Any Given Live Shot

You know, I've carried more reporters than most parade floats. But try as I might, I can't ever remember knocking one down. It's not that I haven't thought about it. Any photog whose stood off-screen while their on-air partner crashed and burned has fantasized about ending it all. It would be as easy as pulling a plug, I guess, but taking a talking hairdo out at the knees is far more fun to fantasize about. But to actually do it, well, that's something only the network guys get to do. Until now.

Seems the talented staff at KARE 11 in Minneapolis-Saint Paul have a clause in their contracts, some special paragraph that grants them the right to knock a correspondent on their arse whenever the mood suits 'em. At least that's what I gathered after watching one of the most perplexing live shots I've ever seen. And that's a a lot coming from a guy who once convinced Garth Brooks to stick around for a little happy anchor chit-chat. But enough about my life as a faux-cowboy wrangler, let's go to the videotape!

It's a pretty exceptional seventy-some seconds. Lee Valsvik, a nice enough lady who doesn't seem to deserve what's about to befall her, chats happily with her morning show hosts before quizzing someone she identifies as a 'mixologist'.) Personally, I got the heebie-jeebies then and there, as anyone who goes by that title better pack at least two turntables and a microphone.) But music doesn't seem forthcoming as our intrepid reporter soon hands her guest a football and encourages him to hurl it. He complies and that's when the damnedest thing happens...

A figure emerges from behind a table, catches the football and, inexplicably, begins running right for the camera! Problem is, Valsvik is blocking his path and though she seems unaware of the barrier she presents, the mysterious receiver seems totally okay with it. Then, before you can say, "Oh Shit! He's gonna plow right into her!", he plows right. into. her. As hits go, it's pretty spectacular. I could describe it , all right, but it's really the kind of thing you have to see for yourself. Go ahead... I have, like three dozen times!

But no matter how many times I re-rack that point of impact, I cannot for the life of me understand what they were trying to do. Then again, what little I know about football could be etched onto the side of a single Tic-Tac, but that doesn't stop me from thinking this play seemed wiser in the huddle. Now, sources close to the collision tell me the runner in question is a talented photog NOT known for body-checking correspondents. Perhaps, but with a hit like that under his belt, I can't help but wonder if dude didn't inadvertently invent a new sport... 

I'D buy tickets.

Just Screw It

Though I'm still a few weeks away from deciding on a New Year's Resolutions, I'm gonna go ahead and cross organized exercise off the list. After all, my job comes with its very own weight set. And who needs a personal trainer when petulant News Gods send me scampering up overpasses at midnight while wearing mismatched socks? Hell, I already twist, bark and cajole enough per shift to qualify as my very own aerobics instructor. See, I don't need to heave on some imaginary rope to 'feel the burn'. Not when I just pulled five hundred feet of camera cable up a smelly stairwell, all so some dude in a suit could address the allegations room the comfort of his conference room. And what's with that medicine ball? Come at me with that thing and you'll taste the rust of my Leatherman. Maybe then you'll understand that TV news photogs don't train, stretch or warm up. Instead, we curse and bellow while backpedaling down a fire escape with six sworn frenemies and a future felon.

Even DODGING work takes whole muscle groups not found in your average office park. Don't believe me. Let an assignment editor catch sight of me as the police scanner goes ballistic. I'll drop to my fingertips and low-crawl out of there before the ghost of Jack Lalanne can get his house slippers on. How fast I slither away depends on the nature of the call, of course. Explosion at the City Sewer? I'll crawl through a burning Mens Room to avoid that one. Strange flames over Colostomy Peek? I'll be hiding in the ceiling panels, if you need me. County Commissioner take a rival hostage? Let God sort 'em out. The water park's on fire? I gotta see THAT one!

Anyway, where was I? Oh yeah, taking umbrage at the very idea I may wanna pay somebody to make me sweat. Have you seen me in Mid-July. I'm like one of the mutant superhero types whose special powers only make him more of a social outcast. Check and check! Now if you don't mind, I have a bunch of batteries to charge and that's NOT a euphemism for my new hot yoga class. Sooo, for the love of my shattered kneecaps, please refrain from implying I might be more comfortable in a down-dog position. I'm limber enough as it is, mainly from squeezing into cop car cockpits and worming my way out of any shoots involving county commissioners, cadaver dogs or flu clinics. It's there in front of the desk I expend my most energy -- from shrugging at the news of a Presidential pit-stop to shirking my responsibilities as weather video getter. Yet there are times I'm all about ridding my body of toxins... Really, wanna see me drop and squat? Come to a stand-off that last more than six hours...  

You'll never question my metabolism again.

New Year's Spray

"Congratulations, Ma'am! By giving birth in the wee hours of January One, your now the proud parent of the Upper Golden Homeland's First Baby of 2013! Not only do you receive a generous gift basket filled with rubber gloves and talcum powder, you get to be media darling of the day! That's right! At absolutely no cost to you, we're gonna smear pictures of your precious snowflake from the Capitol to the Coast! He'll appear in over the shoulder graphics, stand-alone promos, even those terrible tease thingies where the anchor lady tells you to hang tough through one more hemorrhoid commercial while they cue up video of your blessed event. No, not the ACTUAL event. We swear no cameras were rolling when you held that epidural tech hostage. In fact, we're willing to forget the whole episode with the ice chips and IV tube if you'll just do us a tiny favor...

See, we got three news crews cooling their jets in the lobby. There's not a lot going on in the Upper Golden Homeland today and the fact of the matter is they're not leaving until they score a sit-down interview with a baby that debuted between midnight and their morning shows. We've checked out records and as far as they know, little Junior here is the aforementioned newborn. Soooo, if you'll just sign this release we can have these news losers off the property before our security chief seizes up again. We've already sent our PR guy downstairs, but the most he can stall them is a few minutes so while that's happening could you just put your initials on this paragraph promising you won't sue us should your child attract his own fake Twitter account...

Okay, I'm being told they're in the elevator telling off-color jokes, blocking gurneys and offending visitors. When they get here, look only at the pretty reporter types. Do not, I repeat, DO NOT gaze directly at any of the camera people. They are most likely ravenous, hungover and pulling down double-time on a day like this. Any attempt on your part to encourage conversation with said camera staff will render any future prescription discounts null and void. Trust me, the LAST thing you want to so is spend the next six hours listening to a schlub like that give you parenting tips. I once saw one of those guys pimp his kid out for a 'To Catch a Predator' ad. SHHH! Here they come! Remember -- the baby is beautiful, our patient care is top notch and you DO NOT need any further video services and/or lifestyle advice from men who wear fishing vests to fancy ballroom dinners...

Now, hold the baby and smile."