Press box horror stories

Well, at least you can joke about it now lol

 

You worked with Lupica?

http://deadspin.com/5026432/its-lupica-l-u-p-i-c-ai-should-be-on-the-list

Wasn't there a more-recent moment where he pouted at a big event and sat by himself in a stadium tunnel?

 

Definitely not Lupica.

This guy is a great columnist, but at the time, he absolutely hated the No. 1 columnist and would flip out if he had to do something because the No. 1 columnist didn't want to. That doesn't excuse him acting like a complete fucking asshole, but I wasn't the only writer to deal with either columnist being divas.

If they were at the same event (which happened almost every Sunday during football season) there was a 50-50 chance one of them would do something that would cause the other to freak out.

 

One year at state wrestling championships, I go to interview one of the kids I was covering, whose match just finished. I try to make my back to the floor for the championship round for another one of the kids I was covering. Security douchebag won't let me on the floor. Ordinarily, I try to be polite and reasonable. But this time, I hit the roof and we got into a screaming match in each other's face. I told him, either he better find someone to tell me why I can't be on the floor for the finals (since I also took pictures) or I will find someone from the state high school association to come down here and have his job.
Eventually he relented, since my only interest in the championship round was the one match I had to cover.

Many years ago, I was covering a national championship football game. Team I was covering was a heavy favorite but was losing. About half the damn town was in the stands to see the game. I call back to the office to see what they want for 1A. Desk tells me nothing. I go, "say what?" And he tells the managing editor (as useless a human being as I have ever known) has picked out a stand alone picture of some little girl in the crowd who isn't even from our coverage area for the front.
I blew my stack. I told our desk guy - and anybody within 100 feet - that I couldn't believe our fucking idiot editor did not want anything for the front from the national championship game. Columnist sitting behind me, a good dude who worked at a larger daily not terribly far away, leans down and asks what the hell was up. I told him, and his jaw dropped. He shook his head and said he didn't blame me.

 

Our state had boys soccer finals on Nov. 1, when the weather was still relatively nice (if you call 40s nice). Two games are being played at a middle school soccer complex that has been renovated (it was the old football field for one of the larger schools in our area).

I let the AD know I was coming a couple days beforehand... that's the best notice I could give because I don't make coverage decisions and we're notorious for waiting until the day before to decide who goes where. So AD says he can't get me in the press box because it's already full, but there will be seats on the other side in the visitors box.

That's fine, I said.

Until we realized that side has no power. Lucky the games were played during the day. The guy that got there before me found the door to the box locked. And he was writing for our state's athletic association.

I'm guessing the MHSAA got a complaint e-mail that Monday. As well it should.

 

Just out of curiosity, to whom did he apologize? You or the PR person, or both?

 

Me. I really doubt be apologized to the PR guy.

 

Over the years I've seen a lot and dealt with a lot of interesting characters, but nothing totally unusual.
For me personally, the worst press box experience I had was covering one of our HS teams. Since the game was only 10 miles from the office, my plan was to just go to the office and work. Then a storm comes through, and the lightning delays the game by over an hour. Noway I can drive back now. Because of the storm, hardly anyone was left at the game and even the PA guy was gone. So it was me and the clock operators in the press box, and a half a dozen fans still in the stands.
When it's over I rush to the field to get a quick quote or two and get back in the press box to finish up. The principal meets me in the press box and says he's going to lock the press box and the staff has already locked the main gate...but the gate by the field house will be open.
I finish and prepare to leave. That's when I realize the press box door has a two-way lock and when the principal locked it, he locked me in. I see no one around and I don't have the coach's number in my cell phone. So I open the window in front of my seat and climb out that way. Fortunately it wasn't a big drop off to the seats, but was still a pain. Was also a little difficult trying to close the window. Anyway, I get about halfway down the stands and it once again begins to pour. I couldn't care less if I get drenched, but I had my computer. So I had to run down and get under the stands until it stopped again. It stops and I make a dash to the field house gate, which sure enough was open. Unfortunately, it's a double fence and the first gate to get through wasn't (I wouldn't have had to worry about this if the press box door had worked...since the press box stairs lead outside the first gate). I make the climb without killing myself or my computer and escape...of course, now my car is way back on the other side, but at this point, I'm just happy to be out. And thankfully I got to my car without another downpour.

 

I'm probably the villain in some folks' press box horror story. I won't go into too many details, but the story involves your humble correspondent giving vent to various gastrointestinal rumblings in ignorance of the fact that: 1) there was a heater vent just beneath his desk that; 2) was creating a jet stream of odiferousness to the uppermost reaches of the press box.

 

Yeah, I'm sure you really stood out among the others in most press boxes.

I sat next to a well-known columnist at the NCAAs one year and if you had asked me the over-under as to when he'd last showered, I would have said at least a week.

 

I always liked the guys who wouldn't give up a roster, either a copy or even to be copied. I'd casually ask for their name or look at it on their little badge, as if it made them official, and begin writing it in my notepad. When they asked what I was doing I said their name would be the one I would tell the mad parents and principal about when we had incorrect names of players.

 

One of our high schools uses the coaches of non-revenue sports to run game clock, play clock, PA and everything else for football. I sit right next to all of those guys who have a pre-game chili dinner tradition which leads to very gassy Fridays in the pressbox. So I'm not too upset that I have to take my own PICs now which means I spend the first half of every game on the sideline.