In the mid-to-late-1980s my favorite toy was an avocado green manual typewriter on which I put together regular editions of the "Daily Tribune," a newspaper of fictional stories written and illustrated (with pencil drawings inside black magic marker square borders) by me while I sat on the living room floor, hunched over the machine that emitted a musty metallic odor as I told it tales of fake petty crimes, fictional football games, and imaginary international crises. I gave myself deadlines and critiqued my headline choices. I collated and numbered the pages and paid careful attention to creating ads below the fold. For me, this was playtime.
From an early age, I was obsessed with the idea of a career in journalism. More specifically, I was obsessed with a career that, until almost a decade later, I wouldn't even know existed.
At age 18 I discovered it and was even offered an opportunity to do it: sports information -- the art of compiling and distributing information about athletics teams and competitions.
You see, though I was the faithful editor of the "Daily Tribune," one of my favorite childhood projects was actually a postseason Iowa State men's basketball review that I created as a gift for my father by writing news blurbs and cutting and pasting news articles, statistics, and photos onto looseleaf pages in a red binder. I was reminded of this project yesterday when I was filling a red binder with articles, rosters, and statistics that I'll need to use this weekend at the NCAA women's basketball tournament's first and second round games in Ames. Saturday through Tuesday, I'm volunteering to help out one of my former bosses -- a lifelong friend acquired during the three years I spent working as a sports information student assistant -- who is coordinating media relations for the event. We are both out of that line of work nowadays, but we both relish the opportunity to volunteer at tournament time. Because, well, we are both still sports info geeks at heart.
It's this time of year, when the excitement of March Madness is at its peak, that I most regret not pursuing an SID career. (Though, if I'm being honest with myself, I'm probably better at the job I do now.) There's just something exciting about the yards of blue carpeting and the smell of freshly-copied stat sheets and the pressure of deadline as the sneakers squeak out a countdown to the next tipoff.
It takes a special breed of weirdo to appreciate it. And here I am: Captain Weirdo, reporting for duty. I can't wait to collate.
1 comment:
Precious memories.
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