How do the players do this on a daily basis? I couldnever.
Why couldn’t they do this in the studio that Iknowexists because that’s where they’ll watch the game.
I’m the type of person who likes to be well prepared. It’s for that reason I got here an hour before I was scheduled. To give myself the opportunity to get lost and find my way around the clubhouse on my own. Ideally before it’s my responsibility to get the Sports24 crew moved around the stadium without issue ordelay. And yet, Istillgot lost four times before we finally found our way onto the field. A task we only succeeded at because the crew have been here countless times before compared to my zero. They were all polite enough to brush it off with a laugh because I’m new to the scene, but it didn’t stop the embarrassment that had me praying a sinkhole would open up and swallow me whole. The bowels of the clubhouse are like a maze, and I’m afraid I’ll never figure out.
I’m angled so I can keep one eye where the sports presenters are preparing to go live for their pre-game coverage. The other eye is on the growing crowd as they start to fill the stands. The stadium staff positioned us a bit off-center behind home plate, near the third base dugout, which is where the home team will be set up. The Los Angeles Suns. This is the first in a three-game series against… Boston?
No, that’s not right. Who were they playing again?
The smell of hot dogs, popcorn, and beer travel to me in the slight breeze, making me wish even more that I wasn’t trapped on this field right now. I haven’t had anything to eat since before I came to the stadium four hours ago, and the smell of food—even if it is outrageously overpriced ballpark food—makes my stomach grumble.
I catch the floor manager, Jamie, lift his hand for the five second countdown.
Oh, thank God, they’re about to start.
In addition to melting, I’m also bored out of my mind. This is one of those jobs where nothing happens until the moment it does. It’s making sure the on-air presentation team get into the compound with the broadcast trucks with no issues and then lingering nearby until it’s time to move out to the field for rehearsals followed by the live broadcast. And a whole lot more lingering until the end of the game when everyone heads home.
I peek at the watch on my wrist and calculate how long we’ll be out here before moving into the on-site studio. Half an hour. I can do half an hour more. I push my shoulders back with a renewed determination.
“You’re watching Sports24, where we follow all things sports, well, twenty-four seven! Thanks for joining us for this coverage of the first game in the LA-Minnesota series.” Annie and Jeff, the two presenters, give a hearty welcome to the camera before jumping straight into their predictions for the game and stats that give me PTSD of Mr. Boseman’s crash course.
Minnesota! That’s who they’re playing. It’s Minnesota.
Watching as Annie and Jeff bounce game predictions off each other, I mentally try to connect them with the achievements I found in a quick Google search last night. I did what I always do when I work with someone new. Deep dive into learning everything I can about them. Jeff was an easy one. Former LA Suns player turned sportscaster in retirement.
Annie was the more fascinating one for me to dig into. She’s a badass beast of a woman who played collegiate softball—which I’ve learned isnotthe same as baseball, but similar—while pursuing a degree in sports journalism. She retired from the sport when she graduated and threw herself into the reporting world. Hopping between written media and TV broadcast, she climbed her way up the ranks before becoming one of the top hosts in baseball sportscasting.
I return to the task at hand, letting my eyes sweep around the stadium just as the players start to pile into their respective dugouts from the clubhouse. The volume around us increases tenfold between the fans and the roughhousing of the guys. Someone please tell me why some of these baseball players are so rowdy? I’m forced to take a few steps back as the catcher jogs out to his spot behind home plate for warmups.
What was his name again? I think it started with anA. Alex?
When Mr. Boseman blocked out the rest of last week for a crash course on all things baseball, I thought he was joking. Spoiler alert: He was not. He even had little flashcards and everything. The first thing he said when he sat me down that first morning was “How much do you know about the Suns?”
I laughed in his face. “Besides the fact that I suffer through the worst traffic of my life trying to get home from the office when there’s a home game? Not a whole lot.” Which is the exact answer he expected from me. He spent the next two days going through everything about baseball and the team. Stats, players, their history. The flashcards even had each player’s headshot to accompany the information he rattled off at me.
I was of the opinion that the crash course was entirely useless, but Mr. Boseman seemed to believe otherwise. He’s under the impression that by knowing about baseball and the team, it’ll help me better understand the broadcast team’s goals.
By the end of his crash course, all their facial features blurred together. Someone has slightly shaggy blond hair, another has piercing blue eyes. But I couldn’t tell you who’s who. The fact that I can somewhat recognize the catcher right now should be applauded. Even if I can’t remember his name. But that could also be because he wears significantly more gear than the rest of the team.
August? No, that doesn’t seem right either.
The good news is that I did at least learnsomethingin the crash course. For example, I now know the field is called a diamond—because of its shape—and there are four bases, if you count home plate. Plate, not base. The game is split into nine innings—not quarters, like I had asked. That was an embarrassing moment if I’m honest.
Besides that, I pretty much zoned out. There’s only so much I could take in while he was listing off different numbers andstatistic acronyms that sounded more like a sexually transmitted disease.
I’m so focused on scanning the crowd that I nearly miss the shouts.
“Watch out!”
“Heads up!”
I snap my head in the direction of the shouts in time for a black jersey-clad monster of a man to jump in front of me, body brushing mine in the process, and whipping his glove up in time for a ball to smack into it. Had he not been there, the ball absolutely would’ve connected with my face instead of the glove.
And yet another reason why I hate sports. Plenty of opportunities for near death experiences for someone as uncoordinated as me.
“I… um, thanks. Good save,” I say with a nervous wobble to my voice.
He lowers the glove and slowly turns his head toward me so he can meet my gaze. Suddenly all I see is blue. Light blue. Like the sky on a cloudless day. I feel like I’m falling without a parachute the longer I gaze into his eyes.