Dream On

Why am I still having work nightmares?

When we moved to Florida two years ago, my work nightmares stopped. For years, I'd had sleepless nights, thanks to my previous job in the Peach State. I was constantly stressed out, completely miserable, and often sleepless. I actually took a pay cut to move down here, just so I could have some peace of mind.

For nearly two years, I slept well. No nightmares about missing a big story, or about getting sent to a game that didn't exist, or being forced to report on news (yuck).

Not until I was let go. Those last few weeks, I hardly slept at all. It didn't help that I got stuck with some seriously bad assignments those last few weeks-- and the nightmares came back.

So here I am, entering my second week of unemployment. Oddly enough, despite my fears that the condo will be foreclosed upon and that Cory's truck will be reposessed, I've slept pretty well. I think all the booze helps.

Last night, though, a new work nightmare. And it really was a work nightmare, featuring my former co-workers, crappy news assignments, and of course, I was running late for the big story.

Why? I don't even have a stinking job anymore, so why am I still having nightmares about it?

Pursuit of Perfection

About two months ago, when the undefeated New England Patriots were playing the also-undefeated Indianapolis Colts, I got kind of a cool opportunity. I got a chance to interview Earl Morrall and Charlie Babb of the 1972 Miami Dolphins, and ask them how they felt about the possibility that one of those teams would equal their perfect season.

Unlike crazy Mercury Morris, who you've probably seen on TV ranting and raving about the Pats' record, Morrall and Babb were very courteous, very respectful. They said they wouldn't be bitter or angry if someone duplicated their record-- but that they wouldn't be cheering for someone to do it, either. Babb added (and I'm paraphrasing here), "We're old men now. That 16-0 season is all we have left to hang our hats on."

Of course, that possibility has become a reality. The Patriots escaped the New York Giants on Saturday night to go 16-0-- a perfect season for just the second time in history.

Or is it? What if I told you that another team had a perfect season-- before either the Dolphins or the Patriots?

The Cleveland Browns did it in 1948. That's right-- a team you've heard of. A team that's in the NFL, though at the time the Browns were a member of the All-America Football Conference (AAFC).

The AAFC was only around a few years, but it was a pretty formidable opponent to the NFL. Teams like the San Francisco 49ers, Baltimore Colts and Buffalo Bills started out as members of the AAFC. The AAFC even drew more fans to their games than the NFL.

Just a year after the Browns' perfect season, the NFL absorbed the AAFC, and the Browns became one of the top teams in the league.

Now here's the rub. In 1970, the NFL had another merger with the AFL-- and the NFL recognizes all of the AFL's records (pre-1970) as NFL records. The same isn't true for the AAFC records. So the NFL doesn't recognize the 1948 Browns-- or their perfect season. Sure, they only won 15 games (as opposed to the Patriots 16 so far), but perfect is perfect, right?

It's kind of sad, really. Most of the players on that team were born in the 1920's. And while the bigger names, like Otto Graham and Lou Groza, have passed away, I'm sure there are still members of the perfect 1948 Browns that are still alive and kicking.

I wonder what they think about the 2007 Patriots?

But now you know. So when that guy in your office starts babbling about how awesome the Patriots are, dazzle him with your knowledge of the first NFL team to play a perfect season. You'll blow his mind.

Things are looking up...

...at least a little.

I went into the station on Friday, just to fill out paperwork, turn in my keys and whatnot, and I didn't cry once. I'm pretty proud of myself. I haven't even cried since Thursday night/Friday morning when I had my little birthday breakdown.

Some of you probably think I'm crazy-- you'd love it if you got "downsized." And having a little time off will be nice.

But see, here's the thing. I loved my job. And I'm I was one of those few lucky people on this planet that actually had the job they dreamed of for most of their lives. And I guess I should feel fortunate that I had the experience at all-- but I really don't feel that way. I feel like I'd barely even had a taste of it-- and then it was all just ripped away from me. It's truly heartbreaking.

Of course, there are lots of other reason why I've been freaking out for the past month or so. Like the mortgage. And the bills. And the fact that there are virtually no jobs out there that I'm qualified for.

But mostly, it's just complete and total frustration-- You show up for work, do your job, don't bitch about it, don't call in sick, and don't fudge your time-card. You try to be nice to your co-workers. You play well with others, even when you don't want to. And you're pretty good at what you do-- maybe not the best, but definitely not the worst-- And absolutely none of that matters.

