What Now?

College graduations are wonderful. Well, not the graduations themselves, which are usually boring and often devoid of captivating speeches. But, what college graduations represent is wonderful. The culmination of nearly two decades of schooling. The move to adulthood and the “real world”.

At least, that’s how I felt when I graduated from Syracuse University 11 years ago this month. I was adamant that my formal schooling had concluded forever – no graduate school for me – and I was ready to start living my life as a full-fledged adult. Mom invited more than 20 people to the ceremonies and, after a group lunch at an Italian steakhouse followed by the emptying of my dorm room of my final few worldly possessions, I headed back to my bedroom the apartment in the Bronx Mom and I shared. I slept well that night.

When I woke up the next morning, the day after Mother’s Day, the first thought that entered my mind was “what now?” Previously, everything had been laid out in front of me. With school there was always a paper to finish, a test to pass, a project to complete. Now there was nothing. Nothing except to find a job, figure out my career path and get started with living the rest of my life as a gainfully employed adult with bills to pay. How the heck was I supposed to get started with that? I’d gotten a degree in broadcast journalism from Syracuse, but it had been drilled into me that it may take months before I land my first broadcasting job; I knew people in my major who had a job waiting for them upon graduation, but I could count them on one hand and still have fingers left over.

Mom offered to take me to Europe for a few weeks that summer as a graduation present – even forcing me to get a passport – but I rebuffed her offer. I needed to start my life as an adult right away and any delays would be harmful. So, Mom went to Europe alone. I vowed to do some sort of job hunting every single day. The local newspapers updated their job classifieds twice a week and I pored over every listing, even though the same jobs seemed to be posted over and over again, to the point where I had several of the ads memorized. Very few of the jobs seemed like work I’d be interested in or good at. I answered one ad for a temporary staffing agency, only to have the woman there figuratively rip apart my résumé because it didn’t include details like how many words per minute I can type (how the heck am I supposed to know that? I thought. I can type; isn’t that good enough?). The previous summer, I’d hooked up with a bartending school which offered job placement assistance, so I got back in touch with them. However, all of the leads they gave me were at places where they wanted people with at least some previous experience working at a restaurant, experience I didn’t have; one restaurant manager laughed when he saw my résumé and told me I was wasting his time.

Right before Memorial Day weekend, I got an e-mail from the New York bureau of the Yomiuri Shimbun, a Japanese newspaper. I saw their classified ad in the Sunday New York Times a day after I graduated – they were looking for a sports reporter to assist the bureau’s Japanese sportswriter – applied and forgot all about it. They wanted to interview me. An interview date was set after a couple more e-mails – I can’t remember whether I interviewed with them the day before or the day after my birthday – and, almost exactly a month after my graduation, they offered me the job, which I quickly accepted. The Yomiuri paid well – especially for someone still living at home with no major bills to pay – and had full health and retirement benefits and a substantial holiday bonus each December. I wouldn’t be in broadcasting, but I would be in journalism and I would get an opportunity to cover many different big-time sporting events, like the Super Bowl and the World Series. They didn’t need me to start working until early July, so I had a blissful month in which I knew I could relax with impunity and spend all the graduation-present money relatives and family friends had given me.

I realize how fortunate I was. Several of my friends were unemployed for months after graduation and, when many of them did finally find work, it was in a field in which they had little interest, a job that didn’t pay a living wage or both. The economy was in decent shape back then and jobs for college graduates with little or no experience weren’t easy to find, but they were out there. I made enough money so I didn’t have to work an additional part-time job if I didn’t want to, freeing me up to sit in the stands at college basketball and Major League Baseball games and make play-by-play tapes I could hopefully use to find my next job, which I wanted to be in broadcasting. I did take a part-time job teaching SAT prep courses, but that was only after I secured a baseball play-by-play position in December, a job that wasn’t going to start until late June. I wound up working at the Yomiuri for just under a year. And, I was able to make enough money to pay cash for a used car that I drove across the country to start my broadcasting career.

I’ve been able to do a lot of great things in my life, but my passport remains empty. Working, and getting your career started after college is important. But, so is taking advantage of a free trip to Europe; I won’t make that mistake again.

