A week is in the books for HS sports so here are some observations from what I've seen and heard.
On the football front, New Britain isn't getting much respect from around the state based on its past performance but this year's team is deep in talent. How it maifests itself remains to be seen but coach Paul Morrell has size, speed, experience in key spots and an embarassing wealth of offensive talent.
The five-point margin of victory against Conard doesn't truly tell the story. When the chips were down, the 'Canes took command and held a 24-13 lead late in the game that looked like it would stand. A blocked punt led to Conard's late score, and the Chieftains could have put themselves in a position for a dramatic comeback win if the ensuing onside kick had bounced their way.
The 'Canes went to the air early, exploiting the depth and talent they possess in their wide receiving corps.
It's easy to look at the name "Tebucky Jones Jr." and surmise that any son of the former NBHS, Syracuse and New England Patriots star would have to be the second coming. But Jones the Junior should be respected in his own right. He's explosive, elusive and has that intangible quality that the great athletes have. He had the wherewithal to snag what proved to be the winning touchdown pass as he lay flat on his back in the end zone. He was also effective on the end sweep.
QB Rafal Garcarz, a junior now in his third year as a varsity starter (freshman starter at St. Paul), has other go-to guys on the outside. Tarik Hightower and Markeith Cirenna were effective against Conard. Speedsters Selwyn Cartie and Chris Linares, presently concentrating on their defensive assignments as cover corners, can be used in Morrell's spread when he chooses to leave an empty backfield.
I have seen two volleyball matches thus far and came away impressed with both Berlin and Southington.
Berlin whipped a talented, well-coached Avon team three straight on the road in a brand, new gymnasium. Outside hitter Katelyn Zarotney, Herald athlete of the week, may be the top female athlete in the area this season. As it is with Tebucky Jr., she has that Larry Bird quality of savoir-faire (that's roughly translated as 'know how' but it sounds so elegant in French). She can hit them hard, but she has a knack for hitting 'em where they ain't.
But Berlin also has a deep, experienced group with Sarah Byrnes, Lindsay Roeder, setter Erica Bukowski and Krystie Luczynski. Byrnes has the benefit of playing with the Berlin basketball team that made a dramatic run in the postseason last year. She knows how to win.
Defensive specialists Carina D’Amato and Francesca Pedemonti are relative newcomers to varsity play who are learning quickly from their veteran teammates.
Southington exhibited a well-balanced attack force in ending nine years of frustration against Bristol Eastern.
The Eastern defense could not focus on any one SHS hitter because spikes were coming from nearly every place on the floor. Lexie Broytman, a 6-1 junior, led the way but Katie Byrnes, Liz Nichols, Lauren Bauchiero and Elyse St. Amand all smashed away at the Lancers' defense.
The Lancers had won 15 straight matches against Southington, several which SHS coach Rich Heitz recalls like they happened yesterday, but the Blue Knights weren't riding any waves of emotion. With setter Rachel Volpe guiding the way, they methodically turned back an Eastern squad that had been to the Class L finals three consecutive years and walked away with two titles.
But the pendulum swings at most smaller public schools when it comes to prolonged success and Eastern coach Stacy Rivoira has to bring together an inexperienced group if the Lancers are to retain their lofty spot in CT volleyball circles this season.
See you at the game.
Tuesday, September 16, 2008
Thursday, September 11, 2008
WHO'S GOT THE POWER?
The match between Farmington and Glastonbury featured perhaps the most crisp high school soccer I've ever seen. Unfortunately, the big crowd that rolled into Tunxis Mead and parked it at Al Bell Field did not get to see it come to a conclusion.
With 12:35 remaining in a 1-1 battle, a power surge put out half the lights that so brilliantly illuminate one of the best soccer fields in the state. The lights gradually came back, but with the 8 p.m. start, the hour at 10 and the scoreboard out of commission, the contest was suspended until today at 5:30.
Nevertheless, the play exhibited the kind of electricity that no surge could extinguish.
Farmington scored first on a little free-kick trickery when Alex Ayer leaped over the ball and Spencer Noon hit it perfectly from 25 yards out to beat Adam LaPlaca, surely among the state's best goalkeepers, to the left corner.
Glastonbury countered with just 10 seconds remaining in the first half. When I tell you Glastonbury forward Giuseppe Panajia is fast, that four-letter word doesn't convey the picture. He gets his feet moving so quickly that it resembles the circular buzzsaw that the roadrunner displays on that famous old cartoon when Wile E. Coyote gets a little too close.
Panajia, who scored the tying goal on a through-ball from Trevor Constantine, mixed a heap of determination into his runs as the top-ranked Tomahawks tried to draw even over the chorus of "Over-rated" from FHS students. I admire the kids' school spirit but I wouldn't say Glastonbury is overrated.
