Your First Time

Not to downplay either story, but I met him at a celebrity golf tournament, which also involved me interviewing my first "big-time" athletes, and he was cool as hell. Now, there was a distinct possibility he was drunk, but beyond that he was very, very nice to me and everyone else.

 

I attended several basketball kick-off luncheons in Little Rock where the three D-1 head coaches (except the one at Arkansas-Pine Bluff, but I digress) all talked about their upcoming seasons. Nolan always arrived late and made an entrance while someone else was speaking. It just reeked of arrogance, but the Hogs dominate that state over Arkansas-Little Rock and Arkansas State. That's not necessarily a good thing; that's just how it is.

 

I was a junior in college and had no clue what to do at a major league baseball game. Covered the Orioles-Rangers at Camden Yards to do a piece on Johnny Oates, who played at Virginia Tech. Got to him waaaaaayy too late and too close to the game, but I didn't know any better. No one had told me baseball protocol, when to show up, when managers were available pre-game for interviews, etc. He slightly admonished me and then gave me 15 good minutes for questions.

Went into the clubhouse and was pretty nervous when I saw Cal Ripken, but he was great when I asked him questions. I think this was in the period when I liked sports a lot more than I do now, and still had a view that pro athletes were "on a pedestal." After spending plenty of time dealing with pro athletes in the last 10 years, I definitely don't feel that way anymore. They're just people.

 

I shit my pants the first time I interviewed a big name. It was Bo Jackson, who was coming back to Alabama for a youth football camp Tommie Agee put on each year.

Me answering telephone "professionally": "Sports, this is three_bags, may I help you."

Jackson: "Yes, three_bags, this is Mr. Jackson.

Me: "Uhhhhh."

I didn't blow my second chance.

 

Covered Louisville football during the Ron Cooper administration. The Cardinals were playing Penn State, and I took part in a JoePa teleconference.

Tried asking a question about Curtis Enis, and either I didn't get the question out right or Paterno blew it off. So I said "What does he mean to your team?"

Paterno's answer: "He means a lot." (laughter ensues).

 

Maybe not hell, but for all the praise I see and hear about Boog's, I was seriously disappointed with my beef brisket plate when I went up there to do a feature on a local bone done good back in the spring. The brisket tasted like crushed bone, the baked beans tasted like cold store-brand chili, and the slaw was warm and devoid of any flavor at all. Even the bread was sub-par. Maybe growing up in easy drive of top-notch Carolina BBQ (Lexington and Greenville, which I don't care for) has heightened my standards, but I can get three times the food at Stamey's in Greensboro for the same price, plus they kick ass with the sweet tea. Obviously stadium food is going to be expensive, but I got the impression this was the Alpha and the Omega of baseball eats, when it was below-average to way below-average.

 

My first week at the AP (100 years ago), I was on the broadcast desk and somebody assassinated the state police chief. I couldn't type I was shaking so bad...

 

My first and only time so far ...

Last year, writing a story about current Div. I-A linebacker from the small town just down the Interstate and how he had five blood-relatives also play for this college. (Got an interview with him and lots of family help because it turned out that my wife went to high school with his oldest sister.)

Closest in relation was his uncle (father's side). Couldn't talk to the uncle. Lukemia, quite a while ago. He's my sidebar to the larger feature. Found out that his teammate/roommate in college is now a running backs coach in the NFL.

I must have left 20 messages over two weeks. Called every fucking day and the PR people completely blowing me off. Eventually, running backs coach caught wind I was searching for him and he called me back. Spent about an hour with him on the phone, telling me some stories I could print and some I couldn't. I'm glad it was a good experience.

However, fuck the pros. I would have no patience for their egos.

 

I was covering the Oakland A's for a Sacramento radio station during the Bash Brothers era ('91 when I started). My brother (who had lived with one of McGwire's brothers and knew Big Mac in various capacities) and I come into the clubhouse right after our workout. Game has just ended. As we enter the clubhouse to get some sound, still in workout gear, Mark calls us out for how we're dressed and the rest of the reporters just break out laughing. Mark was just eating it up making us squirm, but it was all in good fun. Welcome to the big leagues, kid! Good memories.

 

Walked into the Royals clubhouse on Opening Day last year, trailing the ultra-veteran beat reporter the whole time, just trying to get the lay of the land. The veteran introduces me to everybody I need to meet and helps me put together a notebook. As we're about to head back to the press box, somebody hollers across the clubhouse.

"Hey, you! How the hell are you?!"

It's George Brett, cursing a blue streak, loving life, looking like he owned the room (and he could have, too, if he wanted to pony up the cash to buy the team). The vet introduces me to Brett. Now, I grew up in Ohio, so I knew about Brett but wasn't in complete awe, knees shaking or anything like that, though it was still pretty cool.

"What the hell high school do you go to, kid?"

"Uh, I'm just finishing up college."

"Oh, you look like you're still young enough to hang out with my boys."

Thanks, George. You look pretty good, too.

I'll never forget that. Brett is a class act, and a good guy.