13 March 2023

The Walk-On by Richard Podkowski Book Tour! @Bookgal @therealbookgal

 



In the twilight of his NFL career as a middle linebacker for the Chicago Storm, Mike “the Steelman” Stalowski masks his physical pain and mental anguish with alcohol and painkillers. The fan favorite has a rebel image and a notorious reputation, and he plays a violent gridiron game fueled by inner rage.


While estranged from his wife and living in the fishbowl environment of professional sports, he unexpectedly meets the fresh-out-of-college Kim Richardson. She sees through Mike’s star persona to who he really is—a kind guy from the Southeast Side of Chicago who has never forgotten his humble blue-collar roots. The lives of the star-crossed, seemingly mismatched couple collide during a whirlwind romance that culminates in a tragic series of events.


The Walk-On is a timeless tale of love and loss that explores the consequences of personal decisions and the rewards of faith, redemption, and hope.


He fumbled for his radio. “Squad…645. Confirmed vehicular rollover at Belmont Avenue exit, Lake Shore Drive. Send CFD stat, copy…stat.”

“645, copy. CFD enroute.”

He ran toward the vehicle, an older coupe with big tires and mag wheels. A wet blanket appeared to be wrapped around the base of a nearby tree trunk.

Pointing his LED flashlight in that direction, George discovered a young woman with a gaping laceration above her left eye. Her head and neck were snapped back like a broken Pez candy dispenser. Glass shards were sprinkled over her bloody face. Her eyes were fixed and vacant. A shredded sweater exposed her torso and a wingless angel tattoo above her left hip. Gibson checked for a pulse — her slender wrist was limp and lifeless.

Gibson noted the STORM 52 vanity plate, assuming it was a football fan’s show of affection. The driver, a tall stocky white male wearing sweats and a hoodie, was alive. His forehead oozed blood. The front seat passenger, a smaller black male, also had a bad head wound. Both were unconscious. Neither wore a seatbelt.

Their legs appeared to be trapped under the twisted remains of the mangled dashboard. The car’s front end had collapsed into the engine compartment. Probably lost control and rolled it.

Gibson took another look inside the wreck, stunned by his sudden recognition of the driver’s long, blue-streaked blond hair, wet and matted with blood. He quickly called for license plate verification. After what seemed an eternity, his radio crackled.

“Unit 645, Illinois plate STORM 5-2 comes back on a passenger car. A 1970 Chevrolet coupe registered to Steel Trap, Inc., 2020 North Lincoln Park West, Chicago.” The dispatcher hesitated. “Registered owner is Michael J. Stalowski.” An eerie pause. “Copy?” Gibson shivered and recalled two vehicles blow past him minutes before he was dispatched to the scene.

It wasn’t long before the fire department rolled in with a show of force, working quickly and methodically with the Jaws of Life to peel back the classic Chevy’s roof like a tuna can lid. Both male victims’ legs were trapped. Every precious second mattered in the race to extricate them. Within minutes, their stretchers were loaded into waiting ambulances.

The paramedics’ preliminary assessment of Mike Stalowski’s injuries indicated a broken right tibia and severely lacerated right wrist and forearm, gouged by flying glass. The passenger’s right foot was almost severed at the ankle by shards of jagged steel. The paramedics, fearful the skin and muscle connecting his shattered ankle bones were in danger of tearing off, hoped they could get him in the hands of surgeons before he bled out. 

The lifeless female was carefully loaded onto a backboard. A neck collar was secured and an oxygen unit began to pump into her lungs. Paramedics worked feverishly to establish vital signs. Defibrillator paddles failed to jolt her heart. Despite the monitor’s stubborn flat line, they continued their valiant efforts all the way to the Northeast Metro ER. The wails of the three sirens overlapped in the stillness of the early morning hour.

By the time the ambulance trio arrived at Northeast Metro, a Channel 5 news mini-cam van was already positioned at the ER ramp, after picking up emergency responder radio transmissions about a vehicle crash possibly involving two Storm players. Gibson and three CPD escort squads set up a security perimeter to keep the ambulance entrance ramp free and clear. Quickly challenged by the arrival of additional media jockeying for position and curious early-rising pedestrians, the perimeter was expanded, sending the cameras and reporters down the block.

Despite their efforts, by dawn the hospital was swarming with local and national media. Head Coach Don Castro and Mike Stalowski’s agent, Shel Harris, rushed to the hospital. No one could fathom the catastrophic tragedy unfolding on the heels of last night’s devastating loss.

