Bittersweet Goodbye
January 15, 2000
TAMPA – The crisp Florida afternoon was fading into evening as long, thin pewter-colored clouds striped the purple sky. From all outward appearances, it seemed like another relaxing Sunday in Tampa, except for the 65,000-plus fans who were watching their beloved Tampa Bay Buccaneers duke it out with the Washington Redskins in the divisional playoff round. It was a dramatic back-and-forth contest. The Redskins were leading 13–7 until the Buccaneers put together a gritty scoring drive to take a late fourth-quarter lead.
The Redskins had one last chance, as they drove to within a long field goal, and I had one of the best seats in the house. Standing on the sidelines with the cadre of other journalists, we watched as the Redskins’ long snapper skidded the snap to the holder, which resulted in a broken play and a Buccaneers 14–13 victory.
It was a perfect ending to my journalism career. (At least I thought so at the time.)
The Bucs would go on to lose in the NFC championship game to the St. Louis Rams and “the Greatest Show on Turf” in a tight 11–6 game. I watched their season end in a Mexican restaurant in Atlanta on a 15-inch TV. I was lucky to see the game at all thanks to the huge ice storm that knocked out power to most of the city.
Back to the game in Tampa: I walked on the field to do some preliminary interviews, then trailed the players into the locker room. After getting all the quotes I needed, it was back to the press box to write my game story for the Buccaneer magazine. It was a side job I had been working for two years. In addition, I often helped with writing sidebars for the Tribune. Knowing this was probably the last time I would have press box access, I lingered a little, taking in the sights. The long white rows of tables populated by all the scribes, many seats with empty plastic plates and crumpled napkins, thanks to the constant food and beverages provided by the team. That’s probably where a lot of sportswriters get their pear-shaped figures. The press box was located on the club level, smack in the middle of the field on the 50-yard line. There were tall windows that opened, which was a treat on crisp Florida days. Banks of TVs in the back of the room showed all the games around the league. I would miss the opening announcements every game day where they instructed you, “Cheering is not allowed in the press box.” In my years covering the team, I witnessed only one person being thrown out after accidentally wandering in from the club level.
Goodbyes were said, and I stuck a few cookies in my bag for the ride home. The elevator whooshed me to the ground floor and I walked out of the south end zone to my parking spot right across the street. I turned around and looked at the massive stadium, bugs darting around in the stadium lights, and felt a twinge of sadness mixed with a little spark of excitement. Yes, I would miss days like this, when they pay you to watch a game and write down words about it. I would miss parking right in the front row, always having a good seat to watch the game, the camaraderie of the Tribune staff, access to the locker room and the practice facility, and, of course, the intrinsic satisfaction of writing a good piece.
The excitement stemmed from the fact that once again I would get to be just a normal sports fan and watch the game without having to analyze it, dissect it, and then compile it into readable text. Now, I could just turn off the game after it was over like a normal person. During my career I had to set aside my fandom and any allegiances because those would create bias in my reporting. Over the years that programming had taken over, and I wasn’t sure how I would feel on the other side.
This book is my journey – hundreds of little lessons learned every day while I covered a myriad of sports, news, and sometimes off-the-wall stories, a behind-the-scenes look at small-time grinders like me. People who just love sports, love writing, and will travel to parts unknown in order to find a good story.