Panajia, by the way, was the lad who ended Farmington's tournament run prematurely last year when he scored in the second overtime to give his side a 1-0 win at the Mead.
Nor would I say Farmington is. The Indians are ranked fifth, and they were very impressive, too. With Noon's talents very well-documented in The Herald, among others who caught my eye were Ayer, sophomore Kevin Michalak and active goalkeeper Josh Kulak. I thought Farmington coach Steve Waters had his boys in midseason form.
Getting back to the power problem, it was disturbing that the teams had to go through this suspension. The Glastonbury people voiced their irritation with the facility, which was probably stated out of big-game tension. I also heard a game administrator mention that the lights had not been tested prior to the game.
The lights came on during the girls game, which started at about 6 p.m. they had been on for about two hours when the scene dimmed. Perhaps if they were tested beforehand the problem could have been avoided. With well over 1,000 in attendance, it was a "brown-eye" that the town didn't need.
But kilowatts aside, it was a marvelous match to begin Farmington's transition into the more competitive world of the Central Connecticut Conference. And while Waters' Indians may not run off their usual 16-2 or 17-1 this year, they will certainly be more prepared for the rigorous Class LL tournament, the only level at which Waters hasn't won in his illustrious quarter-century guiding the team.
With 12:35 remaining in a 1-1 battle, a power surge put out half the lights that so brilliantly illuminate one of the best soccer fields in the state. The lights gradually came back, but with the 8 p.m. start, the hour at 10 and the scoreboard out of commission, the contest was suspended until today at 5:30.
Nevertheless, the play exhibited the kind of electricity that no surge could extinguish.
Farmington scored first on a little free-kick trickery when Alex Ayer leaped over the ball and Spencer Noon hit it perfectly from 25 yards out to beat Adam LaPlaca, surely among the state's best goalkeepers, to the left corner.
Glastonbury countered with just 10 seconds remaining in the first half. When I tell you Glastonbury forward Giuseppe Panajia is fast, that four-letter word doesn't convey the picture. He gets his feet moving so quickly that it resembles the circular buzzsaw that the roadrunner displays on that famous old cartoon when Wile E. Coyote gets a little too close.
Panajia, who scored the tying goal on a through-ball from Trevor Constantine, mixed a heap of determination into his runs as the top-ranked Tomahawks tried to draw even over the chorus of "Over-rated" from FHS students. I admire the kids' school spirit but I wouldn't say Glastonbury is overrated.
Panajia, by the way, was the lad who ended Farmington's tournament run prematurely last year when he scored in the second overtime to give his side a 1-0 win at the Mead.
Nor would I say Farmington is. The Indians are ranked fifth, and they were very impressive, too. With Noon's talents very well-documented in The Herald, among others who caught my eye were Ayer, sophomore Kevin Michalak and active goalkeeper Josh Kulak. I thought Farmington coach Steve Waters had his boys in midseason form.
Getting back to the power problem, it was disturbing that the teams had to go through this suspension. The Glastonbury people voiced their irritation with the facility, which was probably stated out of big-game tension. I also heard a game administrator mention that the lights had not been tested prior to the game.
The lights came on during the girls game, which started at about 6 p.m. they had been on for about two hours when the scene dimmed. Perhaps if they were tested beforehand the problem could have been avoided. With well over 1,000 in attendance, it was a "brown-eye" that the town didn't need.
But kilowatts aside, it was a marvelous match to begin Farmington's transition into the more competitive world of the Central Connecticut Conference. And while Waters' Indians may not run off their usual 16-2 or 17-1 this year, they will certainly be more prepared for the rigorous Class LL tournament, the only level at which Waters hasn't won in his illustrious quarter-century guiding the team.
Sunday, September 7, 2008
HS SPORTS, HERE WE COME
With the Eastern League season over and the Rock Cats tucked in for the offseason, I've swung back to high school sports coverage.
The first hurdle is the largest -- previews.
When done correctly, previews make a lot of readers happy and serve as a great reference for me for the course of the season and even into the next season. Doing previews gives me a great chance to talk to coaches. Some of them are hard to reach because they're so busy so I usually end up spending a lot of time waiting for the phone to ring.
That's why they're no fun. As soon as you step out, the phone starts to ring. But our coaches are generally great folks who dedicate so much time toward the development of our student-athletes with very little financial gain.
In recent years, I've previewed boys and girls soccer along with a couple of football teams. In football, I've talked extensively with Southington coach Bill Mella and New Britain's Paul Morrell. Both guys are terrific people with nothing but the best interests in mind for their athletes. Both have a chance for tremendous seasons.
