Sick Of Everything (Or "Are You Ready For It?)

 

I don't have it in me to tell you the same story that I've told you before.

And, frankly, you don't want to read that.

You know: Go to Brunswick and call basketball. But, before that, I also set up for hockey.

Then call the basketball game, break down quickly, go upstairs, and call hockey.

Five hours or whatever on the air, break down again, drive home, pick up cat food on the food.

I mean, you get it.

You're also quite right to be sick of it.

No wonder reads are way down on this page. I suck.

So, instead, we can talk about an act so famous that people got sick of them! It's a case of being constantly on TV and other media.

Charming, yes, but also tiring.

So, am I talking about Taylor Swift or The Beatles?

Sixty years ago tonight

The Beatles made their U.S. debut on The Ed Sullivan Show 60 years ago tonight. A whopping, ridiculous 73 million people watched, which was a monstrous audience for 1964. We can prattle on about how they changed literally everything of course.

Music. Fashion. Marketing. Movies. Merchandise. It was a total pop culture explosion and started The British Invasion.

But, inevitably, there was pushback. People got tired. Certainly, there was the "more popular than Jesus" stuff of 1966 and that might have been a breaking point. 

One had to exist.

If they had attended a soccer (football) game to watch their loved one, it would have attracted attention. TV directors would have had their camerapeople zooming in on the Beatle in question.

Does any of this ring a bell?

Let's flash forward to 2024.

(Found online)

You might know a certain T.A. Swift, formerly of Wyomissing, PA has taken a stronger interest in football due to her dating one Travis Kelce of the Kansas City Chiefs.

Mass hysteria has of course ensued and any director worth their time has covered it with a few reaction shots.

Frankly, it's been no worse than shots of Dallas Cowboys owner Jerry Jones or New England Patriots owner Robert Kraft. 

The reaction shot has existed for years, dating back to the likes of player's wives and families. I mean, for what it's worth, I saw countless reaction shots of Derek Jeter's parents.

But, as it often happens, a certain exhaustion creeps in and then the complaining begins. 

I've heard the moaning about basically all of the above reaction shots I just mentioned and so I wasn't the least bit surprised when Taylor Swift found herself in the target.

If you want to believe it's some "MAGA/Trump/Conservative/White Man" thing, rock on. That's your business. If you think it's "white men afraid of powerful women," have at it. Who am I to say otherwise?

Seems kind of sad and petty if that's your take but so be it. That's how this all works.

But, perhaps, just maybe, you know, it's people are just tired of seeing Taylor Swift -- even for 30 seconds -- because they're just tired of seeing Taylor Swift? That it isn't some GRAND conspiracy or hatred of women or whatever else? 

That maybe posting a picture of her every day is 1) unnecessary and 2) pandering to your trusty collection of social media enablers who pat you on the head?

Look, I don't want to listen to Taylor Swift's music. I have nothing against it necessarily. "Shake it Off" is fine and there are a few other things that I've heard that I appreciate. I own one album because my niece gave me her music collection and that was in it. I've never played it.

Go see her in concert? Politely, let me just say no. It would require certain incentives. I'll leave it at that.

But she's charming and harmless and funny and kind and wonderful to her fans and seems -- what do I know? -- pretty down to Earth (as much as one can be in her shoes). Seems like she'd be fun to just talk to.

She sort of seems like a female Paul McCartney.

(Rolling Stone)

Honestly, if she somehow makes it to Las Vegas for super-duper whatever on Sunday, who is being harmed? 

It will be covered on social media and TV and it might seem insufferable. But a lot of people will enjoy it and it has brought new eyes to the screen. I mean, can we get her involved with baseball (preferably, the Yankees)?

Frankly, I'll get a laugh out of it all. 

But I also might roll my eyes.

It's OK to suffer from Taylor exhaustion. Nobody gets to be the gatekeeper of that. Given I'm the home office for being tired of overplayed songs (looking at you, "Jack and Diane"), I totally get that.

When Taylor announced at the Grammy's that another new album was coming out, I asked to be put out of my misery. Not because I have anything against her. Far from it.

I'm just tired of it. 

And that's sort of what I feel detractors of the Liverpool lads must have felt. Whether they were putting two or three albums out per year or some record company was releasing compilations, Beatlemania was very much a supernova.

And, in some ways, still is. After all, they won a Grammy last Sunday and two members are dead.

So is it really that hard to just watch the game Sunday and ignore her? Root for the 49ers if that brings you peace.

Maybe make it a drinking game or an eating game every time she's on the screen?

Or maybe just embrace it as these two people are on whatever journey they're on, leading to the possible breakup song one day?

My advice would be that you're on your own, kid.

Don't be a hater.

Shake it off.

Girls Rule (So Does Pizza Across the Street)

 

Today began simply enough.

I was preparing to call tonight's Section One Girls Ice Hockey Championship when I glanced across the street.

A pair of neon signs appeared illuminated.

Nah. Couldn't be.

It was.

Bruce Park Grill, the venerable pizza place and (respectfully) dive bar had reopened.

It was famous for its chill vibe, aforementioned pizza and otherwise limited menu, and shuffleboard table.

Sean and I had often talked about what it would be like to have such a place that close to us.

Now it was time to find out. The neon signs indicated they were in business but, more so, the giant "OPEN" sign gave the status away.

The owner laughed and told us that the paint was still wet. He had only received the OK to open the doors roughly an hour before we walked in.

Things were quiet and we took a seat. It wouldn't stay quiet for long.

The Grill is a legend around these parts and yet, somehow, I had never been there until today. As a pizza connoisseur, I was told it was fantastic. But COVID closed it and a famous joke began around town that it would reopen "in two weeks."

Two weeks turned into four years.

I'd driven by many times, almost unaware of it until I figured out what it was.

And now it was my turn to find out.

It lived up to the hype. A chewy, slightly charred pizza adorned the plate in front of me.

Beyond the pizza was the very atmosphere I had heard about. Once the owner figured out who I was, he said he recognized my voice and, while not a big sports fan, spoke of having a "celebrity" on the first day.

I'm not a celebrity, but I really appreciated that.

But the vibe was spot on. Comfortable, friendly, and jovial. People bounded in joyfully as we ate and a slice (yes, I went there) of Greenwich was on full display. It's one that doesn't jive with the usual reputation that Greenwich gets.

Food, drinks, laughs. Affordable.

Sean and I bounded back home happy and full.

We'll be back.

Oh, and parking now stinks on our street. So it goes.

*****

I have an affection for girls sports because it's often so undercovered that I'm always thrilled to fly in the face of that.

I've called several girls championship events in part because I want them to have coverage. This doesn't make me special. It just means I love covering sports.

And so it was that I called tonight's championship game between the Rockland Rockies and North Avalanche.

There aren't many girls hockey teams in Section One -- three, in fact -- but that's of no matter to me. I'm going to call it with the full passion and respect they deserve.

The fans, athletes, and coaches respond to the coverage. They're grateful and it's certainly not taken for granted. The games matter.

With that, the broadcast matters but, then again, it always does.

Photo: Avalanche Girls Varsity Ice Hockey on X (Twitter)

The Avalanche won 5-0. They move on to play next week in the pursuit of a state championship.