Follow @raford3

Read Full Post »

How I Became A Beer Snob

It was about an eight-block walk from the American Legion hall to the subway station. Maria’s house was on the way, so we walked with Maria and her dad, who was carrying a half-empty case of Coors Light left over from Maria’s Sweet 16 party. When we got to the steps in front of their row house, he opened one of the silver cans and took a sip.

“You want some?” Maria’s dad asked, barely extending the can toward us.

“No thanks,” either Marc or Burt said. The twins and I were mutual friends of Maria’s and we’d taken the 90-minute subway ride together from the Bronx to Sunset Park, Brooklyn for the party. I laughed nervously.

“No, I’m serious,” Maria’s dad continued. “Kids need to start drinking young. That way, when they’re old enough, they’re not wimps when it comes to alcohol.”

I was 15. Marc and Burt were two years older than me. We each took a sip; the Coors Light was bitter. Maria walked with us the rest of the way to the subway station, finishing the can during the trip.

That was my introduction to beer.

I was never one of those teenagers who saw drinking – and getting drunk – as a rite of passage. As a freshman at Syracuse University, I attended many of the off-campus house parties where, for two or three bucks, I could have as many 12-ounce cupfuls of keg beer as my 18-year-old heart desired. But, I rarely had more than a couple of cups of beer – even my unrefined pallet knew the beer in those kegs was substandard – and I never got drunk; I went to those house parties less for the drinking and more for the chance to hang out with friends and to meet other people. Unlike many of my underage college peers, I never tried to acquire a fake ID or sneak into the myriad bars near campus. If beer were made available to me I’d have some, but I didn’t view a lack of beer as an acute problem.

I did know that, when I had beer, I wanted to drink good beer. I have no idea where the desire to drink something other than the likes of Budweiser and Miller came from; I grew up in a family of beer and liquor drinkers, but I don’t remember anyone who had discriminating taste when it came to beer. Perhaps since I had little desire to get drunk, I decided that, if I was going to drink, I wanted to enjoy what I was drinking. As an underage drinker, I rarely had a choice of beers but, when I did, I always went for the most exotic-sounding brew available. Heineken? Beck’s? Labatt? Those are imported, so they must be good! Michelob Ultra? It’s got “ultra” in its name so it has to be special! It didn’t take long for me to learn that some of the “exotic” beers were just as bad as the “non-exotic” ones. However, no matter what, I refused to drink light beer: I tend to eschew “light” products in general and I didn’t want to choose my beer based on its calorie count.

I wanted to learn more about the beers I was drinking so, my senior year at Syracuse, I enrolled in a two-credit Beer and Wine Appreciation course that met once a week. The class was taught by a husky-voiced adjunct professor who was a local restaurant owner. For the first half of the semester, the class focused on wine: the world’s main wine-making regions, different types of wine and how to properly evaluate and taste wine; we tasted at least two or three different wines per class.  I found that portion of the class interesting, although I didn’t retain much of what I learned; however, because of it, I’ve never felt intimidated or apprehensive when it comes to purchasing wine and I know how to properly open a bottle of Champagne.

The second half of the semester proved to be more compelling to me; for those eight weeks, representatives from different breweries visited the class, each bringing beer for us to try. We heard from everyone from Anheuser-Busch to local brewers of craft beer (Upstate New York is home to lots of smaller breweries). I learned about the difference between ales and lagers and what hops and malt do to a beer’s flavor. But, most importantly, I got to try lots of different beers, helping me develop my likes and dislikes. My favorite beers were the flavored stouts and the sweeter beers in general, as well as the pale ales. I wasn’t as crazy about beers with a high concentration of hops, because those tended to be more bitter.

