Friday, September 14, 2007
Sunday at the game
I get asked quite often which stories "get to me". With all the hurt, horror, and pain we report on, does it all just get washed away when the studio lights dim? OR do the stories that hit you, the viewer, on an emotional level - do the same to me? The answer's yes, though my professional training says I'm not supposed to "show" too much of that.
But sometimes, the news happens right in front of you. I was in the stands at Ralph Wilson Stadium for the Bills-Broncos Sunday September 9th. I didn't see the impact from our side of the field, but I saw that a Bills player wasn't getting up. It was Kevin Everett. And the way his motionless body was strewn acrosss the turf, I was worried. Immediately.
We, of course, take for granted the risks professional football players take. Relentless violent collisions - made for our entertainment. There's no bigger NFL fan than me - my dad took me to see my first Bills game when I was eight. I even worked for the team selling programs at home games when I was in college. And took Dad to games when I was a "semi-adult" and could afford it .
But as the minutes ticked away and number 85 didn't move, while I whispered under my breath to my buddy Joe that "this doesn't look good", I started thinking - "this is my last game here". I suddenly felt a sense of guilt for enjoying the game at all. I kept my eye out for the ambulance - and for any sign that Everett was even alive- and my mind flooded. Had I just seen a man die on the field? Would this be how I would remember my LAST game as a fan ? I hadn't been back home to see a game in 11 years: the month before Dad died, we took my son Max to HIS first Bills game, just as Dad had taken me. I hadn't had the desire to return since. But I made this trip to see my friend CBS NFL Analyst Steve Tasker inducted on the Bills Wall of Fame, to maybe get a glimpse of his brothers Keith and Paul on the field, and their parents - all close to my heart from my time living and working in Kansas. Now, all I could think of was .. "Why did I come? and What happens to that young guy out there who may be dying?" As the ambulance pulled off the field -I suddenly wanted to leave too.
I didn't really talk about it much Monday. Sports Director Brett Haber didn't mention the story at 6pm or 11, and that was o.k. by me. But when I saw the alert come over the AP newswire the next day, when I went to the New York Times and read that Kevin Everett's prognosis had improved dramatically if not MIRACULOUSLY , my heart leapt. Brett did the story.
I've gotten out of bed each day since and checked first thing to see the latest on Everett. I've read the stories, learned about how an experimental ice cold saline solution injection might have saved his spinal column. Watched the network reports. And I've said a silent little prayer for him and his family.
I don't know if I'll ever go to another game (though it's alot more likely now). But I do know that following my favorite team won't be quite the same. I mean, yes, the Bills still need to get that Super Bowl win someday. But I'd rather be sitting on the fifty yard line in Buffalo just one more time: the day Kevin Everett walks back onto the field to the loudest cheers that stadium has ever heard.
But sometimes, the news happens right in front of you. I was in the stands at Ralph Wilson Stadium for the Bills-Broncos Sunday September 9th. I didn't see the impact from our side of the field, but I saw that a Bills player wasn't getting up. It was Kevin Everett. And the way his motionless body was strewn acrosss the turf, I was worried. Immediately.
We, of course, take for granted the risks professional football players take. Relentless violent collisions - made for our entertainment. There's no bigger NFL fan than me - my dad took me to see my first Bills game when I was eight. I even worked for the team selling programs at home games when I was in college. And took Dad to games when I was a "semi-adult" and could afford it .
But as the minutes ticked away and number 85 didn't move, while I whispered under my breath to my buddy Joe that "this doesn't look good", I started thinking - "this is my last game here". I suddenly felt a sense of guilt for enjoying the game at all. I kept my eye out for the ambulance - and for any sign that Everett was even alive- and my mind flooded. Had I just seen a man die on the field? Would this be how I would remember my LAST game as a fan ? I hadn't been back home to see a game in 11 years: the month before Dad died, we took my son Max to HIS first Bills game, just as Dad had taken me. I hadn't had the desire to return since. But I made this trip to see my friend CBS NFL Analyst Steve Tasker inducted on the Bills Wall of Fame, to maybe get a glimpse of his brothers Keith and Paul on the field, and their parents - all close to my heart from my time living and working in Kansas. Now, all I could think of was .. "Why did I come? and What happens to that young guy out there who may be dying?" As the ambulance pulled off the field -I suddenly wanted to leave too.
I didn't really talk about it much Monday. Sports Director Brett Haber didn't mention the story at 6pm or 11, and that was o.k. by me. But when I saw the alert come over the AP newswire the next day, when I went to the New York Times and read that Kevin Everett's prognosis had improved dramatically if not MIRACULOUSLY , my heart leapt. Brett did the story.
I've gotten out of bed each day since and checked first thing to see the latest on Everett. I've read the stories, learned about how an experimental ice cold saline solution injection might have saved his spinal column. Watched the network reports. And I've said a silent little prayer for him and his family.
I don't know if I'll ever go to another game (though it's alot more likely now). But I do know that following my favorite team won't be quite the same. I mean, yes, the Bills still need to get that Super Bowl win someday. But I'd rather be sitting on the fifty yard line in Buffalo just one more time: the day Kevin Everett walks back onto the field to the loudest cheers that stadium has ever heard.
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