Reporters and camera crews engulfed Shel Harris as he approached the emergency entrance. Local Channel 7 sports reporter Ryan Donegan stuck his microphone in Shel’s face. “Mr. Harris, what can you tell us about the accident that put the Steelman and Christian Blackwell in the hospital?”

The Walk-On — a true Chicago story 

In The Walk-On, Mike “the Steelman” Stalowski is a blue-collar kid who grew up in the shadows of the Chicago steel mills, where hard-working immigrants poured molten steel 24/7 while smokestacks belched black smoke until they were shuttered in the mid-70s. The word steel in Polish is “stal” which is the root of the Steelman’s surname. Technically, my interpretation means he’s made of steel

Chicago, one of the most diverse cities in the world, has many nicknames including Chi-town, City of Big Shoulders, Windy City, Second City, and oddly for most, the Third Coast. Although if you’ve ever been on the lakefront, you understand. 

Many people have heard of the South, North and West Sides. No East Side as you’d be in Lake Michigan. The city has over 200 distinct neighborhoods. You’ll find the Steelman in Hegewisch, Lincoln Park, Little Italy, Wrigleyville and the Gold Coast. The long-standing North Side / South Side rivalry is real. One of my characters from the South Side mocks a friend from the North Side for not venturing farther south than Roosevelt Road. Technically, the dividing line is Madison Street. Ironically, both live in the western suburbs, which is another rivalry.

The South Side is known for being more blue-collar, and it definitely has some of the city’s most poverty-stricken neighborhoods. Conversely, the white-collar North Side includes the bustling downtown area, with its well-known skyscrapers, lakefront recreation and residential high-rises, mansions, upscale eateries and shopping options, and numerous cultural destinations. 

I am proud to have grown up on the South Side. We were certainly blue-collar, poor actually, and I lived in a tiny cottage bungalow. Like Stalowski, my parents were Polish immigrants who came to Chicago seeking a better life. My dad toiled in the South Side stockyards until he became a printer. My mother worked on a Westinghouse Corporation factory assembly line, alongside other Polish and Hispanic women. She didn’t speak good English, and she didn’t speak bad Spanish. They got along just fine. 

I didn’t visit downtown until I was in 1st or 2nd grade and never dreamed I would one day attend Loyola University on the North Side lakefront. In all fairness, I confess that after becoming empty-nesters, my wife and I lived in East Lakeview and loved it. We walked everywhere: grocery store, gym, church, Wrigley Field, live theater, restaurants, Lincoln Park and even to the glitzy Magnificent Mile on North Michigan Avenue. Can’t do that in the towns  of area codes 708, 630, or 847.

The baseball rivalry is real too. The Cubs are the North Side heroes. The White Sox are their South Side rivals. Fortunately, the whole city roots for the Bulls, Blackhawks and Chicago Bears. In The Walk-On, the city cheers for the fictional NFL Chicago Storm. As the book begins, Mike “the Steelman” Stalowski, notorious hometown hero hailing from the South Side, has been a fan favorite for years.

I hope you’ll enjoy Mike’s escapades around Chicago — my beloved hometown.

 


Richard Podkowski, a native of Chicago’s South Side, began writing fiction while studying criminal justice at Loyola University Chicago. 


As a United States Secret Service special agent, Richard protected U.S. presidents and foreign dignitaries and investigated major domestic and international financial crimes until he retired in 2003. 


Richard’s projects include a Christmas romantic comedy screenplay and a crime story, both currently in the works. In his free time, Richard enjoys riding his road bike, working out, and making Christmas ornaments. He currently resides with his wife in Los Angeles. 


Website: https://richardpodkowski.com

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/richard.podkowski

Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/richard_podkowski

Amazon link: https://amzn.to/3EOQ9Yh

Goodreads link: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/61830639-the-walk-on


The Walk-On is a fascinating story of self-sabotage and redemption. A page-turner!!!!  

– Mary Pat Kelly, Bestselling author of Galway Bay, Of Irish Blood, and Irish Above All


“An interesting read where star linebacker Mike Stalowski confronts the inevitable challenges every NFL player faces as they transition to their post-football life. His experiences may seem exaggerated, but they are still very real.” 

– Gary Fencik, Chicago Bears, Super Bowl XX Champion


Giveaway

A Signed copy an small box of Frango mints to US or Canada

Leave a comment with email so I can notify you if you win!





