The Biz 6/22
Just feel like telling a few stories today, kids. Names changed to protect the innocent. Or guilty.
*The guy from a competing paper (not the big rival) came over to me in the stands at the high school hockey game between the top two teams in the state. I wasn't in the press box because I was there doing feature work on a goalie, and decided to watch him near the ice.
He was all smiles, acted like my best friend, even though we had never really talked before. He casually asked what I was working on. I told him about the feature I had running on the kid for the following week. He knew when our high school features ran.
The day before my story ran, an item ran in his paper about the goalie. Fine. Lesson learned. Fool me once, etc.
I next ran into him at the state hockey semifinals a couple months later (this is in one of the few states in the country where the state hockey finals is the biggest event on the prep sports calendar). After the game, in which the top seed and private school fended off a game challenge from the best public-school team in the state, most of the reporters went over to chat with the private school guy, one of the most quotable sports personalities in the region at any level. The aforementioned reporter went to talk alone to the public school guy. Which is good reporting work on his part.
What happened next, though, wasn't. As the pack made its way up to talk to the other coach, he made a point to say "Coach (X) said he doesn't want to talk to anyone tonight. Don't bother him." Right after he got done talking with him.
The reporter whizzed off to talk to the private school coach. Seconds later, the public school coach came out to talk to everyone, completely unaware that he supposedly "didn't want to talk."
These type of things happened on-and-off for months. Eventually, I conspired with a colleague to mess with him. In the press box at the following year's state hockey tournament, and with the offender in earshot but pretending not to listen, we kicked up a conversation about how mad we were that they were adding a Tuesday high school sports package to our duties on top of everything else. Of course, there was no Tuesday package. Two weeks later, though, there was an added emphasis on Tuesday features in the other paper.
*One of the rites of passage for anyone who clerks at the Big Paper at which I co-op'd is dealing with Colin (not his real name), an individual with mental disabilities who called the paper all night, most frequently at deadline.
Colin will call while watching the Red Sox, or the Braves, or whatever happens to be on TV, and ask how the game is going, even though he always knows the score. Some of the co-ops would chat with him, some would hang up. I usually tried to talk a bit, if I had time.
Anyway, he called on one very busy night we were understaffed and I had typed in what seemed to be about 200 college basketball box scores. I was pretty wiped out. Colin asked the score of a game, and I accidentally let slip "s--, Colin, I don't know."
Colin got very angry with me. "You said a bad word!" he screamed. Colin continued to yell at me. I tried to apologize.
I told another co-op, who we'll call Alan, about the episode. Bad move. Alan had one of the most off-kilter senses of humor of anyone I've ever met, and thought this was hysterical. Next time Colin called, Alan unleashed a string of obscenities.
This morphed into a game over the next couple weeks, whenever things were busy and we needed to blow off steam.
Eventually, though, one of the deskers, a mother hen sort, overheard what was going on and caught me in the act.
She turned to me with an utterly appalled look on her face, and asked "Are you teaching retards how to swear? What's wrong with you?"
I felt about two inches tall. That was the end of that.
*Deadline desk banter is always fun. You never know who is going to pop off about what while they try to plow through large volumes of copy under pressure.
Sunday's Chile's Corner column about the Milwaukee Brewers reminded me of one of my favorite bits, as I worked the desk years ago.
I was reading a Brewers team report and trying to do about 100 other things. I chatted up my boss, a grizzled vet who is well-liked in the biz:
Me: Hey (boss), it says here, they're going to honor the Top 50 Milwaukee athletes of all-time at the final game at County Stadium.
Boss: 50?
Me: 50.
Boss: Does it include the Packers?
Me: I don't think so. It just says Milwaukee, not Green Bay.
Boss: Well, there's Lew Alcindor. That's one.
Me: Gorman Thomas. Two.
(long pause)
Boss: Then there's that beer guy who rode down the slide after home runs.
*****
WE HAVE A WINNER in this week's Dave's World contest, in which we asked readers to complete the following sentence: "I'd rather _____ than watch the NBA Finals." Andrew N. of Los Angeles, CA, has the winning entry: "I'd rather make out with Magic Johnson than watch the NBA Finals." Andrew wins a Seattle Mariners 2005 pocket schedule.
The Biz 6/15
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