Radio Nut

When a chant is more than just a chant

2011-01-26T16:50:00.000-08:00

I'm standing 1,619 feet from sea level and wish I'd brought sunglasses. I know it's 1,619 feet because I'm staring down at the official marker. I'm not looking up because if I do the people around me who are taking pictures of the Hollywood Sign might wonder what's wrong.

Linkin Park's “Iridescent” just happened to rotate on my ipod, and now I'm fighting back tears as I hear the following lyrics.

Do you feel cold and lost in desperation?
You build up hope, but failures all you've known.
Remember all the sadness and frustration
And let it go.
Let it go.

It's six hours before the most important basketball game in San Diego State basketball history. I should be preparing for the basketball game I'm broadcasting the next day. There's a lot of things I should be doing. But I can't. I'm too nervous. I'm too excited. I'm too proud.

My hands are extra sweaty because they're holding my keys and cell phone. I have shorts with pockets. But my only SDSU shorts are basketball shorts without pockets. I'm already wearing an SDSU shirt and visor, but the idea of not wearing Aztecs shorts is absurd.

I've decided that I must climb the nearest mountain, literally, to celebrate the monumental climb my beloved Aztecs basketball team has accomplished.

Understand, my freshman year, we were 2-26. Didn't win a game in league. Both wins were against non-Division I teams. Now, we're 20-0, ranked fourth in the country, and playing in the biggest game of the season against an opponent that scares me and annoys me for reasons both personal and political.

Brigham Young University is 19-1. They are ranked ninth in the country. They have a player of the year candidate in Jimmer Fredette, who leads the nation in scoring, and much as I hate to admit, is pretty damn entertaining to watch.

Still, this is BYU. I don't like BYU. OK, that's not true. I hate BYU. I hate its association with the Mormon Church. I hate that the Mormon Church spent $22 million to defeat Prop 8 two years ago. I hate that when I once tried buying a six-pack of beer in Provo, the cashier looked at me and said, “are you sure you want to buy that? My uncle drinks beer and he looks much older than he is.” Most of all, I hate BYU because they're good and they just about always beat us.

Even when they tie us, like they did in a memorable 52-52 football tie in 1991, it was like a win for them because some crazy tiebreaker formula allowed them to be recognized as the conference champion.

That was 20 years ago. Feels like 20 minutes ago.

Understand, I went to San Diego State because of sports. Sure, it was cheap tuition, fairly easy to get accepted, the weather was incredible, it was far enough from home, and the girls were gorgeous. I'll never forget watching a SDSU-Miami game in 1990. I was a senior in high school. The Hurricanes were No.2 in the nation at the time. The Aztecs lost, 30-28, and would have won if any of the three missed field goals in the final quarter had been good. Little did I know, at the time, how many moments like that would define my Aztecs existence.

SDSU wasn't a national power then. But it was a program on the rise, or so I thought from watching that game. That's what everybody always said. It's a “sleeping giant.”

Well, the sleeping giant has erupted this season, and like a dormant volcano, the once-apathetic fan base doesn't want the lava to stop flowing.

I'm watching all this from Los Angeles, 127 miles to the north of San Diego. Thanks to social media, youtube and smart phones, it feels like I'm there. I'm instantly connected with Aztecs around the world – literally, considering one of my college classmates cheers on the Aztecs from his home in Sao Paolo, Brazil and is planning a trip to Las Vegas for the Mountain West Conference tournament.

It wasn't always like this. It's rarely been like this.

Those missed field goals and missed opportunities led to a defeatist attitude amongst my fellow alums. I'll admit that I'm as guilty as anybody. Assuming the worst. Waiting for the sky to fall. Knowing something bad to happen. This is what we did to numb the pain. We mocked ourselves. We feigned indifference. With each heartbreak, with each loss, with each embarrassment, it justified the apathy.

Over the last two years or so, that's all changed. It's still a process. But it's changing. I believe it started with Stephen Strasburg becoming the best college pitcher in the nation. A year ago, the basketball team won the conference tournament, which I followed from my laptop while in Taiwan with the Dodgers. They reached the NCAA Tournament, lost a heartbreak in the first round to Tennessee, then watched that same Tennessee team reach the Elite Eight.