Southington has a chance to strike a blow for much-maligned CT HS football when the Blue Knights travel to Giants Stadium to take on Bergen Catholic. Mella tells me that Bergen draws students to the school from all over the country. Aficionados of national HS football know that Bergen ranks right up there with the best. The Knights have their hands full. It's a very ambitious challenge.
New Britain has a massive front line, an experienced quarterback and plenty of speed, including Tebucky Jones Jr. Morrell has also secured a grant under the Play It Smart program to help address his players' academic issues. Keeping his kids on the field by educating them about the importance of studying and earning good grades is vital to New Britain's success. Last year, grades came out before the big game against Southington and the Hurricanes were just a shell of what they could have been. Hurricane super-booster Craig Johnson is on the job, aiding the players with their studies.
On the soccer scene, excitement reigns.
There are so many fabulous female soccer stars in the area: Blair Ferry of Berlin; Jewel Robinson and Bonnie Boornazian of Farmington; Annie Freer, Alexis Braziel and Shauna Edwards of Southington; Heather Lyhne and young Alex DeCaro of Wethersfield. All of those teams are capable of making deep tournament runs.
On the boys side, kudos to Farmington coach Steve Waters, who will be honoring local soccer legends at his home games. More to come on that. The Indians move to the CCC and their schedule is very difficult. Imagine, starting with Glastonbury and Simsbury.
Look for major improvement at Plainville. Tim Brown is in his second year there and he has the program on solid ground. The Blue Devils have a chance to leave years of struggle behind them and should make the tournament this year.
Wethersfield coach Rob Jachym has some rebuilding to do but he's got some talented players in the middle of the field. His team is already iimproving in leaps and bounds as the preseason plays out.
Other sports will be interesting, too. Volleyball, field hockey, swimming, cross country. Get out there and see some games. These kids deserve your support.
The first hurdle is the largest -- previews.
When done correctly, previews make a lot of readers happy and serve as a great reference for me for the course of the season and even into the next season. Doing previews gives me a great chance to talk to coaches. Some of them are hard to reach because they're so busy so I usually end up spending a lot of time waiting for the phone to ring.
That's why they're no fun. As soon as you step out, the phone starts to ring. But our coaches are generally great folks who dedicate so much time toward the development of our student-athletes with very little financial gain.
In recent years, I've previewed boys and girls soccer along with a couple of football teams. In football, I've talked extensively with Southington coach Bill Mella and New Britain's Paul Morrell. Both guys are terrific people with nothing but the best interests in mind for their athletes. Both have a chance for tremendous seasons.
Southington has a chance to strike a blow for much-maligned CT HS football when the Blue Knights travel to Giants Stadium to take on Bergen Catholic. Mella tells me that Bergen draws students to the school from all over the country. Aficionados of national HS football know that Bergen ranks right up there with the best. The Knights have their hands full. It's a very ambitious challenge.
New Britain has a massive front line, an experienced quarterback and plenty of speed, including Tebucky Jones Jr. Morrell has also secured a grant under the Play It Smart program to help address his players' academic issues. Keeping his kids on the field by educating them about the importance of studying and earning good grades is vital to New Britain's success. Last year, grades came out before the big game against Southington and the Hurricanes were just a shell of what they could have been. Hurricane super-booster Craig Johnson is on the job, aiding the players with their studies.
On the soccer scene, excitement reigns.
There are so many fabulous female soccer stars in the area: Blair Ferry of Berlin; Jewel Robinson and Bonnie Boornazian of Farmington; Annie Freer, Alexis Braziel and Shauna Edwards of Southington; Heather Lyhne and young Alex DeCaro of Wethersfield. All of those teams are capable of making deep tournament runs.
On the boys side, kudos to Farmington coach Steve Waters, who will be honoring local soccer legends at his home games. More to come on that. The Indians move to the CCC and their schedule is very difficult. Imagine, starting with Glastonbury and Simsbury.
Look for major improvement at Plainville. Tim Brown is in his second year there and he has the program on solid ground. The Blue Devils have a chance to leave years of struggle behind them and should make the tournament this year.
Wethersfield coach Rob Jachym has some rebuilding to do but he's got some talented players in the middle of the field. His team is already iimproving in leaps and bounds as the preseason plays out.
Other sports will be interesting, too. Volleyball, field hockey, swimming, cross country. Get out there and see some games. These kids deserve your support.
Tuesday, August 19, 2008
REMINISCING ON MY SPECIAL DAY
I just read my friend and colleague Scott Whipple’s exceptional piece in today’s Herald (Aug. 19) on the nostalgia that captivates him when a new bank opens.
