Mom on the Run
I’m up in the press box, microphone in front me, ready for my debut as a high school lacrosse game announcer. I’ve never aspired to sports broadcasting, but once upon a time I promised to fill in wherever nobody else volunteered so, tonight, yup, I’m calling the game.
I really have very little idea what to do up here. I know the basics, that the announcer lists off the starting players, tells the score, reminds people to visit the concession stand. And Christy gave me a script for today. Surely I can figure this out, right? How hard can this be?
But immediately it gets complicated. After checking out the press box, and familiarizing myself with the equipment there, I realize something’s missing. So I climb back down the tightly angled ladder, and half-run all the way down the very deep bleacher steps, then I walk all the way around the fence, then all the way over to the scorekeeping table, and check in with the opposing team: “Do you guys have a roster?”
The two girls flip through papers, look around, look at each other, and shrug. “No, sorry.” I stand, perplexed, for a minute, not sure what to do. This is my first time: was I supposed to ask someone else? Should I track down their coach? Then, “You don’t have to give our players’ names,” the girls offer. “It’s our fault.”
Except … that doesn’t seem right. Their players deserve recognition after goals and big plays too. What if that was my son?
So I hem and haw and think. And as I look around for a scrap of paper to quickly scribble out their roster, I notice a cell phone, the omnipresent teenage accessory. “Hey,” I wonder out loud, “could you text it to me?”
The girls look at each other. “Yeah, sure,” they say, and one girl hands me her phone. I peck in my number, then start my long walk back. Across the field. Around the track. Up the uncomfortably sized bleacher stairs. Up-up-up the narrow pitched ladder, back into the press box.
Where, panting a little, I look at the scoreboard clock, and down on the field, and realize that time has run out, the boys are lining up for the game, and I have to start, opposing team’s roster in hand or no.
So. I flip on the microphone, and for the first time, after all that rushing, get a few butterflies. Looking out the window, down onto the bleachers below me, there are people here, a bunch of them, and they’re all listening to me! I barely know the rules of lacrosse. I cheer for the wrong thing all the time. What am I doing?
Well, there’s nothing for it. I’m here, and it’s time. I take a deep breath, pick up my script, and start reading. “Thank you for attending the Osbourn High School Boys Lacrosse game!” I try to speak slowly, listening wonderingly to my echo outside. I get through all my handy script bullets, and, “Osbourn starting lineup!” Down I go through the list. “In goal ….” All the while watching my phone. My still, silent phone.
Just as I get to, “And at Attack,” there it is! My phone vibrates! My text! Still reading aloud, I reach for my phone, open the message, and see … a photo. A little tiny photo. “The Eagles are coached by ….”
Oh! It’s their scorebook! The girls took a picture of the scorebook, with all the players listed! Just in time, as I finish reading my team’s coaches’ names, I pinch the picture, expand it, slide it up and to the right. Little stars noting the starters! Whoo! Seamlessly, I start: “Starting in Defense for FreedomHigh School ….”
And hey, I’ve got this, I realize. Still reading, silently, internally, I give a little fist pump. Shoot, if I figured out the texted roster photo thing, the rest of this announcer gig has to be a cakewalk!
