Now It Can Be Told: I Failed Terry Bradshaw

Congratulations to the New York Giants: in a nail-biter, they beat the favored Green Bay Packers 23-20 in overtime to win the NFC Conference Championship. They now head to Glendale, Arizona to take on the undefeated New England Patriots in Super Bowl XXLII on Feb. 3.

The last time the GIants earned a trip to the Super Bowl it was Sunday, January 14, 2001 and I was on the sidelines for CBS Sports as a "utility" audio person. Years earlier I'd become a member of IBEW Local 1212, Radio and Television Broadcast Engineers Union, whose members work the Meadowlands for CBS. I had previously been called to join the crew for three or four late regular-season Giants games and - even though my employment was sporadic and the pay was good (around $40 an hour) - I dreaded the gigs. First, to state the utterly obvious, it's damn cold in Giants Stadium in late fall/early winter. That wind comes whipping through the Meadowlands and buddy, no amount of layering fends off the chill. Second, it's a long day, usually 14 or more hours on your feet, constantly moving, ducking and dodging players, team personnel, photographers, security people, etc. You probably don't get a sense of it, watching a game on TV, but there are more people standing on the sidelines of an NFL game than live in some of your more quaint midwestern towns. The job's also intensely physical, involving lots of lifting and toting of heavy objects and coiling up of long runs of cable (f you knew how much of the stuff is involved in putting a sporting event on the air you'd tell your kids to forget college and go into the wire and cable business). By the time I'd head for my car I'd be mentally and physically spent, barely able to navigate the few miles home and glad I didn't have a regular job to report to the next day.

Things improved a bit when CBS handed me a microphone. No, they didn't send me out to do color commentary: they taught me the rudiments of that all-important NFL audio-enhancer, the parabolic microphone. If you've watched even one NFL game you've seen those fartknockers on the sidelines pointing what looks like a huge, vertical salad bowl at the action on the field while running sideways like a crab up and down the sidelines. That fartknocker was once me. The particular see-through parabolic dish I used was designed for CBS by David A. Cohn, R.I.P., and Mr. Cohn, wherever you are, I thank you for your innovation. Being able to see through the damn thing is all that saved my neck when several thousand pounds of professional football player came hurtling toward me the first time I wielded that unwieldly contraption. My only mistake, according to the audio director who barked his displeasure into my headset after I narrowly escaped being crushed, was turning the microphone the wrong way as I scrambled for dear life away from the "kill zone" (the veterans refer to it as the "million-dollar injury"). "Chris..." he scolded, "...I know you have to move out of the way but try to keep the mike on the action, OK?"

It was hard to "move out of the way" during the Conference showdown between the Giants and the Vikings. The sideline were populated by double the amount of bodies and the Meadowlands Security guards exercised their full authority, telling me constantly where I could or couldn't stand. I think the powers-that-be liked me because I wouldn't take any shit from the "boys in blue" (the security guards wore light blue jackets) but would stand my ground and wave them off, telling them to take it up with CBS. I ended up not working the parabolic for the big game though. They had me on "standby", telling me to be available for any job necessary. I thought, "Shit, back to being a cable-puller..." but they assigned me to the crane camera as "point man". My job was to clear the path in front of the crane as it was wheeled from place to place (for those sweeping crowd shots) by several of my brethren. Talk about a job I was suited for, telling people to get the hell out of the way: "ONE SIDE!", "COMING THROUGH" and "MOVE IT!" were the phrases I leaned on, with the occasional "Excuse me!" thrown in when I was feeling polite. At one point, I was so focussed on parting humanity that I didn't realize I'd just told Terry Bradshaw himself, cigar in hand, to GET OUT OF THE WAY! Mr. Bradshaw looked at me and did a quick hop out of the path of the crane, as I said, "Sorry Terry!"

Terry was the focus of the next task I was assigned: to ready a small TV monitor (so Terry could see not only himself but anything else presented to the viewer at home) on a long umbilical to be carried out to mid-field and set-up on a platform where the Championship award would be presented. Once the crane business was over, I didn't have much to do - perhaps because the game was an utter blowout (the Giants won 41-0)  - so I busied myself with the monitor, working with two other technicians to put the pieces  together and make sure everything worked. We checked and re-checked the cable, the feed, the monitor itself - ready for our big moment when the game finally ended and - in perfect unison - we ran onto the field. I carried the monitor, snaking my way through the crowds of football players, media, hangers on, support personnel, etc. while my comrades uncoiled the umbilical and made sure nothing came unplugged. After a herculean effort we made it to the platform, set up the monitor and switched it on: nothing. Mere feet from Terry's feet I fumbled with the piece of useless crap to no avail, jiggling wires, switching it on and off and even smacking it on its side, like I used to do with my grandmother's Zenith console. It sat there, lifeless. Terry - being the pro that he is - shouldered on without it and I doubt those watching at home ever knew that the custodian of Terry Bradshaw's monitor - yours truly - utterly failed the man.

Terry, it's taken seven years but I apologize.

Chris T.

Pictured: Terry Bradshaw's "Country Gospel" album, "Until You", released 1980.

Comments

[Fatherflot]

Chris:

Great story. When you talked about the "kill zone" and the "million dollar injury" I immediately thought of a film that I just watched for the first time last month. It's a late, dark, Billy Wilder comedy called "The Fortune Cookie." It was shot in the mid sixties on location in Cleveland (including lots of footage of a Browns-Vikings game inside old Municipal Stadium). The story concerns a nebbishy cameraman (Jack Lemon) who gets hit in the "kill zone" and is persuaded by his shyster lawyer brother-in-law (Walter Matthau) to go for the million dollar claim against the league, the team, and the player who hit him.

Frankly it's a bit of a mess as a film, especially after such brilliant work as "The Apartment" and "One, Two, Three." It careens between sour misogyny and civil rights-era racial understanding melodrama (the player that hits Lemmon is Portier-like mid 60's Hollywood Noble Black Man). Matthau appears to be trying to turn the whole movie into a private joke---he acts in a broad, TV sketch comedy style that's totally out of synch with the rest of the cast. But it does have some great lines and lots of shots of mid 60's Cleveland, if that turns you on. . .

[Cynthia]

Maybe that is why he has taken to wearing those questionable farmer john overalls on the air now.. maybe he figured he doesnt' need the monitor after all.. and he cant' see what he looks like!! :)

Great stuff Chris.

[RioRico]

Ah, broadcast sports! Games primarily provide amateur gamblers with subjects for wagering. The sports industry is essentially a subsidiary of the Mafia. Just thought I'd mention that.

[folksnake]

Ah, broadcast sports! Games primarily provide amateur gamblers with subjects for wagering. The sports industry is essentially a subsidiary of the Mafia. Just thought I'd mention that.

Wow! 40 years of me and my friends watching games for pleasure (primarily), without wagering...had no idea we were (essentially) doing it wrong.

[Dale Hazelton]

What, no mp3 of Terry crooning?

I love these stories -- for all the glitz and the glamour there are a bunch of hard working union folk totin' that barge and liftin' that bale to make things happen seamlessly. I salute you one and all!