It just so happens that Scott picked my birthday, number 56, on which to write the kind of story that has made him a beloved local legend in our little corner of the world. Between his quotation from “It’s a Wonderful Life” – you remember, an emotional, young Jimmy Stewart, a breathtakingly beautiful Donna Reed, and Lionel Barrymore’s classic old miser – and my milestone, it got me to waxing nostalgic.
I remember when my Dad got up into his late 70s and 80s that all he wanted to talk about was his past. We had heard the stories so many times but we rarely interrupted him as he painted vivid pictures about a kinder, gentler New Haven, summers at Momauguin (East Haven shoreline) and World War II’s European theater.
I find myself traveling the same path as I reminisce about my 56 years. Almost everything seems to focus on the past, partly because that’s what folks my age tend to do and partly because present trends disturb me.
With the Rock Cats on the road for 12 days, it was the perfect time for Lisa (Mrs. Sportswriter, the best companion a person can have) and me to hit the vacation trail. We’re not the European jet-set type, mind you. Gas prices be damned, we love to hit the road, hug the country lanes instead of the interstates and wind up well off the beaten path where we can discover what’s left of America’s true warmth.
We went to Old Forge, N.Y. Where, you say? Old Forge is a nice destination for folks from Syracuse and Rochester but virtually unheard of this far away. It’s nestled in the southwest corner of the Adirondack Park, a 6-million acre chunk of New York State that President Theodore Roosevelt proclaimed, “Forever Wild” during his legendary administration over a century ago.
We cruised on a small U.S. mailboat on the pristine Fulton Chain of Lakes. We shopped at the hardware store that resembled something out of Andy Griffith’s Mayberry. We drove through Blue Mountain Lake, the quaint town of Inlet and past expansive Raquette Lake, far enough from the commercial urban sprawl that has framed our generation.
On the way back, Lisa graciously allowed me to make my biannual pilgrimage to Cooperstown, the home of the game that has shaped my life. We also went to Howe Caverns – my third visit but Lisa’s first. It will never get tired to jump into an elevator, descend 155 feet into the earth and exit in a 52-degree world of stalactites and stalagmites.
We capped it off by attending the Vintage Base Ball World Series, a recreation of the game as it was in the 1980s, trimmed with plenty of extras to freeze an American scene of long ago.
Nostalgia. Scottie? Lisa? I guess it’s just what old folks do. And at 56, with an aching back, an expanding waist line and a love for what used to be, I certainly qualify.
It just so happens that Scott picked my birthday, number 56, on which to write the kind of story that has made him a beloved local legend in our little corner of the world. Between his quotation from “It’s a Wonderful Life” – you remember, an emotional, young Jimmy Stewart, a breathtakingly beautiful Donna Reed, and Lionel Barrymore’s classic old miser – and my milestone, it got me to waxing nostalgic.
I remember when my Dad got up into his late 70s and 80s that all he wanted to talk about was his past. We had heard the stories so many times but we rarely interrupted him as he painted vivid pictures about a kinder, gentler New Haven, summers at Momauguin (East Haven shoreline) and World War II’s European theater.
I find myself traveling the same path as I reminisce about my 56 years. Almost everything seems to focus on the past, partly because that’s what folks my age tend to do and partly because present trends disturb me.
With the Rock Cats on the road for 12 days, it was the perfect time for Lisa (Mrs. Sportswriter, the best companion a person can have) and me to hit the vacation trail. We’re not the European jet-set type, mind you. Gas prices be damned, we love to hit the road, hug the country lanes instead of the interstates and wind up well off the beaten path where we can discover what’s left of America’s true warmth.
We went to Old Forge, N.Y. Where, you say? Old Forge is a nice destination for folks from Syracuse and Rochester but virtually unheard of this far away. It’s nestled in the southwest corner of the Adirondack Park, a 6-million acre chunk of New York State that President Theodore Roosevelt proclaimed, “Forever Wild” during his legendary administration over a century ago.
We cruised on a small U.S. mailboat on the pristine Fulton Chain of Lakes. We shopped at the hardware store that resembled something out of Andy Griffith’s Mayberry. We drove through Blue Mountain Lake, the quaint town of Inlet and past expansive Raquette Lake, far enough from the commercial urban sprawl that has framed our generation.
On the way back, Lisa graciously allowed me to make my biannual pilgrimage to Cooperstown, the home of the game that has shaped my life. We also went to Howe Caverns – my third visit but Lisa’s first. It will never get tired to jump into an elevator, descend 155 feet into the earth and exit in a 52-degree world of stalactites and stalagmites.
We capped it off by attending the Vintage Base Ball World Series, a recreation of the game as it was in the 1980s, trimmed with plenty of extras to freeze an American scene of long ago.