Fortunately, I was going to college in the right city for beer experimentation. There were several bars in Syracuse that offered a wide selection of beers and I took full advantage. Once I got out of college and started to travel for work, I got to experiment even more. Because of the craft beer revolution that’s taken place over the last couple of decades, nearly every locale has its own beers. Whenever I’ve moved to a new city or when I’m on the road for work, I always try the local beers and I’m rarely disappointed. When I lived in Kalamazoo, Michigan I fell in love with Oberon, a heavy, sweet summer beer made by Bell’s Brewery; part of the reason my favorite bar in Kalamazoo was my favorite bar is because they’d have Oberon on tap late into October, long after other places had exhausted their supply. My eight months in Yakima, Washington made me a fan of Mac & Jacks, a rich amber ale unlike any beer I’ve ever had anywhere; unfortunately, I haven’t been able to find it since I left the Pacific Northwest. I currently live in Kansas City, where I like drinking the beers put out by the Boulevard and Free State breweries; I first tried Boulevard’s pale ale several years ago, when I visited a Springfield, Missouri restaurant that had it on tap. I miss the Brooklyn Brewery beers I drank on a regular basis when I lived in New York City and in Binghamton, New York; their brown ale is the perfect beer as far as I’m concerned. However, I have been able to find another one of my favorites – the Vermont-brewed Magic Hat #9 – at a handful of liquor stores in the Kansas City area.

My friends make fun of me because they know I’ll only drink “good” beer; I will pass on drinking beer entirely if there isn’t a craft beer offering available; I’m a self-professed “beer snob”. I am proud that several of my friends, and a few of the women I’ve dated, credit me with broadening their horizons when it comes to beer; I believe that anyone who drinks, regardless of their taste in alcohol, can find a beer they like if they look hard enough. There is always a six-pack of craft beer in my refrigerator and I enjoy getting others interested in the beers I enjoy.

However, if you’re expecting to find a Coors Light in my fridge, you’ll be disappointed.

Follow @raford3

Read Full Post »

The New York Knicks: A Tragedy

I recognized Mom’s number when I opened my flip phone. I knew why she was calling.

“Hi Mom,” I answered. “I hate this move. I think it’s a terrible move.”

Mom tried to be diplomatic.

“Just give it some time,” she said. “Things could work out.”

I wasn’t going to give it any time and I knew it wasn’t going to work out; I’d never been more certain of anything in my life as a sports fan.

So, yeah, I wasn’t excited about Isiah Thomas being named president of the New York Knicks.

The Knicks are the reason I care about basketball. I came of age living and (mostly) dying with those talented and tough Knicks teams of the early- and mid-1990s that regularly went deep into the playoffs and regularly succumbed to those great, Michael Jordan-led Chicago Bulls teams, save for one NBA Finals appearance in 1994, during Jordan’s basketball hiatus. The Knicks were Wile E. Coyote; they’d keep coming up with ingenious plans to win it all, yet they’d always be leveled by an anvil or go careening off a cliff, the Bulls yelling “Beep Beep!” and sticking their tongue out as they raced to another title. But, I loved Wile E. One of the best birthday presents I got as a teenager was an Anthony Mason jersey. I begged Mom to take her Toyota Corolla through the car wash that Charles Oakley owned. Mom was also a huge Knicks fan; the Knicks won their only two NBA championships when she was a teenager. Knicks tickets at Madison Square Garden were hard to come by, so Mom and I had a seven-game New Jersey Nets ticket plan during the 1995-1996 season in part because it included seats for one of the Knicks games against the Nets at Continental Airlines Arena. I privately sneered at the Bulls hats, jackets and jerseys that filled New York City back then; it’s easy to root for the Road Runner, but you have to stick by your hometown team, even if they continue to buy products from Acme that keep failing them and don’t reach their full potential.

The Knicks didn’t have much of an identity once the late 1990s rolled around, but they were still competitive and capable of doing damage in the playoffs, culminating in a surprise NBA Finals appearance in 1999. The following season, Scott Layden took over as general manager and, after a couple of decent years, the Knicks hit an iceberg. It had been a decade and a half since the Knicks had bottomed out, and their lack of high draft picks didn’t allow them to rebuild with younger players. The Knicks kept signing and trading for veterans who were either mediocre or over the hill and none of the handful of young players they acquired panned out. Eventually, they did hit bottom, and it cost Layden his job late in 2003.

