are The Beatles and are referred to as that. In "A Hard Day's Night," the band name is only referenced on Ringo's famous drum head and in the lighting on the stage. 

The character of "Norm" in "A Hard Day's Night" is fictional, based only slightly on Brian Epstein, the lads' real manager. No such character exists in "Help!"

I bought "Help!" on DVD a few years back and, honestly, I kind of slogged through it. It was...fine. The visuals are certainly appealing and the scenery is excellent. The movie was filmed in London, Salisbury Plain, the Austrian Alps, New Providence Island and Paradise Island in the Bahamas, and Twickenham Film Studios.

Of course, it's The Beatles, so the music is exceptional. Included in the film are (per Wikipedia):

"Help!"

"You're Going to Lose That Girl"

"You've Got to Hide Your Love Away"

"Ticket to Ride"

"I Need You"

"The Night Before" (interspersed with excerpts of "She's A Woman", with an explosion at the end not heard on the Beatles' commercial recordings. Also played as an instrumental)

"Another Girl"

"She's a Woman" (heard in the background, on a tape machine, and underground in the Salisbury Plain scene)

"A Hard Day's Night" titled on the US soundtrack album as "Another Hard Day's Night" (played by Indian musicians and as an instrumental medley comprising "A Hard Day's Night", "Can't Buy Me Love" and "I Should Have Known Better")

"I'm Happy Just to Dance with You" (played by a band during the bike-riding scene)

"You Can't Do That" (played as an instrumental during the Austrian Alps sequence)

"From Me to You" titled on the US soundtrack album as "From Me to You Fantasy" (played as an instrumental during scenes of attempts to remove the ring from Ringo's finger while he sleeps in the Beatles' communal house)

Among those in the cast was a young actress named Eleanor Bron. It has been suggested over the years that Paul McCartney liked her first name so much that he used it for "Eleanor Rigby."

The title song was often scrutinized by John Lennon, who wished it wasn't the upbeat rocker that it became. Indeed, the lyrics don't suggest a happy song but I've long believed that is its brilliance. Had it been the dirge that Lennon wanted it to be, it definitely wouldn't have been the same. The upbeat classic it is strikes the correct balance as it undermines the sadness..

Upon tonight's rewatch, I found myself liking it much more than I ever have. The comedy is still madcap, along the lines of "A Hard Day's Night" but with a different charm. There are still enough Beatleesque laughs to make it worth it, along with the pictures and, naturally, the music.

While some will always see a pot-laced mess, I see a little more of a classic.

John Lennon is still a wiseass and Paul McCartney a charmer. George Harrison is as funny if not the funniest with his dry but quick wit.

Ringo and the ring, the object of desire in "Help!"

And then there's Ringo, the object of the plot in "Help" just as he was the focus of a key part of "A Hard Day's Night." Does his obvious likeability need to be broken down any further? Ringo is Ringo in every way possible.

I wind up watching "A Hard Day's Night" every few months, completely unable to resist its manic energy and joy -- from the "very clean" Grandfather to the music to the screaming fans.

But I'll be watching "Help!" more frequently after tonight.

And when I want to feel like I've had my own drug-fueled experience, I'll reach for the animated "Yellow Submarine."

As for "Magical Mystery Tour?" Well, I own it. That's all I can say.

But tonight was about "Help!" 

And I do appreciate you being 'round.

Sad Reminders

 

Tom Bisanzo died this week.

I send my condolences to his wife, Sue, and their children Mark, Catherine, Gigi, and Chris.

I got to know him a little from covering his kids in football and other Greenwich activities. He was one of those people who was Greenwich. No, I don't mean the dollar signs stereotype. I mean the down-to-Earth people; the townies who truly define this place.

To get his approval meant you were in a good position. I was proud to earn that.

Mr. Bisanzo ran Bruce Park Sports, which was a cornerstone of Greenwich sports. It reminded me of Tom Kat, a sports store in Mahopac that was the center of our world when I was a kid. So it was -- and is -- with Bruce Park Sports.

Becoming the Greenwich football broadcaster in 2000 was a daunting task. The Greenwich broadcaster on WGCH was often a position held by Greenwich people, such as the great Mark Yusko, whose shadow I very much worked in initially.

"You're at least as good as Mark," I used to hear.

Now, I've called Greenwich football and other sports between WGCH, HAN, Robcasting, and Local Live for 24 seasons.

But any broadcaster -- especially the hometown one -- needs to earn the trust of the listeners. I go through this every year with the turnover of players and families so it starts all over again.

Like other places, here in Greenwich, there are the forever fans who will still tune in and give you the seal of approval.

Tom Bisanzo was one of those people.

We, unfortunately, get the memo occasionally that the sand keeps running through the hourglass. Of course, the news isn't always bad. I'm still in touch with many former players who are now married and/or parents and coaches. Tim Smallwood -- who I covered in basketball and football and whose father I worked with -- messaged me to see if I had an old hoops game.

I did. Jan, 2000. Greenwich at St. Joseph. I remember that broadcast clearly.

He loves playing these broadcasts for his own kids.

He has kids. It just means time flies.

But these are the relationships that a broadcaster is supposed to build and cultivate. It's why you proceed with caution when going into a broadcast site. Acting entitled will earn a reputation.

It's why you know you represent a media outlet and, sometimes, a town. I'm fortunate in that I not only cover Greenwich but a lot of other places.

Today, it was Fairfield, as I called Fairfield National/Westport at Unity Park and drove down to Greenwich to watch some American Legion baseball with Shawn Sailer.

So, unless the place really is my home away from home, I treat it like I'm a visitor.

Unity Park in Trumbull and Kiwanis Park in Fairfield are places where I'm a visitor but still treated well. I don't act like I own the place. 

In Greenwich, Tom Bisanzo and fans like him allowed me to feel more comfortable.

It was a way of saying, "He's OK. He's one of us."

That mattered.

We should all strive for that.

The Signs Pointed to Going

 

Wanted: One I-95 shield

I'm back in the Hudson Valley and it didn't really involve baseball.

It involved a social gathering for another thing I love: roads.

My friend Dan Murphy lives in Fishkill and he was hosting a gathering to officially open up his condo. As he explained it to me, he's lived there for years but it was never truly in the right condition. He works in the road business and his hours had him constantly working on things such as the bridge that crosses the Tappan Zee.