Strasburg reached the majors this summer, and somehow lived up to the ridiculous hype. The football team went 9-4. All four losses were less than a touchdown. One was a screw job of the highest order by BYU, who had university-paid employees working a replay booth that missed an obvious call that was the difference in the game. The football team finished the season with a blowout victory over Navy in the Poinsettia Bowl, in front of a near sellout crowd at Qualcomm Stadium.

Now the basketball team is 20-0 and the alums believe.

That's what makes the “I Believe” chant so special, and gets me so emotional.

Before each home game, the student body and other rowdies who call themselves “The Show” engage in a raucous pre-game chant that goes beyond pumping up everybody for the game.

The leaders yell “I.” The masses repeat the word.

Then it's “I Believe” and the repeat.

“I Believe That” and the repeat.

“I Believe That We” and the repeat.

“I BELIEVE THAT WE WILL WIN” says the leader. And the place goes ballistic, bouncing up and down, the band playing along, chanting over and over and over, “I believe that we will win! I believe that we will win! I believe that we will win! I believe that we will win! I believe that we will win!”

It's more than a chant about the game. It's a chant about changing attitudes and perceptions. These aren't the same ol' Aztecs that we witnessed as students. We no longer expect to lose. We no longer wait for something bad to happen. We no longer believe that we will lose.

Not anymore. Now we believe. We believe that we will win. And the more we chant it, the more we chant it together, the more the past disappears. The more the new future emerges.

Or as my friend Jen wrote on my Facebook page: “There shall be no talk of loss. Only victory. The culture has changed! We are no longer a mediocre school with a breezy attitude about our losses. Did we not learn anything from Hoke? We now play to win. Enough with Colclough's preemptive excuses! Enough with Sooosh's pregame jitters. No more rationalizations from Ferris! This is a freaking streak we are talking about. A FREAKING STREAK, I say! Streaks are like Haley's comet! Streaks are like sex in the third floor book stacks of the Love Library! Streaks are like the rolled tacos from Los Panchos at 2 a.m. on a Wednesday. We will win. I believe we will win!”

(UPDATE: As comments have noted, yes, we stole it from Utah State. Thanks to the Aggies for coming up with a cheer worth stealing. Consider it a compliment.)

I believe that we will win. I believe we'll win tonight. I believe we'll win Saturday. I believe we'll win the regular season title and the conference tournament. Hell, I believe we'll win the freakin' national title. Why not us?

As far as we advance, I'll be proud. I vow not to be disappointed, or frustrated that it wasn't better, or stop believing. This is the best season in history. It's not even close. And it's still just getting started.

I'm crying as I type that. I was crying as I hiked through the Hollywood Hills three hours ago, my years as a student flashing through my eyes.

I was never among the rowdies for basketball games. There wasn't anything to cheer. Few cared. I was usually at press row anyway, trying to constantly get better as a reporter, and following the “no cheering in the press box” rule.

Deep down, I wished to be part of the Cameron Crazies – or any other rabid, loud, creative student bodies that affected basketball games with its presence and sheer will and intensity.

Now I get to vicariously do it. At the Rustic, my neighborhood bar. At the LA Chapter of the Alumni Chapter's official watch party at Barney's Beanery in Santa Monica tonight. Hopefully, in Tucson, for the first two rounds of the NCAA Tournament in March.

This game does not define our season. Win or lose, we're going to the NCAA Tournament. But this game just seems to matter because … well, when have we ever won a big game when the entire nation is watching? When does the entire nation even watch or care about us? I can't blame them for wondering if we're legit, even though our 20-0 record and the No.4 RPI ranking should make it obvious that we're legit.

We're the newcomer. When you don't have the tradition, the outside world waits for you to fall back to your normal lot in the college basketball pecking order. Heck, they're waiting for us to do what we used to expect our team would do.

But not anymore.

I believe that we will win.

An update ... long overdue

2008-06-13T18:49:00.000-07:00

Well, let's see, it's been about eight months since I posted anything on this blog. I figure nobody is really reading it anymore. But just in case you stumbled upon it, here's how the story ended.

I got out of the minors.

I got called back up to the big leagues.

Not doing exactly what I want to do, but the opportunity was too good to pass up. I'm a reporter/talk-show host for KABC-AM in Los Angeles, the flagship radio station for the LA Dodgers. I do segments on the pre- and post-game shows, I co-host PostGame DodgerTalk after every game, I do some radio reports, and I do the Coca-Cola Trivia Quiz in the middle of all games at Dodger Stadium.