By the time Layden lost his job, I’d left New York City and was working as a sports play-by-play broadcaster and a news anchor and reporter for a radio station group in Kalamazoo, Michigan. Growing up, the Knicks were my second-favorite team behind the New York Mets, but they’d taken a backseat to the New York Giants, who I could watch every week at a bar a few minutes from my apartment, and Syracuse University, my alma mater, whose men’s basketball and football games were regularly shown on cable. I tried to watch the handful of Knicks games that were on television in Michigan but, as their record dipped, so did their national exposure. But my passion was reignited that day I was working in the newsroom and saw the Associated Press wire story announcing the Knicks’ hire of Thomas, which was followed by Mom’s phone call a few minutes later. The Knicks had stagnated under Layden, but going from him to Thomas felt like having a malignant tumor removed only to find out I had cancer. Thomas, one of the best point guards in NBA history and a good evaluator of amateur talent, had failed as a coach and/or general manager in several stops, even taking the time to run the minor-league Continental Basketball Association into the ground. I knew the Knicks were doomed.

Unfortunately, he didn’t prove me wrong. Thomas, who eventually added head coaching duties to his team president responsibilities, saddled the Knicks with bad contract after bad contract. Like New York Yankees or Brooklyn Dodgers fans of a certain age who can recite the entire roster of their great teams of yesteryear by heart, I can name most of the Knicks poor acquisitions and the beneficiaries of the terrible contracts under Thomas off the top of my head: Eddy Curry. Jerome James. Stephon Marbury. Steve Francis. It got to the point where I stopped getting upset about the Knicks’ losses because I knew continued futility would be the only way for Thomas to get canned. I was amazed the Knicks stood by Thomas even after an embarrassing sexual harassment lawsuit filed against him by one of the Knicks’ former female employees; it was a lawsuit the Knicks could’ve settled out of court, but they chose to fight it, leading to a lot of their dirty laundry being aired in a public forum. Some of my ire directed at Thomas began to be diverted to owner Jim Dolan, who seemed to have more faith in Thomas’ ability than he should’ve.

I was living in Binghamton, New York when the Knicks finally fired Thomas after the 2007-2008 season, prompting a celebration. Moreover, Thomas was replaced by people with excellent track records: Donnie Walsh, who’d built some really good Indiana Pacers teams, was named the president and Mike D’Antoni, who’d won with the Phoenix Suns, became the head coach. It was going to take a few years to rid the Knicks of all the bad contracts Thomas had saddled them with, but there was now a light at the end of the tunnel. New Yorkers have a reputation as an impatient bunch, but we had no problem accepting and watching terrible Knicks teams for a few years because we were confident the manure would turn into roses.

And that’s what made the first few months of the 2010-2011 Knicks season so wonderful. The Knicks had cleared enough salary cap space to finally sign some good players, led by standout center Amar’e Stoudemire. I was concerned about Stoudemire’s injury history – the Knicks couldn’t find anyone willing to insure his massive contract – but I still thought he was a good piece to build around. Besides, Walsh had put the Knicks in position to make more free agent signings over the next year or two, so Stoudemire was going to get more help. I followed the Knicks closer than I ever had as an adult, and their improved on-court product led to a ton of national television appearances, making it easier for me to keep an eye on them from Kansas City.

Then, the Knicks traded for Carmelo Anthony.

I’ve had a soft spot for Carmelo Anthony ever since he led Syracuse to their first-ever championship in college basketball. That was during the 2002-2003 season, Anthony’s only year in Syracuse orange. After years of resisting the urge to bring in a “one-and-done” – players who plan on declaring for the NBA Draft after playing one season of college basketball – Syracuse head coach Jim Boeheim relented and landed Anthony, and it couldn’t have worked out any better. Unranked at the start of the season, Syracuse gained momentum as the year progressed, thanks to Anthony’s ability to gel with the rest of his teammates. Fellow freshmen Billy Edelin and Gerry McNamara handled the point guard duties that season and both proved adept at getting the ball to Anthony in spots that would allow him to score effectively. Syracuse was a balanced team with the ability to score inside or outside and a tight rotation of players who all knew their roles; Anthony thrived in this atmosphere.

