Postseason sporting events are the most popular television moments of the calendar year. The Super Bowl continues to smash ratings records. College football’s playoff renewed interest this season. March Madness, particularly the first few days of the tournament, is arguably the least productive time of the year in the workplace. There’s the Chase for the Cup, the Hunt for October and the Tradition Unlike Any Other. Each is exciting in its own way. Each is also very difficult to be around in the end.
You’ve seen the images on television or in the newspaper. When the game, the race or the tournament is over emotions overwhelm the athletes. The winners are elated. The losers? Don’t tell them it’s only a game. I can remember my freshman year of varsity basketball we were one of the top teams in Montana’s Class C basketball. We boasted one of the best players at any level in senior Joey Stuart. Our Kremlin-Gildford Kougars fell five points short in the Northern C Divisional semifinal to eventual undefeated state champion Heart Butte. Montana has double elimination tournaments so we still had a chance at qualifying for the state tournament. Unfortunately, we never received that opportunity. I’ll never forget looking Joey in the eyes in the locker room after the game. I was a little freshman with numerous games in front of me. He was a senior, his final high school minutes abruptly halted. As the tears streamed from his eyes I felt my own gaining moisture until I completely lost it. I remember seeing athletes cry after losing and never understood how they could be so upset. Suddenly I knew. Three years later my team lost in the District 9C semifinals. I pulled my jersey over my head and bawled so hard I needed to be led to the locker room. We were still guaranteed at least one game (we played two more, finishing 3rd) but I knew with that loss it was over. I never played competitive basketball again. 11 years have passed since that Saturday in mid-February, yet to this day I can recall the emotion that overcame my entire body. It’s a feeling I wouldn’t wish on an enemy. As it turns out, it’s also a moment I would witness on a very consistent basis. As a sports reporter I have seen some incredible moments. Carroll College football’s 10-7 win over Sioux Falls in the NAIA championship remains the best game, regardless of sport; I have ever seen or had the privilege of covering. Happy tears fell from the faces of the Fighting Saints. By the following year, those tears would return but for opposite reasons as Carroll lost in the championship game. It’s an awkward moment covering the losing team in an elimination game. The seniors are crying, reminding me of Joey all those years ago, and causing the rest of the team to well up. The locker room is silent. Then the reporters enter. It’s not something we want to do; it’s what our job entails us to do. Fans outside the industry call us disrespectful and rude for asking a team, still red in the face where the cries dripped down, about losing. Believe me, these moments are at the bottom of enjoyable media assignments. Someone has to lose of course. We play games to determine one winner and no more. Those same fans complaining about my job description are the ones paying money to perhaps watch their team lose. They know as well as I do what the odds are. But they don’t see what I see. There’s a difference between the sentiment you see on the playing surface and the true emotion I witness behind closed doors. The latest example came Saturday at Staples Center in Los Angeles. My co-workers and I were covering the Arizona Wildcats, a 2-seed in the NCAA’s West Regional final, against the Wisconsin Badgers. Arizona played well, but Wisconsin had one of those nights. It was the Wildcats who would be forced to watch the other team celebrate. If you watched the game you saw Arizona senior T.J. McConnell walk off the floor, tears flowing, to be embraced by coach Sean Miller. If you are a human being, you likely felt sorry for him. But as soon as the TBS cameras returned to Wisconsin celebrating, your attention left poor T.J. The post-game press conference was no different. McConnell cried. He apologized for not leading his coach or his team to the Final Four. He thanked the fans and the university. He cried some more. I was in the Arizona locker room during that time interviewing his teammates. Soon-to-be NBA lottery pick Stanley Johnson was in tears trying to describe how he felt for Arizona’s senior leader. “What do you say to a guy like that?” Johnson sobbed. “He’s a guy that’s given everything to this program. He gives everything he has to everyone around him: his teammates, his coaches, everyone in the locker room. What do you say to a guy like that? “I love him man. He knows I love him.”
Those words, the emotional honesty from an 18 or 19-year-old kid, cut at me. I felt a chill run down my spine. It remained as I watched others throw their uniforms into a pile on the floor, some to never be worn by the same athlete again.
I heard the locker room door open and in walked T.J. McConnell, fresh tears falling from his jawline to the locker room floor. Every media member remaining, some 30-40 people, rushed to the locker with the number “4” posted above. McConnell, like his teammates, was polite, respectfully answering every question thrown his way. He congratulated Wisconsin and wished them luck in the Final Four. He thanked his teammates and coaches. He recalled the last few years where he won 69 games and never lost a home contest in his Arizona career. When he was asked about the fans he broke down again, not once, but twice. “I want to thank literally every one of them,” McConnell said, choking up in the process. “What’s not to like about playing at Arizona? You play in a packed environment no matter who you’re playing. The fans make it so fun and the teammates and coaching staff too. “This was the perfect fit for me,” he said.