Something he's very proud of.

So, despite part of me telling myself to rest in between days of broadcasts, the other part said to go.

And I went.

And I had a great time. 

Sean went to middle school on NY route 376

It wasn't a huge group -- there were seven of us -- but it was just enough. We laughed, walked roads, watched some baseball, and hosted a YouTube webinar on an upcoming road gathering in Philadelphia in August.

Shockingly, Sean and I are planning to attend it.

So, yes, if you watch the slideshow with the commentary, you can hear me laughing and contributing.

Dan would come by the Renegades games last year and would make a point of visiting with Sean and me. I wanted to return the kindness today by joining the crew including Steve, Patrick, Connor, Bill, and Jeff.

We grabbed some pizza and later went to the diner in Fishkill for whatever we wanted. I opted for soup and cheesecake.

As has become a bit of a custom for me, both Steve and Dan wondered if this would make the blog.

Well, here we are.

Just Dan's collection of road signs was enough to make me want to write.

And so, with time winding down on a Saturday night, I'm sitting in a parking lot composing this post.

Back to baseball tomorrow.

Two Doubleheaders

 

The pod.

I found myself in a bit of a conundrum today.

I had the call of Fairfield National/Trumbull Little League baseball at 7:30, which meant dealing with traffic. Could I do "Doubleheader" and still do the game?

Well, yes and no. I couldn't do the show from Greenwich and get to Trumbull in time for the game. I didn't like those odds.

So what if I went to Trumbull to do "Doubleheader?" But that meant being there before 4:00 p.m. Well, at that point, I might as well do the first game -- Fairfield American and Westport -- at 5:30.

More baseball is more better, right?

So, after fighting the aforementioned traffic and being unsure if I could actually get there in time for the show, I pulled into Unity Park with roughly 20 minutes to set up. I didn't let on to the radio station until I had everything in place.

Mission accomplished. I got on the air and did the show. After that, I had just enough time to get the lineups for the first baseball game and jumped right into that.

I enjoyed calling a 4-1 win for Fairfield American. It was a well-played Little League baseball game.

I stayed and called Trumbull's 16-2 win over Fairfield National as well. Trumbull cranked four home runs in the victory.

Those are the games that test a broadcaster. Working alone, I had to work my tired mind into telling stories and continuing to entertain without being a circus clown. 

The risk, of course, is that working near the crowd might lead to people taking part in the broadcast. Call it an occupational hazard.

One delightful lad decided to sidle up next to me so that he could make himself be heard. I just ignored him and carried on with the call.

Calling what is, sorry, a blowout is a delicate balance. It's Little League baseball and these are kids. There's a reality and that is the score. That's my job: to report that score. Still, our world doesn't always want such reporting. So I walked the tightrope.

As always, I left it all there on the broadcast. I just don't believe in doing it any other way. That, of course, leaves me exhausted as I drive home but it's just how I do it. I just want the families to enjoy it.

After the last out, as I packed up, a park ranger from Trumbull decided that I -- and anyone else -- had seen enough of the stadium lights for the night. Keep in mind, I had just discovered that my glasses were missing, having fallen off as I was trying to wrap up my SportPod.

It was now dark. Thankfully, I used the flashlight on my phone to locate them before they got stepped on. I folded the pod and made my way home.

The next game(s) is Sunday. We'll see if I do both. I know the teams like having me there and I like doing it.

But first, I'm going to catch up on some sleep.

Bear Mountain

 

Photo: I Love New York

Don't ask me why but I'm writing about Bear Mountain State Park tonight.

To me, it's always been a gem of New York State and the Hudson Valley.

You can see it just by driving from Peekskill across the Bear Mountain Bridge (US 6/202) or you can park and experience it on foot. The bridge opened in 1923 and was a marvel of the time. 

Now it's just gorgeous and marvelous.

I've walked around Hessian Lake and out to the Hudson River. I've driven up to Perkins Memorial Drive and the tower up top.

I've watched ice skaters near Bear Mountain Inn and taken Sean on the carousel. I've also had brunch at the Inn.

I've been to the zoo both as a child -- on a trip with my nursery school for father's day when my guest was my dad -- and as an adult with my own child.

I've stood across the river and marveled at it, realizing that there was a time when I took it for granted.

West Point isn't too far away as well and there's more to do in the region. Cold Spring in Putnam County is a wonderful place to walk around, for instance, or out to Woodbury Common for the overpriced outlets.

That's literally all I wanted to say. Just thinking about a place I hold dear.

Though, pro tip, go when it's quiet, either off-season or during the week.

Photo: phillymag.com/Sudhagar Shanmugasigamani/Unsplash

Catching up with the "Ladies"

 

"No Unplayed Episodes"

I'm not afraid to say that I love podcasts.

I've hosted and produced them.

I still host a pretty good one -- "Talent Talks" -- that I'm pretty proud of. According to a quick count, I've done 52 of those since becoming host back in late 2019.

I still have my old podcast -- "Tales From the Booth" -- that I'd really like to kickstart somehow but feel a little lost on. It embarrasses me that I let that languish.

John Nash and I have talked about restarting "The Owner's Box Horse Racing Podcast" as well.

Then there are the podcasts that I listen to. Thanks to my niece Stephanie, I have listened to every edition of "My Dad Wrote a Porno" which is, basically, just as it sounds. Think about three friends sitting around reading the works of the father of one of the hosts. That's it.

And it is hysterical.

So hysterical that I considered buying a ticket to go see the stage version when, coincidentally, it was in London at the same time I was there in April. I didn't think it was responsible of me to make a plan on my own so I didn't do it.

But I admit I was so close to buying a ticket.

I've listened to quite a bit of the "Ron Burgundy Podcast" which is also just as it sounds. Ron Burgundy -- OK, Will Farrell -- takes you inside his world. I have to catch up on that one.

Mike Hirn has a podcast that he's dabbled in and I've listened to that one also as he details life in sports around the NWO.

From left: Jenna Fischer and Angela Kinsey during the run of "The Office"

Then there is "Office Ladies."

I was a fan of the UK version of "The Office" and never thought -- as, apparently, many people thought -- that the US version would succeed.