But hockey wins. Girls hockey wins. Girls sports win. Because they're all there and they all matter.

Stuffed in the broadcast platform of the Brewster Ice Arena, I was charmed watching all of it.

On the ice after the game, I ran into Avalanche head coach Stacey Wierl. I not only congratulated her but thanked her for the notes and items she sent me to help in preparation for the game.

Her response was that it would only help to grow the game even more. A day after National Girls and Women in Sports Day I couldn't disagree.

You go, girls.

*****

Oh, and Dumb Dumb (that's me) was able to successfully change a great turn signal on the car.

There was actually minimal damage when all was said and done.

And it actually worked (thus: successful).

A blind squirrel occasionally finds a nut.

The exercise also gave me a reason to clean and organize my trunk. I'm not sure that was a successful venture but it was one I still needed to do.

I've got hockey and basketball tomorrow at Brunswick. Hockey Saturday with the Vipers in Poughkeepsie. "Meet the Beatles" on Sunday followed by wrestling at the Westchester County Center.

Then some football game with a blonde singer. Maybe.

That's literally all I've got. 

Game On!

 

The day just started sort of wrong.

Yes, The Cat caused his usual mayhem, including knocking my phone off the nightstand.

Now I was just being stubborn and, in truth, my alarm was going to start beeping soon.

I got up and fed him.

But I was on point. I put myself together and was sitting at my computer, ready for the first job to start at 9 a.m.

And then I discovered it was starting at 10. Oops.

So that all but sealed that I wouldn't be going to UConn for hockey. I mean, there was no way, right?

Funny thing about such assumptions.

I told myself that if the job wasn't over by 1 p.m. there was no realistic way I'd get there in time.

We were done by 11:30. I completed my requirements and headed towards the door.

But first. Wait. Where's my wallet? 

Don't panic, I said. Relax. I checked the clothes I wore yesterday. Nope. I walked around and looked everywhere. Nope.

I felt at least a bead of sweat.

I decided I would walk out to my car. And there, dear reader, dear friend, was my wallet. On the driver's seat.

Phew.

I steadied myself and drove away.

At the end of my block, I turned my signal on to make a right turn. It didn't sound right. It wasn't the usual "tick tick tick tick." It was more like "ticktickticktick."

Hmmm.

But I carried on. Up 95 to 25/8 to 15 to 91. I thought and mentally prepared the whole way.

Except I missed the exit from 8 to 15. Yikes. I immediately turned around at the next exit, reminding myself I did have enough time and still needed something to eat.

That happened in Hartford, where the man behind the counter at Wendy's spoke exceptionally in two languages. I was unfazed -- even charmed -- by him calling everyone "mama" and "pappy." Including me.

Food consumed, I confirmed that I had a burned-out rear turn signal. OK, I'll make the best of it, and carried on on 91 to 15 to 84, 384, and 44 before side roads led me to the still-new Toscano Family Ice Forum at UConn in Storrs.

Like the Martire Family Arena at Sacred Heart, it's a new hockey palace that opened in 2023.

I set up, relaxed, double-checked things, and went on the air just before 3:30.

I made it.

But not all situations are fairy tales. Cushing Academy, Brunswick's opponent, jumped out to leads of 2-0 and 3-1 before the Bruins answered with two power-play goals. The Bruins had a few chances late before the game went to overtime.

Ultimately, the Bruins found themselves a man down on the penalty kill, and Cushing got the game-winner late in OT. A great experience and a very good game ended at 4-3.

I ran into a few families near the entrance to the rink and they were pragmatic. Get 'em next time.

I opted for a quick drive around Storrs before heading to 84. My first stop was an auto part store.

It would be easy! I'd grab bulbs and fix it in the parking lot.

Narrator: It wasn't easy.

There's a panel that needs to be removed to get near the housing for the signal. The night was droning on in the parking lot of the AutoZone in Vernon, CT and I knew this would be best to do at another time.

Driving safely to make sure I tried to indicate my lane changes, I basically repeated my route, cruising towards Hamden on 15 before it...came...to...a...stop.

Construction near the Heroes Tunnel.

I got out of that, marched into Bridgeport, onto 95, and had a game plan.

We needed milk, so I could run into a grocery store. Also, I discovered that I had left my MacBook adaptor and cable at WGCH following "Meet the Beatles" on Sunday, so I would run in and grab that before I went home.

Yes! I love it when a plan comes together! And I made my way through Westport when traffic...came...to...a...stop.

No, seriously. Dead stopped between exits 17 and 16.

Then it picked back up and I was on fire and then it...all...stopped...again.

This time, it was Stamford and, again, just completely stopped.

Finally, I got out of that and went on with running into an Acme next to WGCH's old location (the old Food Emporium) and grabbed milk. Then it was across Greenwich Avenue to WGCH's current location.

UConn basketball was airing on the station when I walked in which reminded me that I had driven by Gampel Pavillion after leaving the hockey rink. It looked like a game was coming up.

It was. And women's head coach Geno Auriemma recorded his 1,200th win. He's the third coach to do it -- men's and women's -- and the fastest.

I didn't have tickets, but I could see in the doors.

This day really did have a little bit of everything.

Tomorrow has girls hockey.

I'll broadcast a championship.

But first I'm going to sleep.

Oh, and I'll try to change the turn signal in the morning.

I see videos on YouTube saying it's easy.

I hope so.

Writing About The Last Minute

 

Toscano Family Ice Forum, UConn.

There are days when I am just so tapped out in this strange exercise of trying to write something.

I saw myself as more of a columnist and yet I hit these lulls when I'm doing nothing more than writing a diary.

Like today.

I was asked last week to keep today open for a deposition. I'm happy to work (of course) and had nothing planned for today, so I did as asked. I was assigned a job and was ready to go on time.

As I recently wrote, if it's on the calendar, then that's it.

But Jeff Alterman reached out with an opening to call basketball in Stratford with him. I had hoped my job wouldn't be long today and I could still go to the game.

It didn't work out. Jeff had to fly solo and didn't try to do anything more than dutifully call the game. It's a wonderful lesson to learn.

I was also asked about taking another job tomorrow. I had checked my calendar and saw that Brunswick hockey was playing a game at the new UConn rink but since I normally don't cover road games (except for football), there was no need to keep it on the calendar.

I deleted the note about hockey and prepared for another assignment tomorrow.

Then the texts began. Tomorrow's Brunswick game is actually significant and they'd love for me to be there.

With great thanks to most parties involved, we decided that I could be a game-time decision.

However, the assignment has to go on as scheduled. The job might be short but given how today's went, I'm not holding my breath. If it ends early enough, then I'll jump in the car.

Again, the key to all of this is that I'm happy to be working. 

But I'd just prefer to have a home base with some kind of normalcy. Oh, I don't need a 9-5 job. There are just days like this where the last-minute ch-ch-ch-changes (turn and face the stranger) get a bit exhausting.

So, tomorrow, I went from having a game in Norwalk to working from home to working from home to working from home and maybe barreling up to Storrs for a hockey game.

You can probably begin to understand why I need a calendar.

But I'm grateful to be wanted. I also went from nothing on Thursday to the honor of calling the Section One Girls Hockey Championship in Brewster.