McConnell is the latest in a long line of athletes I have seen break down the moment they realize their current playing days are over. He’s 23 years old, still a kid in the grand scheme of things, only he’s probably in his mid-30s maturity-wise. There will be more, of course, in the future whether it is high school, college or even the pros. Once again I will be forced to put my personal emotions on hold while I expose theirs. This post serves as my apology, my understanding, to every athlete I have and will watch break down in their moment of weakness.
As long as we have sports we will continue to crown only one winner. Your television will focus on those victorious, perhaps showing a glimpse of the reaction from the other side. Just remember, the tears don’t stop when your television turns off. To them this is more than just a game.
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“You guys make around $100,000.” It was a statement met with immediate laughter. Around four years ago, a caller spoke those very words to a co-worker of mine, Katie Stukey, in the KRTV newsroom. The man on the phone was disappointed with coverage and believed his opinion should be correct because Katie and I each made “around $100,000” per year. Katie and I responded to the remark with laughter because we did not, I assure you, make $100,000. Combined. I’m not positive the two of our salaries totaled half of that amount. But people have assumptions when it comes to the reporters they watch on TV every night. Being a reporter is an incredible occupation. No two days are the same. Throughout the week you meet dozens of new people and have the honor of telling their unique stories. Sports reporters gain free access to games, press conferences and practices. Some of the best seats in the house are available on a nightly basis. You meet “celebrities” that others can only dream of. Working as a reporter is an unbelievable career. But it doesn’t always provide the glamour that many are led to believe. I have to share a story from earlier in the week that I’m not quite ready to laugh at. You know, the kind of story that while it’s happening you are upset and angry but know down the road you will look back and chuckle. It’s one of those. The kind that happens in a reporter’s life more often than one may think. Monday night I had the privilege of going to Glendale, AZ to University of Phoenix Stadium. The Arizona Cardinals were hosting the San Diego Chargers on Monday Night Football in the finale of week one. I had felt ill for about three days, but figured I could keep it at bay for the chance to cover an NFL game. Unfortunately, that was mistake number one. During the game I received one of the more intense headaches I can recall suffering. Pair that with my body not being able to determine if it were hot or cold and the aching pains in my back and neck and I was far from enjoying the experience. Obviously suffering under these symptoms was the fault of no one but myself. But the story did not end there. Fast-forward to an incredible finish that saw Arizona win the game and it was time to make the approximately two-hour drive back to Tucson. My co-worker, Scott, and I left University of Phoenix Stadium and headed for the parking lot. A heavy rain immediately greeted us outdoors. As we ran to our news station vehicle and unlocked the doors we were met by the sound of the car alarm emitting from under the hood. A quick press of the alarm button on the car’s key fob would typically solve the problem, but ours was clearly not working. The car would also not start, making no attempt to turn over when the key was in the ignition. It was clear the vehicle would not start while the alarm was engaged, but we had no way of fixing the issue. Hours passed as we stood in the pouring rain (intensifying my illness) trying to jump-start the vehicle, disengage the alarm and even attempt to put brand new batteries in the car’s key fob. It was clear nothing was going to work and someone would need to make the drive from Tucson to pick us up and return back home. Nearly five hours passed with Scott and I standing in the rain, listening to the alarm and trying to get our vehicle running. Around 4am a co-worker appeared and we were on our soaking-wet way to Tucson and our own beds. The sun rose before I walked in my front door. Again, somewhere down the road this will be a moment I look back and laugh at. But with the frustrations recent in my mind, laughing is far from my to-do list. This is only one personal memory of how the life of a reporter can turn unglamorous. Many journalists have their own stories of long hours, technological mishaps or miscommunications. Some are much more serious with reports of stalkers, death-threats, and even restraining orders. Please do not mistake the intent of this blog post as seeking pity or even respect. I ask that you give that respect to those in the military, medical and law enforcement fields. Workers in those occupations have unglamorous moments much more often than I. The reason for this post is to express that even a career that portrays an image of fame, money and glamour can consist of the exact opposite. Meanwhile, I will continue to enjoy being a reporter. I will appreciate the access to sporting events and the athletes that participate in them. I will remain thankful to be part of an occupation that allows me to do what I am passionate about. At least until the TV station car with the alarm going off in the pouring rain, will no longer start. Maybe I’m getting closer to the “look back and laugh” stage after all. |
AuthorRichie is a small-town boy chasing big-city dreams. When he's not involved with sports, he's spending time with his wife, Fallon; their yorkie, Tinker; and their Rhodesian Ridgeback, Rosie. Archives
April 2016
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