Hey, where did my stats and game notes go?

Actually I had a colleague who once had his laptop stolen right out of the press box in a junior hockey facility where the security is usually fairly tight. Sometimes, you just never know who is out there and what their motives might be.

I'd suggest doing as much of your statistics on the laptop itself if possible - box scores and such - as you go, and fitting the thing with a pretty good lock. Still though, you'd think people would understand what you're there for and why your stuff is where it is.

 

Bunch of savages in Bumblefuck.

 

He wasn't at the game in question. I did see Skeltor at a recent Devils game. He looked good for 702.

 

Actually, I have had my stuff thrown out by cleaning people at a SEC school during football season. went to the locker room after the game, came up and they had cleaned off all the counters. i asked what happened to my stuff, the SID was kind of dumbfounded as to why it would be thrown out, but was nice and gave me copies of all the game stuff again.

 

i always felt weird about leaving my shit behind at the end of a game regardless if it was a pro venue or bumblefuck. i'd never leave shit behind like that if i'd have bought a ticket, seems odd we do it without thinking simply since we are working.

 

I once had the local TV guys "borrow" my stats for their wrap-up segment when I was in the locker room. Ever since then, I've always taken my stats with me.

 

wow, and what was your retort to that?

 

Back when you could tuck a media guide into your back pocket, I was a kid at my hometown college's men's basketball game and saw one on press row. Nobody around, I took it and read it cover to cover at home. It was one of the coolest things I'd ever seen.

Payback is a bitch. My punishment: a career in sportswriting.

I asked for it, didn't I?

 

What I also hate is cleanup crew that hovers over you while you are writing and asks repeatedly when you are going to finish. I am nice the first 500 times they ask thne I say, I will be done when Im done. Im doing my job.

 

Covering the NCAA women's tournament a few years ago in Seattle, came back from the press conference and found my laptop to be unplugged and disconnected from the phone line. The maintenance crew was breaking down everything before I couldn't even start writing.

 

I came out of a high school locker room last year to find my laptop on the floor next to my briefcase and my notebook. I hadn't written my gamer yet. I was so pissed. They heard me mumbling as I picked up my stuff and marched out of the gym. I'm not as forgiving as some of you seem to be.

As for hovering, I was writing two weeks ago when a guy just plops down next to me at a college basketball game and starts talking to me, asking if he can have the stat sheet I'm using to write my story, how many points so-and-so scored. I tried to be polite, but it was tough. I had to bite my lip. Finally, when it became apparent that he wasn't going to leave, I explained that I was on deadline and had to get my work done. What he didn't know was that I booked two stringer assignments in different towns and had to finish in a flash to get to my other assignment.

And wouldn't you know it. I get to my other assignment and scramble to get everything in order before the tip. As I'm doing this, I look up and the bastard is standing five feet from the press table. He sees me and just looks completely baffled. "Hey, weren't you at Stetson today?" he asks. If looks could kill, he would have dropped dead right there on the floor.

 

A whole other topic, but eager-to-leave cleaning crews have left me locked inside of two college baseball stadiums and one football stadium. And, not surprisingly, one came after the guy had just asked me (for the second or third time, of course) how close I was to finishing. I must have said 10 or 15 minutes, and he must have decided that was too long.

Two I dealt with by scaling 10- to 12-foot high fences, with bag. The other necessitated a call to campus security, and a 20-minute wait before they bothered to come by and "free" me.