Obviously, the naysayers were wrong. I watched quite a few episodes when they were first on but was never that big on the show.

Then I had an epiphany and I became addicted. 

Two members of the show's ensemble -- Jenna Fischer, who played Pam Beesly, and Angela Kinsey, who played Angela Martin -- started the "Office Ladies" podcast a few years ago and it became a huge success, spawning merchandise as well as a recent best-selling book. It has also won a few awards.

The podcast includes thorough research by both hosts and a crack staff that the "ladies" include in the conversation. They also interact with fans who send in notes, sometimes to excess.

"We got a lot of mail," is a frequent quote from the show, along with "fan catches" and other trademarks of the podcast.

It's clear that the cast of "The Office" loves each other and their willingness to come on the podcast is just wonderful. Most of them have either contributed audio files or have done full interviews.

I bring this up -- while burying the lead -- as a way of saying thanks to Jenna and Angela for keeping me company during the insanity of the transition from Mahopac to Greenwich.

I started listening when the show first came out in Sept 2019 but then I got sidetracked. Episodes began to pile up and, eventually, I was more than a year behind. 

My podcast listening was a habit as I was in the car, driving between Mahopac and Greenwich and beyond.

Then came the pandemic. My listening habits changed.

But with the move, I needed to keep my mind sane. As I would clean the attic or pack up the kitchen, I'd put my headphones on and listen.

Or I'd run it through an Amazon Echo Alexa device.

Or I'd just let it run via the speaker on my cellphone.

Eventually, I caught up with all 127 episodes.

From the pilot episode to the most recent edition, "Happy Hour."

I'd laugh through some of Angela's "isms" such as saying how she played "Waffle Ball" (um, Ange, it's "WIFFLE" Ball and it originated here in Connecticut). She also "chunks" things (versus, er, "chucking" them).

So as I went through everything, cleaning, junking, chucking, etc, I'd listen to the ladies when I was alone.

I even listened to them in the moving truck as I motored between my old home and new home.

These were the moments when I was truly alone. When there was nobody to talk to and I would just bear down on dealing with the reality of moving out. So I'd listen to a podcast.

I'd be in the workroom as they talked.

The garage.

My old bedroom.

It didn't matter.

I listened intently as they broke down the famous "Dinner Party" episode and everything else.

And, finally, I'm caught up, not too long after finishing the move.

So, thanks, ladies.

A new episode is scheduled to drop soon.

Life Worth Living

 

Mianus River Bridge northbound, Jun 28, 2022

The car on the shoulder of the Mianus River Bridge had Massachusetts license plates.

And it was empty.

I knew right away.

*****

The police turned onto Interstate 95 north just ahead of me. I was joining the highway at Exit 4, just minutes from home.

As I sat in the right lane, more police blew past me on the shoulder of the highway along with an ambulance from GEMS (Greenwich Emergency Medical Service). 

Then more police and a fire truck whizzed by.

I tweeted on the WGCH account (don't judge) and prepared my phone for a potential photo of what I figured was a car accident.

Yet when I got closer, after moving to the center lane because the right was closed, I saw something I didn't expect.

The police were looking over the railing of the bridge.

Then I looked at the vehicle in question.

Massachusetts plates. 

Empty

I froze.

I couldn't take the picture. Dereliction of duty as a journalist.

I knew what was happening. Around the time I was crossing the Mianus River Bridge, famous for partially collapsing in 1983, a woman had propelled herself some 70 feet into the water below.

I'll let the Greenwich Police Department tell you more:

Earlier this afternoon, our Dispatch Center received a call from the Connecticut State Police requesting assistance with a possible suicidal female sitting on the edge of the I-95 Northbound bridge over the Mains River, between Exits 4 and 5.  GPD dispatched several units to the area.  One of our Officers, Master Patrol Officer Moavero, made contact with the subject and engaged the subject in conversation.  Officer P. O'Connor with the assistance of some of the area marina workers, was able to take a position in a work boat underneath the bridge.  For reasons unknown, the female subject suddenly pushed herself from her seated position over the edge of the bridge and fell into the Mianus River.  After she landed in the water, Officer O'Connor was able to get the female out from the water and pulled her into the boat.  She was taken to a nearby marina, where medical care was handed over to Greenwich Emergency Medical Service.  The subject was transported to the Greenwich Hospital without incident. An initial assessment showed no signs of life-threatening or serious injuries.

Before we proceed, thank you to GPD for their effort, especially Officer O'Connor.

But.

I found myself thinking, even before I knew the whole story.

What drove this person to this point?

Just...why?

Why on the Mianus River Bridge?

Why reach that low mark?

Do they have loved ones? Parents? Kids? Friends?

Is it financial problems?

Career issues?

Relationship problems?

A crime committed?

Running away from something?

Just. Why?

Somebody loves this soul. 

Someone wants to hug her and is hopefully at Greenwich Hospital tonight to do so.

The depths of sadness, the beast of depression, works in myriad ways. Sometimes I fear that many really do just snap. 

Maybe it happened here?

I drove on and tried to not think about it yet I couldn't stop. I kept checking Twitter. I kept thinking I had it wrong.

Then came the GPD statement. 

This isn't about me yet I'm still haunted by it.

Horrified.

So many thoughts.

I'm hardly a genius but I knew it. 

This could be any of us. 

We'll likely never get answers. These stories are never fully told.

So the questions just sit there.

Thank you, Greenwich Police Department.

To the poor soul who sat on the edge of a bridge on I-95 north in Greenwich, CT, staring towards the Mianus River, the Metro-North and Amtrak train bridge, and beyond to Long Island Sound? 

Looking into the abyss of her soul?

Feeling lost, empty, and just done?

Know that you were heard.

Please listen to the help that is being offered to you.

This was not the answer.

Your cry was heard.

I feel we must include the number for the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline here (800-273-8255), even if it is sort of like going through the motions. Still, if someone reads this post and notes the number then that is a good thing. 

Words Evade Me

Grilling, apartment style!

Lou Gehrig is always on my mind on July 4.

So is Dave Righetti.

And, oh yeah, signing the Declaration of Independence yada yada.

