Newspapers vs. TV: If you can't beat 'em, join 'em

Anyone who's ever covered a high school football game knows the philosophical difference between newspaper and TV coverage.

Newspaper = Cover the game, with the majority of the reporters having a sense of decorum and objectivity that defines professionalism for our medium. Actually stay for the whole game and ask questions, occasionally questions coaches don't want to hear.
TV = Grandstand, be seen and play to the crowd, display the opposite of objectivity by occasionally wearing school gear, throw footballs to the crowd with station logo, shoot gratuitous crowd/cheerleader/band shots, get enough video for a 30-second highlight segment, get the fuck out of Dodge, preferably on a helicopter plastered with the station logo that makes its noisy presence felt upon entering and exiting the facility.

In the end, the equation adds up to public despises newspapers, public thinks TV folks are their friends.

Well, I'm a lover, not a fighter, and I like having friends, especially strangers who don't know fuck all about my life, but think they like me because I bear gifts and a smiley face.

Well enoughs enough. I decided to take a different tack tonight and do my newspaper job TV style.

I have to admit, it didn't turn out well. Never, EVER, walk a mile in someone else's shoes.

First, I rented a helicopter. Not having any shiny decals that can be seen from space, I spray-painted Bubbler Gazette on the side (knowing full well my deposit was soooo gone!). I used day-glo lime green paint, thought people could see it better with the added touch of giving me some graffiti-tagging street cred among the kiddies.

Only I fucked up with the helicopter. I landed right in the middle of the main parking lot, thus inhibiting access for fans, whilst knocking over some Smokey Joe's for some parents tailgating in the parking lot. Undeterred and decked out in my Super Duper Friday Game of the Week foam hat and digital tape recorder emblazoned with the Bubbler Gazette Super Duper Friday Quote Machine logo, I approached them and yelled loudly ...

Me: Congratulations! You're the Bubbler Gazette Tailgaters Of The Week!
Tailgators: Uh, cool ... I guess. Where's your camera?
Me: Don't have one! You'll be immortalized in the beautiful permanence of print!
Tailgators: Oh. Well, we're grateful for that, especially since Donny over here has second degree burns from your helicopter landing and since five out of our seven JTM burgers have parking lot gook on them. Why don't you go fuck yourself?

Damn. These hearts and minds won't be won over so easily. But TV slickness and the unrequited love of TV viewers wasn't born in a day.

I sashed into the football field, my foam hat now complemented by my Super Duper Friday Game of the Week shirt in school colors. My laptop bag emblazoned with Super Duper Friday Game of the Week Gamer Maker.

Having studied local TV as I did, I knew I had to have a cheerleader of the week, but how to go about it? I noticed one of the cheerleaders was looking a little forlorn on the sideline and not participating with her fellow cheerleaders. Eureka! Not only did I have my cheerleader of the week, but I had my sappy PM Magazine-like angle to go with it. So during a timeout, I approached her, my Super Duper Friday Game of the Week blowhorn at the ready so the crowd knew I was one of the good guys.

Me: Congratulations! (Honk, honk) You're the Bubbler Gazette Super Duper Cheerleader of the Week! (Honk, honk)
Cheerleader: Oh my god, please get away from me now!
Me: No need to be glum! You're about to live on forever in the glorious ink-stained Bubber Gazette annals as Cheerleader of the Week!
(turning serious) Tell me, why were you not "Go, go, bananas"-ing with your cheer pals?
Cheerleader: Please sir, I don't want to ...
Me: (turning to the crowd) Folks, let's cheer her up! Give her some encouragement!
Crowd: C'mon Dottie! You ain't got nothin' to be ashamed of, you're the quarterback's girlfriend!
Me: Tell me true, Dottie, tell the Super Duper Quote Machine what's eating you?
Cheerleader: (crying uncontrollably) I HAD AN ABORTION TODAY!

After the crowd gasp, it was probably a bad time for my Super Duper Friday Game of the Week blowhorn to go off accidentally.

Me: Uh, gee that's tough.
Cheerleader: (emboldened by her admission, sobbing defiantly) I DON'T CARE WHO KNOWS! ALL I WANTED TO DO WAS GIVE HIM A B.J.!
Me: Yeah, that's just ... uh ... great, here's a Super Duper Friday Game of the Week can coolie. Can we keep this on the down low? ...
Cheerleader: I THOUGHT SARAN WRAP AND A QUICK PULL OUT WOULD DO JUST FINE, AND HE SAID HE WAS A 60-MINUTE MAN! FIVE SECONDS LATER, I'M GOOGLING PLANNED PARENTHOOD!

Time to go to the press box ...

 

(continued) ...

I quickly realize the press box is both a hindrance to my blowing sunshine up eveyone's asses mission, but also a hidden gem.

In my Super Duper Friday Game of the Week Laptop Bag sponsored by Bud's Motors ... 100 plastic mini-footballs with Bubbler Gazette Super Duper Official Game of the Week Free Ball.

My mission: toss them to the crowd.

I got these footballs at the last minute and the faux-threads on the footballs never really got a chance to smooth out properly. When the manufacturer cautioned that I might want to wait because these threads were still kind of sharp I was like, "Fuck it. People would catch cholera if they knew it was free!"

The other thing I'd observed over the years was the TV folks would hand these balls to cheerleaders who could barely draw the first row with their throws. This is where the press box comes in.

I realized I could use gravity to deliver balls to a greater percentage of the crowd. It was genius PR.

So at halftime, I opened the press box window, whipped out my Super Duper Friday Game of the Week boom box and let fly ...

Me: My friends! I interrupt my halftime lede, and the band, to bring you the gift of ... Bubbler Gazette Free Balls!

I click on the CD, which blared the William Tell Overture and start winging Bubbler Gazette free balls with the force of Brett Favre in his prime, so as to pepper a greater percentage of the crowd.

I begin to hear screams and cries. "You hit my daughter in the eye, you bastard!" came one declaration from the stands. "You knocked over my nachos and cheese onto my girlfriends' lap, cocksucker motherfucker!" was another one.

"Why must I bleed for the Super Duper Friday Night Game of the Week, Bubbler Gazette, why!"

The athletic director tapped me on the shoulder.

Me: Whoo hoo! This is one Super Duper Bubbler Gazette Game of the Week!
AD: No it isn't, you're a God damn disaster. We're going to ask you nicely to get the fuck out. You are simply not following proper press box decorum. You're disturbing all our boosters trying to gossip in here.

Defeated, I walk out and board my helicopter, bound for hearts and minds'-winning loserville.

My final contribution to the Super Duper Friday Night Game of the Week was the tear I shed out the window on the field as I flew 100 feet above the playing surface. Well, that, and the 32-ounce Dr Pepper that accidentally slid out the window, inundating the home team's fertile QB.

I wept, knowing I will never be loved by them the way they love TV news reporters.

 

Still not as funny as one of Ryan Sonner's stories.

 

I laughed at Bubbler's saga, but I laughed like hell at that Doc...

 

The only thing I can add is that I highly recommend walking a mile in someone else's shoes.

When you're done, you're a mile away and they have no shoes.

 

A top-fiver from Bubbler.

Not as good as the Wal-Mart blowjob threads. But if you'd worked in Wal-Mart, you'd have had a trilogy to make J.R.R. Tolkien jealous.

 

brilliant. ;D