It's not play-by-play announcing. But it's back in the majors, and it's hard to turn down an opportunity to live in Los Angeles, and work in the No.2 market in the country. Whether this job proves to be a dead end, or the next step in doing what I really want to do, remains to be seen. If nothing else, I'm living in a fabulous city and my social life is way better.

This offseason, I looked around at the opportunities that existed for minor league PBP announcers to reach the majors. There was two openings, and both were filled by guys with big league experience. In my one year, I saw how many extremely talented broadcasters were in the minors -- most have been there a REALLY long time -- and started to wonder if I was going to be stuck in the minors for a decade or two.

Factor in a raise from what I was making as a newspaper reporter, and a massive raise from what I was making in the minors, and hopefully you'll agree I made the right decision.

Who knows, maybe I'll turn the earlier posts on this blog into a book. Or maybe it's a manual for a kid trying to get into broadcasting. It's not easy. I'm lucky, very lucky, to be back in the majors.

And here's the irony: the reason why I got this job was the 10 years as a newspaper reporter, the seven years as a baseball beat reporter, and the five months as a talk-show host. The good people at KABC never heard one inning of my PBP.

The end ... for now.

Free at last, free at last, thank God almight I'm free at last (of mornings)

2007-10-10T19:50:00.000-07:00

It's been about a month since I updated this blog, so it's long overdue. I'll start with some recent news and then try to get back in the habit.

The good news: I'm no longer working mornings. Actually, it just might be the greatest news ever.

My days of waking up at 3:45 a.m. and getting to the radio station at 4 a.m. are officially over. So are the days of going back to bed around 10 a.m., sleeping as long as I can until the kids in the apartment wake me up, and then going back to work at night to call a baseball game.

This is my first official week as co-host of an afternoon talk show -- "JJ, Josh and The Mouth." JJ is JJ Stokes, the former 49ers wide receiver. The Mouth is the program director and the radio veteran in the group.

Our show is from Noon to 3:30 p.m., Monday through Friday, on AM 970 ESPN Radio. Our focus will usually be the Northern California sports teams. But we talk about a little of everything, from guy talk and random stuff to the biggest sports stories of the day. So far, it's been a good mix of the loud-mouth radio guy, the ex-jock, and the former newspaper reporter. We've had pretty good chemistry, and that should only increase. Each show, at least once it seems like two of us gang up on the other one.

My focus still remains making it to the major league as a play by play announcer. I'll continue this job next year when baseball season returns. I have no idea if I'll be back in Modesto. It depends what other jobs open up nationwide. My boss knows this, and is fine knowing that I could theoretically be leaving anytime in the next week to 10 years.

I'm also still doing play by play of our Friday night high school football game of the week. And I'll be filling in as the PBP announcer for two Santa Clara men's basketball games when they go to Nevada and Utah (which I'm *very* excited to do).

Most importantly, NO MORE MORNINGS.

Cheers from Mo-town.

The waiting is the hardest part

2007-09-12T08:48:00.000-07:00

It's two days until the next football game that I'll broadcast and I'm definitely restless. I hate waiting a week for the next game. I know what I did wrong last week. I know how I need to improve my skills. I want to work on it now; not in a few days. I hate waiting for the next game.

What I love most about baseball is also what I hate most. I love that it's daily. I hate that it's daily. Few people understand just how exhausting a season is -- both mentally and physically -- when you play so many games in so few days. But that daily schedule is something I cherish, as a fan and a broadcaster. There's always another day for your team, or for yourself, to gain some redemption, to improve, to re-prove it wasn't a fluke. Yet at the same time, it can be torture on your body, and it wreaks havoc on your social life. Working in baseball, you work every day -- Saturdays, Sundays, holidays -- during the summer months at a time when most people take vacations. The rare days off are usually on Mondays.

When I left college 11 years ago and had my original play-by-play aspirations, I actually felt baseball was my worst sport as an announcer. I thought basketball was my best and football was my second best. But I love baseball most, I understand its history best, and it's just easier for me to talk about it.

When I decided to leave newspapers and try this play by play thing in March, I knew the best path was through minor league baseball. It's not that I necessarily only want to do baseball in my life. Doing football once a week, or basketball 2-4 days a week, seems like a cakewalk compared to seven baseball games a week. But I knew that what I needed most was repetitions. That's the only way to get better. No sport provides repetitions like baseball.