Girls sports -- and especially girls hockey around these parts -- are woefully under-covered.

As you know, I've called a few of those title games in Connecticut over the years. I was the play-by-play announcer for the game that famously ended in a tie for a variety of reasons, with rink time being the biggest issue. My voice wound up being on a few major channels as a result. 

But it's about the players most importantly.  That situation has not happened since then. The game was moved to where time would not be a problem. I've called a few more of them but conflicts have pulled me off of it.

So I'm thrilled to have the chance to do one in New York on Thursday.

I'm also getting to add wrestling to the schedule again with the Section One Championship at the Westchester County Center on Sunday.

So, yeah, I'm going back to the County Center after basketball last week. It's the first time the County Center is hosting the wrestling championships. The only thing that is missing is Chris Erway next to me. 

Everything has settled down now. Until tomorrow.

I've prepared for a game I may or may not do.

I'm working on preparing for a girls hockey game on Thursday.

Then I have hockey and basketball on Friday.

Then hockey in Poughkeepsie on Saturday.

Then wrestling in White Plains on Sunday.

Oh and there's some football game on Sunday. A girl might be involved with that.

(Side note: people are allowed to be sick of that. People are also allowed to like it. I personally find it harmless, fun, and no worse than seeing Jerry Jones on TV. Opinions are OK. Isn't that sort of the point? Or does it require some kind of passive-aggressive posting of a picture every day for 13 days or whatever? Oh, wait, that's because people like that want to make it political. Shame on them and those who enable them.)

My brain is a bit overloaded.

And thus I write posts that are more like a diary.

The Calendar

 

I always think one of my selling points as a person and as an employee is my reliability.

Sure, I think I'm organized and prepared (bite me*) and have other delightful qualities, but I generally felt I was reliable. I thought it made me appealing to employers and friends in that, if I say I'm going to be there, the odds are excellent that I will be.

Yes, there are exceptions, such as car problems, health, and other mitigating circumstances.

* You've no doubt noticed that I mention preparation a lot. There's a reason. It's a sore subject with me.

Likes Sean, who never missed school, I was always counted on to be at work, school, etc. I didn't often get sick enough that I would stay home. In fact, I'd generally have to be yelled at to give my body a break in such situations.

I had chicken pox when I was 21 and I was working full-time by then. I thought I was healed and tried to go back to the office. Nope. I got sent home.

The same goes for sports. How many games or practices did I miss? The answer is not many. Game broadcasts? Same. I have to lose my voice or something else.

So when I put something on my calendar, it's basically gospel.

Do I forget things? Sure. I make mistakes. I make them on a daily basis.

So I was working with a group that gave me some dates. OK, cool. The dates, dutifully, went on my calendar in Google.

My calendar has evolved over the years to now being digital. It's all synced up with my phone, iPad, and computer. I used to carry a detailed organizer -- very 90s/2000s, I must say -- that I relied on. I had it all color-coded in various highlighters.

I'm content to have one less thing to carry.

In the case of the group in question, I was booked for an event only to show up and find it was double-booked. In short, I was the odd man out and quietly slid out the door with my dignity intact.

Last week, I was scheduled to be back with them. Figuring the best call was to confirm, I texted my contact.

At first, all was well. Yes, see you tomorrow!

Then...

Wait. Not tomorrow!

OK, I said. I have two more on my calendar -- next Wednesday and Thursday. 

He said he'd get back to me.

Sunday morning, just before the CD players failed on me at WGCH, I received word that I wasn't needed this week.

Thus, the events on my calendar were removed.

It's lost work and opens up the days. I'll try to find the good in it.

And I try to be understanding of such circumstances, but I admit my usual obsession with commitment is a bit put off.

It will pass. It happens.

But something about it all doesn't pass the smell test for me.

I'll be back on the air for game broadcasts on Wednesday, two on Friday, and another game on Friday.

Plus -- yes, wait, there's more! -- I got a look at a baseball schedule today. I'm still waiting patiently for Brunswick's, but spring is getting closer.

It will all go on my calendar.

Help Me if You Can

Today's show needed, well, help

 

Not every show is gold and I know that.

Things go wrong, no matter how hard you prepare.

This is the story of today's edition of "Meet the Beatles," which didn't live up to my standards.

Of course, part of the tale is in how things ended. We'll get there.

I was planning to tell more of the history of the band, picking it up with The Ed Sullivan Show appearance on Feb 9, 1964.

I had decided that I would pack all of their CDs into a backpack and utilize the CD players in the studio as well as my computer.

I should tell you that while we have a two-deck CD player, CD 2 doesn't work for some reason. From what I can tell, it doesn't read the CD in the deck. But given my show and another live music show have both recently started, the need for working CD players has become necessary.

As such, a portable CD player has appeared in the studio to serve as CD 2. 

So, cool. We're covered.

I cued up what I wanted to play, which was "Till There Was You," the 1957 Meredith Wilson-penned show stopper from The Music Man. For Paul McCartney that had become a bit of a tender spotlight moment during Beatles shows in the early days.

However, I wasn't playing the studio version from With the Beatles and I stayed away from playing the version they did on The Ed Sullivan Show because the Sullivan estate is a bit protective of such things. I've been working hard to avoid running afoul of any copyright concerns.

So I used the commercially available live version from Anthology 1. OK, good. We're set. I listened to it in cue and was ready. In fact, I had it cued up to a particular spot where McCartney makes a little Beatle pun.

I had a second song ready on CD 2 just in case.

The show went live at 9:06 and I did my introduction, setting up everything for "Till There Was You" to play.

Then I hit play. We'd be waiting a bit longer till there was you or anyone else. No sound came into either my headphones or the monitors in the studio.

Stay calm was my first thought. Thus, I pressed play on CD 2. That also didn't play though that could have been a wrong button pressed on my part.

The most important thing to do in these spots is not panic. I wouldn't say I panicked this morning. I was ready -- prepared if I do say so! -- but nothing was playing. No sound.

And so I fumbled and tried to fill all while maintaining a sense of humor. Plan C was to play "Till There Was You" on my computer.

Except, somehow, the song wasn't on my computer.

Yes, we had a perfect storm on our hands. 

I pivoted to -- seriously -- Plan D, which was to recognize Buddy Holly's passing this week in 1959 and play one of his songs. I was going to do that anyway, and I figured if I could get anything going, I could catch my breath and we'd be fine.

Finally, I was able to cue "Not Fade Away" up on my computer. Eventually, I played a Beatles cover of Holly's "Words of Love," and that was the tie-in to today's show.

The show, which was wildly careening into a ravine, was back on the tracks. Above all, I remained calm.

I wasn't able to complete Beatles history this week but I realized I needed to let up and control what I could control. The technical stuff was out of my hands and this show is a wide-open slate, so who cares how many weeks it takes me to get to 1970?

The years I covered today -- 1964-1966 -- are as pivotal as ever in Beatles history, let alone music history. Consider these are the years that included Rubber Soul and Revolver. There was a lot to cover when you add in the Shea Stadium concerts, John meeting Yoko, and so on.

Needless to say, 1967-1970 will also be monstrous.

I don't want to rush it, of course.

But I do pride myself on running a fairly flawless show. Thus today gnawed at me.