Things have been different for Anthony since he was picked third overall by the Denver Nuggets in the 2003 NBA Draft. He’s developed a reputation as a player who is only capable of scoring and incapable of helping his teammates score or making those around him better. At Syracuse, Anthony wasn’t asked to set up his teammates, they had several capable rebounders and their 2-3 match-up zone hid his defensive shortcomings; all Anthony had to do was score. In the NBA, the team’s star player is expected to pass at least occasionally and it’s hard for any team to make a deep playoff run when their best player isn’t an elite-level passer, rebounder or defender. Anthony certainly made the Nuggets better, but their ceiling was limited because Anthony was limited as a superstar.

I was aware of Anthony’s reputation when the Knicks acquired him in February, 2011. Anthony made it clear he planned on leaving Denver after the season and that the Knicks were the only team he wanted to play for. It was unlikely Denver was going to be able to trade Anthony to any other team and Anthony was all but certain to choose the Knicks during free agency that summer. Walsh reportedly saw no need to trade for Anthony; the Knicks were already good enough to win a postseason series or two and they’d have to give up quite a bit to acquire Anthony in a trade. By picking up Anthony in free agency, the Knicks would be able to keep their core intact and add Anthony, which seemed like a win-win proposition. Walsh’s strategy made sense to me, but he was reportedly overruled by the meddlesome Dolan and the trade was made. I was incensed. Not only did Dolan ignore the recommendation of the general manager he hired to rid the Knicks of the mess Dolan helped create, but I knew there was little chance of Walsh – or his allies – sticking around after the 2010-2011 season.

Not surprisingly, the Knicks gave up several key players to get Anthony, were swept in the first round of the NBA playoffs and Walsh resigned after the season, although he remained with the team as a consultant. And the lockout-shortened 2011-2012 season saw the Knicks get off to a terrible start, in part because of the difficulties Anthony and Stoudemire had playing together. Both players like to operate in the post, creating a logjam that made it more difficult for both to score. And, Anthony performs better in a slow-paced, half-court game, whereas D’Antoni had installed an up-tempo, full-court style of play. The Knicks didn’t start to play as a unit until the emergence of Jeremy Lin, an afterthought who’d been claimed on waivers and had never stuck at the NBA level. But Lin, a point guard, proved to be skilled at making his mediocre teammates better and got his start during a stretch in which Anthony and Stoudemire didn’t play much together, since one or the other was out for various injuries or family emergencies (Stoudemire left the team for several days after his older brother died in a car accident).

Last week’s predictable first-round playoff exit for the Knicks – at least they won a playoff game this time, their first postseason victory since 2001 – ended a tumultuous season that saw D’Antoni resign and several key players miss lengthy stretches of the season. Anthony was in the middle of the tempest; his strained relationship with D’Antoni reportedly led to the latter’s resignation, and Anthony’s work ethic, desire to share the ball on offense and ability to stay in shape were questioned by his coaches, media and fans. The fact that Anthony carried an injury-riddled team the last month of the season and ensured the Knicks got one of the final playoff spots in the Eastern Conference seems like a footnote. Many Knicks fans felt duped: Anthony was supposed to be the superstar who would lead them to bigger and better things instead of an impediment to their long-term success. I can’t say I expected many associated with the Knicks to sour on Anthony so quickly, but I’m not surprised.

Perhaps a full training camp and a traditional, non-condensed schedule will help Anthony and the Knicks find their rhythm next season. And, the Knicks have an entire off-season to surround Anthony and Stoudemire with players who compliment them. I think the Knicks will be better next season than they were in 2011-2012, but I still expect them to disappoint. I am glad the Knicks are good enough to warrant my attention again and that they expect to win more games than they lose. But, I’m still wary of that anvil that always seems to fall from the sky.

Follow @raford3

Read Full Post »

Truth In Play-By-Play

My first play-by-play gig was as the voice of the Yakima Bears, a minor league baseball team affiliated with the Arizona Diamondbacks in the short-season Northwest League. The Bears played 76 games in 80 days. Exactly 75 of those 76 games were played at night. As a first-time broadcaster, the season was a grind, but I loved the challenge and looked at every day as an opportunity to improve. Not a day went by in which I wasn’t tweaking some aspect of my preparation or listening to a half-inning of my work or experimenting with different things on the air. My experience with the Bears wouldn’t have been ideal for every first-time broadcaster – some would prefer a more structured environment working with an established broadcaster – but it was perfect for me and, by the end of the season, I felt like I’d developed a solid foundation even though I knew there was still a lot of room for improvement.