Run with the Hare, Hunt with the Hound Paul M. Duffy Blog Tour! @PDufaigh @cathiedunn Instagram @thecoffeepotbookclub

#HistoricalFiction #IrishFiction #BlogTour #TheCoffeePotBookClub


 Book Title: Run with the Hare, Hunt with the Hound

Author: Paul M. Duffy

Publication Date: 11th October 2022


Publisher: Cennan imprint of Cynren Press


Page Length: 342 pages


Genre: Historical Fiction


On a remote Gaelic farmstead in medieval Ireland, word reaches Alberic of conquering Norman knights arriving from England. Oppressed by the social order that enslaved his Norman father, he yearns for the reckoning he believes the invaders will bring—but his world is about to burn. Captured by the Norman knight Hugo de Lacy and installed at Dublin Castle as a translator, Alberic’s confused loyalties are tested at every turn. When de Lacy marches inland, Alberic is set on a collision course with his former masters amidst rumours of a great Gaelic army rising in the west. Can Alberic navigate safely through revenge, lust and betrayal to find his place amidst the birth of a kingdom in a land of war?


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Tiarna


I entered the Tiarna’s house and at first, my eyes refused to see through the dimness. The warmth washed over me, the smell of broth, thick on the air. When my eyes adjusted to the firelight, I could see that the plank walls were high and decorated with hanging shields and axes, an adze, an auger, a saw, all suggesting a lustre in the low, red light. Around the edges of the room were benches draped with skins and rich cloths. On the woman’s side of the house, a kneading trough, iron vessels, a washing bucket. Naked children raced and shrieked around the wooden bath while Gormflaith, the Tiarna’s wife nursed a baby as her ladies spun wool together. The Tiarna’s favoured hounds lounged on the rushes by the fire in the centre of the room, ears twitching and nostrils flaring as the smell of meat rose from the hanging cauldron.



And from the shadows, amongst the women, Conn’s eyes suddenly staring from where he had been playing with the younger children. His face hot with embarrassment and outrage, compromised by my presence. His veneer of strength and manhood not yet fixed within the safe confines of this place.



‘Here, giolla,’ the Tiarna called from beyond the fire. I approached and the Tiarna’s household guard Donchad stepped out from inside the door, a warding presence by my side. ‘Do you play, giolla,’ he said mockingly as giolla is what they call a kind of squire to the high born. He motioned to a board marked with squares set in a bench and beside the board, a broken cup containing two bone dice. His mocking was twofold as only the nobility were permitted to play such games. I chose not to respond.



‘This is a game that trains the mind for politics, for battle, for the reading of other men and their wants, their workings, their weakness.’

‘My Father speaks of such things,’ I said to push back gently.

‘Of course, as he would,’ the Tiarna said thinking on this briefly, rolling the dice and moving the whittled gaming pieces on the board. And then he looked at me with some intensity, preparing to read my reaction. ‘Tell me, why would a poet come to me when it is known that I maintain my own file’ he said gesturing to Tuar, ‘when my family has been served and lauded for generations by the masters of the Ua Dalaigh? Why, would a file, hungry for his livelihood or seeking a new horse in payment, come to me and my house where there is surely a surfeit of poetry? And then, seeking to win acclaim by the verse he must so fully believe to be superior in all ways to that of the poets of this land, why then steal away and not announce himself?’



The Tiarna’s stared as he spoke, seeking to unsettle me and I wondered, under that gaze, what oracles had he read in my face.



I replied carefully so that my meaning would be understood but not explicitly stated. ‘Perhaps he is waiting for a praiseworthy event to occur. An act of bravery and daring worthy of commemorating in verse. Perhaps he intends to arrive once this act has been carried out so as to disguise foreknowledge.’



I could feel Conn’s stare on the back of my neck, willing me dead for speaking so freely. The Tiarna’s eyes finally released me as he looked to Tuar significantly. In Latin he said, ‘does the slave speak to me of our táin? Of our coming raid to the north? How could that be as only my captains know of this.’ Tuar played the game.

‘Surely not, Tiarna.’



Of course I had heard of it. Such secrets unable to be kept by the straining youths of the household, bent on winning honour, dreaming aloud of great deeds to come and their own place within them.



‘A secret told to more than one is difficult to keep,’ I replied in Latin.

‘Your thinking is sound but it must go deeper,’ the Tiarna said. At that moment, he looked up at me again, his bright eyes amused and dangerous. ‘Why, for example, would I allow you and your kind to eat my fowl without sanction?’ Sharp, icy veins of fear travelled my spine as he watched his words worm into me. I faltered in that warm, smoke-filled place, intoxicated by sudden guilt. By my sudden and inescapable visibility. By my nakedness in front of such inquisition. Sights of the room came to me as powerful visions, amplified by fear and the overpowering sense of the momentous. The surety that, regardless of what I was to answer, the past would be burned by it. Would be no more. And I was dazzled, as my eyes sought escape from his insistence, in glimpses of the beautiful looped chains on his hounds. The painted shields on his walls. I answered.



