Chapter 16

It was late September and the baseball season was winding down. Paul still had well over half of his four-month broadcasting course to complete, but he got an unexpected telephone call at the radio station from ESPN's own Alex Fain.

"People whose opinions I respect at your school tell me you are their star pupil!" Fain said.

"Well, that's good to hear. I don't get all that much day-to-day feedback. You sure they're not just blowing smoke?"

"No, no. I talked to a couple of people on the faculty. They knew it was a serious inquiry, on my part. Listen, Paul, how would you like to have a little on-the-job training?"

"You mean, on ESPN?"

"Yeah. Well -- sorta. You could be a drop-by guest on our Saturday afternoon game broadcast at Shea. I mean, it's -- what? September 27? It's Mets-Cubs and neither one of them is going anywhere in the post-season. Our listening audience will be zilch. But it would be good experience for you."

"I'd have to play hooky at school," Paul said, "but I'd like to do it. And I haven't been to as many ballgames as I'd planned, this season."

"It's not just the drop-by interview, though," Alex said. "How would you like to sit down, after, and watch a videotape of the game, right there at the ballpark?"

"I don't understand. You mean -- the same game?"

"Here's the thing, Paul. You know I'm wanting to do play-by-play broadcasts, in the future, and not just color, like now. I told you that already -- right?"

"Yeah."

"Well, I need to make a first-class demo tape. A tape of me, doing the play-by-play. Something my agent can send to the clubs that might be in the market for a new sportscaster, next season."

"Uh-huh."

"... And I need somebody to do the color. You know? Somebody on the mike who can talk to me about the game, do the part of the broadcast that I do, now, as color man."

"You want me to be your color man, on the demo?"

"Yeah! Right. I mean, why not? It would be good training for you, doing an actual broadcast, right? Well. Not really on-air -- but simulated. And it would be easy. You'll have just finished watching the game, right? You've had a chance to absorb the whole thing, learn the players, and so on. And then, we turn on the videotape, and we turn off the sound of the previous live radio broadcast, and you and me, we do a radio-style rebroadcast of the game, from scratch!"

"That does sound like something that would be a learning experience for me."

"Yeah! And you'd be doing me a big favor, the same time! I'd have my demo tape, you'd get the on-the-job training. Hell, we could even stop the tape, anytime we feel like it, I can give you a little critique, about things you've said, and all."

"What if I screw something up? Mess up your demo tape?"

"Not a problem. I mean, you really can't. It's not like I'm going to send anybody three hours of tape. I'll be able to pick and choose stuff, from our broadcast. It can be edited, and cut. Hell, if you get tired, we don't even have to run through the whole game, if you don't feel like it."

"Alex, it sounds great. I'd like to do it. And I really appreciate it -- your thinking of me, to help you with it."

Paul didn't have to play hooky, because Fain's project had the support of the faculty, and for the first time since he'd last been a player, Paul reported to a ballpark -- for work.

He had spent hours on the Internet, checking out statistics on Cubs and Mets players, background on the managers and coaches -- absorbing anything and everything that might come up in supposedly casual "on-air" conversations with Fain. He wanted to sound up-to-date and knowledgeable. He didn't want to mess up Fain's demo tape, if he could help it.

He also had an abundance of printed-out data, in a folder, tabbed and organized, ready to take with him to the game.

Paul's live interview during the game was perfunctory. He was introduced as a "promising young player in the Orioles' organization who lost his legs in Afghanistan."

He was asked about what he was currently doing, and Paul -- in very abbreviated fashion -- described his current hectic schedule, and his plans for the future.

The whole thing was horned into a three-minute stretch of dead time during a pitching change.

After the game, Alex Fain puttered around the broadcast booth until the stadium emptied out and quieted. "I've got an engineer here," he told Paul. He's going to run sound for us. Basically, he's got actual game sounds from today's game, but he's screening out Mort's play-by-play, and my color.

"We'll do that from scratch, into the digital recorder, and my engineer will provide the authentic-sounding background noise. If everything works properly, the sound will be appropriate to what's happening, in the game, while we're talking. Got it?"

"What about -- if we stop the tape?" Paul asked. "You said we might stop, talk about stuff I say, and like that. Won't that mess up the sequence?"

"That's why I'm paying this guy the big bucks," Fain said. "Don't worry about it. He's the engineer. You're just the fucking color guy. OK -- you ready? I'll open up the broadcast like it's three hours ago, and say a little something, and then I'll ask you about the starting pitchers? OK?"

"OK. Yeah. I'm... ready."

The taping went remarkably well, for the most part. After a few minutes of nervous anticipation, and a little dry mouth the first time he was called upon to say anything into the microphone, Paul loosened up considerably and found himself feeling much more at ease with the situation.

After awhile, he almost forgot that the onscreen ballgame they were watching in near-silence was only a rebroadcast of a boring, late-season 7-2 Mets loss. He knew there had been enough moments of decent action in the game to give Fain the makings of a good demo. He knew his role, as color man, was minimal. He concentrated on just performing competently, and on trying to project a little excitement, a little flair.

In the sixth inning, Art Ramsey, a Mets' rookie just up from Double-A for a late-season look, struck out for his third time, ending the inning and leaving his fourth and fifth base runners, for that day's production, right where they had been when he came to the plate.

"Paul, what do you think of this kid, Ramsey?" Mr. Play-by-Play, Alex Fain, asked.

"Well, Alex, that's the third time he's struck out today. He missed that last dinky little roundhouse from Harlow -- the Cubs' right-hander, by about a foot and a half! I'd say Ramsey either learns to hit a curveball in the next three days before the season ends, or he's not likely to be invited to spring training with the big club next March."