I hear some fireworks in the distance and, thankfully, Rascal is unfazed. I recall that Bandit, my old friend for 17 years, was not a fan of fireworks or thunderstorms. Fred, my friend for 11, also wasn't cool with them. Chico, who we had for a far-too-short time at the end of his life, didn't really care.

Rascal -- much like Fred in terms of personality (that is to say, he's a bit nuts) -- just keeps doing his thing.

I have a few items I want to get to here on the blog. Some frivolous and some deep. They can wait.

One thing I've done since the move has finally settled down is to catch up on some TV.

I recently binged the first season of "Only Murders in the Building," and it was as brilliant as advertised. I've started watching season two. Just outstanding.

I also finally caught up with "The Flight Attendant," which I was a big fan of in its first season in early 2021. I just finished season two a few minutes ago.

I guess I'm thankful to Major League Baseball -- forever screwing things up -- for not having the Yankees on their schedule today.

The New York Yankees did not play a July 4th game for the first time since 1915. That's 107 years if you're doing the math. Tradition? Bah! Who cares?

You know, July 4th is only the day that Lou Gehrig made the most important speech in the history of sports and one of the most well-known speeches in history. Why should the Yankees have a game every year on July 4th and -- Manfred-forbid -- have it at Yankee Stadium?

July 4th, on a lesser note, is also the anniversary of Dave Righetti no-hitting the Boston Red Sox in 1983. At Yankee Stadium. The first no-hitter by a Yankees pitcher since Don Larsen's perfect game in the 1956 World Series.

July 4th is also George Steinbrenner's birthday. It's also John Sterling's birthday.

It's also an important date in the baseball calendar much like Memorial Day and Labor Day.

Alas, I digress.

Incidentally, I didn't see a single pitch of Righetti's no-hitter. It was on SportsChannel and my family didn't have cable yet. Sort of like not having Amazon Prime, for instance, in 2022.

For what that's worth.

But, ah, the title: "Words Evade Me." Well, they clearly haven't because I've bobbed and weaved my way around various (and sundry, naturally) topics so far, haven't I?

I'll also add that I'm pretty horrified at the affairs today in Illinois today. More shot. More injured. More dead. 

More division.

And I guess that's where the words evade me.

They evade me on the trolls who won't simply shut up and stop dividing us.

They evade me on the phony friends on social media who hang on every word of others yet treat you like you have the plaque.

They evade me on the enablers. So much more to say and, yet, no.

Maybe it's time to eliminate those "capital/lower case" writing types bringing the unnecessary negativity into life. You know tHe TyPe.

The ones still obsessed with orange people or whatever the case may be.

Enough.

Remove the toxicity.

Those are the words that are evading me tonight.

Even though, in the end, I found enough words.

Like these: Do better.

On the happier side, I'm calling baseball tomorrow.

Goodnight, America, how are ya...

Happy Dependence Day

 

"Sad Rascal" awaits the incoming tennis balls.

I was back with the Renegades tonight for a great evening of baseball, fireworks, family, and laughs.

I loved seeing over 5,400 people in the stadium tonight, including members of my own family, including Sean, of course.

Fireworks aren't really my thing but I was content to watch fans enjoy the show even if it meant I didn't leave the parking lot until roughly 90 minutes after last pitch because traffic was so horrific. At one point, I stood on the field with some of the Renegades interns while everyone picked up the tennis balls that were thrown on the field in one of the myriad games that are played to garner prizes.

Rick Zolzer ("The Zolz") and I work pretty well in unison as "co-public address announcers" and, while I don't think much of myself in that capacity, I think we can get even better.

Incidentally, you can hear a sample of me on the PA in this tweet.

Of course, I think of myself as a broadcaster first. Public address announcing is a different skill set and it involves paying attention to the game in ways that I'm not used to. While I have a scorecard, I find myself flinching to track balls and strikes as I normally would. In this case, I'm using it as a checklist to know where the game is in the batting order.

So I'll keep tonight's note short as I just walked in a few moments ago after departing the ballpark at 10:30. Basically, it was an hour door-to-door.

In the booth before the game, we jokingly called tonight "Dependence Day" since tomorrow, of course, is "Independence Day." While I have no intention of going full jingoistic on you, I found myself observing the spectacle tonight and feeling like I'm fairly proud to live where I do. 

Yes, I know what you're thinking, but at the end of the day, where would I rather be? Sure, I love the UK but would I want to give up living here? Would I want to go to Canada?

Respectfully, I appreciate those other places but I like living here. I recognize the disgusting flaws. I do.

David Ben-Ezra and I in the public address booth. Yes, I'm wearing a cape.

Before I close, I promised Lori (my cousin's wife, who also works for the Renegades) that I would don a kids' cape for a game (her grandson's cape to be exact). I made good on the promise tonight, repping Captain America. I even walked out of the booth wearing it. Why not? It's about having fun.

Many of you will wake up and read this on July 4th. May yours be filled with hot dogs, burgers, smiles, music, and whatever other freedoms you can have.

I'd go to Waffle House if I could. What's more American?

At the Car Wash

 

The nasty-looking sky that didn't impact the game

Sometimes it's just fun to do something because I can.

I handled public address duties for the Renegades tonight.

Look, no matter how many ways it's sliced, I know that's not my strongest thing. I'm a "good" PA announcer but probably not a great one.

I think I'm probably a wee bit better in the broadcast booth. TV, radio, carrier pigeon, whatever.

I visited Sean in the radio booth -- you might be familiar with it -- during the fireworks show after the game and just...

went back to the PA booth.

My car, now with Connecticut plates, needed gas on the way out and I decided to stop off in Fishkill before pushing for home.

While paying to gas up, I was given the option to wash my car on-site.

I elected to.

Because I could.

It felt a little unconventional at 10:00 at night to do it and I liked that even more.

So I let the machine do its thing, running across several times with water, soap, and whatever other agents were used.

Was it "showroom clean?" No, I wouldn't say that.

But it still brought me a hint of joy on an otherwise perfectly fine night.

I figured my new Connecticut plates deserved a clean car, especially after I dropped my New York plates in a slot today at the DMV with a form and a dollar for processing, per their instructions.

Getting the car washed at 10 at night reminded me of walking from my hotel room to the L.L. Bean flagship store in Freeport, ME at four in the morning.