Last week, I was talking to my program director about this topic. He mentioned how there's so many more baseball jobs in the minors than any other sport. The first reason is obvious -- there's so many more minor league baseball teams.

The second reason is less obvious. My theory is that baseball weeds out the weak. A lot of college graduates might think they want to be a baseball broadcaster. But after 100 games, little pay, lack of sleep, constant travel, and the grind of a season, the job can lose its luster. Many don't feel it's worth it, especially after a few years. That's why the lower levels of minor leagues have so much turnover. If you reach the majors, or even Triple-A, you know the drill. You get it. You like it, or you know how to cope with it.

Meanwhile, very few football or basketball announcers (especially college basketball with a season just over 30 games) leave their jobs. Why would you? It's a great gig. The work load isn't that hard. You can still see your family and have a normal life.

I'll broadcast 10 football games over the next 10 weeks. During baseball season, I did approximately 65 games in the same number of weeks. The number of reps is priceless. The progress I made was enormous.

I just hope all those baseball reps help me do football. I remember what I was like after 10 baseball games. I was still very raw, very green, and very much a work-in progress.

Moving at the speed of light

2007-09-08T09:45:00.000-07:00

It's amazing how much faster a game goes by when you're doing the play by play, especially when it's new. The first few baseball games I did felt like they were flying by. But last night's football game -- my first live on the radio, and my first period since college in 1996 -- felt like it was going a thousand miles an hour.

It didn't help that both teams have complex offenses, with receivers and running backs shifting all over the place before each play, shotgun formations, constantly rotating players, and a hurry-up style of offense.

It slowed down later in the game. At least, I felt like I was slowing down later in the game, and I think the actual pace slowed down as well. It was fun, but oh man, was it intense. I enjoyed the intensity. That's a style you can't bring to a baseball game until the final inning or two, and even then, you have to be mindful of baseball's natural rhythm.

The feedback I was given was positive. In my heart, I know I can do much better. I'm curious to see what I can do with a week to prepare. The hardest part was spotting the number of the player quickly. The press box wasn't very high and when the parents stood up, I couldn't see everything.

Identifying the player with the ball is rather important, don't ya think? Then instantly knowing his name is important too, huh? Having to check his name on a roster -- as I did far too many times -- has the recipe for disaster.

The highlights of the game can be viewed here -- http://videos.modbee.com/vmix_hosted_apps/video/1507148

I thought the biggest plays of the game, especially the 90-yard touchdown run, were my best calls of the game. So I happy with that. But I need to identify the ball carrier or wide receiver quicker.

Cramming for a final exam

2007-09-07T14:56:00.000-07:00

In a few hours, I'll broadcast my first football game. My first emotion is sheer panic. I'm trying to remain as calm as humanly possible right now, because I know that I'll be hyper ventilating once the game starts. My theory is that if I fool people into thinking that I'm confident going into the game, maybe I can trick myself into thinking the same.

The panic comes from a lack of preparation.

The baseball regular season ended Monday. The playoffs started Wednesday and ended Thursday. Now it's Friday and I've had little time to prepare.

I did go to Oakdale High's practice on my off day Tuesday. I have rosters. I know a little what to expect from Oakdale. But I'm totally clueless about Turlock High. I'll need to find the coach before the game to get starters and a crash course on the team.

Not my ideal way to make my football broadcasting debut, but here goes nothing.

Top memories of the year

2007-09-06T23:05:00.000-07:00

The baseball season is over. One hundred and forty-three errors, including an exhibition game and the two playoff games, in just over five months. Looking back now, what a blur. Wow.

Driving back from Visalia tonight, after a heart-breaking loss in Game 2 eliminated the Nuts, I couldn't help think back on my biggest memories of the year. These aren't necessarily my fondest memories. These are my strongest memories.

1. Broadcasting a game in the rain. I'll never forget this. I'll always tell this story to would-be announcers, friends and family. It was the ultimate "what the hell am I doing?" moment. No press box in Visalia. The rain wasn't hard enough to stop the game, but plenty hard enough to drench me.

2. The inning with Eric Young, Sr. It lasted 34 minutes, included six runs, two pitching changes, and a manager ejection. Listened back to it recently and the inning was amazing. Senior was great with his stories, enthusiasm and infections laugh. The background noise sounded great. I thought our chemistry was great. The inning was extraordinary in all that happened.