There's nothing I can truly do except to make sure I've done everything in my power to make the show right. There's still a bit of a learning process and I'm growing the show in terms of balancing with an outline but not a script. That's enormously important. There still needs to be some play for ad-libbing.

And boy did I need those skills today.

My expectation is that listeners will always think any presentation of mine is professional and upholds a high standard. In short, I want listeners to say, "That would sound great on a network or as a distribution."

A syndicated show!

I don't expect that to happen ever but it's a good level to reach for.

Keep striving. Keep grinding.

Sometimes, that standard won't quite be met.

Today was one of them.

For the record, I kept testing out the CD players after the show ended and they still didn't work. So, while it may be operator error, there is something that I need to figure out.

In the meantime, I'll just keep playing music off my computer, like it or not.

We'll try it again next week.

Awe and Wonder

 

I'd like to think, deep down, my ability as a broadcaster means that I belong in any arena.

And yet...

I was asked to call two games today at the Public vs. Catholic Hoop Showdown at Westchester County Center in White Plains. 

There were four games total but I was on for the matchup between Scarsdale and Xaverian as well as James Monrow versus Christ the King.

What pleased me -- really, really, really pleased me -- was that I've always wanted to call a game at the County Center. It's truly the cradle of Section 1 basketball and, if you don't know, I grew up in Section 1.

That's Westchester, Putnam, and Rockland counties along with a large chunk of Dutchess County.

We don't really have anything like this in Fairfield County although we have great, prestigious arenas in Bridgeport and on the campuses of Sacred Heart and Fairfield University. We have excellent large gyms and fieldhouses as well at Fairfield Warde and Wilton High Schools.

But the Westchester County Center is different. It's a destination.

I've taken note as so many big games have taken place there.

And I've been asked to call none of them.

I guess my number finally came up, especially as I've taken on calls for powerhouses like Iona Prep and Stepinac, though I have yet to call a Stepinac basketball game. That's a shame because they're having a season for the ages.

So the invitation was a huge thrill for me. Basketball has been played there for years but they've also hosted concerts, the circus, trade shows, WWE wrestling, corporate events, and lots more since it opened in 1930.

The New York Streets arena football team played there for their only season in 2019 and Sean and I were there for their first game.

Even my parents used to talk of going to events there and I thought that was about the coolest thing. I don't know that I've worked in another arena where that was possible.

So while I've been there for the Streets game, baseball card shows, a Sesame Street show for Sean, a couple of corporate events for Kraft, and even to buy tickets at the Ticketmaster window in the lobby, I'd never been for basketball.

That changed today and I was there to be a broadcaster. 

There's always apprehension. Some nerves. This is not a small gig.

To that end, I arrived at the parking lot and was told -- of course -- that my name wasn't on the list. Even though I had an email telling me that my name was on the list. However, the guy at the gate told me to try another parking lot and I might be on that list.

The parking lot he directed me to was behind the County Center near the loading dock door. It was private and a shorter walk.

Nope. I wasn't on that list either but no worry. The guard told me to come on in any way.

With the help of two guys who had just carried some things to the dumpster, I was ushered inside and was soon walking under the basket parallel to the baseline. 

The event was set up by Archbishop Stepinac High School and their head coach, Patrick Massaroni, met me at the scorer's table. Amazingly he was even familiar with my work.

Normally, I expect to be sent to the bleachers or a table in a different location but not here. I was placed at the end, where I could set up my computer and notes.

Producer/Director/Cameraman David Berry came down from the upper level to say hello and go over any concerns. We discussed the myriad promotional reads I'd need to thread in and the technical aspects of the broadcasts. All of our communication during the games would be via text.

So many times, my broadcasts are simple in that there might be a camera operator but otherwise it's my audio being sent back to a studio, be it LocalLive or WGCH. Or Robcasting, in which case I am the studio.

In this situation, the stakes are a bit different.

But, first, before the game came lunch courtesy of a voucher that Coach Massaroni gave me. That resolved one less thing to think about.

So with lunch, drinks, technical concerns, and basically everything else set, I had time to sit in my spot, make some final notes, and think.

And that's when it hits me. Kevin Devaney Jr, who gave me the gig, is basically Mr. Section 1. He has other broadcasters that he could -- and often does -- lean on.

See where this is going? Why was I here and how would I screw it up?

I'd like to think I belong on any broadcast. I'd like to think that I'd be a fine announcer for basically anyone. I'd like to tell you I believe in my talent.

Bzzzzzzt! Wrong!

There's an occasional moment of having to remind myself that I belong.

I shot a message to a few trusted souls, even going so far as to say that I knew they were going to tell me to stop. That's exactly what they did.

I'm sure I had detractors in the audience. That's fine. For that, I bring in Oscar Wilde:

"The critic has to educate the public; the artist has to educate the critic."

That, and his other great quote:

"When critics disagree the artist is in accord with himself."

I did all of the promotional reads, did an interview at halftime with the coach in the lead, and talked to the game MVP after it had concluded.

The game was incredibly well-produced as I watched it on a monitor at the table and even saw that it was on the two big screens at one end of the County Center. David had once again outdone himself and was a joy to work with. In that regard, I'm enormously proud of both broadcasts because they looked good.

I got a roughly 40-minute break after the first game ended and felt like I wanted a nap but I pulled myself together and resumed.

But I was ready for James Monroe and Christ the King. I was buoyed by the fact that I had just seen Christ the King a week earlier against Iona Prep. That meant I already had storylines and familiarity and that matters.

I'd say the second game was better for me than the first.

I guess in this business, especially with job security being what it is, I'm always sort of looking over my shoulder. Indeed, I know there have been people gunning for me for years. I know it. Heck, a few even admitted it. Sometimes, I find that funny. Other times, it gets in my head.

On days like this, the almost soul-crushing self-doubt sits down next to me for a few minutes. 

Then it lingers.

Then, eventually, it's gone.

In many ways, it's healthy because it keeps me humble and grounded as well as hungry.

And that's why I retain such a sense of joy at doing this.

I marveled at everything today.

The building! The seats! The basketball court! The scoreboard! The history! The food!

Eventually, once I started talking, it became the broadcast!

And all was mostly right in the world.

And I hope I get invited back.

The Ugly Duckling

 

I was chatting today with someone who was connected to sports in Greenwich.

I'm not sure he was aware of any of my work but he was interested when he heard that I was a sports broadcaster.

So we chatted about Greenwich hockey broadcasts and other things as he assessed me.

"You definitely have the voice for it," he said.

Then he studied me.

"And you're handsome enough."

"Handsome enough," am I right?

Um. OK. Thanks?

So I felt I had that going for me. Maybe. I'll take the, er, compliment.

Regardless, he was interested in what I do and I appreciated that.

What I do took me over to Brunswick today with a small dilemma. I need to do right by both teams that I cover and, based on my spreadsheet I have covered more hockey games so far this season. 

I felt it was time to choose basketball today since both teams had a 5 p.m. start.

I'd say I probably made the right call though I always feel a hint of guilt. The hockey teams are truly wonderful to me, with so many of them commenting on my work. The basketball families don't seem to talk to me as much, having to do with my calling the games from across the gym from them.