Like I said, though... things are looking up. Some of our friends threw a little surprise birthday party for me on Saturday night. It's going to sound so juvenile and selfish-- but it's exactly what I needed. Marisa even gave me some fun gifts... including this. I can't wait to make a crazy-ass sock monkey with my copious spare time.

Thursday Thirteen

The last few weeks have been pretty rough around the O'Dizzle homestead. I don't really feel like going into detail about it. Let's just say that this Thursday Thirteen is half venting my anger, and half a pep talk to myself.

Thirteen Reasons why losing my job isn't the worst thing in the world:
1) I still make less money than I did as a teacher ten years ago.
2) The construction on Palm Beach Boulevard may never end.
3) I might... someday... get to work "normal" days and hours (working until midnight-- at the earliest-- on Fridays, Saturdays and Sundays sucks).
4) I won't have to deal with the Boston Red Sox-- or the (ugh) Boston media-- any more.
5) No more calls on my cell phone waking me up every morning with the "plan for today."
6) Never having to smell a hockey locker room again.
7) Pretty soon, I'll be able to go to the store without makeup (and wearing sweatpants) and nobody will recognize me.
8) Very few of my co-workers talk to me anyway, so I won't really miss most of them.
9) Unless I get a job on a highway road crew, I probably won't have to sweat my ass off out in the sun every day of the spring, summer, and fall (and parts of winter).
10) No more hanging out at high schools. I had a high school kid scream "Whore!" at me last week when I wouldn't put him on TV. Very nice.
11) No more lugging around a 27-pound camera. Or a 15-plus pound tripod. I'll be spending a lot less money on ibuprofen.
12) The pride of cashing a $275.00 unemployment compensation check every week. Because nothing is better for your self-esteem than sucking off of the government's teat.
13) There'll be cake on my last day. Or at least, there'd damn well better be cake. If not, I might just burn the effing building down.

Want to check out other people's (probably much less depressing) Thursday Thirteens? Then visit the T-13 Blogroll!

Hide! It's the Grammar Police!

Ok, so I've been accused of being a "Grammar Nazi" more than once in my life. And I admit, it drives me absolutely crazy to see misplaced apostrophes, commas, and quotation marks. Sure, it's one thing in a hastily scribbled note, and I'm willing to let one or two little incidents slide-- but it absolutely drives me crazy when the people who goofed presumably know better.

For example, about a month ago, I was watching tv when I saw a promo for MY SHOW. There I was, on the boob-tube with my co-workers, talking about high school football. Then came the dreaded text:

Friday's at 11:15

Really? Friday's? I wasn't aware that "Friday" owned anything.

It was after 5pm, so I knew that if I called the station, nobody in charge would be there. Instead, I immediately typed an email to my boss, to the promotions manager, and to the news director. The promo was corrected the next day.

But here's the worst part. The email I got back from the promotions manager (thanking me for noticing the error) said one word:

Thank's!

I sh*t you not. And I'm pretty sure he wasn't joking.

I know that some of my friends (ahem... Cory and Melissa) feel the same way that I do about poor punctuation... and now, I've found many more, at The “Blog” of “Unnecessary” Quotation Marks (ironic use of quotation marks intended).

Maybe I should start a companion-- The Blog of Misplaced Apostrophe's (once again, irony intended).

Homesick?

Regular visitors to the ol' sportslady blog will no doubt recall that I wasn't particularly fond of my time spent in Georgia. Sure, there were good times (like Music Midtown, which, sadly, is now defunt), but there were also bad times, like the crazy hours I worked at two evil stations which shall remain nameless.

But every now and then, something happens which makes me miss my time in C-Town. Like a month ago, when I had my first encounter with USF's head football coach. The encounter lasted a whole ten seconds, and I learned quickly that he's a self-important ass with the social skills of one of Michael Vick's pitbulls. I think back to how lucky I was to cover Auburn University. Tommy Tuberville is a class act, and Auburn will always be one of my favorite teams because of him.

And then, there's this: A little video I stumbled across on YouTube.


I miss obscenely-dancing mascots. This one, actually, is pretty tame, compared to some of the dancing mascots I saw back in the Peach State. If you can't watch someone in a fuzzy costume perform dance moves that would get them arrested anywhere else, then what's the fun of high school football?