‘I would suggest that the Tiarna knew the value of such secret pursuits in expelling the energies of youth with no more than the loss of a winter fowl to himself.’



His gaze remained on me and I could not say in those moments what else was passing in the room, in the compound, in the world as he channelled something into me through those impassive brown eyes. Finally, as all sound subsided and even the hounds seemed to hang on his word, he made his pronouncement:

‘There may be some truth in what they say of you. You are changed.’ He laughed lightly then, seeing the fear on my face. ‘You may stand where you are giolla. If there is no poet found, know with certainty that I will teach you humility by beating you from here to the river until your ribs show through your skin.’

His eyes returned to the gaming board and the pieces there arrayed like fallen rondels at the foot of a lathe.



‘If you are proved true, you will ride with us on our táín to the north and you will share in the dangers and the rewards.’ He spoke to Donchad, ‘take a horse and ride out to see if you can you spy this mover on the fringes. Do not alert him to your presence if it may be helped and return to us with news.’



Paul Duffy, author of Run with the Hare, Hunt with the Hound (2022), is one of Ireland’s leading field archaeologists and has directed numerous landmark excavations in Dublin as well as leading projects in Australia, France and the United Kingdom. 


He has published and lectured widely on this work, and his books include From Carrickfergus to Carcassonne—the Epic Deeds of Hugh de Lacy during the Cathar Crusade (2018) and Ireland and the Crusades (2021). He has given many talks and interviews on national and international television and radio (RTÉ, BBC, NPR, EuroNews). 


Paul has also published several works of short fiction (Irish Times, Causeway/Cathsair, Outburst, Birbeck Writer’s Hub) and in 2015 won the Over the Edge New Writer of the Year Award. He has been shortlisted for numerous Irish and international writing prizes and was awarded a writing bursary in 2017–2018 by Words Ireland.


Website: https://www.paulduffywritings.com/ 

Twitter: https://twitter.com/PDufaigh 

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/PDufaigh/ 

LinkedIn: https://www.linkedin.com/in/paul-duffy-a6ab4142/ 

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/en/book/show/62851974





12 March 2023

Marchetti's Inferno by Douglas Ratner, M.D. Review!

 


Imagine the thrill of witnessing your 11-year-old meningitis patient suddenly regaining consciousness after coming close to losing his life. Or the satisfaction diagnosing a rare cardiac complication in a middle-aged man whose only symptom was persistent hiccupping.


Introducing Dr. Dan Marchetti, a brilliant and promising first-year intern with remarkable clinical instincts, a rising star if you will. However, Dan finds his confidence beginning to shatter after his patients periodically succumb to their illnesses due to a series of medical ‘mishaps’ that cast doubt on the care he provided. The besieged intern is subsequently charged with the homicides of some of his own patients, deaths clearly perpetrated by a hospital insider with keen knowledge of how to manipulate medical devices in order to expedite a patient’s demise. The list of victims includes Trey Hartmann, a rookie star pitcher for the Pittsburgh Pirates. Marchetti must find a way to keep his love for the profession intact, while confronting this invisible character.



Douglas Ratner’s work in healthcare transformation, The Wealth from Health® Playbook: The Dramatic Path Forward in Healthcare Spawned by the Covid-19 Pandemic was published in April, 2021. His Wealth from Health Playbook has garnered; The 2015 Gage Award from the America’s Essential Hospitals, Hearst Health Award 2016, and The New Jersey Health Hero Award 2017.


Ratner is a retired New Jersey physician and Chair of Medicine at Jersey City Medical Center-RWJBarnabas Health (JCMC). He overlooks hospitals and enjoys life with his grandchildren, Salem and Mirah, his children, Jess and Dave, and his wonderful wife, Linda.

“Almost midnight already,” Dante Marchetti said to himself as he stole a
glance at his new watch and made tracks for the on-call room to catch a little nap while he could. Admiring the bright-yellow face, light-blue trim, and black Velcro wristband, he discovered he’d neglected to remove the $12.99 price tag from his Amazon special. He could feel his face redden as he peeled off the tiny sticker and tucked it into one pocket of the spanking-new white coat he wore over his scrubs.