Nostalgia. Scottie? Lisa? I guess it’s just what old folks do. And at 56, with an aching back, an expanding waist line and a love for what used to be, I certainly qualify.
Sunday, August 10, 2008
PC POLICE INVADE LITTLE LEAGUE DREAM
Little League, like so much in America these days, has been swept up in a wave of political correctness that gives credence to the oft-discussed notion that adults can sure make a mess out of a beautiful children’s game.
It was tragic that professional baseball has gotten so caught up in the inanity of the pitch-count limit. The way I see it, some pitchers have great mechanics and as they go through a successful game should not be governed by how many pitches they’ve thrown.
At least among the pros, intercession is based on the philosophy of the organization as interpreted by pitching coaches who have dedicated their lives to the craft.
In Little League, under the premise that kids’ arms need to be protected, an 85-pitch limit has been imposed. Now this is nothing that just came about. It’s just that I hadn’t seen a Little League game in awhile until I covered the New England Regional championship Saturday in which Shelton edged Manchester, N.H., 2-1, in a thrilling contest that went down to the final pitch.
So at 85 pitches, it is deemed dangerous for a boy to continue pitching. When he hits 85, he can finish throwing to the batter he’s facing, then must be replaced on the mound.
Has anybody ever proven that the reason for so many arm injuries for pitchers at every level can be correlated with how many pitches are thrown? It’s utter nonsense. Common sense should take precedent. When a coach can see that a pitcher is laboring, it’s time to come out. That’s where injury may occur. It could be 50 pitches for one and 150 for another.
And who determined that throwing extra pitches wouldn't strengthen somebody's arm instead of risking it to injury? Do weight-lifters bench-press fewer times as they seek to tighten their muscles? Do milers run fewer laps when they try to cut their time?
The problem lies in mechanics, not repetitions. Throwing a baseball with an overhand motion goes against the natural movements of the elbow and shoulder joints. If the process is done in an overly violent manner, or a pitcher resorts to twisting and contorting his arm to make pitches move, that’s where injuries occur. When he uses his whole body and learns the proper angles, he's less likely to suffer injury.
The idea that young pitchers should not throw curveballs is more appropriate thinking. A curveball, when thrown properly, shouldn’t damage young arms, but can be devastating when thrown improperly. Now, how many Little League coaches are adept at teaching kids to throw curveballs properly?
I recall one issue when I was covering Little League extensively corroborates my opinion. An 11-year old kid was the ace of his staff as his team tore through the local district playoffs. The team battled its way through the sectionals and states to earn a berth in the Eastern Regionals.
The team fell just short of its Williamsport goal. The pitcher in question never surfaced again. He never pitched high school ball. His pitching days were over. I remember that his tremendous success was based on his curveball. His arm never recovered, and it wasn’t because he went over 85 pitches.
Little League is intrinsically magnificent. The game of baseball is divine no matter what level it’s being played. But for heaven’s sake, let the kids play. They need to be protected from the adults more than from any aspect of the game.
It was tragic that professional baseball has gotten so caught up in the inanity of the pitch-count limit. The way I see it, some pitchers have great mechanics and as they go through a successful game should not be governed by how many pitches they’ve thrown.
At least among the pros, intercession is based on the philosophy of the organization as interpreted by pitching coaches who have dedicated their lives to the craft.
In Little League, under the premise that kids’ arms need to be protected, an 85-pitch limit has been imposed. Now this is nothing that just came about. It’s just that I hadn’t seen a Little League game in awhile until I covered the New England Regional championship Saturday in which Shelton edged Manchester, N.H., 2-1, in a thrilling contest that went down to the final pitch.
So at 85 pitches, it is deemed dangerous for a boy to continue pitching. When he hits 85, he can finish throwing to the batter he’s facing, then must be replaced on the mound.
Has anybody ever proven that the reason for so many arm injuries for pitchers at every level can be correlated with how many pitches are thrown? It’s utter nonsense. Common sense should take precedent. When a coach can see that a pitcher is laboring, it’s time to come out. That’s where injury may occur. It could be 50 pitches for one and 150 for another.
And who determined that throwing extra pitches wouldn't strengthen somebody's arm instead of risking it to injury? Do weight-lifters bench-press fewer times as they seek to tighten their muscles? Do milers run fewer laps when they try to cut their time?
The problem lies in mechanics, not repetitions. Throwing a baseball with an overhand motion goes against the natural movements of the elbow and shoulder joints. If the process is done in an overly violent manner, or a pitcher resorts to twisting and contorting his arm to make pitches move, that’s where injuries occur. When he uses his whole body and learns the proper angles, he's less likely to suffer injury.