3. The 4th of July game. Capacity crowd inside the ballpark and all around. Fireworks going off on the golf course behind home plate, and the soccer fields beyond the outfield fences. The San Jose center fielder lost a ball in the smoke from those fireworks. It was like a Normal Rockwell painting brought to life. Baseball. America. Fireworks. And the radio announcer serving as master of ceremonies for people in their cars listening as they arrive at the game.

4. The Randy Johnson game. I've watched Randy Johnson before, interviewed him, and written about him. But it was still very special to broadcast a game with the future Hall of Famer on the mound. The crowd was electric on that Easter Sunday. It was a baseball crowd that came to see baseball, not minor league stunts. It was a close game, which Modesto won on a game-winning sacrifice fly. And it was our first glimpse at Nuts pitcher Brandon Hynick, who would become the consensus Pitcher of the Year in the Cal League.

5. The July 1-3 Stockton series. All three games were great, but the finale was a crazy game. Stockton scored four in the bottom of the eighth to make it 12-11. The Nuts rallied with five in the top of the ninth for a 16-12 win. It was a game that launched their second half surge, and it was one of my best games as a broadcaster. Felt like I nailed the big plays, the background noise sounded like the majors, and it was when I knew for certain I found my calling.

6. Taking batting practice last week. It was exhilirating and terrifying (since all the players and coaches were watching). It was really, really cool and I hope to do it more often in the future. If I ever hit one out, I'm totally doing a home run trot. Mostly, I hope to do it again while breathing like a normal human. Felt my heart beating faster than at any point in the last six months -- more than when I decided to go to Texas for a month to practice by play by play; more than when I took this job; more than my first time on the air on Modesto's Morning News; more than my first game; more than my first game from Bakersfield live on the radio with a flipjack cell phone comrex setup.

7. Catching flyballs in the outfield all year. Did it less as the season went on, and only for road games. I did it mostly because I could. But I justified it (and this is truth) by saying it helped me as a broadcaster describe the condition of the field, the wind, the sun, and how the ballpark plays. It allowed me to talk with players in their "office," pick their brains for details that I could use on the air, develop comraderie with them, and I think they got a kick out of seeing their radio announcer run around the outfield like a crazed man living out his boyhood Little League memories.

8. Saying "it's gone" when it wasn't. The worst sin for a broadcaster. My most humiliating moment. It was the inspiration to finally use the eye glasses I was prescribed well over a year ago. Now I can't imagine broadcasting a game without them. I only use the glasses when I'm on the air, and it's amazing what a difference they make.

That's all I've got

2007-09-02T20:43:00.000-07:00

One of the highlights of the season came tonight. It had nothing to do with the game (which we lost). It had nothing to do with the broadcast.

I got to take batting practice before the game. Didn't expect it to happen, so I was hardly dressed -- with loafers and no socks. But hey, when you're invited to take some hacks in the cage of a professional ballpark, you don't worry about equipment.

All I cared about on the first swing was making contact. I did, thank goodness. I whiffed on a couple others -- pretty much anything down and away -- and heard a few laughs from the players, as they stretched.

I pulled everything. Out hitting coach, Dave Hajek, who was throwing the BP to me, said, "well, we know where to play you." I did hit one drive pretty good to left. Hit it good enough to stop and see how close it would come to the fence. It missed the warning track by about five feet, but at least it rolled to the wall.

"That's all I've got," I declared, figuring I would beat our shortstop, Chris Nelson, to his standard punchline. Nelson's favorite expression during batting practice -- or pretty much at all times -- is to ask "is that all you've got?" after somebody hits a flyball. It doesn't matter if it hits the warning track, barely goes over the fence, or goes wayyyyyy over the fence. Nelson will say it, in his southern accent, "that all ya got?"

Bottom line, I didn't make a fool of myself. I hit some line drives. I pulled everything. At least I made solid contact most of the time. But I definitely proved I belong in the broadcasting booth.

Still, it was incredibly cool.

A Night At the Museum

2007-09-01T22:53:00.000-07:00

We're back in Rancho Cucamonga for this final weekend of the season, where the press box has no separators for the radio announcers and everybody else in the press box.

It has the potential to make you very self conscious, but I've gotten over myself enough to no longer care. Besides, the guys in the press box are super cool. In fact, tonight we had a lot of fun up there between innings -- which spilled onto the air.

