Damn! First Jim McKay, and now Tim Russert has left us. Russert, host of Meet the Press since December 1991, died earlier today at the NBC News Washington Bureau while recording promos for this Sunday's edition of said program. No cause of death has been announced, but an autopsy is being conducted.
Newscasting and reporting is often thought of as a cutthroat business, but the tributes from the likes of George Stephanopoulos, Bob Schieffer, Charles Gibson, and Dan Rather (whose remarks, if I can find them, I'll repost later) were very moving. Even the politicians Russert grilled on MTP had nothing but kind words to say. Comments from the Clintons, Barack Obama, and John McCain showed the respect they held for Russert and his style of interviewing.
More information can be found at msnbc.com or on the cable network itself. Watching Keith Olbermann trying to maintain his composure during the special report makes you realize how special Tim Russert was.
Friday, June 13, 2008
Saturday, June 7, 2008
Busy Sports News Day . . . and I Missed Most of It
I love umpiring softball, but sometimes it does have its disadvantages. Today was a very sports news day, and I'm just learning about most of it now. Big Brown finished dead last in the Belmont Stakes, forcing horse racing enthusiasts to wait yet another year for a Triple Crown winner. Ana Ivanovic won the women's singles championship at the French Open. In a matter of hours, Rafael Nadal and Roger Federer will face off against each other for the third consecutive year. The most important sports news of the day, though, does not involve an athlete, team, or coach. It, unfortunately, is the news of Jim McKay's death.
For 37 years, McKay spanned the globe to bring us a constant variety of sport on ABC's Wide World of Sports. Though he may be best remembered as the host of WWS broadcasts and twelve Olympic broadcasts (including anchoring the coverage of the 1972 Munich hostage crisis), McKay is--arguably--the most underrated sports broadcaster in television history. Sportscasters, including yours truly, have much to learn from Jim McKay's work. He put the events he covered and their participants at center stage. McKay realized that his job was to present the events he covered to the viewer in the simplest way possible while making them seem as if nothing else in the world were important. Simply put, McKay sold the games and not himself. Too often we see a broadcaster try to become the star of the show while putting the athletics on the back burner. Jim McKay never did this, allowing the athletes and the games they played to shine. In the process, he earned the respect of his peers and colleagues as well as the people that tuned in to watch the programs he anchored.
McKay's life story is too deep for me to cover in this blog. If you can find a copy of his autobiography, The Real McKay: My Wide World of Sports, or catch the HBO documentary about his life and career--Jim McKay: My World in My Words--take a look at them, as they give deep insight not only into his career, but into his personal life and the events that shaped both. Both will give the reader/viewer an even deeper appreciation for how wonderful this man truly was. The world has lost a wonderful broadcaster in Jim McKay, but it lost an even better man in him. May God rest his soul, and may he cover the thrill of victory and the agony of defeat from the broadcast booth in the sky.
Here's a 1970's intro to Wide World of Sports.
This is a clip from 1991 from the 30th anniversary episode of WWS.
For 37 years, McKay spanned the globe to bring us a constant variety of sport on ABC's Wide World of Sports. Though he may be best remembered as the host of WWS broadcasts and twelve Olympic broadcasts (including anchoring the coverage of the 1972 Munich hostage crisis), McKay is--arguably--the most underrated sports broadcaster in television history. Sportscasters, including yours truly, have much to learn from Jim McKay's work. He put the events he covered and their participants at center stage. McKay realized that his job was to present the events he covered to the viewer in the simplest way possible while making them seem as if nothing else in the world were important. Simply put, McKay sold the games and not himself. Too often we see a broadcaster try to become the star of the show while putting the athletics on the back burner. Jim McKay never did this, allowing the athletes and the games they played to shine. In the process, he earned the respect of his peers and colleagues as well as the people that tuned in to watch the programs he anchored.
