But I met him a few years ago and he couldn't have been nicer.
Again, same here. And it went off like this:
We were all, a giant bunch of media types from many different avenues, at a big banquet one night to honor a beloved Hall of Famer. And Costas was the emcee, and the dinner and then the tributes lasted about three hours and overtime, and then when it finally broke up, most people headed for the exits, and I mean quickly, but Costas came down off the stage into the big banquet area, probably just to
spread his wings stretch his arms and relax for a few minutes, and that's when we saw him down there near us, so of course we bum-rushed him just for the chance at ... whatever.
Hey, we were young, and it was Bob Costas, at the height of his fame. Damn right we ran right at his face.
And Bob – may I call him that now? – anyway, Mr. Costas saw us coming at that point, and his eyes sorta rolled back in his head for a half-second, like, "JFC, here come the fanbois again," and so we all but shouted, "Wait, we're with XYYZZZ! Just wanted to say hi!"
And at that point our new pal Bob relaxed, visibly and with a short sigh of relief, as he realized we weren't autograph hounds or something dumber and worse, and he graciously allowed us effin' young studs (and a studdette!) to stand there with him for 20 minutes and just shoot the shirt and ask him whatever we wanted to ask him, and so we just ate it up and we still talk about that moment, that generous and candid conversation, so many years later.
Hey, Bob Costas is not my god. But he couldn't have been a nicer guy the times we met.
Others' mileage might vary, of course. But he's not Skip Bayless, either. ... ... ... Thanks, Bob!