The idea that young pitchers should not throw curveballs is more appropriate thinking. A curveball, when thrown properly, shouldn’t damage young arms, but can be devastating when thrown improperly. Now, how many Little League coaches are adept at teaching kids to throw curveballs properly?
I recall one issue when I was covering Little League extensively corroborates my opinion. An 11-year old kid was the ace of his staff as his team tore through the local district playoffs. The team battled its way through the sectionals and states to earn a berth in the Eastern Regionals.
The team fell just short of its Williamsport goal. The pitcher in question never surfaced again. He never pitched high school ball. His pitching days were over. I remember that his tremendous success was based on his curveball. His arm never recovered, and it wasn’t because he went over 85 pitches.
Little League is intrinsically magnificent. The game of baseball is divine no matter what level it’s being played. But for heaven’s sake, let the kids play. They need to be protected from the adults more than from any aspect of the game.
Thursday, August 7, 2008
MORE PRESS BOX BANTER
I dedicated my previous blog to the Rock Cats press box. It was very late and I left out some very important people and things that you should know.
Let’s start with Dan Lovallo. Dan has become a well-known radio personality over the years, first in Torrington and later in the Hartford area on WDRC. Some of you may know him from his entertaining conservative talk show on WDRC-1360 from 3 to 6 p.m. on weekdays.
But in sports circles, Dan has been sitting in with Rock Cats voice Jeff Dooley for nine years. Dan’s one of the nicest, gentlest people I’ve ever known. He can be one of your best friends but don’t start the relationship with any liberal talking points or anti-Yankee chatter. The Pinstripers can do no wrong in Dan’s book, and they always lead the sports report on his talk show. And God help Nancy Pelosi if she ever comes to Hartford.
I won’t hold that any of that against him (particular his conservative bent). He’s a classy man.
Which leads us to Dooley, or Dools as his friends call him. Dools has been telling folks about the Rock Cats for 11 seasons now. He never misses a game. Nothing can keep one of Rhode Island’s finest from his perch in the press box, no matter where the Rock Cats roam.
As I type in the comfort of my own home This fine Thursday morning, Dools is bouncing around in the Rock Cats bus, off on a 12-day road trip that will take him to Bowie, Md.; Erie, Pa; and Akron, Ohio. That means time away from his wonderful wife Marne and the cutest and smartest little guy I know, apple of his grandpa's eye, Master Joe Dooley.
What a sight it is to see Little Joe sitting on a high stool in the press box, listening intently to Dad doing his postgame wrap. Dools says Joe complains to Mom in the car when she listens to music. “Put Dad on!” are his implicit instructions.
If Joe should decide to become a sportscaster, that would make three in the family. Marne’s brother is Don Orsillo, a man who has the ear of Red Sox Nation on television along with Jerry Remy. Now there’s a sports family! Poor Marne.
There are others in the press box who make going there seem like anything but work. Luke Pawlak deftly handles the technical operation of the incredible video board that captures everybody’s attention with a plethora of movie clips and contemporary stuff like Simpsons and Sponge Bob Square Pants. I can’t convince him to run any shots of Bogart, Cagney or Greta Garbo. I also can't convince him that baseball is so much better than soccer. Beckham could never hit the curveball, Luke.
Then there’s Manny, the video recording guru. That’s not his real name. The guy just resembles Manny Ramirez so closely – dreadlocks, dark complexion, round face, omnipresent smile – that everybody just calls him Manny. I haven’t met anybody yet who knows his real name. The big difference between Ramirez and our Manny is that the Rock Cats would never trade him to L.A.
If there is a better PA announcer than Don Steele of WCCC FM fame, please introduce him (or her) to me. Don’s familiar voice fills the air, just drawing in everybody within earshot because of his vast expertise in his field. He handles the 3-inch think script that gets plopped on his table every night. How he squeezes in all that stuff, I’ll never know, but trust me, he squeezes it in. I know better than anybody because he is right behind me.
Mike Torres has been a press-box staple for more than a decade, handling sound effects. You know, when a batter walks and you hear the country song, “Big Wheels Rollin.” Or when he wants to get the crowd going, it’s that old Cab Calloway gem, “Heidi Heidi Ho.” I’m still trying to steal his music and replace it with Grateful Dead but there’s always somebody watching.
So there you have it, the reasons why I love going to Rock Cats games, except for when somebody starts a rally at deadline time or the crack waitress staff totes up dinner with cheese on it. Darryl, Jamie – hold the cheese, if you please.
Let’s start with Dan Lovallo. Dan has become a well-known radio personality over the years, first in Torrington and later in the Hartford area on WDRC. Some of you may know him from his entertaining conservative talk show on WDRC-1360 from 3 to 6 p.m. on weekdays.
