Gov. Cuomo and my typo

One afternoon during my previous life as a N.Y. Post sportswriter, I visited the newspaper's Lower East Side office to find out the then-governor of New York had visited the building earlier that day.

Besides that, he said he was a fan of my work

Gov. Mario Cuomo stopped by the newsroom and, among other things, said he liked reading "Charlie McCarthy's coverage of St. John's basketball." I was flattered, but hardly surprised -- after all, Cuomo was a St. John's grad.

The assistant sports editor, a guy who thoroughly enjoyed ball-busting, couldn't wait to give me this tidbit: the governor had pointed out there was a typo in my story that day.

The following Saturday, I was working part-time on the NBC set used for the pregame and halftime shows for Notre Dame football games. I was among five or six people whose jobs were to find out details on other games.

Soon after arriving, we were watching the in-house feed and found out Cuomo was in the building to be on the Today show or the local NBC morning show. (I forget which one.)

One of my co-workers heard my story about earlier in the week, and enticed me to go up a few floors and introduce myself to the governor.

As my friend and I walk out of the elevator, I see Cuomo and a bodyguard approaching. I extend my hand while saying, "Governor!" -- with the bodyguard looking me over closer than any woman ever did.

I introduced myself. For a split second the governor paused, then smiled and grabbed my hand. "Oh ... Charlie! How are you? Great to meet you."

While we got in the elevator, I told the governor I heard about his visit to the Post. We briefly talked about then-St. John 's coach and mutual friend Lou Carnesecca.

Cuomo smiled and said, "You didn't go to St. John's, did you?"

"No," I said. "NYU."

"I knew it couldn't be St. John's when I saw the typo," he said.

Ouch. Corrected by and dissed by the governor of New York in a matter of a few days.

Then again, I didn't tell him I never voted for him. :)

Oh, brother!

In those moments when I wish I could turn back the clock, very often I yearn for a one-way ticket to the Hampton Bays of Long Island during the summers of 1985-86-87.

It was during those years that the beach, women, alcohol and housemates including current Yankees broadcaster Michael Kay and ESPN/ABC NBA voice Mike Breen all added up to three summers of fun, sports talk and stories that will last till we're all gone.

As an early- to mid-20s guy who let loose with his friends, you can be sure I never did anything to embarrass myself on the East End of Long Island.

Well ... never is a strong word. :)

There was this one time I met a cute girl from Poughkeepsie, N.Y. Even got her number.

I waited till midweek before calling her. When I did, her brother answered and told me she wasn't home.

Naturally, I did what any red-blooded, nervous young man would do. I left a number.

Unfortunately for me, I read the number that was written on the piece of paper in my hand. That's right, HER NUMBER! I read back the girl's home number to her younger brother, AND HE TOOK IT!

My excuse was being a bit nervous. But as for the brother, was he that dumb? Or was he making look and feel stupid?

I never will know. I was too embarrassed to call back and correct my mistake.

I did see the girl again, but we never went out. I can't blame her for not wanting to date a guy who couldn't even leave his number.

Caught smoking at a funeral

We all have memorable moments -- good, bad, funny, enlightening -- during our lives. This blog offers a chance to write about some of mine. (Please, no yawning.)

Let me say this at the top -- I honestly didn't mean to upstage the guy in the coffin. I knew it was his day. Really, I did.

Before I explain further, a little background ...

One of the perks of being an altar boy while attending parochial school was the occasional break from class to serve at a funeral Mass.

Not only that, the funeral servers usually received $5-$10 dollars for performing their duties. I never really understood why cash was involved, but being a good Catholic youngster, I certainly didn't question the Church. :)

Fast forward to this particular morning, when a family was saying good-bye to a loved on.

Shortly after the service began, I found myself holding the holy water while standing next to the priest and in front of candle stand. Unlike today, when most churches have electric candles, my church still had the real thing: nothing but flames and wax.

That last point is a key point.

Unbeknownst to me, the hood of my robe dipped into a candle and caught fire. I quickly deduced this after one of the pallbearers -- a full-time fireman, part-time funeral home employee -- pushed the coffin out of his way while hurriedly leaping around it and then smothered me to the ground.

All we needed was the coffin to tip over, the top open with the guest of honor hitting the tile floor. Now that would have made for a funny blog.

I immediately was relieved of my duties that morning, and spent the next hour in class with my head on my desk, wondering how much hair had been singed. (After all, these were my pre-Procede days.)

The fireman burned his hand and went on disability.

The guy in the coffin took things lying down.