How I spent my Friday Night

You've all often heard (or actually read) me complaining about Football Season-- and my crazy Friday nights. Life has improved greatly since we moved to Florida. Our sports department has three full-time anchor/reporters, and on Friday nights, we get tons of help from our news departnemt. Several news photographers (and a few reporters) shoot games for us, and we have two producers who dedicate their evenings to writing scripts and getting scores. Oh, and our new news director gave us three more minutes than we got last year!

As a result, our Friday night "Frenzy" looks pretty damn good. Yeah, there are still a few kinks to work out, but if you'd like to check out our show, it's on the web! You can catch everything except the intro (we use copywrighted music, so we can't put it on the web) and the final 15 seconds (where we just say "bye!").

How I spent my Friday Night, Part One
How I spent my Friday Night, Part Two

In Brief...

We've been busy remodeling the ugly, ugly master bathroom (as opposed to the guest bathroom, which was just ugly), so I haven't had a lot of free time on my hands to blog. We tiled on Monday, and I've been slowly grouting the tiles since then. It's a long process, and I fear that our slightly uneven floor will eventually cause cracked tiles and I'll have to do the whole damn thing over again.

But I digress.

I did an interesting story on Friday (well, actually, it aired on Friday... I did the interview and shot the video weeks ago). If you'd like to watch it, use the link below:

Johncke Swings Back

All cracked out and noplace to go...

Every now and then, do you see something so bizarre that you know, no matter how well you describe it, you'll never do it justice?

That's what I'm attempting to do here.

For starters, I work in a "downtown" area. I know, "The Fort" isn't exactly a booming metropolis, but it's a miniature version of every city I've ever lived in. There's a downtown area which is fairly nice, but is surrounded by a ring of seediness. Seedy neighborhoods, seedy people, seedy businesses. Since I work downtown, that means I have to drive through some shady neighborhoods to get to work and to get anywhere from work. And since I spend a lot of my day driving from one story to another, I drive through these neighborhoods fairly frequently.

The only way to get from our station to the interstate is to drive through one of these neighborhoods. First, I cross the railroad tracks (and isn't the phrase "wrong side of the tracks" one of the most apt expressions you've ever heard?), and immediately, the scenery changes. The homes all have bars over their windows. Except for the homes in the projects. They have plywood covering their windows. There are two businesses in the neighborhood-- a diner which is literally run out of an old school bus, and a clothing store which, instead of having a sign, uses graffiti art to advertise itself.

So, that's the backdrop for my story. Can you tell this is going to be good?

I was driving from work to the hockey arena a couple of days ago, so I had to go through this neighborhood. There is one stoplight, with houses on two of the streetcorners, a school on one, and the graffiti store on the fourth corner. And I'm stopped there. Though neither road is a particularly busy road, it's about 6:30 and people are coming home from work, so there are four cars in front of me.

All of a sudden, out of nowhere, a guy runs into the middle of the intersection just as the light changes. The first car tries to get around him, and he rips the ballcap off of his head and throws it at the car. Then he starts hopping up and down, like a pogo stick. Hopping and dancing. He rips his shirt off and throws it in the middle of the road. And all the while, he keeps hopping and dancing, springing all over the middle of the intersection. Oh, and he's yelling. I don't know what he's yelling, but he's yelling. Or maybe he's singing.

Now mind you, I wasn't scared of the guy. He didn't seem threatening, like he was going to pull out a gun and kill anyone. The whole thing was more comical than anything else.

The cars in front of me are slowly trying to get through the intersection without hitting him. Most of the time, he seems oblivious to the cars and he just keeps springing around. Since I'm in a vehicle with my station's call letters plastered all over it, I'm simply praying that he doesn't see me, realize I work at a TV station, and freak out. I manage to get through the intersection, and I get a pretty good look at the guy. He looks crazy.

As I look in my rear view mirror. he leaps in front of the car behind me, and they barely miss hitting him.

Now, the whole time this was happening, I was on the phone with my boss, attempting to ask him a question about the story I was about to go shoot, but the conversation turned into me just laughing as I gave him the play-by-play: "There's some crazy half-naked nutbag going apesh*t in the middle of the intersection!" We decide it's probably not a news story unless he gets run over.

About ten minutes later, I'm on the interstate and my cell phone rings. It's my boss, who is heading out to a story of his own, and he had to drive through the intersection, too. By that point, the police had arrived, and they were trying to catch the crazy dude. And from what I could make out while Clayton gave me his laughing play-by-play, it was kind of like watching the Keystone Cops... or maybe a Benny Hill chase scene.