Sill, right is right and unless I was told otherwise, I went with basketball.

Brunswick started off with a 10-0 lead but King School from Stamford got it to 10-9. The Bruins had a 27-25 lead at halftime.

The lead bounced around a bit in the second half with each team having an edge. The energy in the Dann Gym grew as a loud student section came in, and that raised the temperature a bit.

They were talking smack and everyone seemed to be having fun.

Brunswick was down eight before going on an 11-0 run to go up three.

Wick went up three when the Vikings cut it to one. Brunswick was trying to run the clock down but an official called a violation that gave the ball back to the Vikings.

The inbound pass was knocked out of bounds and so it was reset.

Funny thing about buzzer beaters. Obviously, they're great when it's for the team that you cover as a broadcaster. The fans love you and want to hear it and save it and share it.

When you have involvement with either team it's easy to just call it with no vested interest.

When it's for the team you cover and you're at the opposing site, it can be dicey. Not everyone is a good loser.

When it's against the team you cover, regardless of where it is, it can be dicey.

I know I'm probably jumping the gun with the story but Nasir Pettigrew got a pass and sprinted down the lane to the basket, hitting a layup with no time remaining.

In my mind -- always -- I call the moment with the energy it deserves. Brunswick lost 64-63 but I don't think I'm doing my job if I downplay what just happened. 

The play and the athletes associated with the play deserve excitement, energy, and respect for what they've done.

I tried. I don't know if I succeeded but it sounded like this.

The Vikings rushed the floor and even posed for team pictures after the game. I noticed it and I noticed Brunswick people noticing it.

To the victors always goes the spoils but a moment like that doesn't get forgotten by a coach or a player.

The Bruins will be back next week.

For me, it's onto tomorrow as I call two games in the Public vs. Catholic Showdown at Westchester County Center. I've been going to the County Center since I was a kid for a variety of things, including corporate events when I worked at Kraft and baseball card shows where I met both Mickey Mantle and Bobby Murcer.

It's a pretty cool place and, finally, I get to call a game from there.

Two, in fact.

So, handsome or otherwise, I'll still be employed.

Twenty-One

 

No, not that kind of 21 (Paul O'Neill, of course)

So there was a thing on the social interwebs recently about shoeing a picture of yourself at the age of 21.

"Everyone tap in. Let's see you at 21."

Stubborn fool that I am, I tend to avoid such trends and just enjoy them or watch them from afar.

And yet...

I stepped up into the attic last night to see what the photo albums I own might produce.

Ah, yes, that would send us back to turning 21 in Nov 1989.

It took a bit of an effort but I found a picture of a person who, in theory, looks like me.

Yes, that is a Bart Simpson t-shirt that I bought at the Stormville Flea Market. Such was the trend at that time.

And yes, I know how I look. Duly noted. Time and various challenges do things to one's appearance.

Yes, I had hair. It was what some called "wind tunnel tested." It was sort of a knockoff on Huey Lewis, realizing my hair was far too fine to pull such a look off. But hair dryers and hair spray made this thing work for a few years before it came to an end.

I'm standing on the deck of my former in-law's pool in Yorktown Heights, NY and, according to what I could find, it's July 1990.

At that time, I still dabbled in softball, had a lawn to mow at my mother's, and was a fairly tame and -- I'll say it -- boring dude. Somehow I thought that was what I was supposed to be. I thought being someone who loved music, sports, laughter, walking, reading, and travel was a decent guy to be with.

To add to this I drove a light brown Chevrolet Cavalier, which my father helped me pick out because he thought it was a good commuter car that would serve me well. He was right.

I didn't party much. I loved being with my family and friends and that's not too far off from who I am still.

This is under a year-and-a-half after my father had passed and, while I don't look sad necessarily, I sort of feel for the sorry soul that I'm looking at.

I worked for Kraft General Foods at this time, driving to and from White Plains every day and convincing myself that I was just fine in corporate America, while I was probably anything but.

In truth, I worked in finance and had graduated from Connecticut School of Broadcasting earlier that year. Most weekends, I returned to school to practice my trade by making audition cassettes to send to potential employers. Indeed, I'd get my first job -- at Majic 105 -- that September.

It was a long way from there to sports, WGCH, and Robcasting, LocalLive, etc. I had no clue that I'd ever wind up in Greenwich.

I worked among a bunch of 20-somethings who all had degrees had gone away to college and were aiming differently than I was. I was mostly looked down on as I realize now. That's not to say I didn't have friends -- some even to this day -- but there were cliques that I just didn't fit in. 

I was sort of laughed at and mocked.

I was too naive to understand that, I guess.

I suppose I see a lot of that in the picture above.

It wasn't a bad life. I was just sort of lost but that's with hindsight being 20/20.

At the time, I thought I generally had my head on straight and my stuff sort of together.

But the kid from Mahopac standing in Yorktown Heights that day was still going to Yankees games, listening to Huey Lewis, and whatever else I was doing.

Oh, and I'd be back in college later that year if I recall correctly. I stopped going to Westchester Community College after Dad passed. Mentally and emotionally, I needed to stop. A bad accounting class in the spring of 1989 infuriated me. 

Connecticut School of Broadcasting rebuilt my confidence and made me think that I should start back up and carry on. Working full-time and going to school at night, I wouldn't finish my bachelor's degree for another seven years.

So I look at this picture and see how I wish I was still that thin, sure. I look at the picture and wish I could tell myself that the hurt of my father's passing will never end but that I'll be OK. 

I wish I could tell him a few things about the relationship I was in and be prepared. On the other hand, staying the course will produce a wonderful son who turns out better than anyone could wish.

I see a lot of promise in that guy on a sunny day in 1990. Some of it wasn't achieved and, yet, some of it went beyond.

I see me -- warts and all.

I don't necessarily look back with regret. That's not really my style. Yes, what happened with the person who took that picture was abhorrent but it's now all passed and the stories linger. I'm a better person -- and a survivor -- as a result.

Perhaps I wish I could go back and tell myself that writing will be a big part of things one day but nah. There would be a lot of things to discuss and prepare for. But like Back to the Future, why find out our destiny, even if Doc did actually read the letter? 

Jeez. This is getting heavy.

Sean and I went to the grocery store earlier today and I told him about this before showing him the picture.

Then it dawned on me.

"I should just post a picture of you," I said.

We both laughed.

He's me in so many ways.

At 21.

Adios, January

 

Dear First Month of the Year,

On the plus side, I thank you for the fact that I'm still around. Oh, and I called a lot of games. 

I worked. That's good also.

Believe me, I can see the positives.

Otherwise, I'm fairly content to see you limp on out of here.

If we're being honest with each other, you've never been my favorite month anyway. People celebrate your arrival but I honestly don't care.

This year, especially, I want you gone.

I normally dread February a little more but you just seemed to want to rip guts out this year.

Death. Destruction. Heartbreak. I know, every month has that but January 2024 seemed to be on a mission to hurt everyone.

I'm watching too much sadness and fearing that those I care about will never be able to move forward as a result. So the only thing I can hope for is to have January be over with so perhaps it's a fresh start.

I can't stand to see people that sad and suffering. For what it's worth, I suffer by extension.

I realize you're a page on the calendar and it's not your fault, etc, but you'll always be associated with all of this.

