The Start of the Day
There’s something about mornings on Long Island that has always fascinated me. Even after decades of working in sports broadcasting and traveling to stadiums, arenas, and studios, I find myself drawn back to the quiet rhythm of a Long Island morning. It’s a routine, yes, but it’s also a kind of meditation—a small window into the life of a place, its people, and its energy before the day officially begins.
For me, mornings start early. The house is quiet, the sky still soft and gray, and the smell of coffee fills the kitchen. I make it just the way I like it: strong, hot, and with just enough cream to smooth the edges. That first cup isn’t just caffeine—it’s a moment of clarity, a pause before the day demands speed, decisions, and deadlines.
Observing the Neighborhood
After coffee, the world outside slowly comes alive. Walking down the street or sitting by the window, I notice the subtle details that give Long Island its personality. The neighbor walking their dog, the newspaper slipping onto someone’s porch, the distant hum of a train—these are small things, but they tell a story about the rhythm of life here.
I’ve always been someone who observes. Maybe it comes from years in journalism, where paying attention to detail is crucial. But even without a camera or microphone, mornings on Long Island offer a natural narrative. You can see people preparing for the day, juggling responsibilities, and interacting with their environment in ways that are both ordinary and fascinating.
There’s a kind of poetry in watching the world wake up. A father shoveling snow, a mom balancing groceries and a toddler, kids in uniforms heading to school—all of it is a dance of motion, intention, and routine. For me, taking the time to watch it unfold is a reminder that life is full of small, meaningful stories waiting to be noticed.
The Commute as Reflection
Then comes the commute. Anyone who has lived on Long Island knows that it’s more than just a drive—it’s a ritual. The roads, the traffic lights, the early risers—it’s all part of the morning tapestry. For some, it’s a chore. For me, it’s a chance to think, plan, and observe.
I’ve spent countless hours in a car heading to work, assignments, or early morning games. In those moments, I’m not just moving from point A to point B. I’m watching. Drivers are in their own world, some anxious, some singing along to the radio, some lost in thought. There’s a rhythm to the flow of cars, a pulse that mirrors the heartbeat of the island itself.
Even in stop-and-go traffic, there’s a strange sense of calm if you allow yourself to see it. The commute becomes a microcosm of human behavior—people doing what they need to do to keep their lives moving forward. It’s a quiet reminder that everyone has their own journey, and sometimes the best way to start the day is simply to observe and reflect.
Coffee Shops and Small Interactions
No Long Island morning is complete without the local coffee stop. I’ve been visiting the same cafés for years, places where the baristas know my order and the regulars become part of the morning backdrop. There’s something comforting in that consistency—the familiarity of a place, a cup of coffee, and the subtle human interactions that happen in between.
I watch people come and go, catching fragments of conversation, smiles exchanged over the counter, kids tugging at parents while they wait for a drink. Those moments aren’t headline news, but they’re the threads that weave together community life. Observing them has taught me patience, empathy, and an appreciation for small gestures that often go unnoticed.
Finding Inspiration in the Mundane
Mornings on Long Island aren’t flashy. There are no grand events, no breaking news, no roaring crowds—just the quiet unfolding of daily life. And yet, there’s inspiration everywhere. The dedication of people starting their day, the resilience in the face of routine, the small acts of kindness—it all adds up.
For someone like me, who spends a career chasing big moments in sports, there’s something grounding about these quiet mornings. They remind me that life isn’t always about the highlight reel. Sometimes it’s about noticing, appreciating, and learning from the ordinary. The rhythm of coffee, commutes, and quiet observation keeps me rooted, even when the world of broadcasting gets hectic.
A Morning Well Spent
By the time the day is fully underway, I’ve had a chance to center myself. I’ve observed, reflected, and connected with my environment in a way that no email, call, or assignment can replicate. Mornings on Long Island offer a kind of clarity that sets the tone for everything that follows.
It’s easy to overlook the small rituals—the coffee, the walk, the glance out the window—but they shape how we approach the day. They remind us to pause, notice, and appreciate the world around us. And for me, they serve as a quiet reminder of where I came from, the lessons of community, and the beauty in ordinary life.
Even after years of covering sports, traveling, and chasing big moments, I still cherish these mornings. They are my foundation, my reset button, and a way to see the extraordinary in the ordinary. There’s nothing flashy about them, but there’s a kind of magic in the way Long Island wakes up. And I wouldn’t trade it for anything.