It was snowing hard as I walked down the middle of US 1, with the sounds of a random snow plow in the distance.

It was just me with a town to myself.

I briefly chatted with the L.L. Bean staff when I walked in and they offered me a cup of coffee.

I bought nothing and walked back to the hotel.

And I loved all of it.

Because I could do it.

Give me a unique but sort of off-key experience.

While not so random, that's what running my vehicle through a car wash at the Speedway in Fishkill, NY off I-84 at U.S. 9 reminded me of.

The roads were dry when I left the stadium -- a mere 10 minutes away. Yet they were wet near Fishkill.

No matter. I still got the car washed. Long overdue, I thought.

With that done, I got back to driving.

84 to the Taconic to 22 to 287 and 95 and back to Greenwich.

Where there were supposed to be fireworks but, alas, they were postponed due to the threat of bad weather.

From what I could see, there was never any bad weather in Greenwich tonight though I could be wrong.

Ugh. People in positions of power can't win.

I wanted stay up near the stadium tonight since I have to be back there tomorrow but, yeah, prices and stuff, so I'm back in the fireworks-less town.

Which is fine with me.

The Cat is happy.

I'll drive back tomorrow.

Because I can.

Dear Greenwich

 

(Photo: Wikipedia)

Hello, 06830.

So, you're my hometown now.

You've been my adopted work town for 25 years -- full-time, part-time, freelance, and even volunteer.

I've called football, baseball, basketball, ice hockey, softball, volleyball, lacrosse, soccer, golf, and literally every other sport I can think of inside your borders.

Even water polo.

Heck, I've even been the announcer for Greenwich Polo and I had a blast.

I also called events involving Greenwich schools in other towns. Cross country, track and field, and wrestling all immediately come to mind. One day, we'll get bowling on the air.

I've called games involving each high school (there are five).

I've called youth games.

I've called Greenwich Cannons American Legion games.

I used to call every GYFL football championship Sunday.

I called a couple of Greenwich Winter Classics because I wanted to. I made $0 doing it but I wanted families to hear a trusted voice who knows how to broadcast hockey.

Oh yeah and I've hosted numerous sports talk shows and interviewed so many of your athletes.

Most of this was on WGCH Radio. A lot of it on Local Live and Robcasting Radio.

While we're at it we should probably discuss the roughly 20 election nights I've spent befuddled in campaign headquarters looking for interviews.

We should also note the hours and hours of news coverage that I did, including so many times that I was the lead fill-in anchor for Jim Thompson and, later, Tony Savino.

I was there -- having volunteered to come down and made no money for it -- the night of the superstorm and slept on the floor of the radio station in my then-office.

I came in and anchored coverage when Space Shuttle Columbia crashed.

I was in the building on Sep 11, 2001, and hosted a show on Sept 12.

I've now hosted -- what? -- five Greenwich Town Parties on the air?

I drove in a couple of St. Patrick's Day parades and hosted two of them on the radio.

And there's a lot more. There's also behind-the-scenes stuff.

I'm not looking for a day in my honor or a Hall of Fame plaque. I deserve none of that.

I guess I get a little bummed when I see things either not getting covered at all or whatever.

"Whatever" is a nice way to avoid saying what I'd like to say.

I'm particularly struck because Fairfield National little league is bringing me aboard to call their baseball games beginning next week.

After that, I'm calling another Babe Ruth New England Regional Tournament. In Trumbull.

Plus I'm doing public address announcing for the Renegades and I'll go back to Mahopac anytime.

But I'm here now, Greenwich. I'm yours also. Maybe more than ever.

Yet I have to go where I'm wanted. I also have to go where I can make a living.

I wrote my rent check yesterday and I was damn proud to do so. Trust me, that feeling will wear off but, for now, it's a nice thing.

You have a radio station in town, Greenwich, and we'd like you to know that. 

I'd like you to know that.

I have friends who often say #HireRob and, well, why not? 

In the fall, I'm hopefully heading back to Brunswick and, maybe, Greenwich football though nothing is confirmed with any of that.

But I'm around for the summer and, often, lots of other times scattered around the week.

If you don't know me, ask around. Brothers, sisters, aunts, uncles, parents, grandparents, etc have all heard me and others over these 25 years.

I live here now, in part due to fate, but also by choice. I wanted to be closer to friends and loved ones.

But I also liked the idea of being closer to Hunt Scanlon and Brunswick and Greenwich High and 360 Service Partners and even Local Live -- all of whom I've done something for in recent years.

My resume and reputation are pretty solid. At least I think so.

I'm no salesman but that's my pitch.

I'm here.

The Blue Plate Special

 

So it looks like you're stuck with me, Connecticut.

I went to DMV today and, lo and behold, the people at that soulless place approved everything.

I have a license. I have a registration. I have license plates. 

In return, my New York license was taken from me and my old plates are to be surrendered to the Empire State.

With that, I think it's over. Almost.

But, yeah, the DMV is soulless. I'll say that 2.5 of the four people I dealt with were nice and even cool.

The woman who did my eye exam? Quick, professional, even a chuckle.

The woman who took care of my car registration? Not as quick (but that could have been her computer), but professional and seemed pretty cool. No, we didn't make lunch plans or share laughs but she did her job and didn't seem miserable.

The woman who is supposed to be the "greeter?" Well, I suppose she was overwhelmed but she was Sahara dry in her approach. Not quite "greeter" material.

Then we have the person I went to for my license. If there was an encyclopedia entry (always the World Book, by the way. Those things were awesome) for "miserable in her job and life" it would be her.

It was clear that I was anxious and nervous about all of this and she had the bedside manner of an alligator in a dog pound. No response to any of my "thank yous." No acknowledgment of literally anything. Look, I'm not there to be your best friend. Trust me on that. But, on the other hand, you're there for customer service and while I may be an idiot I'm still the friggin' customer.

A smile isn't necessary. I don't want your home phone number or go clubbing. I just want what I got from the latter two people I dealt with. Efficient and professional.

Not snarling.

I became a doddering fool in her presence. Even my -- get this -- initial license picture wasn't good enough for her because apparently my head was tilted somehow.

You know, I've only been having my picture taken for 53.5 years and have been told I take a decent shot. I didn't try to flirt with her or make love to the camera. I stood there and smirked. This wasn't "GQ" or "Terrible Broadcasters Weekly."

