A Day at the office

            I make my living as a free-lance media technician specializing in audio. I’ll spare the mundane of the technical, but sometimes I get to do some interesting things.

            On Wednesday, July 7, I was hired to do audio on location for the Fox Sports Net show, “The Best Damn Sports Show, Period.”

            Personally, I think the name and talent rather pretentious, but they were paying me, and the location was Fenway Park, so I was not about to complain.

            We were a crew of 3,  a truck engineer (Mark), camera guy (Bob) and me.  Fenway has been pre-wired, so the truck can plug in from the street to receive audio and video from the field.  The other end of these patch points are in the Red Sox dugout.

            Mark, stays with the truck, while Bob and I lug 2 carts of gear around to the media gate.  We have HMI light and Lowell kit, camera, audio gear, cables, reflectors, sand bags, C stands, etc. 

            We were to set up on the infield sideline in front of the Red Sox dugout to do a pre-game interview.

            Unfortunately, there was a slight snafu, and security at Fenway Park borders on the absurd.  The Fox people were to call the Fenway people so we would have credentials at the gate.  Somebody goofed, and our names were not there.  Nor was there any word of “The Best Damn Sports Show, Period.” being there for interviews.  The security folks would not let us in.

            Mind you, we were not some tourist with a camcorder.  We had lots of professional expensive gear.  It was clear that we needed some time to set up our stuff, but no credentials, no entry.

            We’re just lowly technical people. We have no idea who was supposed to get the info to the guards. So Bob goes back to the truck to find out what he can, and I try to get some info from the security folks.

            When Mark hears of our situation, he gets on the phone to his office, which is a sub-contractor for Fox. (New England Satellite).

            New England Satellite calls Fox. While all this is going on, I find out the names of 2 media relations people at Fenway.  When Bob returns from the truck to watch the gear, I head to the “upstairs” office at Fenway to find the folks from Media Relations.

What I find is a receptionist who tells me everyone is in a meeting, and won’t be available until it ends.  Even the Fox folks were only able to leave voice mail.  It took us 1.5 hours before we finally got cleared through the gate.

            It’s almost like the job of the Fenway people was to make it as hard as possible for us to do our job.

            Nonetheless, we get in and onto the field.  We set up all our gear right in front of the Red Sox dugout, and patch into the truck.  He sees and hears us.  Fine.

            Our talent shows up.  Her name is Lenora, and she is from L.A.  She looks it, indeed.  Different shades of wavy blonde hair, and a body that is fitting for Hollywood.  She’s wearing a tight tank top that says “Deadly Sexy.”  Talk about flaunting it…

But she knows we are there to make her look and sound good, so she treats us with respect.

            When she finds out our interview is with Dennis Eckersley, she whines and complains.  I say “He may become a Hall of Famer this year.  What’s the problem?”

            “I want a current player.” she explains.  I understand this to mean that she wants a young hunk sitting with her on the set.

            By now  the Red Sox are coming out to take batting practice.  All the local news media is there, doing there live hits for the early news.  The ball players are used to this, and they ignore the cameras and step over the cables to go about their business.  They pay us no mind, and our access passes specifically say we are not to hound them.  It’s kind of cool to just be in their presence anyway.

            David Ortiz (Red Sox First Baseman / Designated Hitter) walks right by me and does a double take.  He says, “I like your mustache

            I nod and say thank you.  (For those of you who haven’t seen me lately, I have 2 little “walrus tusks” growing off my chin…but no mustache, and very short hair).

            He went on to ask, “Has Millar seen that yet?”  (Kevin Millar is the Sox third base man).  I said “I don’t think so.”

            Ortiz motions for me to come with him into the dugout.  I follow.  David puts his hand on my back and calls out “Hey, Kevin, get a look at this!”  I smile.  Millar gives me a thumbs up and says, “Very cool.”

            I thank David for the moment, and offer as parting words, “Get some good hits for us tonight.”

            He said he would.  That evening, afer an 0 – 13 slump, he hit an rbi double.  Next night he hit a homer.  I guess he’s a man who keeps his word.

            Bob, the camera guy, offered that perhaps all the Red Sox will grow hairy tusks as a rallying cry.

            Once the interview is done, we have to strike in a hurry. We’ve got a lot more gear then the news crews, and we’ve got to clear the field.  The main gates are open, and fans are streaming in by the thousands.  There is a grated metal roll-up gate to the street right near the field entrance. Our truck is just on the other side of it. But because there are thousands of fans around, with more streaming in, the Fenway workers refuse to open it, and insist we have to wheel our stuff half way around the park and leave via the media gate.

            Wonderful. We have 2 large carts of media gear, and we have to weave through an in-coming baseball crowd.  First they made it very difficult for us to get in, now they are making it very difficult for us to leave. Once outside, we had to make our way around to the other side of the park where the truck was…still contending with crowds of people who are not watching out for us.

            It was a royal and totally unnecessary pain in the butt, and did not leave me with much love for those who run and work for the organization. But my moment of fame with David and the Sox was worth it all. 

            I was so excited that after we packed the truck, and before I got on  my bike to peddle home, I immediately called D to tell her all this. Wouldn’t you agree?

            Thanks for your time.

love,

c