McKay's life story is too deep for me to cover in this blog. If you can find a copy of his autobiography, The Real McKay: My Wide World of Sports, or catch the HBO documentary about his life and career--Jim McKay: My World in My Words--take a look at them, as they give deep insight not only into his career, but into his personal life and the events that shaped both. Both will give the reader/viewer an even deeper appreciation for how wonderful this man truly was. The world has lost a wonderful broadcaster in Jim McKay, but it lost an even better man in him. May God rest his soul, and may he cover the thrill of victory and the agony of defeat from the broadcast booth in the sky.
Here's a 1970's intro to Wide World of Sports.
This is a clip from 1991 from the 30th anniversary episode of WWS.
Wednesday, May 28, 2008
Two Nights, Two Ejections
Dear Lord, will beer-leaguers ever learn that cursing out an umpire will never lead to one reversing his/her call? In the last two nights of officiating, I've had to toss two people from games--one a player; the other, a spectator. Both were run for the same reason, cursing and blaspheming an official and his calls.
Tonight's ejection involved a drunk fan. This guy initially joined his team in the dugout as a coach. After my partner asked him to enter the dugout while his team played defense, he left and proceeded to the balcony area of the park. From there, he called to my partner and me after the end of the inning. "Hey, Blue!" he called. From a distance, I could see him shooting us the bird, but I hesitated before doing anything. He then called us again, this time adding, "Fuck you, you motherfuckers!" At this point, both my partner and I ejected the guy and had him escorted out of the park.
Last night's heave-ho aggravated me more than any other ejection that I have had to execute. The first batter in the bottom of the first inning grounded out after taking a first called strike. After being put out, he shouted, "If you don't know the goddamn rules, get off the goddamn field!" In an attempt to keep order on my field and to send a message to both teams, I ejected him. After he refused to leave and kept shouting from the dugout, I delayed the game to have park management escort him out of the park.
The aforementioned player's comments wasn't what angered me. It was the comments of another player from the other team that got under my skin. As an umpire, I know that I can't hold any grudges or any other personal vendettas in mind during any contest, so I must explain now that the following remarks had no bearing on the game at hand. This player--who shall go unnamed--told members of the other team, "This guy is a rookie that does this once a month to pay for his college." Well, sir, this rookie has three years experience, including ten national invitational tournaments, five state championships, one national tournament, and one world tournament. This umpire has survived line drives, errant throws, catchers that couldn't catch, cup checks, and death threats and constantly has worked to improve his game. You, on the other hand, couldn't handle the heat (proverbial and literal) of officiating and quit. Your actions and attitude towards your fellow umpires as a player before, during, and after your service as an official were unbecoming of an umpire and brought shame to yourself and the red shirt that represents your former profession. I thought that someone that supposedly loves the game as much as you do would have more respect for it and the people that work to enforce its rules. Your actions this year and last year (don't think I forgot about having to eject you for throwing dirt on me) have shown that you have proven otherwise.
For you slow-pitch softball players that come across this blog, please remember to be nice to the men in blue, red, green, or whatever color your local umpires might wear. Please know that we are out there because we love the game just as much as you do. Lord knows we aren't out there for the money. We dedicate ourselves to reading the rulebook, going to training clinics, and doing everything else we can to do our jobs better and to make your experience on the field better. We make the calls like we see them, not to give your opponents an advantage. Please keep this in mind before you begin shouting obscenities towards an umpire.
ian
After all of that ranting, I'll leave you with this clip of former Baltimore Orioles manager Earl Weaver getting ejected from a 1983 game. If I might add, this is absolutely NOT how an umpire should conduct himself on the field.
Tonight's ejection involved a drunk fan. This guy initially joined his team in the dugout as a coach. After my partner asked him to enter the dugout while his team played defense, he left and proceeded to the balcony area of the park. From there, he called to my partner and me after the end of the inning. "Hey, Blue!" he called. From a distance, I could see him shooting us the bird, but I hesitated before doing anything. He then called us again, this time adding, "Fuck you, you motherfuckers!" At this point, both my partner and I ejected the guy and had him escorted out of the park.
