"Dead Man Running"

In college, I dabbled for a time with a career in broadcasting. Like any avid sports fan, I dreamed of calling game seven of the World Series. I knew I could beautifully articulate the two-minute drive of a future Super Bowl if only given the chance. I'd practiced endlessly, often doing play-by-ply during my Nintendo games. I was good, I thought. I just needed to showcase those skills.

My sister, of all people, sought to give me my first big break. My 8 year old nephew was playing his Rocket Football game on the high school field and wouldn't it be great if they had a real live announcer.

"I'll bet my little brother would be good at that!"

My sister has never been quite so wrong.

I was excited. I practiced on live games, on video games, on imaginary games. I was going to nail this. The big dame came and my excitement was palpable. I bounded into the broadcast booth and was introduced to my spotter, an older man named Dave.

"Only thing you need to know is to flip the switch on the mike when you want to call the game and turn the mike off when you're not talking. Otherwise, they can hear everything you say." Easy enough, I thought. I sat down and was ready to start my path to Canton.

"YOU ARE LOOKING LIVE AT..." I mimicked the phrase made famous by Brett Mussberger. The parents ate it up and I was on my way.

The game began and everything was going swimmingly. The practice paid off.

"You're good," said Dave, "There are games later today if you want to stick around..."

If you have gone to Little League football, you have undoubtedly seen kids like John. John hit his growth spurt before everyone else. A head taller and 30 pounds heavier than everyone else, John was a bruiser at Tailback. While slow and awkward, John was a guarantee of 5 yards every time. Not unlike National geographic footage of a pride of lions trying to take down a water buffalo, it took almost the entire team to bring him down. They got him down but it took five yards to do it.

The play was third and sixteen. John lined up at fullback in front of the speedier, smaller running back. They called John's number and he got his usual five yards.
I called the play

Davis gets five yards on the play bringing up fourth down for the Blue Devils

Like a car accident, the details of what followed still play out in slow motion

I turned to Dave and commented

"Why the fuck did they do that? I've seen faster dead men than that kid!"

I was looking at the field so I couldn't help but notice that every single person immediately turned around and looked back at the broadcast booth

What is everyone looking at?

I looked at Dave, his face ashen and his eyes wide. Not wanting to be labeled as an accessory, Dave silently but urgently mouthed:

YOUR MIKE IS ON!

I swallowed hard and took in several panicked breaths, hoping if I waited long enough that maybe this would all go away.

The heartbreaking thing is I really wanted to do a good job for these kids. More importantly, I WAS doing a good job. I yelled for emphasis on the big plays and made a production out of each kid's name. I was cognizant that most of these kids wouldn’t get this experience very often and I was bound and determined to make the most of it for them. Coaches, players and parents alike, loved me right up to that moment.

Unless you are in fact Frankenstein's monster, you probably haven’t had the experience of an angry mob staring you down. I half expected the parents to overrun the booth with torches and pitchforks. I watched nervously as the game/doomsday clock ticked to zero.

The whistle for half time blew and despite considering staying in that booth for eternity, I ventured out. In cases like this, you are certain the most awkward and terrible scenario is playing out. You are sure everyone is looking at you. Everyone hates you. Usually someone reassures you that you are exaggerating and it isn't all that bad.

It was absolutely that bad.

It was made worse by the fact that the only exit, aside from leaping 40 feet from the back of the press box (which I considered), was to walk down the bleachers and directly through the throng of enemy combatants.

I felt the eyes upon me and heard whispers and not at all veiled insults.
There's no way to fix this.

I didn't realize the mike was on
which translates to
I'm not only an asshole but also totally incompetent

I put my head down and double timed it for the concession stand two football fields away. I yearned desperately for my sister and sanctuary. I would tell her my gaffe. She would laugh it off. She would tell me it wasn't that bad.

From 25 feet away, I could see by her face that news travels fast and if I was hoping for a friendly face, I'd need to keep on looking.

"Nice move."

"How did you know?"

"I heard you"

"Where were you?"

"I was here you dummy!"

Word, as it turns out, traveled at the speed of sound. I knew instantly the people on that field heard me. I never imagined that my sister, some 300 yards away and in a concrete building had also heard me. The annoyance visible to even the innocent:

"What did Uncle Shane do?" asked my 6 year old niece, Leah

My sister either could not or would not hide the look of disgust on her face. She stared at me for a long second; doubtless, she was making a mental note to never ever involve her idiot brother in the lives and activities of her children.

As I shuffled sheepishly away and made my way back towards the angry throng of parents, I had no choice but to agree with her.