Overheard in the press box

Late 1980s, Maple Leaf Gardens pressbox: Local obnoxious radio guy shows up before a Leaf playoff game. Some months previous, he went on a public weight-loss campaign and dropped more than 100 pounds. This took him from 350-plus to 250 or so but he was convinced he was now a babe magnet. When he got back from spring training he bragged often about his alleged conquests. However, our boy was also in the process of gaining back much of the weight but not admitting it to himself. He was still wearing his version of slim clothes. On this hot, spring night Red Hot Radio Lover was sporting a bright green track suit that was straining mightily at the seams.
The late Jim Proudfoot of the Toronto Star, a master of the riposte, gaped as the vision in green approached him. After the fellow walked by, Proudfoot looked at the rest of us and said, "I thought that was only found at Fenway Park."

 

One columnnist in a suit at the Super Bowl to a another columnist who famously has never worn anything other than shorts and a T-shirt or Hawaiian shirt to any event, regardless of the weather or how unprofessional it is.

"Hey (name), it's the Super Bowl, not a Jimmy Buffet concert!"

 

Have a similar one to this. At a second-round NCAA women's basketball game more than a decade ago, back when the first few rounds were still hosted by the home team, the visitors were headed to certain defeat but their coach kept calling time out over the last couple of minutes. After about the fourth one, the PA screams loudly into the mic, "Come On!" His station on the scorer's table was mere feet from said coach. The jazzed sellout crowed quite enjoyed it, but her eyes killed him that night.

 

Wonder how Petey King took it.

 

Once on press row after an overtime game between mid-major basketball teams, the unlucky visiting coach was on the radio ripping the officials.

While waiting to interview the coach, I was scribbling his quotes into my notebook.

At a break, the coach takes off his headset, looks at me and says, "You can't write that. That's for the home folks."

 

Several years ago after an Atlanta Falcons' preseason game, we're all loading up in the elevator. Tony Siragusa gets on, followed by a dude that weighs maybe 150 pounds. The elevator starts buzzing and Siragusa said to the guy, "Hey, buddy, we're overweight. You're going to have to take the next one."

 

Had a good one today.
Local HS back is a beast playing in the state's lowest division. Went for 210 today and in three games he has 751 and 13 total touchdowns.
Ten minutes left in the fourth, he picked off a pass, ran it back 65 yards for a score, but on the play an opposing player was hurt. They took him off on a stretcher for precautionary reasons, but while they were getting him help the coaches agreed to end the game right there, but not before putting 8 minutes on the clock so the JVs could get some time.
Since the game was official, I asked the coach to do interviews with varsity, he said fine, and as I'm walking up to another back, Star RB looks at me from the bench and goes "Hey Rhody, what'd I go for today?"
"210," I reply, "not too bad."
"210?" he says, quizzicly. "I'm such a pussy."

 

That's funny. I was just thinking today it's been a long time since a kid asked me for stats.

 

I was in the pressbox the other day making small talk with the parents, who start ripping on the coach for not being strict enough with the kids. Basically, this parent is bitching because coach A won't motivate her kid enough but coach B is too strict with her kids in the spring and when they went to the AD and he didn't do anything -- well that won't do.

Hey lady -- I like your soccer coach. You know why? Not because she's nice, puts up with my crap and when I was in high school we were rivals and played each other and she was damn good.

She calls every game in, big loss or big win and gives great quotes. That's why I'm smiling and politely nodding right now -- not rolling my eyes and sighing.

 

Covering a prep game on Friday night in Podunk, Ky. The visiting team is all-run, all the time — with good reason. Their QB just plain sucks. The few times a pass play is called, he scrambles, scrambles, ignores open receiver in the flat, scrambles, ignores WR who broke away from his coverage, scrambles, runs out of bounds. Every goddamned time. I muse "Jesus Christ. Podunk County's a pretty big school. They couldn't find one kid who can play quarterback!?" a little louder than intended. Suddenly, a head leans out of the coaches' box next to us. Guy with a Podunk County HS hat on — later determined to be an assistant — looks at me and sheepishly mumbles "Head coach's stepson."

Aha.

 

Many years ago, minor league pressbox. The reporter for the home newspaper was a real homer. Call went against home team, he went ranting and raving all over the little press box and into the booth the PA announcer used. PA guy, a smartass, flipped the switch on the microphone and the guy's bitching about the umpires went out over the PA system. Earned the guy several dressing downs, including the league president since those were the days of the newspaper guys serving as official scorers.

 

My senior year I covered the football team for the Missourian. "Homecoming" game at Baylor, played in front of maybe 5,000 people on a cold, rainy late October/early November afternoon. Press box is far from bustling, as you might expect.

Mizzou has the ball on the Baylor 10, or something like that. They run a toss sweep, and the very INSTANT the RB gets the ball, the press box announcer hollers "Touchdown Missouri." The RB still had a few yards to cover, and a few defenders to negiotiate. But like clockwork, he makes some miss, and others miss the tackle, and the RB just walks in.

My only other memory from that scintillating contests was that MU QB Darius Outlaw managed to throw into quintuple coverage by the time the ball arrived to the one receiver in the pattern. The good old days, indeed.