Last night's heave-ho aggravated me more than any other ejection that I have had to execute. The first batter in the bottom of the first inning grounded out after taking a first called strike. After being put out, he shouted, "If you don't know the goddamn rules, get off the goddamn field!" In an attempt to keep order on my field and to send a message to both teams, I ejected him. After he refused to leave and kept shouting from the dugout, I delayed the game to have park management escort him out of the park.
The aforementioned player's comments wasn't what angered me. It was the comments of another player from the other team that got under my skin. As an umpire, I know that I can't hold any grudges or any other personal vendettas in mind during any contest, so I must explain now that the following remarks had no bearing on the game at hand. This player--who shall go unnamed--told members of the other team, "This guy is a rookie that does this once a month to pay for his college." Well, sir, this rookie has three years experience, including ten national invitational tournaments, five state championships, one national tournament, and one world tournament. This umpire has survived line drives, errant throws, catchers that couldn't catch, cup checks, and death threats and constantly has worked to improve his game. You, on the other hand, couldn't handle the heat (proverbial and literal) of officiating and quit. Your actions and attitude towards your fellow umpires as a player before, during, and after your service as an official were unbecoming of an umpire and brought shame to yourself and the red shirt that represents your former profession. I thought that someone that supposedly loves the game as much as you do would have more respect for it and the people that work to enforce its rules. Your actions this year and last year (don't think I forgot about having to eject you for throwing dirt on me) have shown that you have proven otherwise.
For you slow-pitch softball players that come across this blog, please remember to be nice to the men in blue, red, green, or whatever color your local umpires might wear. Please know that we are out there because we love the game just as much as you do. Lord knows we aren't out there for the money. We dedicate ourselves to reading the rulebook, going to training clinics, and doing everything else we can to do our jobs better and to make your experience on the field better. We make the calls like we see them, not to give your opponents an advantage. Please keep this in mind before you begin shouting obscenities towards an umpire.
ian
After all of that ranting, I'll leave you with this clip of former Baltimore Orioles manager Earl Weaver getting ejected from a 1983 game. If I might add, this is absolutely NOT how an umpire should conduct himself on the field.
Tuesday, May 27, 2008
POLITICAL NEWS: Cynthia McKinney is Green Party Presidential Candidate
According to several sources, Cynthia McKinney, the former U. S. Representative from the Atlanta metropolitan area has locked up the Green Party presidential nomination. I'm sure she's going to gain the support of Capitol Hill Police are going to support her bid for the nation's highest office.
McKinney joins Ralph Nader (Independent), Bob Barr (Libertarian), and John McCain (Republican) on the short list of presumptive and/or definite candidates for the presidency. More news about this as it comes along.
McKinney joins Ralph Nader (Independent), Bob Barr (Libertarian), and John McCain (Republican) on the short list of presumptive and/or definite candidates for the presidency. More news about this as it comes along.
More Airport Blues
And no, we weren't stopped by the TSA this time around. The end result, however, would have been just the same if we were detained. Let's hearken back to last Tuesday. I'm finishing last minute packing and shipping and trying to get to Newark Liberty International Airport for my 10:55 A.M. flight to Memphis. A few snags along the way made what was supposed to be an eight-hour journey turn into a thirteen hour trek.
After finally cleaning out my basement abode and shipping boxes off, I raced to the Princeton Dinky Station with bags of luggage to catch the next train out of town. That next train would not arrive until 9:30, leaving me little less than an hour to get to the airport. While sensing possible disaster, I keep my cool and board the train when it arrives and head to Princeton Junction. Going without sleep for 48 hours proved troublesome as I fell asleep on the dinky. The conductor woke me up some five minutes after arriving at Princeton Junction when she noticed that I hadn't disembarked. While running to cross the tracks, the handle on my largest piece of luggage snapped, rendering pulling it even more troublesome than it already had been. I trudged along, and boarded the 10:08 express to EWR with my wounded luggage.