I'm a frequent cover boy on that publication.

On version two, apparently, my chin was too low. Or high. I really don't recall now what Annie Leibovitz of the DMV was saying (that is, growling). But, supposedly, she found it "acceptable." That or we were both recognizing this love affair wasn't going to work out and she just wanted to be done with the jackwagon from New York.

Oh, I don't doubt us New Yorkers (even former ones, such as we are) are hated.

On the other hand, read the 684 commuters page on Facebook about the "blue plates." As in Connecticut license plates. 

Just remember, y'all, ya boy was a Noo Yawkah until a few hours ago, despite the new blue plate.

And I'll always have the 845 in my soul.

So don't judge.

*****

A quick note of congratulations to my friend Annabelle the Pinecone and her girl scouts troop in Wilton for an event to celebrate pride. Look, flag-waving really isn't my thing but, you know what is? 

Acceptance.

I love and dislike people equally! I tease people equally!

I'm all about equal opportunity.

That's really all I am and I realize this is a political pier that I don't step out on very often.

Women should decide what to do with their bodies.

Love is love.

All should be accepted.

And we should laugh more and lighten up and stop being so sensitive.

And that, friends, is all I have to say about all of that.

Today was about Annabelle and her troop. Great job, girls. Keep spreading an important message.

And a shout out to Lucy (Snakey) who was doing face painting. She wanted to paint my face but it's probably a good thing she didn't.

She didn't have enough paint to fix my problems.

Or enough time.

*****

That's Mirror Universe Rob (thanks, AJ) or, as Chris Erway named him, "Bobbie Adams."

Further proving I wouldn't look good with facial hair. 

And I need new glasses.

If that were me.

Which it's not.

Oh, and you should be safe to accept a friend request from me now if I've sent you one.

Which I haven't.

It was Definitely NOT Me!

 

Here's the thing: I've been expecting this to happen for a while.

The first message hit me around 9 a.m, followed by another and another and another and...

OK, thanks, everyone. I got the message quickly. If I was short with you it was because I had numerous people letting me know about the situation.

Facebook friends were getting a friend request from me.

Except, we were already friends on FB.

So, you know what that means.

No, I haven't been hacked, despite what you might think. My account had been cloned. The key, friends, is for you to not accept said friend request.

To those who didn't get a request, my sincere apologies. It wasn't personal. At least I don't think so. You'd have to check with my clone.

I've seen it numerous times with numerous friends. That's why I expected it and, overall, why I was sort of ho-hum about it. The fatal part is for those who accept the request.

But, repeat, I have not been hacked. I appreciate those who reached out but it's not a fatal thing. In fact, in doing my own research, I found that I didn't have to change my password. I still felt that was a prudent move and went ahead with that anyway. It was probably time to do so.

Don't worry. It wasn't my parent's former phone number.

The "panic" was probably over by 10 a.m. and I went about my day. To my knowledge, I haven't bought land in a strange land or handed thousands over to a Nigerian prince but, hey, the night is young.

I also didn't say anything about anyone's backside, amirite, John Nash? John wrote a post today that was charming and hysterical and had the feel of Michael Scott going to get an egg and cheese sandwich. Just great stuff.

Dolly the Sheep, not Rob the Broadcaster/waffle eater

But it was fun to ponder an "alternate" Rob, with thanks to Harold, who said the following: "I like this other Rob. He said 'Black is a Met color.'"

He, apparently, also loves the work of Gus Johnson, Ryan Ruocco, and Hawk Harrelson. He also loves Joey Zana...no. No, I just can't go there.

He prefers pancakes and IHop, no doubt. Probably loves Nickelback and John Mellencamp. Would take literally anyone over Paul McCartney.

Oh, it was fun to consider all of this until, frankly, I got on with my day. I worked and began to realize that I might not do "Doubleheader" at all this week. Friday is possible but...

Well, I can't announce anything yet but let's just say you can't keep a good play-by-play voice down.

Or me. Because I'm awful.

As you know.

But I bet the alternate Rob is the best play-by-play guy! He likes to exaggerate, and read a steady stream of stats but, otherwise, lacks all energy and passion.

Anyway, one of us -- me of the Rob the Alt -- will be under the headset very soon.

And the moral of this story is to NOT accept a friend request from me today.

A Quick Tuesday Night Hello

 

I'm going to keep things short tonight.

I served as the PA announcer for the Renegades so, by the time I got home, I was starting midnight in the eye.

The bonus -- as I continue to highlight -- is getting to see Sean. Further highlights include the many friends I have there, including the crew I work with in the PA booth. Plus I get to see good baseball.

Of course, the downside is that I got home after 11 p.m. and I'm tired.

I still don't know that I'm what anyone wants in terms of doing public address announcing but I guess it's going fine. 

I'm back with them this weekend for two games.

I feel like anything else that I'd want to write about tonight would take too long so I'm going to grab some sleep.

Oh and I'm starting to go out of my mind without any games to call. Just thought I'd add that. Apparently, I was once decent at it.

Offering Fran Pomarico a coffee

The Preponderance of Being Pedantic

 

Screenshot of article on The Athletic

It feels like, as a people, we're a collection of know-it-alls, always wanting to be right.

I see it on social media every day.

A post gets written and, in minutes, someone is out to tell why it is wrong.

It might surprise you to know how often I simply bite my tongue or, in the virtual world, fingers.

Sure, I believe in correcting errors but I think there's also a point where it's just not worth it.

Let's take the picture at the top of the post as an example. It's about Josh Rawitch, the president of the National Baseball Hall of Fame. More to the point, it's about Rawitch and his obsession with the Dave Matthews Band. It was written by Zach Buchanan.

The passage that caught my eye, in particular, was the part about the location of the Hall of Fame. Specifically, "...the intersection of New York state routes 80 and 26..."

And I knew immediately that it was wrong.

Look, if we're really being extra persnickety, I could add that the Hall of Fame is a few blocks away from the intersection in question. That's simply a little literary license. The bigger point is that it's not the intersection of routes 80 and 26. 

It's 80 and 28.

Twenty-eight.