I've driven through that intersection at least five times since then, and I'm sad to report that no more cracked-out freaks have appeared. Sigh.

Welcome to the 20th Century

Back in 2000, the television station I was working at in tiny little Kirksville, Missouri, had the ability to upload video to its website. We didn't do it often, because it wasn't an easy process, but every now and then, one of our stories would appear on the website.

My current station, a much larger station in a much larger city, just got the ability to upload video in the last month. I'm thrilled, because it means when people call all cranky that they forgot to set their VCRs, I can tell them to watch the story on our website. And now, it also means that you can now watch some of my stories (some good, some not-so-good) on the old "interweb."

Here are a few from the last couple of weeks:

The Man Who Met Jackie Robinson
Chicken Soup for Terry Jo Myers
Sister Act in the Monster Truck World
A Wimbledon Champion's Homecoming

My Inner 14-year-old Speaks Out

Yesterday, I got to interview Pat Cash. Remember him? Cute Australian tennis player, circa 1984-ish? The guy with the checkerboard headband?

Anyway, like (almost) all of the tennis players I've interviewed, he's very nice... down-to-earth... and easy to talk to.

So I asked him a question I've wondered about since I was fourteen. Nope, it had nothing to do with Tennis. Not even close. I asked if he's the same "Pat Cash" that's thanked on the liner notes to a couple of Iron Maiden albums.

You better believe he is. He smiled and laughed when I asked him, and we ended up talking about Maiden for a few minutes.

How cool is that?

The Curse of the Sportslady

Doesn't that sound like the title of a Nancy Drew mystery?

Nothing mysterious here. Fridays are the new Monday. Anything that can go wrong for me on a Friday, apparently will go wrong. I won't go into the details of every Friday this month... suffice to say, things were sucky. And for no apparent reason.

I will, however, tell you about one thing that happened to me this last Friday.

Last week, I split my time between covering Spring Training (Red Sox and Twins) and the ACE Group Classic, a PGA Senior Tour "Champions Tour" event. While spring training is more interesting (I met Bert Blyleven this week-- he was really nice. Cory got to play softball with him), there are advantages to covering pro golf. For one thing, the golf tournaments always feed you. And the food is usually really good.

Friday, I headed out to the course to shoot the first round of the tournament. Since I'm just one person, I obviously can't cover every golfer over the entire golf course. So, after eating, I planted myself in the shade on the eighteenth green, waited for the leaders to come in, and as they finished their rounds, I quickly interviewed them.

Photographers at PGA tour events are given "inside the ropes" access, which basically means that I get to stand where other people don't. The PGA gives us a big orange sticker to wear, so that people let us go wherever we want. The sticker, as it turned out, came in very handy.

See, shortly after I arrived on the 18th green and set up my camera, I needed to grab something out of my bag. I squatted down, and managed to bump up against a wooden stake sticking out of the ground. And I heard this:

Rrrrriiiiiiiiiipppppppp!!!!!

That's the sound of a giant rip forming in the ass of my pants.

I should point out here that I was wearing my favorite pants. They're a nice pair of lightweight khakis... a little loose on me, which makes them very comfy. They weren't super tight (thus facilitating the rip), and they weren't really worn out, either. No reason for them to rip, except of course for the big wooden stake that I bumped.

So there I am, pants flapping in the breeze, undies visible to the world (Fortunately, I hadn't worn anything with Snoopy or Hello Kitty on them that day). What to do?

A little light bulb appeared over my head. The Sticker! Sure, it would mean having a giant orange sticker drawing attention to my ass... but at least the whole world wouldn't see my skivvies.

So instead of spending an entire day with people pointing and snickering at the giant hole in my pants, I got to spend an entire day with people saying to me, "Hey, you know you've got a big sticker on your ass?"

And then I'd tell them that I had a big rip in my pants, and we'd all have a good giggle. It happened about 45 times.

The worst was on the drive back to work. I had to stop at a gas station, and while I was waiting in line, the man behind me started laughing. And talking in Spanish. And while I don't know much of the Espanol, when a guy is laughing, staring at my ass, and says something which ends with the word "pantalones," I'm pretty sure I know what you're talking about.

I turned around and smiled sweetly. "I have a rip in my pantalones. I had to cover it somehow." I laughed. He laughed. I'm just not sure if he was laughing with me or at me.

Another Day, Another Circus

...Media circus, that is.