But in sports circles, Dan has been sitting in with Rock Cats voice Jeff Dooley for nine years. Dan’s one of the nicest, gentlest people I’ve ever known. He can be one of your best friends but don’t start the relationship with any liberal talking points or anti-Yankee chatter. The Pinstripers can do no wrong in Dan’s book, and they always lead the sports report on his talk show. And God help Nancy Pelosi if she ever comes to Hartford.
I won’t hold that any of that against him (particular his conservative bent). He’s a classy man.
Which leads us to Dooley, or Dools as his friends call him. Dools has been telling folks about the Rock Cats for 11 seasons now. He never misses a game. Nothing can keep one of Rhode Island’s finest from his perch in the press box, no matter where the Rock Cats roam.
As I type in the comfort of my own home This fine Thursday morning, Dools is bouncing around in the Rock Cats bus, off on a 12-day road trip that will take him to Bowie, Md.; Erie, Pa; and Akron, Ohio. That means time away from his wonderful wife Marne and the cutest and smartest little guy I know, apple of his grandpa's eye, Master Joe Dooley.
What a sight it is to see Little Joe sitting on a high stool in the press box, listening intently to Dad doing his postgame wrap. Dools says Joe complains to Mom in the car when she listens to music. “Put Dad on!” are his implicit instructions.
If Joe should decide to become a sportscaster, that would make three in the family. Marne’s brother is Don Orsillo, a man who has the ear of Red Sox Nation on television along with Jerry Remy. Now there’s a sports family! Poor Marne.
There are others in the press box who make going there seem like anything but work. Luke Pawlak deftly handles the technical operation of the incredible video board that captures everybody’s attention with a plethora of movie clips and contemporary stuff like Simpsons and Sponge Bob Square Pants. I can’t convince him to run any shots of Bogart, Cagney or Greta Garbo. I also can't convince him that baseball is so much better than soccer. Beckham could never hit the curveball, Luke.
Then there’s Manny, the video recording guru. That’s not his real name. The guy just resembles Manny Ramirez so closely – dreadlocks, dark complexion, round face, omnipresent smile – that everybody just calls him Manny. I haven’t met anybody yet who knows his real name. The big difference between Ramirez and our Manny is that the Rock Cats would never trade him to L.A.
If there is a better PA announcer than Don Steele of WCCC FM fame, please introduce him (or her) to me. Don’s familiar voice fills the air, just drawing in everybody within earshot because of his vast expertise in his field. He handles the 3-inch think script that gets plopped on his table every night. How he squeezes in all that stuff, I’ll never know, but trust me, he squeezes it in. I know better than anybody because he is right behind me.
Mike Torres has been a press-box staple for more than a decade, handling sound effects. You know, when a batter walks and you hear the country song, “Big Wheels Rollin.” Or when he wants to get the crowd going, it’s that old Cab Calloway gem, “Heidi Heidi Ho.” I’m still trying to steal his music and replace it with Grateful Dead but there’s always somebody watching.
So there you have it, the reasons why I love going to Rock Cats games, except for when somebody starts a rally at deadline time or the crack waitress staff totes up dinner with cheese on it. Darryl, Jamie – hold the cheese, if you please.
A PRESS BOX BLOG
I’m still trying to get the hang of this blogging stuff.
I’ve been reading those written by some of my colleagues in New Britain and around professional baseball and it’s a lot more casual than most of the copy I’ve produced on Lip Service.
One problem is that I’m not really enamored with writing about myself. I’m not inclined to spout my opinion on national sports that I don’t cover, unlike popular puffed-up pontificators Mike and the Mad Dog, Jim Rome and so many of the other TV talking heads who have turned sports into a soap opera.
Another problem is generational. Many of you can’t imagine life without ESPN. When I was growing up, we had WPIX-11 doing Yankee games, and we’d be able to swing a few Mets games on WOR-9 when the atmospheric conditions allowed. Other than that, it was the Game of the Week on Saturday.
My parents would only subscribe to one newspaper – The New Haven Register – which circulated in the afternoon. I didn’t want to wait that long, so I would sneak over to my next-door neighbor’s front stoop and quietly take the elastic band off their morning paper, The Journal-Courier. Every now and then, Mrs. Cannata would open the door with her robe on and see me sitting there. Talk about feeling stupid.
But I digress. How about if I tell you about some of the activities that have been going on in the Rock Cats press box?
I got to meet Babe Ruth’s granddaughter. Yep. The elegant and eloquent Linda Ruth Tosetti stopped by to help draw awareness to a local child with a rare illness. She would also like The Bambino’s uniform number 3 to be retired across the board in MLB.