NY state route 28 is a 281-mile road that begins in Kingston and weaves its way to Warrensburg. I've driven it from Kingston to, where else? Cooperstown, where it makes a left turn at route 80 and heads off towards Herkimer and beyond.

Still, route lesson aside, I let it go. I didn't feel like being "that guy."

Yet, by the time I checked back to write this post tonight, it had been corrected. That, of course, is a good thing.

But it's a long way towards making my point. I watch it in the roads world, for instance. Of course, I see it in the sports world as well.

These groups (and others, of course) always seem to have "that guy" who will correct the most needle-like item.

I especially love when people try to give me lessons about history (baseball, Yankees, broadcasting, etc). This is when I pick my battles.

Oh, I don't mean about opinions. We all know, generally, there's no absolute correct when it comes to opinions. But facts, on the other hand?

So that's the thing, of course. This isn't just about correcting a big mistake but about correcting the most minuscule of mistakes.

In this case, leaving the story that mentioned NY route 26 instead of 28 wasn't going to change the world.

Saying Cooperstown is in Canada would be worth changing. Just as a for instance.

Why can't we simply just say "it's not worth it" when it comes to this stuff? Wouldn't we be nicer people overall?

I know. I'm out of my mind. Grasping at straws here.

Instead, we'll just keep being divided and spewing the same talking points.

Yeah. That will work.

I'll leave you with a picture of some "overrated shortstop" and his wife.

(Happy belated birthday, Derek Jeter)

Nothing's Easy

 

Old welcome sign on 95 (2016)

We interrupt the serious problems in life for the frivolous.

If you prefer to not deal with problems that are minimal in reality, then you might want to skip this post tonight.

If you understand that I tell stories then carry on.

As you are probably really aware, I recently moved to the delightful little nook known as Greenwich, CT after half a century in Putnam County, NY.

In hindsight, what was I thinking? It's apparently not that easy to just plunk down life in a new state without headaches.

The first thing I did was head to visit the Greenwich post office and change my address. The process was fairly simple and painless. In fact, it was great.

Cool, cool.

Heck, the police found me a short time back when they showed up to ask about my being in the neighborhood of an accident earlier in June. 

Along the way, I've changed a few accounts online to get things to the Greenwich address. In at least one case, I had to make a phone call.

Please note I largely abhor making phone calls.

But that phone call -- to my car insurance -- wasn't just a matter of, "Sure! Let's update that address!" Instead, it was, "Oh, while we're at it, we have to change your account which will come with a higher rate even though you won't be commuting as much but, hey, if you pay the full cost upfront then we'll give you a discount!"

I felt like I was going to bang my head.

Oh, there will still be other headaches (see: support, child) and so on.

This, of course, was in addition to getting services for the new address. Overall, a painless process though the Verizon visit took a lot longer than necessary and I still wonder if I made a mistake with my TV package.

Then there's my car.

So, yeah, it seemed nice and easy at first. I made an appointment to go to the DMV. I chose the Norwalk office because it seemed like that would work.

My insurance company had already sent me a temporary card for Connecticut while keeping my New York policy (wisely) active. 

Still, there were delays and hangups that made me decide that my first choice of DMV appointment wasn't wise. I changed it, giving me more time.

The next thing was to get my emissions checked out. That turned out to be simple, with a visit to a nearby site in Greenwich. Five minutes, $20 cash (a little prehistoric, I might add), and I was out.

Today, I decided to pull together the necessary documents, including the main form that I needed to lay out my entire life apparently.

Then, another note caught my eye.

Proof of ownership.  An original title is required, and a leased vehicle requires an original power of attorney from the leasing company.  If you have a lien or are leasing a vehicle, you must contact your lienholder or leasing company to notify them that Connecticut requires the original vehicle title to register a vehicle.  Please notify the lien holder or leasing company using this form and ask them to mail the title...

And, with that, I knew I was once again stuck. So, now, I have to get with the bank I have the loan with and there's nothing on their site that says anything about getting power of attorney.

So, yeah. Nothing is easy.

I'm sure it's no better if I were to go to another state but this sure doesn't thrill me. So the appointment set for this Tuesday will once again get changed.

A quick scan of the appointment portal indicated I could have an invitation in late July. As in, a month from now.

But, hang on, in typical Rob fashion, guess what expires later this week? My New York state inspection. So, if you're following along, I have to go somewhere in New York and spend the money for an inspection that will get used for maybe a month. Because that beats getting a ticket for an expired inspection!

I get it. This, as I said, isn't exactly the biggest thing in the world. It's a nuisance; an annoyance.

It will get resolved and life will go on and we'll say, "Remember when?"

But it's a story for tonight and it's an outlet for me to grumble.

We now return you to your regularly-scheduled big world problems.

(Seriously, this isn't to take away from the reality of "real" issues. Just a brief diversion.)

*****

UPDATE, 6/27: I've filled out all of the forms and have moved my appointment to Thursday. It looks like I might have everything I need after all so keep your fingers crossed that this post was, in the end, unnecesary.

Electric City Waffles

 

I walked out this morning not expecting to be back home tonight.

Sean and I are great at wanting to do things. We're great at talking about them. From there, he leaves it to me to do the work. Now, look, I'm not criticizing him. He knows I enjoy planning stuff.

So we've talked about a Waffle House trip for months. For all of the grief I take (some of it tongue-in-cheek) we haven't been there since last July.

But we've promised for months to treat ourselves. He (and I) is off from baseball for two weeks so I kept saying we needed to do something. 

Today was that day.

I wanted to grab a room and stay over. I know he doesn't have a bathing suit with him here but I was willing to see if we could find one at an Old Navy-type of place so we could both jump in some hotel pool. 

I don't know anyone with a pool so I couldn't tell you the last time I've been in one. Probably just as well. Nobody needs that visual.

Insane deliciousness

But I looked at hotel prices near the most logical (and closest) Waffle House locations.

Scranton, PA

Allentown/Easton/Bethlehem, PA

Lancaster, PA

Elkton, MD

Nope. No. Negative. Uh-uh.

All too expensive...until last night. I saw something reasonable. I was willing to give it a go but, shame on me, I didn't commit.

Still, I sort of liked the spontaneous nature of seeing what kind of deal might come to light today.

Sean was non-committal.