The anniversaries -- one month, two months, a year, etc, will never stop.

So, in that regard, it's on you.

You're named for Janus, the Roman god of beginnings and transitions.

Well was your goal to transition to suck?!

I can't get on you too much for the weather unless it's for being annoying. It hasn't been that cold but we've just had a lot of piddly snow and rain storms.

This is the stuff for which people celebrate your arrival?

You'll have work to do to redeem yourself. It's amazing considering February is normally the longest 28-29 days of the year in my opinion but you've somehow set the bar even lower.

I truly wish I could find a moment to toast your departure tomorrow. If my brain is working (don't bet on it), I'll raise my coffee cup in triumph.

Fortunately, Seacrest won't be around.

I look forward to writing the rent check and, honestly, who does that?

But writing Feb 1 or 2/1 just seems a lot better this year.

Thanks for the positives. I tried to be fair.

Yet it's time for you to move along. Hit the road, Jan. Don't you come back no more.

May we not have this same talk next year.

February, you're up. Be better than this.

Otherwise, bring on March.

And I can't even believe I'm saying that.

Burrata Ravioli

 

Greenwich girls basketball warms up at Trumbull tonight.

The day started with The Cat.

Of course, it did.

He wanted to eat and I needed to get up early so it was a win-win, I suppose.

I worked a deposition today for the first time since I'd rather not recall the last one.

This was only supposed to be a few hours since I had a commitment but we all know those are famous last words.

I got them going and went about my day of monitoring them and catching up on a few other things, including preparing for the basketball I was calling tonight.

We started at 10 a.m. and I had been online since before 9. Standard operating procedure there.

We passed Noon. OK, no biggie. However, I set 4 p.m. as my end time.

Well, so much for a couple of hours. The deadline was approaching and they were still chugging along. It happened and everyone was nice on the case. Or at least professional. I was able to hand the remainder off and duck out but also had Sean on standby in case he needed to finish up for me.

It allowed me to work and, obviously, that's a good thing.

But I also hadn't eaten a meal. I needed something or else Greenwich/Trumbull basketball would have sounded bizarre. I would have been hungry, probably angry, and lightheaded.

A dreadful combination.

Thus, and I hate saying this, I stopped at McDonald's.

Oh, there was a time when I was young when that wouldn't have been unusual. Now? I don't do it a lot. In fact, not much at all anymore.

Once in a while, I'll get in the mood for fries or I'll need a quick breakfast. But a burger? No. It's rare these days.

And I ate as I sat in traffic heading up 95 to Trumbull High School.

There was no need to panic and, to that end, I didn't panic. I was on-site in plenty of time for the game, walking in while the JV played.

That being said, I was only about an hour early. That's not my favorite way to roll. I prefer being on-site no less than 90 minutes before but it happens.

But with the aforementioned JV game going on, Jeff Alterman and I couldn't set up anyway. So I chatted with Trumbull coach Steve Tobitsch, athletic director Mike King, and others.

Trumbull has adopted me in small pieces from time to time. You might know that. I've created a strong bond with them, Fairfield, and Greenwich of course.

And Brunswick. I'll be back with them tomorrow.

That's me. Always looking for a home.

Jeff and I called the Trumbull/Greenwich girls basketball game (Trumbull won 45-35) and we packed up. We'll work together again on hockey soon.

He loves bringing in people that I've never met to work with me and, as I've said, that's not something I love, but I realized there's a bit of a method to his madness.

He wants them to work with someone who has been in this business since Marconi was testing wireless signals.

OK, I'm not that old, but still.

I'm too dumb to realize that it's a compliment as well as a sign of respect and he was basically telling me that tonight.

Today was one of those days where I was reminded that I have stories to tell and lessons to teach.

Another edition of STAA's "Calls of the Week" hit "the socials" today and I listened like I do every week. Almost every week, it's roughly 10 play-by-play examples that feature (generally) college-age broadcasters screaming over some "unbelievable" play.

But this week featured a couple of calls that really impressed me, such as Alaina Morris, who I wrote about a few days ago (and basically no one read the post). A few highlights later it was back to ear-splitting screaming.

Look, it's hard to gauge a broadcaster based on just that. It takes a larger sample of their work though I still want to know they won't have a coronary on higher leverage plays.

Or talk over each other, which would get a talking to from me if I were their advisor.

That led to a tweet from that wise sage of Ohio, Mike Hirn, who voiced his frustration as well as an offer to give honest and free critiques. He tagged me and I'm in complete agreement.

And so I'm reviewing a few pieces of work tonight. There are -- yes, really -- some promising broadcasters out there, as well as a few veterans who just need a little cleaning up.

I love doing it. I love supporting other broadcasters however I can, whether it's offering advice on a battery pack to use on a MacBook at a game or listening to a college radio show.

But attitude matters. Don't be a know-it-all. Want to learn. Want to improve. 

That's where you get in trouble with me.

Also, want to pay it forward.

We have a Gus Johnson. Don't be a Gus Johnson.

Be you. Whomever you are.

And thus I drove home from Trumbull High School, hungry and excited to listen to some broadcasts to give free critiques.

In the fridge was a package of burrata ravioli, given to me by a friend.

Pot, water, sauce, mangia!

And on goes the sounds of broadcasters needing a tune-up.

You wondered how the ravioli worked into this post, didn't you?

Now you know.

Keep in mind I didn't really know anything about burrata until I was in London in 2022 and realized I'm a damn fool.

Knowing me, I was eating it without even knowing.

Thank you, Erik Boender.

Check Your Ego at the Door

 

While this is about music, it's not about The Beatles (yes, "Meet the Beatles" will be back next Sunday at 9 a.m. on WGCH and Robcasting).

But it's more about the intersection of music and culture and history.

I just watched the new documentary, The Greatest Night in Pop, on Netflix.

It returns to a long night of recording "We Are the World" on January 28-29, 1985.

Honestly, with the documentary having only come out today, I want to give nothing away.

It's not unfair to say it was a momentous night, following the American Music Awards that evening. Some of the stories of the evening have been told before, as I recall a Life magazine story covering much of what went on.

Of course, this goes deeper.

For the main people in assembling the project, it was a daunting task of picking who would be there and organizing the whole thing.

And damned if my band -- again, not The Beatles -- was there.

Huey Lewis and the News. All six of them were there. The entire band. Huey, Johnny, Chris, Sean, Bill, and Mario. All of them.

They all sang on it and Huey got a solo.

In case you're wondering, that sold me the song. 

Huey Lewis, Cyndi Lauper, Kim Carnes

But it was a who's who of pop at the time, with exceptions of course, as well as icons who might not have been truly relevant at that time. 

Plus a few who sort of didn't make sense to be there in the first place.

Plus the one who just...left.

And the one who never appeared.

But the truth was while their egos weren't going to disappear, everyone on hand needed to stay under control because they had one night to get it right. That's why Quincy Jones posted a sign that read "Please check your egos at the door."

The charity single as well as concerts weren't a new concept in 1985. George Harrison (I think he played in some band) organized The Concert for Bangladesh in Aug 1971 and the accompanying single and, among many others, Bob Geldolf helped create "Do They Know It's Christmas" in Nov 1984.

