Walking the Lines

Pretty sure that it was J.O. Wallace that talked me into being a stringer for the local paper. He worked as a bartender at a popular sports bar and was sports editor of the local paper.

It may have happened this way:

JO> Want another beer?

ME> Can't afford it. That was my limit.

JO> Wanna make some money on the side?

ME> Does it involve possible prison time?

JO> No, it involves writing. I need someone to do a story on a game this Friday.

ME> I don't know how to write, I'm an English major.

JO> It's in Shawsville.

ME> Where's that?

JO> It's down Route 11.

ME> Oh, that Shawsville, I thought you said Shaws-vull. Sorry. Sure. I get paid, right?

JO> Not much. But I'll pour you another beer.

ME> Deal.

I had no training whatsoever as a journalist. But I had read enough sports stories to know that my academic training in history and English was not going to be of much use.

But I did know a lot about football. So with complete confidence in my ability to figure things out on the fly, I showed up early and sought out the head coach.

ME> Howdy, I'm with the Messenger. Can I walk the sidelines during the game?

COACH> Most sports writers sit in the press box.

ME> I think I can write a better story if I can see the action up close.

COACH> You could get hurt.

ME> It'd be my fault, sir.

COACH> All right. Have at it.

I walked the sidelines that game. I wanted to see who was controlling the line of scrimmage. I wrote notes on key plays. I had the time of my life. For the first time, I saw the WHOLE game. All of its bits and pieces.

I wasn't cheering for any one team. I could appreciate all the good plays. All the bad plays. The effort of all the players, the coaches. The guys that dragged the chains. The officials. The fans of both schools. The cheerleaders. The bands from both schools.

My theory was that the game would write itself. I just had to be there to appreciate the story as it unfolded. And then I would do my best to convey that story to people who would read the article.

J.O. said I did a good enough job to do another game the next week. I was elated.

The transformation from fanatic and zealot to analyst and story teller did not happen all at once. But it started on the sidelines at Shawsville High School that Friday night.