My humble home town here in the Sunshine State is feverish with Daisuke-Mania. The Boston Red Sox' new zillion dollar investment has arrived here in town, and all of the media has been whipped into a frenzy.

But unlike last year's drama over Manny, it isn't just Red Sox nation that's been sucked into the craziness. This year, we're going worldwide. The entire city has been overrun with Japanese media. It seems like every time I turn around, there's a Japanese man or woman wielding a microphone or a camera, staking any possible place Daiskue might emerge. Today, there were three camera crews along the side of the road near the Sox spring training complex, just waiting for him to drive by.

Last night, the frenzy may have peaked. A press conference for Daisuke. Complete with interpreter. And a throng of media.

And while a news conference may not sound unusual, around here it is. See, spring training is casual. The players hold very informal practices, then showered, walk over to their cars, and drive off. If we (the media) want to talk to them, then we just mosey on over, and start chit-chatting. Sometimes they're cool about it. Sometimes they're dicks. Either way, it's very laid-back. When there is a "news conference," it's usually around a picnic table.

Not this year.

150 members of the media (about 60% Japanese) stood around , watching and listening at the Daisuke news conference, which was televised live in Japan (at 8:00 am). Oh, watching it was not unlike the thrill of watching paint dry. Someone would ask a question in English, which would then get translated into Japanese, to which Daisuke would respond in Japanese, and then we would hear the translator's version of his remarks. Every question took at least five minutes to answer, and the majority of the answers were pretty dry. I get the feeling it was kind of like a game of "telephone" when you're a kid... every version gets a little more watered-down than the previous version. Often, he wasn't answering the question that was asked. Once, his answer didn't even remotely resemble the question. And often, even if he spoke for a minute, his interpreter's response was very brief- maybe 10 seconds long.

He did manage to crack a few jokes in there, and he seems to have a pretty good sense of humor. He'll need it to survive with the Sox.

By the way, if you're wondering why I'm standing sooooo far away in the above picture, it's because I had gotten bored with the news conference itself, and had moved off to the side to get video of the media throng instead. To me, they became the real story.

By the way, Jayson Stark at ESPN.com did a great article on Thursday's media circus at City of Palms Park. He makes many of the same observations that I reported on during last night's newcast. And since you can't watch me, you might as well read his article, which is much more articulate than anything I've ever spoken or typed.

The Glamorous Life

Ahh, yes... the glamorous life of a television reporter. That's me, along with our sports director, at about midnight after the Super Bowl. It's oddly appropriate that the picture is blurry, since that's how I felt. And that was before the four-hour-long journey back home.

Super Bowl XLI was the first-ever Super Bowl to be played in the rain. And anyone down here will tell you that it hardly ever rains in the winter in Florida. What they neglect to tell you, however, is that when it rains during the summer, the showers last for maybe an hour. When it rains in the winter, it rains all day long.


And that's what happened on Super Bowl Sunday.

As a "special tv reporter" at the Super Bowl, I essentially had permission to roam around the stadium during the game, though "special reporters" don't get the privilege of a seat in the press box or in the stands. I managed to find a spot to watch most of the first quarter... and I shot a few pictures with my trusty digital camera to keep myself distracted from the fact that I was soaking wet.


Don't expect to be impressed by these photos, by the way. There's nothing particularly interesting or spectacular about them. For the most part, they're just pictures.

In this one, you can see a close-up of Rex Grossman on the giant screen. For some reason, I imagine he was talking to himself kind of like Tim Robbins' character in Bull Durham, mumbling things to himself like "Why does he keep calling me 'Meat?'"

This woman loved Lovie Smith (The Bears Head Coach). I think she was from his home town. Her sign says "Big Sandy, Texas is Lovie Country!"

Speaking of Bears, I know I've expressed my fondness for mascots before. I enjoyed watching the Bears mascot share a high-five with one of the stadium security guys. The high-five happened just after the Bears scored their second touchdown of the game. I missed the first TD (Devin Hester's Kickoff Return Touchdown) because I was in line to buy Cory a souvenir. He better damn well wear it every day for the rest of the year.

I didn't get a very good picture of the Bears TD-- though I got a shot of Reggie Wayne celebrating after his first-quarter touchdown reception. Too bad they were all the way on the other side of the stadium, otherwise the picture wouldn't have been nearly as blurry.