We’ve had many famous visitors over the years – U.S. Senator Chris Dodd, U.S. Attorney Kevin O’Connor, U.S. Congressman Chris Murphy, former Congresswoman Nancy Johnson, MLB executives Terry Ryan of the Twins, Brian Sabean of the Giants and Brian Cashman of the Yankees.
The press box is a great place to spend seven or eight hours for every home game, and it’s the people who work there that make it great.
Scoreboard operator Larry Michaels has missed three games since the franchise came to New Britain in 1983. Official scorer Ed Smith, retired New Britain High teacher and wrestling coach, joined us last year. Nicer people and more knowledgeable baseball aficionados you’ll never meet.
Larry rarely misses a pitch. Ed’s scorebook is so meticulously done that it makes mine look like chicken scratch.
Rock Cats voice Jeff Dooley, as accommodating and affable as they come, has been atit for 11 years now. What a sight it is to see his 3-year-old son Joey sitting on Jeff’s stool with the headset on during the postgame show. If Joey should go into broadcasting, that would make the third member of the family in such a role. Jeff’s brother-in-law is Red Sox voice Don Orsillo.
I would be remiss without mentioning the Dowlings. Most folks in central Connecticut and beyond know Bill, the owner and president. Bill’s got a heart of gold, unless you scoff the last piece of pizza before he gets a chance to get upstairs.
But Bill’s brother Bob works behind the scenes as the media relations director. I haven’t met the reporter or photographer yet that didn’t get the red carpet treatment from Bob.
Okay, I’m done. Have I blogged correctly now? I hope so, because it’s 1 a.m. and I’m all blogged out.
I’ve been reading those written by some of my colleagues in New Britain and around professional baseball and it’s a lot more casual than most of the copy I’ve produced on Lip Service.
One problem is that I’m not really enamored with writing about myself. I’m not inclined to spout my opinion on national sports that I don’t cover, unlike popular puffed-up pontificators Mike and the Mad Dog, Jim Rome and so many of the other TV talking heads who have turned sports into a soap opera.
Another problem is generational. Many of you can’t imagine life without ESPN. When I was growing up, we had WPIX-11 doing Yankee games, and we’d be able to swing a few Mets games on WOR-9 when the atmospheric conditions allowed. Other than that, it was the Game of the Week on Saturday.
My parents would only subscribe to one newspaper – The New Haven Register – which circulated in the afternoon. I didn’t want to wait that long, so I would sneak over to my next-door neighbor’s front stoop and quietly take the elastic band off their morning paper, The Journal-Courier. Every now and then, Mrs. Cannata would open the door with her robe on and see me sitting there. Talk about feeling stupid.
But I digress. How about if I tell you about some of the activities that have been going on in the Rock Cats press box?
I got to meet Babe Ruth’s granddaughter. Yep. The elegant and eloquent Linda Ruth Tosetti stopped by to help draw awareness to a local child with a rare illness. She would also like The Bambino’s uniform number 3 to be retired across the board in MLB.
We’ve had many famous visitors over the years – U.S. Senator Chris Dodd, U.S. Attorney Kevin O’Connor, U.S. Congressman Chris Murphy, former Congresswoman Nancy Johnson, MLB executives Terry Ryan of the Twins, Brian Sabean of the Giants and Brian Cashman of the Yankees.
The press box is a great place to spend seven or eight hours for every home game, and it’s the people who work there that make it great.
Scoreboard operator Larry Michaels has missed three games since the franchise came to New Britain in 1983. Official scorer Ed Smith, retired New Britain High teacher and wrestling coach, joined us last year. Nicer people and more knowledgeable baseball aficionados you’ll never meet.
Larry rarely misses a pitch. Ed’s scorebook is so meticulously done that it makes mine look like chicken scratch.
Rock Cats voice Jeff Dooley, as accommodating and affable as they come, has been atit for 11 years now. What a sight it is to see his 3-year-old son Joey sitting on Jeff’s stool with the headset on during the postgame show. If Joey should go into broadcasting, that would make the third member of the family in such a role. Jeff’s brother-in-law is Red Sox voice Don Orsillo.
I would be remiss without mentioning the Dowlings. Most folks in central Connecticut and beyond know Bill, the owner and president. Bill’s got a heart of gold, unless you scoff the last piece of pizza before he gets a chance to get upstairs.
But Bill’s brother Bob works behind the scenes as the media relations director. I haven’t met the reporter or photographer yet that didn’t get the red carpet treatment from Bob.
Okay, I’m done. Have I blogged correctly now? I hope so, because it’s 1 a.m. and I’m all blogged out.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)