At twenty-eight, he was three years older than many of his fellow interns. Following college, he’d spent a few years traveling Europe, working as a waiter and an English teacher while experiencing the cultures of Italy, France, and Switzerland. After several months, boredom set in, so he decided to do something about it. Crashing the study materials, he aced the MCATS and bang, got accepted into a few medical schools: a feat that surprised him more
than others.

Running, sports, and close attention to his diet, had kept his six-foot-one
frame lean and toned, but he’d never thought of the face he saw in a mirror as handsome. There was no mistaking his Italian heritage—when, at twelve, he’d lamented his Marchetti nose, his mom had suggested he “think of it as ‘definitive’.” But those genetics also bestowed an easy tan, dark-brown eyes, and curly hair. And through the years, more than one girl had commented on his ‘endearing grin’ and kind eyes.
After hanging his white coat on the rack above his cot in the on-call room,

Dan noticed, for the first time, the spaghetti stain on one pants leg of his light- blue scrubs. “Come on, man, what kind of shit is this?” he muttered under his breath. He wondered how many people had seen it—patients, his superiors, other medical colleagues? Stains, price tags left in place, what a fuckin’ disaster. What’s next? A booger hanging from his nose? What had Dr. Hugh Ballard, revered Chairman of Medicine and the Director of the Residency

Program, noticed? How could patients trust a doctor to manage life and death if he couldn’t keep spaghetti sauce off his trousers?
Glancing around, he took in the pale-green walls and mismatched chairs,
the dog-eared medical journals heaped in one corner, and empty Styrofoam containers crowding the battered nightstand mixed with the smell of days-old sweat. Not only did he not look the part, he didn’t feel the part, which was much more worrisome. Furthermore, the vagaries of scheduling had dropped him directly into the risk-fraught world of the coronary care unit (CCU) for his first rotation.

His thoughts touched on the epic poem Inferno by his namesake, Dante
Alighieri. With a little chill, he remembered the end of the lengthy cautionary
inscription over Dante’s gates of hell, “Lasciate ogne Speranza voi
ch’intrate...Abandon all hope, Ye who enter here.” Coronary care would be intense; he needed to be ready for anything at any time. As his CCU attending,
Dr. Glenn Covington had said earlier during orientation, “Chest pain can come at all hours and with every complication you’ve studied.”
He punched the lumpy pillow and tried to get comfortable on the narrow
and flimsy hospital cot. Interns certainly deserved better than this excuse for a bed. Though he was only three and a half hours into his first official twelve- hour overnight shift, he’d clocked in an additional four hours at the beginning of the day. He had come early to walk through morning rounds, thinking it would give him a head start on figuring out how the unit worked for his 8:00 p.m. to 8:00 a.m. shift. When the intern assigned to the 8:00 a.m. shift, Diane Werner, had a last-minute childcare emergency that kept her from reporting before noon, Dan offered to stay. After bolting a burger and coffee in the cafeteria, he spent the rest of the day getting the ‘lay of the land’, as his pop would say, acquainting himself with the facility, the people who kept it functioning, and the technologies he’d be using.

Dan had met Diane months ago when they interviewed on the same day.
They’d maintained a friendly, professional email contact since then. As a
Deerwood, PA local and former Deerwood Community Hospital (DCH)
employee, she’d advised him on a number of decisions, including which
apartment complex to choose in his new town. A decade and a half older than the other new interns, she was a nurse here before deciding to attend medical school and become a physician.
My Thoughts

Marchetti's Inferno by Douglass Ratner, M.D. is a medical thriller at its best. Dr. Dan (Dante) Marchetti is an up-and-coming first-year intern that seems to have everything going for him, successful as a first-year intern, healing patients is his goal and he usually achieves that. But someone is not too happy that he is successful and decides to sabotage him.

When patients that are supposed to survive their ailments are suddenly dying with the last one being a rising star in baseball pitcher Trey Hartman. Suddenly Dan's life is turned upside down as he fights to get out of the mess he finds himself in legally, charged with multiple murders it is a daunting task. 

I enjoyed this book, I have always liked medical thrillers ever since I read my first Robin Cook book many years ago. The writer obviously knows what he writes. It is always helpful reading a book that is well-researched and the author writes from the heart. I liked the character Dan, even though I could see why the other doctors didn't like him. I think he was definitely humbled by the experience of being accused of something he did not do.

This story is definitely character driven. The reader is introduced to many other employees of the hospital and even a few from the district attorney's office, plus many of the patients. This book is a must for anyone interested in stories that are thriller/mystery/murder that take place in the medical field.

I give it 5 stars.

Thanks to Austin Macauley Publishers for the copy of the book that I received for my honest review.







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