Before the season began, I’d come up with several phrases and expressions I planned on using on the air; the only one I remember is “forrrrrr-get it!” for a home run. Once I got on the air, I found myself rarely using those scripted phrases and, when I did, they were usually forced; I found that my best home run calls were spontaneous reactions to what I was seeing. It also took me a while to learn how to show the proper level of excitement on certain plays; I’ve always been very low-key and have never been much of a shouter or yeller. As the season progressed, I learned how to raise my voice to convey what I felt was the appropriate amount of excitement. That summer, I learned the most important tenet of play-by-play broadcasting:

Be yourself.

Several months ago, I defended the play-by-play style of New York Yankees radio broadcaster John Sterling, who does exactly what I realized I couldn’t do: use pre-planned phrases. However, that works for Sterling and I think he truly is being himself. When I first heard Gus Johnson call college basketball games on CBS, I didn’t like him; he was very excitable and emotive and I thought he was trying too hard. But, now I’m one of Johnson’s biggest fans; over time I realized that Johnson’s unique, high-energy style matched his personality and that he was being himself. Both Sterling and Johnson are polarizing figures who most fans either love or hate with no in-between, but there’s no doubt in my mind both broadcasters are being themselves. Every play-by-play broadcaster needs to be prepared and descriptive but, beyond that, there are no hard and fast rules for having a play-by-play style that’s well received and will lead to a fulfilling career. Play-by-play is like writing: it’s important to learn the proper mechanics, but success will be elusive until you find your voice. Not to mention, “success” is very subjective and means different things to different people; whether it be working at the network level, calling your alma mater’s basketball and football games or serving as the long-time voice of a minor league team. And, just like one’s style, no one truly knows what will define success for them until they’ve been in the business for a few years.

I’m not sure when over the last decade I realized I’d figured out what “being myself” meant for me, probably because there wasn’t an Aha! moment; it was a gradual process achieved only after gaining self-awareness and lots of experience. And, I don’t even know how to describe what my style is. But, I know it when I hear it. When I listen to audio of games I’ve called, I cringe every time I hear a bad description, a misused word or a mangled phrase. I cringe most when I don’t sound like myself, when I can tell I’m trying too hard because I’m trying to be perfect or because I’m thinking too much about saying something that may sound good on a demo CD rather than focusing on describing what I’m seeing. And, if I don’t think I sound like myself, the listener will eventually pick up on that lack of authenticity as well.

Every now and then, a novice play-by-play broadcaster will e-mail me a clip of his or her play-by-play to critique. I try to help those broadcasters whenever I can; I know what it’s like to feel like you’re calling games in a vacuum, wondering if you’re any good and if you’re getting better. Also, there aren’t very many people who “teach” play-by-play, so critiques combined with carefully studying your work and the work of others is really the only way to learn how to effectively call a game. Most of the broadcasters who e-mail me their play-by-play need more reps and instruction and are still learning the basics of the craft, which is where every broadcaster should start. And, as you get more proficient with the basics of description and preparation, a style will emerge; to be as good as you can be, that style can’t be forced and has to emerge organically. Forcing one’s play-by-play style is similar to lying; one leads to more and, before you know it, the lines between truth and fiction are blurred and you don’t even know who the real you is anymore.

So, when I hear broadcasters screaming at the top of their lungs or unnaturally distorting their voice to convey excitement or using catch phrases for nearly every play or trying to make their voice sound deeper or more authoritative than it actually is, I wonder if they’re trying too hard, a question only the broadcaster can answer accurately (and an accurate answer comes only with the proper level of self awareness). But, over time, listeners figure out who’s being true to themselves and who isn’t. As with athletes, the careers of play-by-play broadcasters top out at different levels depending on a variety of factors. But, no broadcaster who isn’t true to himself or herself will go very far.

If you’re a play-by-play broadcaster trying to move up in the business, someone who’s trying to figure out what your next move will be, remember to always be yourself and to seek honest and critical assessments of your work. You may not go very far in broadcasting – a business that depends a lot on subjectivity and on being in the right place at the right time – but you will find your voice.

Follow @raford3

Read Full Post »