By this point, I was cold, wet, and downright miserable. At the end of the first quarter, I decided to go for a walk and see if I could find any cool souvenirs. Not surprisingly, everying was phenomenally overpriced. I bought Cory a visor for $25, and I got myself a shirt-- a bargain at $32. So how overpriced was everything? Get this... a 12 oz. beer was ten bucks!

Cold and bitter, I wandered down to the working media room to watch the rest of the game. And here's where it gets really glamorous, as you can see from the picture. But hell, it was warm, it was dry, and there was plenty of free food. I loaded up on fajitas, Cape Cod chips, popcorn, m&ms and sour gummi bears for the next three hours. I didn't even go back into the rain to see Prince in the halftime show, opting to watch it on the hi-def TV in the workroom instead. At a few points, I regretted not going out in the rain to see him-- but I kept telling myself that what I saw on Thursday was infinitely cooler than having to share a Prince concert with 80,000 other people.

(By the way, did anyone get the Prince connection with the title of this post? Kudos to you if you did.)

The rest of the night was pretty uneventful. I didn't go down on the field to see the trophy presentation. I hung out at the satellite truck until it was time to do our live shots (I wasn't reporting, so I just watched). We saw a guy that Clayton was convinced was Ladainian Tomlinson, but it turned out to be Jerry Azumah. We had to ride a shuttle bus 30 minutes to get to our car, then turn around and drive back the exact opposite direction to go back home. I got to the condo by 4:15 a.m. and was in bed by 4:20.

The glamorous life, indeed.

Super Bowl Royalty

Thursday I was supposed to do a live-via-satellite segment from the Super Bowl-- just talking about the vibe in Miami that day and introducing one of the stories that I did. More on that later...

I also needed to visit the media center... partially because our satellite truck operator needed to pick up his credentials... and partially because of something I saw on the lengthy list of events and news conferences:

2:00 p.m. National Anthem Press Conference with Billy Joel
2:30 p.m. Halftime Show Press Conference with Prince

I've seen Billy Joel in concert four times (he played at the Palace of Auburn Hills when I worked there in the late 80s and early 90s). But I've never, ever seen Prince. Let's face it... the guy is kind of an enigma. Very unpredictable. And from what I understand, he really doesn't talk.

So the potential for something interesting/bizarre/hilarious/cool to happen was definitely there. Definitely worth stopping by.

Around 2:20, I moseyed into the Billy Joel news conference. He was charming and funny, and he had all of the reporters eating out of his hand. There were probably about 40 or 50 TV news cameras there, about the same number of newspaper photographers, and a couple hundred reporters. When he finished, they announced that the Prince press conference would be starting in about ten minutes. I noticed that a keyboard had mysteriously appeared on the stage.

This is gonna be good, I thought.

I had a few errands to run in the Media Center-- visiting all the booths where they were passing out the free stuff. I got a free leather briefcase, a commemorative Super Bowl pin, and one of these, along with some food, a candy bar, and a little mini office supply kit.

I also wandered down Radio Row, looking to see who was there doing their radio shows and if I could spot any celebritites. I saw a bunch of retired football players who looked vaguely familiar, but none whose names I could place with the faces. I also briefly pondered throwing something at Jim Rome's head (there are few people on this planet that annoy me more), but then I saw something much, much, more interesting.

Some radio show was interviewing The King.

No, not Elvis. The Burger King mascot. By the way, mascots don't talk. It was one of the most surreal things I've ever seen. I snapped a picture with the little el-cheapo camera, but it really doesn't do the situation justice.

I think the guys sitting next to the King are is spokesmen. I'm not quite sure. There was a small crowd gathered around the spectacle... all trying to figure out exactly what was going on. I had to hold the camera up in the air, point it down, and hope that the picture turned out-- which is why it's off-center.

At this point, my 10 minutes was over, and I wandered back to the conference room to check out the Prince press conference. As I walked in, one of the Super Bowl committee members was waxing poetic about Prince and how excited they were that he would be performing the Halftime show. Then he introduced his magesty.

Prince's band walked out. Prince's dancers walked out. Then Prince walked out.

He walked up to the microphone, then said "Contrary to any rumors you may have heard, I'd like to take a few questions."

Stunned silence for about five seconds.

Then some guy shouted out, "Prince, how do you..." at which point, Prince turned around, pumped his fist, and his band broke into "Johnny Be Goode."

That's right... I showed up at a press conference... and a concert broke out.

