One of the most fun and least fun things about being a play-by-play announcer is the travel. Everytime you turn around, it's time to pack your bags. It takes its toll, but it also has given me a chance to see places I never would have seen otherwise. I've had the opportunity to call games in places like New York City, Miami and Denver. I've also broadcast from less luxurious outposts, such as Brainerd, Beloit and Bakersfield. No matter where you are or who's playing, every game has its own story. And, if you're lucky, you come home from every road trip with an anecdote to share.
There have been some fun and frustrating times. I'll never forget Bakersfield, California, which has an old dump of a baseball stadium where some of the great Dodger legends came up through the system. The booth lacks air conditioning, the temperature always seems like it's approaching 100 degrees, and they built the stadium backwards so that the sun sets right in the batter's (and broadcaster's) eyes. I went up to the prsss box to set up my equipment and plug in my phone to make sure there's a dial tone. I started to hear the phone ringing. That number should be unlisted. Who's calling? A woman is on the line, wanting to talk to the public address announcer. It's his ex-wife, and she's angry. Why he gave her the visiting radio line to call is either stupidity or a sheer stroke of genius.
Sometimes the travel turns your brain to mush. Last year, I left New Orleans on a Tuesday for a men's basketball game at Northwestern State on Wednesday night. We arrived back very late before I hopped on a bus with the women's team on Thursday morning, bound for McNeese State for a Friday night tilt. We came right back to New Orleans after the game. I grabbed a few hours of shuteye before heading to the airport on Saturday morning for a flight to Raleigh.
I'm at the gate when I get a sudden, uneasy feeling. I've forgotten something. I go through a checklist in my head. Cell phone? Check. Computer? Check. Printer? Check. Broadcast equipment? Dear God. I called Mike Parson, our old equipment manager, hysterically. That man rushed to the airport as quickly as he could, but it was too late. The gate was closing and there was no guarantee of a later flight. Bless Mike Parson, who put my bag on a Greyhound Bus bound for Jackson, then Raleigh. My gear arrived safely a few hours before tip-off, and I didn't have to broadcast the biggest UNO win in years via my cell phone.
When Jim Miller found out about the incident, he asked me, incredulously, if Ted Williams would ever forget his bat? I told him I was only a .220 hitter.
When you're traveling, you often put your faith in others, and hope they come through. Most are highly skilled professionals and are exceptional at what they do. Then, there's Dollar Bill (the nickname is a long story). He's a bus driver who once got lost in a parking lot. The man had zero concept of direction. Well, after a year or so with him, someone purchased Dollar Bill a GPS. You would think that would cure what ailed him. You'd be wrong. Even GPS devices can be off by a second or two. If you just use your eyes to see what's in front of you, there's usually no trouble compensating. Not for Dollar Bill. If that GPS told him to turn, he was turning. One time, despite clearly seeing the sign for the team hotel just a few feet up the road, he decided to veer left into the path of an oncoming semi and toward a ditch. After miraculously escaping with our lives, we asked Dollar Bill what the heck he was doing. He said he thought the GPS was giving him a shortcut.
There are very few things I ask for on a road trip: a win for the good guys (or girls), internet at the hotel, a working phone line at the game, a Waffle House within walking distance and a good story to tell when I come home. Everything else is a bonus. Troy, Alabama has been kind so far this week. I'm still waiting for a story, though.
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