We were on the road before 7 a.m. It felt good to be on (fairly) quiet roads. I didn't insist on a crack-of-dawn departure though I could have since I slept like garbage.

We made a quick stop in Mahopac to grab the mail. Nothing else to report otherwise.

From there it was north on the Taconic and west on 84 to Scranton.

We decided the Electric City was the best choice because we knew we could walk around the Steamtown National Historic Site.

"You're a roads guy," Sean said. "I'm a rails guy." 

For sure, his statement is true though each has a healthy appreciation for the other.

Interstate 84, overall, bores me. I appreciate the rolling fields and farms of Orange County, NY before the eventual climb near Port Jervis into the Delaware Valley. I also appreciate the scenery of the trees of Pennsylvania.

But my point remains. From Sturbridge, MA to Scranton, PA I-84 is a sort of dry drive.

I bring this up because, for the last 20 minutes of the drive, I was growing really tired. I didn't have coffee before I left Greenwich and I didn't sleep great as I said.

And our beloved Waffle House, well, didn't have their best day. No refill on my coffee and onions in my hashbrowns?! No, I did not order onions. Still, these are "First World" problems and I made the best of it. I figured I didn't need the second cup of java and I could work around the onions.

Done and done. Onto the trains.

Somewhere along the line, Steamtown National Historic Site stopped charging admission so that was a bonus. Yet we cruised through the exhibits and buildings and were out pretty quickly.

A walk into the nearby mall got us a picture of the welcome sign from "The Office" but didn't exactly give us much to see.

Sean admitted that while he loves him some Scranton, he just didn't think there was a lot to do and wasn't so high on staying over.

Though bummed, I took it as a positive to save the money and cruise back to Greenwich.

We didn't leave immediately, driving around and visiting some other things before we stopped for lunch.

I create my own fun, I guess. I can waste time strolling around a lot of places before heading to the hotel. But neither one of us was feeling that great either (before you joke about Waffle House, we both felt that way when the day started) so the signs pointed to this being for the best.

We also had a good, long talk at lunch about some stuff. 

There was one stop on the way home -- a train turntable in Port Jervis that has become a bit of a traditional visit whenever we're in the area. They've changed things a bit there and have added a small museum that caught out eye for the future.

We rolled home from there. He laughed at things on his phone and I grumbled as I listened to the Yankees get no-hit by three Houston Astros pitchers.

I mean, it happens. The Yankees have been no-hit twice in my life -- both by several pitchers on the Astros. A single pitcher hasn't no-hit them since 1958. So while the no-hitter is annoying, losing is the thing. They lost. 

Pick it up tomorrow because the vultures are already circling.

And thus we're back in Greenwich. Three states (and a view into a fourth as we were less than a quarter of a mile from New Jersey), good food, good talk, good laughs, and good times.

Now we have to do it again.

And, if Sean won't stay over, then I need to allow myself to.

Just not on I-84.

I'm Benching Myself

It feels like today is a good day to grab some popcorn and say very little.

I categorically disagree with the big announcement of the day. I have no business telling a woman what to do with their body.

But I also see hypocrisy is cool today. "Whataboutism" is fine so long as it swings a particular way.

Hey, so long as everyone can say "But her emails" then all is cool, no?

Because that helps.

Actually, no it doesn't. Those words don't help the conversation tonight. 

Be part of the solution.

That being said, I'm also a journalist and I believe those opinions should be very limited.

Besides, my words have no impact. None. Zip.

I pondered just posting a picture of the Supreme Court with no text.

I pondered a lot of things to write.

Ultimately, this is enough. In fact, it's probably too much.

As I said, I'm sitting out.

Topics have been heavy lately. 

See you tomorrow.

The "Road" Best Traveled

 

Question for the "hive mind," the denizens of the Exit 55 community:

How many times must one take the high road?

It's a serious question. 

There have been times -- too many of them, if we're being honest -- when, despite what you might think, I've bucked up and said nothing about something.

Oh, we can pick the topic. Heck, when you get right down to it, the company (Greenwich-based, mind you) that will never pay me what they owe me got off easy. I never named them or even really hinted at who they are.

Incidentally, I saw their product earlier today as I had my car's emissions checked, and just laughed. Perfect for cleaning windows.

Or my...well, I'll hold off on discussing that one...but you can probably guess what topic I'm alluding to here. I haven't even scratched the surface of that title wave of nonsense and the stories that can be told. The lies and utterly deplorable behavior. Yet I've said nothing.

We're not even scraping the professional stuff that could be aired out here.

Then we have the latest in which someone is disowned, still gets their way and refuses to pay anything they're responsible for. All due to petty jealousy and whatever demons are floating around.

After having bullied a family for too many years. It stops.

So, again, I ask: how many times must I take this high road? Does just walking away serve me best recognizing karma, Babe Ruth, or some other power will right the wrongs?

Do I just swing low sweet chariot and have my airing of grievances? 

After a life in which I refused to act like others, I find myself in that same spot. 

I had family members, essentially, disappear before I was born. I never wanted that to happen. They existed but they lived in a vacuum.

Yet...here we are

I was tested and, ultimately, cut the toxicity out of my life. Too many years of things being "their way."

This is no way to behave. Money, of course, is the root of pure evil and it's just not who I am.

I also won't be accused of lies.

Many of you laughed when I told you the story.

In fact, I laughed.

Do I unlock that cage and let it all out?

Have I already said too much?

Have I said enough?

The high road, bluntly, gets to be tiring after a while. The life of "Thank you, sir, may I have another?" is pure garbage.

I called it out for years. People still allowed it.

It's now over for me and for others.

Maybe that's enough.

Then again, they don't care.

They never will.

Ultimately, it will be my own blood pressure that will pay the price and that's not worth it.

Oh, they're reading. Trust me. I've been studied like the Zapruder film.

Or "The Godfather."

"Business. Not personal."

Today, they think they're punishing me. Again, I'm laughing. 

I shouldn't be surprised, I guess. Given the past why should this be a shock?

It's not.

It's over.

Done.

Make sure to tell your "best friend" this story.

Oh, wait. He's watching.

In disgust.

Horrified.

It ends here.

Consider this "the medium road" and we'll call it a day.

To quote another movie, "Here endeth the lesson."