It was that song that inspired "We Are the World" as both songs were intended to raise funds for famine in Ethiopia.

Of course, in July 1985, Live Aid rocked the world in London and Philadelphia before Farm Aid began and others came along.

At that time, in fact, pop and rock for charity was a bit of a thing. Eventually, it became a bit much.

But for me, this documentary was a welcomed time machine back to being a 16-year-old boy. One detail I'll mention was a shot late in the show of Huey Lewis and Billy Joel hugging. It's very brief but seeing two of my musical heroes in this moment made me feel joy. When you think about it, it was quite rare to have such a list of people in the same place like this. Sure, there are awards shows but this was different.

The documentary is detailed but, honestly, there aren't many salacious details. I'd say, if anything, it focuses mostly on the positive.

And it definitely makes one person out to be a complete hero but I'll leave that to you to watch and figure out.

Even criticism from me is minimal. Normally, I'd be inclined to drop anvils on the artists who weren't exactly favorites of mine -- then and/or now -- but the joy I felt in flashing back minimized those feelings for me.

I don't even think I rolled my eyes. I made the conscious decision to watch this without judgment and just enjoy it.

Was it flawed? Sure. I never thought the song was particularly great despite the awards it won. I thought "Do They Know It's Christmas" was vastly better.

I also thought the cross-section of artists was interesting and certainly not very deep. That being said it was a pretty representative collection of artists for the time. If you were alive in 1985 I'm fairly certain you knew who everyone was in that room that night into the next morning.

I was a sophomore at Mahopac High School that night and almost definitely watched the American Music Awards since Huey and the band were there. I had a poster from a picture taken that night of Huey with Madonna. I was never a Madonna fan, for the record.

This also would have been through my first season as a member of the hard-rocking Mahopac High School bowling team. 

Music was my constant in the world, as I donned headphones to listen to my Walkman on the bus rides and wherever else I was allowed.

Thus, the idea of "We Are the World" was fairly epic.

And thus, so is this documentary.

It seems trite in hindsight. Almost phony. There were eventual criticisms of the charity concept, especially with concerns that the money wasn't going where it belonged.

But the music -- especially Live Aid -- has stood up.

Hard to believe that we're approaching 40 years since that all happened.

If you have any interest in the music of the era, give The Greatest Night in Pop a view.

It was a night when the heart of rock...um...pop...was still beating.

Miles of Games and Smiles

 

Ethan Long shoots the ball (Brunswick School photo)
Note: I'm not sure which photographer took it

In the above picture, there's a figure on the far right in the background. Upon zooming in, you can see he's wearing a headset and glasses with a vest and a black sweater.

Yes, that's me.

And it's exactly where I belong.

I appreciate any picture that shows me at work. I'm thrilled by it. It's me in my element. It shows the grind of being omnipresent and telling the story.

But I'm only a conduit to the stars. I'm doing the talking and the players and coaches are doing what matters. They can do what they do without me.

This was taken yesterday during Brunswick's victory over The Masters School. The Bruins opened a big lead and held on. I'll be back with them next week for hockey and probably more basketball. But the days are counting down in the regular season. In fact, I got a look at the Brunswick lacrosse schedule and I'm comfortable in believing I'll be on quite a few of those broadcasts. 

I'm patiently (OK, impatiently) awaiting a Brunswick baseball schedule so I can start lining everything up. I'm sort of fond of calling baseball.

But I've also reached a great point of comfort with lacrosse, given I was utterly clueless when I called my first game roughly 20 years ago. But it allowed me to know that with even a basic knowledge I can make it work.

I love winter sports. I love spring weather.

And I love the rhythm of a baseball broadcast.

Soon.

After Brunswick, I went to Poughkeepsie for the second Hudson Valley Vipers regular season game in team history. I had the same setup as last time in the stands but I arrived too early to set up.

A Marist College hockey game was going on when I walked in. I sat down near their student broadcasters and even listened to their broadcast on YouTube.

I studied and made adjustments to my Vipers roster as I waited. There were quite a few, in fact. 

I got to watch the rink go through the quick change from college hockey to the Vipers and chatted with the Marist broadcasters for a few minutes. The advice, as always, is the same:

- Practice your craft.

- Grind. Take internships if you can. Don't say no to opportunities.

- Build your network of contacts.

By the way, neither asked to stay in touch. I'm not offended but given I just said "Build your network of contacts," well, there you go.

They took off and I set up. The Vipers played the Norfolk Mallards, who shared the broadcast via their social media accounts. That small thing produced a nice audience and a few kind comments. 

There are still kinks to work out there and that includes for me. For the next game, I don't have another job that day and that will help reduce a little stress.

I called this game without the moral support of the first game when I had family nearby. But I had extended family, as a group of my Renegdeas colleagues were in the house. A member of the Gades staff plays for the Vipers so that added to the fun of the evening.

Alas, the Vipers lost 6-2. I took my time to pack up and was actually the only person in the stands when I left.

I walked up to the pitch-black parking garage (nothing scary about that) and got out of Poughkeepsie. It was a long but uneventful ride back to Greenwich and I didn't get to bed until 1:30 this morning.

I fed the cat before I went to bed, thinking I'd be able to sleep through his usual morning nonsense. Nobody told him that schedule. He still tried to wake me up early.

Of course, I had to get up and go to WGCH for the second edition of "Meet the Beatles."

Today I began telling the history of the group, stretching from the birth of producer George Martin through John meeting Paul followed by George and introducing the audience to Stu Sutcliffe and Pete Best as well as Andy White, Mal Evans, Brian Epstein, and others in the Beatles' orbit.

I was also able to play a few songs that inspired the Fabs. I laughed about it on the air but I'll stand by what I said: Tell me another American radio show or station playing "Rock Island Line," the skiffle version of a folk song written in 1929.

The version released by Lonnie Donegan in 1955 influenced The Quarrymen, the pre-Beatles band led by John Lennon. The Quarrymen were part of the skiffle revival in the United Kingdom in the 1950s.

I also played clips of "Twenty Flight Rock" and "Raunchy," the songs that Paul McCartney and George Harrison, respectively, played for John after meeting him.

But I backed out of both songs because I feared I was losing the audience. I know I should trust my gut on these things but I'm trying to create a show that is part history, a lot of music, and all fun and good.

I know I was energized by the end of the show to do it again next week.

That's a good feeling.

*****

Of course, I'll watch it but it will be the Insufferable Super Bowl.

New Discoveries

 

Screenshot of Alaina Morris from X

You know I've never been the type to just pat on the head.

Especially when it comes to play-by-play.

Students get honest assessments that attempt to be hard, fair, and also encouraging. But so many simply want to hear they're great.

So I was on the interwebs in the dark hole known as X (and I still say Twitter) this morning when I encountered a post from Kris Freeman who does PA announcing, play-by-play, and is an adjunct professor of media and broadcasting.

Sounds like my kind of person.

Kris shared a reel from a young broadcaster named Alaina Morris. Alaina is a student at Lipscomb who has served, per her bio, as an analyst for soccer and a women's basketball beat writer covering Vanderbilt. 

But she also called some play-by-play recently for women's basketball as Lipscomb hosted Florida Gulf Coast.