The forty-minute trip seemed to be only twenty minutes because I slept through it. I arrived at the airport at 10:45, leaving me ten minutes to reach the terminal via the airport's air train. Suffice it to say, I didn't make it in time. I reached the Continental check-in desk at 11:00, five minutes after zero-hour. After waiting in line for about fifteen minutes behind a guy whose bitching and moaning would make a beer-league softball player blush, I finally got to talk to a representative.
"Can I help you, sir?"
"Yes, sir. I think I missed my flight."
"What was the departure time?"
"10:55."
"Yeah, you missed it. They took off ten minutes ago."
"Damn! Are there any other flights out of here going to Memphis?"
"Yes. One more at 3:30. What's your ultimate destination?"
"Lafayette, Louisiana."
"Hate to tell you this, but you're screwed, sir."
"How do you mean?"
"Well, you'll be on standby for both flights, but both are overbooked. You'll probably be able to make it to Memphis, but you might be stuck in Memphis. When you get there, you'll need to check with Northwest Airlines since you initially booked with them."
At this point, I could have cared less about how and when I got home, so I took the tickets. "How much are they?" I asked. "$525," the guy behind the counter answered. "But, because you were patient and a nice guy, I'm only going to charge you $25 for the baggage. Would you like to pay with cash or credit?" I let out a gale-force wind with my sigh of relief. I handed over my bags and debit card, and headed towards to the gate.
After another nap, a leg cramp, and reading the latest issue of Rolling Stone, I approach the gate at boarding time. A minor delay occurred when the boarding agents could not find my ticket information in their computers, but they fixed the problem and allowed me on the flight. The flight took off at 3:40 P.M., taking me on the first leg of my journey home.
After arriving in sunny, humid Memphis, I head over to the Northwest Airlines booth. I explain to that person what happened only to have him send me back to Continental Airlines. After relaying my story to the Continental guy, he sent me to baggage claim and then back to Northwest Airlines. I collected my crippled bags and head over to the Northwest check-in counter. The attendants there heard my sob story before checking their computers.
"I'm sorry, sir, but we have no record of your flights."
"I rebooked with Continental, and they told me you'd have to plug me into your system separately."
"No, they screwed up. They should have put you into our computers as well. Do you have your old boarding pass?"
"Here it is."
The Northwest people did the voodoo that they do so well and booked me on standby on the flight to Lafayette. After paying again to check my bags (this time $75), I handed the luggage to the ladies behind the counter and headed back to the gate. After an hour's wait, I was on my way home.
The plane landed at Lafayette Regional Airport at 9:42 P.M. It felt good to be back in the warmth and humidity of my hometown. The rest and relaxation that came along with returning is beyond description. After the stress of moving out, it's much needed.
So what have we learned through all of this? It pays to be nice. Plan your packing and moving several WEEKS in advance (not hours, make sure you catch the right train so you can be on time to catch your flight, and always carry enough money on you or in your bank account to pay for a one-way plane ticket just in case you forget the first two lessons.
After finally cleaning out my basement abode and shipping boxes off, I raced to the Princeton Dinky Station with bags of luggage to catch the next train out of town. That next train would not arrive until 9:30, leaving me little less than an hour to get to the airport. While sensing possible disaster, I keep my cool and board the train when it arrives and head to Princeton Junction. Going without sleep for 48 hours proved troublesome as I fell asleep on the dinky. The conductor woke me up some five minutes after arriving at Princeton Junction when she noticed that I hadn't disembarked. While running to cross the tracks, the handle on my largest piece of luggage snapped, rendering pulling it even more troublesome than it already had been. I trudged along, and boarded the 10:08 express to EWR with my wounded luggage.
