Earlier this week, Wednesday, I actually went out and did a “thing’. I know, I went “out”, whodathunk? With people, actual human beings involved. For those that know me that is pretty big. I don’t do things, I don’t go out, I don’t step, but I am the host of the Scholastic Athlete of the Week award, a Westchester and Putnam county gig, have been for a couple of years now, and Wednesday they held their yearly get together so going “out” seemed in order. It’s an award that enjoyed its 73rd year this one, and I have always felt humbled at being able to host it. I mean 73 years? Jeez, that’s some history, something I am surely not worthy of but, well, I am as worthy as I am going to be I guess.
It’s an award given to High Schoolers who have proven themselves to not only be accomplished in their respective sport or sports but also in their academics and in their involvement in their communities. It’s a marker, a well deserved recognition of a well rounded student athlete. I so enjoy being allowed the opportunity to tell our radio world of these impressive kids, and believe me, they are impressive.
But for me though the end of this year was personal as the last winner of this 2023-2024 school time was a pitcher from John Jay Cross River High School and his coach was a name I recognized from my High School days. In my two and a half years of being privileged enough to interview these young men and women I had never had one of their coaches be a person I knew, never mind be a one who I had graduated High School with.
We hung and shot that shit that you shoot when catching up but we didn’t talk of High School days too much, tell ya truth I’m sure I couldn’t really have anyway, they are lost to me now, well, except for Union Bowl (football under the lights in the Grand Union parking lot) or D&D in Bill Carlin’s basement with his Mom hovering us with treats and awkward “Hello’s” or fantasy tales in book form or triple word finds with a “Hee-Ya!” or Monty Python the first time or … or … or …or …
Ok, I remember a few things but no, we caught up to where we are at, high school days being merely a thing that got us started (remembering right now, actually, turning Union Bowl into “Astro Bowl” with little carpet squares as bases and wiffle balls and bats loaded with duct tape)
I have seen over the years invites to reunions, some pretty involved, one of them even involved a cruise for God’s sake. I’ve never had any desire to attend any of these for the usual reasons, I look old or I’m not quite accomplished enough or my foot hurts or I just have no patience for the chit chat with folks who will all need name tags to help me pretend to remember them or maybe point me to the paper goods aisle.
No, this was a much better reunion.
Teddy, Teddy Lawrence (that’s his name, don’t wear it out) and I talked, he caught me up with his Teddy and his almosts with only minor regrets and his wife and her impressive work with Major league franchises of doing correct athletic things, and of his kids.
We weren’t even really “buds” back then, we knew each other, but he was guy who you noted, he may not even remember that we tried out for and made the varsity baseball team together, though, he as a monster talent and me just an alternate (it came down to how many uniforms were available). He eventually became a successful lifelong baseball coach and I became a guy with a voice, who builds sound and who fancies himself something he still doesn’t know quite what of.
But we talked over seltzer waters and free food, no cruises on high expensive seas necessary, and sat down together at a table with his pitcher and his pitcher’s parents who really seemed to appreciate what I do (thank you). He looked the same (relatively so) from what I remember, but it was the cadence of his voice. I knew it was Teddy.
Usually the ride “to” someplace seems longer than the ride back but in this case that was flipped, enjoyably so, I had time (it was an almost couple of hour ride from Rockland County) time to just think and not worry of getting home faster, instead, think of days I claim to not quite remember 5rrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr vtbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbb … sorry, that’s a Cricket step thing, she fancies herself a writer sometimes with blind foot paws … but days that are always welcomed to be remembered, especially when unexpectedly.
“Yes Mrs Carlin, a chocolate chip brownie would be nice”
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