Final score: FGCU 75, Lipscomb 54. 

Nervously, according to Kris Freeman, Alaina shared her reel on Twitter.

And. She. Was. Awesome.

She is composed, measured, clear, and precise, with a wonderful voice and a masterful attention to detail. There's excitement in her voice but she uses it properly as a tool to demonstrate when it's time to get to the next level.

The video doesn't make it clear if she has an analyst but it sounds like she is alone which I also find impressive.

Additionally, she is doing a radio call which I can't stress enough how important it is to learn and, in my opinion, start with. The play-by-play announcer is so important to radio and teaches the broadcaster the skills to be detailed before heading to video.

I realize these are just 58 seconds of her work but I'm impressed and intrigued. There is no sense of entitlement or attitude in her call. 

She's just a pro already. It's obvious. From what I hear she has wonderful talent to be a multimedia star and her future is wide open.

Again, it's only 58 seconds (the link to the reel is here), but I immediately followed her to keep in touch and watch how her career develops.

These are the stories that, as a teacher, mentor, and honest critic, I love to discover. I'll help guide in any way for a person like this.

Sometimes, hard love (and a little karma) is what is needed.

So far, I sense none of that is needed here.

Keep it going, Alaina.

Now, I have two games of my own to go call!

The Voice is My Calling Card

 

From my first trip to Iona Prep in December

I've talked about the conundrum of being our own hype people before.

So I tell you this brief story understanding I risk sounding like a narcissist when, in reality, I remain dazzled that people would ever notice such things.

I got an offer to call Iona Prep basketball once again. The game was tonight against an outstanding team from Christ the King in Queens.

The Iona Prep broadcast setup is simple and nice. They put a small desk in the stands and, as it's a small gym, the stands are where the broadcaster has to sit. But it's high enough to sit and see the whole gym.

I bring my own equipment, find the input to send my audio to LocalLive's camera, and voilà! Sitting in the stands doesn't do much for my back but so be it. This isn't my first rodeo and the setup provided by the school is a nice touch.

So, basically, I'm willing to go back anytime they ask.

I finished up "Doubleheader" at home and jumped in the car for the drive down the Hutchinson River Parkway. If -- BIG IF -- traffic is moving, it's a decent drive to New Rochelle and the school is right next to the parkway.

I parked and walked in.

Two gentlemen sat at a desk selling tickets to the game. Of course, I get in because of what I do, but I still have to get their approval.

Normally, it's easy. I just say I'm the broadcaster or something along those lines and I get a smile and a nod to go on my way.

That all went as usual tonight, except there was more.

The two guys welcomed me before one commented.

"That's the voice I've been hearing," he said.

It was a reference to my previous two appearances at Iona Prep. Apparently, I'm doing something right. He acknowledged liking my work and wished me well.

Normally, I just try to disappear into the background but I was grateful for this.

These little glimpses of kindness are good reminders to keep grinding. I didn't know I would become a broadcaster for Iona Prep in any way when this season began. I did a few Archbishop Stepinac football games back in the fall and also had a blast doing those.

From there, if my name isn't remembered, I appreciate if my voice -- or, more notably, my ability to broadcast a game -- is.

As I've said, you never know where these roads will lead you.

Unfortunately, Iona Prep never found the lead tonight. They were down double figures and got within one but couldn't get the big shot to take over. The Gaels lost to the Royals.

Packing up, another gentleman walked over to my little broadcast desk behind the public address announcer and the scorer's table.

He just wanted to tell me that he had the game on his phone and he was listening from the bleachers on the other side of the gym. He also complimented my work, finishing by saying, "You do a great job."

Sometimes, I feel forgotten and disappointed when I don't get certain opportunities. I also know I get looked down on for not having what people consider to be "bigger" gigs. Personally, I'm just happy to keep working, wherever it is. I chose the path I'm on.

This has become a nice addition to my collection of broadcast sites.

I'm not "Voice of the Gaels" but that's OK. I have a couple of teams who like to call me their "voice" even if I resist calling myself that.

Three games do not a "voice" make and one shouldn't just walk in and announce they are that very thing.

No. They should not.

But these three games have been fun, despite the loss tonight.

Iona Prep and their fans seem to like what I'm doing. As I continue to sometimes wonder if I have a home, I'll take every kind word I can get.

Speaking of which, I'm back to Brunswick tomorrow with a long day ahead. I have basketball first there before driving to Poughkeepsie to call the Hudson Valley Vipers/Norfolk Mallards hockey game.

It's been a good stretch and my voice is surviving so we move to tomorrow.

Three

 

Three games.

Three states.

And I'm all about it.

It's just before faceoff of the Power Prep Hockey League All-Star Games at Martire Family Arena in Fairfield.

Wow. This place is incredible.

But, seven minutes before the expected game time, there's a practice still going on.

Ah, ice time and such.

So it goes. 

This will be the second game of the day and I just wanted to throw a few words on here in case I don't have time later.

So, while I'm up on the suite/press level, well, they've locked the door to this area. That means if I walk out I can't get back in. I found that out an hour back and had to have someone open the door for me. 

Therefore, I'm in here and dinner will have to wait I guess.

Bridgewater Sports Arena

The first game broadcast went without a hiccup as I traveled to Bridgewater, NJ for Rockets Hockey Club and the Jersey Hitmen.

The Rockets cruised to a 7-1 victory. The setup was incredibly easy and -- don't tell anyone -- I used my own equipment. It was my headset and mixer that drove the broadcast.

Trust me, not a soul noticed. 

I packed up and was out of the rink by 2 p.m. to start driving to Fairfield, CT. Shockingly -- no, really, it was an easy drive. Traffic got heavy and slowed up but if you know anything about Merritt Parkway then you know how it gets out there.

I cruised here and pulled in just around 4 p.m.

Now, I wait.

The Zamboni is about to hit the ice and practice has ended.

The broadcast will begin soon.

*****

It's 10:15 p.m. and I'm finally home.

The all-star games were weird in that I didn't have to bring any equipment in other than my computer and an audio interface that allows me to bring my sound into the MacBook for Robcasting.

Otherwise, the games were played quickly without the Zamboni coming out between periods. Both games were highly competitive and fun to watch.

Elite Hockey Academy coach Peter Alden -- the man who invited me to call these games -- did me a favor when he discovered that I was trapped on press level without food and ordered me a sandwich for dinner.

I ate it after the games were over. Shame on me for rushing to the arena and not grabbing food. 

Oh, yeah, after the games were over. Nothing like discovering you're so locked in that the arena pulled a gate closed!

Now, keep in mind that four people were on that level at one point: me, the cameraman, a PA announcer, and a graphics/music person.

Somehow someone never checked that there were still a few people up there because the PA and graphics guys got out.

With the help of a person who didn't have a key to said gate, I was able to access a side door at the other end of the suite level.

I strolled out into the night and had to maneuver down a hill of wet grass to reach my car. Fortunately, I had boots on with a good tread.

Another tale has been told.

And, oh, I have another basketball game tomorrow.

Then two more on Saturday.

Then "Meet the Beatles" on Sunday.

And I have to do a quick chat at 7:50 tomorrow morning on WGCH.

I'm nuts.

And, again, I wouldn't have it any other way.