The forty-minute trip seemed to be only twenty minutes because I slept through it. I arrived at the airport at 10:45, leaving me ten minutes to reach the terminal via the airport's air train. Suffice it to say, I didn't make it in time. I reached the Continental check-in desk at 11:00, five minutes after zero-hour. After waiting in line for about fifteen minutes behind a guy whose bitching and moaning would make a beer-league softball player blush, I finally got to talk to a representative.
"Can I help you, sir?"
"Yes, sir. I think I missed my flight."
"What was the departure time?"
"10:55."
"Yeah, you missed it. They took off ten minutes ago."
"Damn! Are there any other flights out of here going to Memphis?"
"Yes. One more at 3:30. What's your ultimate destination?"
"Lafayette, Louisiana."
"Hate to tell you this, but you're screwed, sir."
"How do you mean?"
"Well, you'll be on standby for both flights, but both are overbooked. You'll probably be able to make it to Memphis, but you might be stuck in Memphis. When you get there, you'll need to check with Northwest Airlines since you initially booked with them."
At this point, I could have cared less about how and when I got home, so I took the tickets. "How much are they?" I asked. "$525," the guy behind the counter answered. "But, because you were patient and a nice guy, I'm only going to charge you $25 for the baggage. Would you like to pay with cash or credit?" I let out a gale-force wind with my sigh of relief. I handed over my bags and debit card, and headed towards to the gate.
After another nap, a leg cramp, and reading the latest issue of Rolling Stone, I approach the gate at boarding time. A minor delay occurred when the boarding agents could not find my ticket information in their computers, but they fixed the problem and allowed me on the flight. The flight took off at 3:40 P.M., taking me on the first leg of my journey home.
After arriving in sunny, humid Memphis, I head over to the Northwest Airlines booth. I explain to that person what happened only to have him send me back to Continental Airlines. After relaying my story to the Continental guy, he sent me to baggage claim and then back to Northwest Airlines. I collected my crippled bags and head over to the Northwest check-in counter. The attendants there heard my sob story before checking their computers.
"I'm sorry, sir, but we have no record of your flights."
"I rebooked with Continental, and they told me you'd have to plug me into your system separately."
"No, they screwed up. They should have put you into our computers as well. Do you have your old boarding pass?"
"Here it is."
The Northwest people did the voodoo that they do so well and booked me on standby on the flight to Lafayette. After paying again to check my bags (this time $75), I handed the luggage to the ladies behind the counter and headed back to the gate. After an hour's wait, I was on my way home.
The plane landed at Lafayette Regional Airport at 9:42 P.M. It felt good to be back in the warmth and humidity of my hometown. The rest and relaxation that came along with returning is beyond description. After the stress of moving out, it's much needed.
So what have we learned through all of this? It pays to be nice. Plan your packing and moving several WEEKS in advance (not hours, make sure you catch the right train so you can be on time to catch your flight, and always carry enough money on you or in your bank account to pay for a one-way plane ticket just in case you forget the first two lessons.
Summertime on the Home Front
Live from America's armpit, it's the return of the blog! That's right, peeps. Louisiana has called me home, and it feels wonderful to be back in the stifling heat and humidity of Lafayette. Being home should afford me more time to post to this here forum and keep you abreast of the random thoughts and musings of yours truly and friends.
Much has happened since returning to Lafayette last Tuesday night. We've resumed beer-leaguing and returned to public access television, but in the process we missed a flight out of Newark. Blogs about these experiences coming later this week on HOLY CRAP!
In the meantime, enjoy this clip of Jim Vance and George Michael of WRC-TV in Washington, D.C., describing a clip about a runway model.
Much has happened since returning to Lafayette last Tuesday night. We've resumed beer-leaguing and returned to public access television, but in the process we missed a flight out of Newark. Blogs about these experiences coming later this week on HOLY CRAP!
In the meantime, enjoy this clip of Jim Vance and George Michael of WRC-TV in Washington, D.C., describing a clip about a runway model.
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