It was great... all in all, there were maybe 500 people there, and Prince and his band did a three-song set. We had to take off during the third song, but not before I shot a bunch of video for the news and took a few shitty little pictures with my shitty little camera.


I know... you can't even tell it's Prince. He's the one in orange holding what looks like a guitar.

I'm very glad I got to see Prince do his little impromptu concert, because the rest of the day went to hell in a handbasket. The satellite booking company double-booked our satellite channel, so I never got my live-via-satellite shot. So essentially, I drove to Miami for nothing. Except I got some cool free stuff and I saw Prince in a private concert.

On a side note... isn't the Super Bowl halftime show all about "good clean fun" ever since the famed "wardrobe malfunction?" That's what I thought, too. But isn't Prince the same guy who did the songs "Erotic City," "Horny Pony," and "Gett Off?" And isn't he the same guy who once wore a pair of lacy ass-less pants on national television while performing one of the above songs?

Or is my memory failing me? Nope. I didn't think so.

Sure, Prince has mellowed out in the last 15 years or so... But I'm still a little suprised that he was chosen to do halftime. Not complaining... just surprised.

Photographs and Memories

I love my digital camera-- but it's just a little too big (and a little too nice) to take everywhere I go. A couple of years back, when Cory and I went to Music Midtown, we ended up taking a disposable cardboard camera with us. This week, I haven't been taking my digital camera to the Super Bowl, and I've kind of been kicking myself for that, but it's too big to fit in my messenger bag with everything else I'm lugging around.

A couple of days ago, Cory mentioned that he might like his own digital camera-- a small, fairly inexpensive one to take to places like amusement parks. His cell phone already has a camera-- but I don't think he's figured out how to transfer photos from his phone to our computer yet.

Last night, I bought a $15 digital camera. Yeah, it's a piece of crap, but it's tiny and it's quick. I figure if I'm walking down the street and William "The Refrigerator" Perry wanders by, I can snap a picture of him before he even knows it.

By the way, I have something kind of fun planned for the Super Bowl today. It might fall through, so I'm not going to tell you what it is just yet... but if all goes as planned, I may have a treat for all of you children of the 80s out there.

Joining the Circus

For the second time in my life, I'm covering a Super Bowl. As you can imagine, I'm pretty excited about it.

Super Bowl XLI is in Miami, just a 2 1/2 hour drive across the state. The last time I covered a Super Bowl (XXXIV), it was in Atlanta, and I was working in Northeast Missouri... so it was about a 14 hour drive. By comparison, scooting across the Everglades is a breeze.

Unfortunately, Dolphin Stadium is just a little too close. Our station isn't paying for us to stay in Miami, so every day, that means we're driving 5 hours roundtrip before we even really start doing our work for the day.

It also means that yet again, I'm missing the ultra-swanky media parties. Believe me, I'm not happy about it at all. Even worse, I got an invite to a couple VIP events over the weekend-- a Beach Barbecue Friday hosted by Kanye West-- and a beach party Saturday night... Ludacris was performing, Biz Markie was the DJ. Sure, I would have felt a little out of my league at both of them, but think about what an interesting experience it would have been.

Last night was the big media party, hosted by Miami-Dade county. Where was I? In my apartment, taking a nap. Resting up... because I'd had a long, long, long day on Tuesday.

I spent it at the biggest media circus in the Sunshine State: Super Bowl Media Day. And while it was just as bizarre as everyone has described, there was a sense of order around all the chaos. Maybe it's the giant ticking clock on the scoreboard that tells you exactly how long you have before they kick you out of the stadium. I'm not sure.

Some of the strangest things I saw and heard at Media Day?

1) A reporter asking one of the Chicago Bears "Do you think Tyra Banks looks fat?"

2) A reporter (not the same one) asking one of the Indianapolis Colts "Since Barbaro died, is that a bad omen for the Colts?"

3) ESPN poppa-bear Chris Berman actually talking to me. In a real conversation. Very cool.

4) A puppet interviewing players. Upon further investigation, I've determined he was a Chilean puppet.... if that matters.

5) The little "special" guys from American Idol (the ones that Simon ripped because he thought they were simply talentless, and didn't realize that they were more "special" than all the other people at the audition). They were on assignment from Jimmy Kimmel Live and coaxed Adam Vinatieri into singing "Take me out to the Ballgame" with them. Vinatieri was a total sport.

Anyway, to get to Miami in time for Media Day, we had to leave work at 6:00 a.m. That meant I had to be up at 4:30 a.m. Like I said, it was a long, long, long day.

