Where It All Began
Before the Emmy nominations, before the studio lights, before the long nights writing and producing sports stories—there was just a kid growing up on Long Island with a glove, a ball, and a dream. My love for sports didn’t start in a stadium or a broadcast booth. It started on cracked pavement, in backyards, and at local parks surrounded by neighbors, friends, and family who lived and breathed the same passion.
Long Island has a rhythm of its own. It’s a place where people work hard, talk straight, and find joy in the simple things—like a backyard Wiffle ball game or a late-night Mets-Yankees debate over pizza. Those neighborhoods shaped me more than I ever realized at the time. They taught me about community, competition, and the joy of just playing.
The Sandlot Spirit
Some of my best memories come from the neighborhood games that seemed to pop up out of nowhere. A few kids, a bat, maybe a scuffed tennis ball, and suddenly the street was transformed into Yankee Stadium. We’d argue over who got to be Don Mattingly or Derek Jeter, and we played until the streetlights came on and someone’s mom yelled that dinner was getting cold.
Those games weren’t organized. There were no coaches, no schedules, no umpires—just pure love of the game. Looking back, I realize that was the foundation of my passion for sports. It wasn’t about winning trophies or impressing anyone. It was about being part of something.
That sandlot spirit stayed with me. It’s the same energy I see in kids playing today, even in a world filled with screens and social media. The game itself—whether it’s baseball, football, or basketball—still brings people together in a way nothing else can.
Sundays with the Giants
If Saturdays belonged to neighborhood games, Sundays belonged to the Giants. My family treated game day like a ritual. The smell of food in the kitchen, my dad pacing by the TV, and everyone wearing blue—it was a sacred tradition. Win or lose, those games were about more than football. They were about family and shared emotion.
Even now, decades later, I can’t watch a Giants game without feeling that same connection. The highs and lows, the heartbreaks and miracles—it’s all part of being a fan. Long Island may not be right next to the Meadowlands, but the loyalty runs deep. Every Sunday felt like we were right there in the stands, shouting through the screen, living and dying with every play.
That sense of belonging, that shared experience, was my first taste of what sports could mean beyond the scoreboard. It taught me that fandom is a language of its own—a way for people to connect, even when life pulls them in different directions.
The Yankee Way
While the Giants ruled my Sundays, the Yankees owned my summers. I can still remember the first time I stepped into Yankee Stadium. The sight of the field opening up under the bright lights, the sound of the crowd, the smell of the grass—it was overwhelming in the best possible way.
As a kid from Long Island, that trip felt like a pilgrimage. Watching legends like Jeter, Rivera, and Williams in person made me realize why people fall in love with sports in the first place. It wasn’t just about talent—it was about poise, confidence, and respect for the game.
I used to sit in the stands, keeping score on a little notepad, imagining what it would be like to tell these stories for a living. Without realizing it, I was learning about narrative, timing, and emotion—all the ingredients that would later define my career.
Wrestling Nights and Life Lessons
And then there was wrestling—WWE nights at home when the living room turned into Madison Square Garden. My friends and I would reenact matches, cutting promos and pretending to be our favorite superstars. The mix of athleticism and storytelling hooked me early.
Wrestling taught me something that stuck with me through the years: every great moment in sports—every walk-off home run, every game-winning drive—has a story behind it. The personalities, the rivalries, the comebacks—it all adds drama. Even as a kid, I understood that sports weren’t just about numbers on a scoreboard. They were about emotion.
That realization, born in those living room “main events,” became the heartbeat of my professional life. But before it was a career lesson, it was just another memory of laughter, energy, and imagination growing up on Long Island.
Community Fields and Local Heroes
Long Island has no shortage of local sports heroes. I remember the pride people felt when a hometown kid made it big—whether it was a high school athlete getting a college scholarship or a local Little League team going on a run. Everyone rallied behind them.
That’s what I loved most about growing up here. The community celebrated effort as much as achievement. The same neighbors who showed up for a high school football game would also support a charity 5K or a youth soccer fundraiser. Sports weren’t just entertainment—they were the heartbeat of the neighborhood.
Those experiences taught me the true meaning of teamwork and pride. Even today, I try to carry that same sense of unity and appreciation into everything I do.
Looking Back, Staying Grounded
No matter where my career has taken me, I’ve never forgotten where it all started. The cracked sidewalks, the backyard fields, the noisy living rooms filled with cheering and frustration—they all shaped the person I became.
Long Island isn’t just my hometown—it’s my foundation. It taught me to love sports not because of fame or spectacle, but because of what they represent: connection, perseverance, and joy.
Every time I step into a stadium or sit down to tell a story, a part of me is still that kid in the neighborhood, bat in hand, waiting for someone to yell, “Next up!”
Those Long Island roots didn’t just make me a fan—they made me who I am.