My Hero

July 15, 2025

My father was a sports reporter. That's what the guy did for a living. He got to watch sporting events all over the country, go into locker rooms to meet the players, hobnob with the coaches and owners...amazing when I think of it. He flew with them on planes, stayed at the same hotels and went out to dinner with them when on the road. This is how my father paid the mortgage and kept us fed.

It was an awesome way to grow up. Even more so when a player would call the house...or better yet, when the sports talk radio guys would call and interview him while he was upstairs in the master bedroom. We would all sit downstairs and listen in...being careful not to turn the radio too loud and cause feedback. No, no, we knew what we were doing. Or at least we didn't want to be on the receiving end of his wrath if we made any kind of ruckus during his ten minute radio call-ins.

People would often be jealous of my dad, he lived the life of Riley. But he would often warn people that it wasn't all that it was cracked up to be. Road trips were long and often lonely. He would miss us greatly on the dreaded West Coast trips. The printing deadlines were terrifying, and the technology at the time didn't leave too much time to spare. Any little mishap could mean the game story didn't make the morning edition and your job was on the line.

The planes were often old and small and he talked of many close calls where they were all praying for a safe landing. It truly made him a believer in God, or some sort of God. Then, just like that, touchdown! Somehow the plane would manage to find the runway. The players and reporters would pay the pilot's tab at the bar later that night. I'm sure it's a much different type of work today. You can write your story in the cab, on the plane or at the hotel bar. You use your phone to record interviews instead of using shorthand. And when you're all set, all you have to do is hit send and your editor has it in hand. No typewriters and call-ins to dictate your story to a sports clerk.

The thing he always said was the hardest, though, was meeting his heroes. Mickey Mantle was a drunk, a womanizer and just not a nice guy to be around. Pete Rose was an absolute Douchebag, a drunk and a womanizer...oh yeah, and a degenerate gambler. Billy Martin's blood had more vodka in it than platelets. I could go on and on. It crushed his spirits in more ways than one. But, hey, every job has its downfalls I suppose. There were a few nice players to have a burger and a beer with.

Which brings me to my thought of the day...can you imagine what it must be like for media outlets like Fox News, Breitbart, OAN, Newsmax to name a few? Which is kind of making me smile a bit right now with everything going on in the ridiculously stupid world of MAGA. They wanted to drain the swamp. The Democrats were these evil child molesting perverts of the worst kind. When Trump took office he was going to release the Jeffrey Epstein files...prove once and for all that the Deep State was real! And the Democrats were coming for your first born! Oh, but what happened? Turns out their hero (and many of his cohorts) are probably on that list that all of a sudden doesn't exist any more! And now it never existed apparently? Oh, I am really enjoying the squirming and spin doctoring going on right now. It's comical.

Remember, my fellow reporters, never meet your heroes, they will most likely disappoint you. Keep draining that swamp morons. I often wonder what my father would have thought about all of this, and what the world has become. The monstrosity journalism has become. And the disgrace our government has become. He'd probably get back on one of those rickety old planes and hop over the border to "cover" a hockey game. And then just never come back. Of course, with the rest of us in tow..as long as we were quiet during the radio interviews!

Such poise, such grace! My hero was actually an awesome guy!