Before I left, Cory told me to be on the lookout for Bill Simmons, who is a writer for ESPN.com. He's a pretty funny guy. But because he's a writer, I don't really know what he looks like.

Every year, Simmons does a little photo blog from Media Day. And as it turns out, he was about four steps behind me the entire time. Literally. Here's one of the pictures he took:

Yep. That's the back of my head.

My co-worker Randy called me to tell me that my picture was on ESPN.com. He's apparently a pretty observant guy, because I wouldn't have even given that photo a second look.

To get an inside look at the chaos of Media Day, check out Simmons' article. It's several pages long, but it's almost all pictures, so it only takes a few minutes to peruse. Plus, as an added bonus, you get to see a larger picture of the back of my head. How's that for enticement?

In the meantime, I have to get ready for work. I'm leaving for Miami in an hour.

Get Cup Crazy

Sometimes my job can be pretty cool... Saturday was one of those days.

Life's A Beach

Sometimes my job can be pretty cool. Yesterday, I covered a youth sailing regatta at the beach. Getting to the beach (the big one) is about a 40 minute drive from here, but it's a nice drive this time of year. There aren't too many tourists in town yet, clogging the one main street on the island.

Saturday was a gorgeous day. Sunny, but not too sunny, a high of about 85 degrees, with a nice breeze coming off of the gulf. Not a bad day to spend a few hours on a boat, which is what I did. When I was done, I gave Cory a call and he met me at the beach for lunch. We sat outside, overlooking a little harbor, and talked about the fact that our wedding is exactly six months away!

I got back to work just in time to catch the start of a certain ballgame that I was very interested in watching (still not naming names, in the interest of keeping my team jinx-free). One of the luxuries of working in television is that every single one of us has a tv at our desk. Sometimes on a Saturday evening, when there are a lot of game I want to see going on at once, I'll visit all of the empty desks around me and turn each television to a different game. Then I can just swivel around on my chair and watch them all at once. It's kind of like being at a sports bar on an NFL Sunday (only without the beer and buffalo wings).

Yesterday, I only had to watch a couple of TVs. Of course, I had the big game (the one where the fans looked very cold) on at my desk... and a couple of college football games on assorted desks around me. I stuck around until my game ended, did a happy dance around the newsroom, then headed out to the hockey game.

Believe it or not, the hockey game was the worst part of my day. Crazy, huh? Because I stayed at the station to watch the end of you-know-what, I only caught the third period of the hockey game, and they lost. Thankfully, it was just an exhibition. The regular season doesn't start until next week.

When I got back to the station, it was just in time to see the end of the football game (War Eagle!) and the end of the other game-we-will-not-mention (trying not to jinx Cory's team, either).

So, all in all, a day at the beach, a dramatic win for my team, a big win for Cory's team, and a Gators football loss (which I thoroughly enjoy seeing). And I get paid to do this?

Friday Night Lights

Last night at work, I was browsing YouTube for some video that a friend of mine posted... and I found something kind of interesting instead. Apparently, a football player at one of our local high schools is trying to drum up some interest from college recruiters. So, someone recorded a highlight from our Friday night sportscast (We call it the "Frenzy") and uploaded it to YouTube.

So, if you're curious how I spend my Friday evenings during football season, here's a very brief snippet.

By the way, something kind of funny happened on Friday. See, our new sports guy, Randy, started last week. He's a nice kid. On Friday, we sent him out to shoot three games. He returned to the station with a big butterfly bandage covering a split upper lip.

Apparently, Randy got a little too close to the action. It's a common problem while shooting football. You're standing on the sideline, holding your 20-pound camera, shooting the action on the field when suddenly, everyone starts running in your direction. And a player crashes into you. And you go crashing to the ground courtesy of a high school, college, or pro linebacker.

That's what happened to Randy. He came face-to-lip with a helmet, and now has four stitches in his face, which hopefully will be removed before he has to anchor on Saturday.

But the best part is that one of the sports guys at the ABC affiliate here in town caught it on video. He emailed the video to me yesterday. No, unfortunately, you don't see the collision. But you do see poor Randy falling ass-over-teakettle to the ground, tangled in with the kicker's practice net.

But here's the best part... as he awkwardly plummeted to the Earth, Randy realized that he was on camera. And he smiled and gave the "thumbs up." The kid's got a great sense of humor.