Text Saves Mom’s First Call in the Press Box

Mom on the Run

By LIANNE WILKENS

I’m up in the press box, microphone in front me, ready for my debut as a high school lacrosse game announcer. I’ve never aspired to sports broadcasting, but once upon a time I promised to fill in wherever nobody else volunteered so, tonight, yup, I’m calling the game.

I really have very little idea what to do up here. I know the basics, that the announcer lists off the starting players, tells the score, reminds people to visit the concession stand. And Christy gave me a script for today. Surely I can figure this out, right? How hard can this be?

But immediately it gets complicated. After checking out the press box, and familiarizing myself with the equipment there, I realize something’s missing. So I climb back down the tightly angled ladder, and half-run all the way down the very deep bleacher steps, then I walk all the way around the fence, then all the way over to the scorekeeping table, and check in with the opposing team: “Do you guys have a roster?”

The two girls flip through papers, look around, look at each other, and shrug. “No, sorry.” I stand, perplexed, for a minute, not sure what to do. This is my first time: was I supposed to ask someone else? Should I track down their coach? Then, “You don’t have to give our players’ names,” the girls offer. “It’s our fault.”

Except … that doesn’t seem right. Their players deserve recognition after goals and big plays too. What if that was my son?

So I hem and haw and think. And as I look around for a scrap of paper to quickly scribble out their roster, I notice a cell phone, the omnipresent teenage accessory. “Hey,” I wonder out loud, “could you text it to me?”

The girls look at each other. “Yeah, sure,” they say, and one girl hands me her phone. I peck in my number, then start my long walk back. Across the field. Around the track. Up the uncomfortably sized bleacher stairs. Up-up-up the narrow pitched ladder, back into the press box.

Where, panting a little, I look at the scoreboard clock, and down on the field, and realize that time has run out, the boys are lining up for the game, and I have to start, opposing team’s roster in hand or no.

So. I flip on the microphone, and for the first time, after all that rushing, get a few butterflies. Looking out the window, down onto the bleachers below me, there are people here, a bunch of them, and they’re all listening to me! I barely know the rules of lacrosse. I cheer for the wrong thing all the time. What am I doing?

Well, there’s nothing for it. I’m here, and it’s time. I take a deep breath, pick up my script, and start reading. “Thank you for attending the Osbourn High School Boys Lacrosse game!” I try to speak slowly, listening wonderingly to my echo outside. I get through all my handy script bullets, and, “Osbourn starting lineup!” Down I go through the list. “In goal ….” All the while watching my phone. My still, silent phone.

Just as I get to, “And at Attack,” there it is! My phone vibrates! My text! Still reading aloud, I reach for my phone, open the message, and see … a photo. A little tiny photo. “The Eagles are coached by ….”

Oh! It’s their scorebook! The girls took a picture of the scorebook, with all the players listed! Just in time, as I finish reading my team’s coaches’ names, I pinch the picture, expand it, slide it up and to the right. Little stars noting the starters! Whoo! Seamlessly, I start: “Starting in Defense for FreedomHigh School ….”

And hey, I’ve got this, I realize. Still reading, silently, internally, I give a little fist pump. Shoot, if I figured out the texted roster photo thing, the rest of this announcer gig has to be a cakewalk!