A family was sitting three rows in front of the press box. The mom was watching a portable DVD player with the movie, "Haunted House." Later, they switched to, "A Night At the Museum" -- and it was hard for me to suspend my disbelief. The kid spent the whole game looking at his phone, playing some game. The dad listened to his ipod.

Just think of all the things to distract you and entertain you at a minor league game -- two mascots, a videoboard, the interns throwing t-shirts into the stands, crazy between-inning promotions ... oh yeah, and the game.

But this family wanted nothing to do with anything from the game. My friend Jeff Levering, the Quakes announcer, was talking about it on the air. He pointed it out to me, and I started talking about it as well.

Then another spontaneous, cool, funny thing happened. I was talking about how Jeff Kindel (our first baseman) and Cliff Remole (the Quakes first baseman) were teammates at Georgia Tech. I was looking at what years they were drafted and how old they are. Then I realized it was Kindel's birthday, and blurted it out on the air.

The official scorer laughed at how I said it, just before a commercial break, and then during the break we realized that Jason Van Kooten (our third baseman) was also celebrating his birthday ............. and, so was a player on the Quakes (whose name I can't remember right now, but that's OK because that's not important to the story). That got me going on a mini-birthday rant.

So naturally, I keep talking about the birthday boys throughout the game, whenever given the chance. And in one of those beautiful/lucky moments on air, Van Kooten singled home his fellow birthday buddy Kindel in the ninth inning for the go-ahead run.

As for the family ... they missed it. The battery ran out on their DVD player and they went home before the game ended.

Playoff bound

2007-08-24T23:18:00.000-07:00

Third time was the try for the Nuts tonight as they clinched a berth in the California League playoffs. This has been a foregone conclusion for at least a month, if not longer, but now it's official. It's not a huge accomplishment, considering six of the 10 teams make it, but the playoffs are still the playoffs.

Mentioned a few weeks back how fortunate I felt to be broadcasting a winning team, because the job is so much more fun and easy, and I realized this is just the latest chapter in winning teams that I've been around.

When I covered the Giants from 2000-2003, they made the playoffs three times in four years. The only year they didn't was 2001, and that was the year Barry Bonds hit 73 home runs and they were eliminated on the third-to-last day of the regular season. There was a 100-win season in there, and a Game 7 in the World Series.

The three previous years, when I covered the Oakland A's, they were eliminated from the playoffs the final week in two years, then reached the second round of the playoffs last year.

So this will be five times in eight years that I'll be part of the playoffs. As a writer, my emotions would be mixed. The playoffs are exciting, you get to write stories with bigger headlines, bigger placement and you know that more people are reading your words. It's a chance to raise your profile as a writer, network with writers and executives from around the league, and you're one of the biggest experts.

But it's still more work, and you don't get paid extra for it. In fact, the years my teams didn't reach the playoffs, I wasn't distraught at all. That meant the offseason began earlier, and I enjoyed watching the playoffs on TV from Mexico.

As a broadcaster, you're defining moments occur in the playoffs. This comparison is probably a stretch, but I thought about Golden State Warriors announcer Tim Roye finally getting his first NBA playoff series this year after a decade calling games. I'm getting the chance in my first year as an announcer.

So I'm fired up. We delivered another solid broadcast. It wasn't official when Greg interviewed Eric Young, Jr. down on the field, because another result was about 10 minutes away from happening, but we were able to capture the moment in the appropriate way. If they advance further in the playoffs, we can get more excited.

One last note: I didn't go into the locker room to partake in the champagne celebration. Just didn't feel that was my place. I didn't do anything to help them win any games, and it actually bugs me when people celebrate something they didn't accomplish. Of course, if we win it all, maybe I'll let somebody pour champagne on my head.

It's news to me

2007-08-23T09:31:00.000-07:00

The news is easy. Well, let me rephrase that. Reading the news is easy when my co-anchor, Jaime Lee, does most of the work and just tells me what to read and when.

This week, I'm filling in as a news reader, since our regular news anchor is on vacation. It's different, and that makes it fun. Again, it's also easy. Not to give away any secrets or anything, but it's basically reading what a news agency has written, perhaps tweaking something here or there.

As a newspaperman, I always considered myself a journalist who just happened to cover baseball. I didn't like the idea of being a baseball writer who happened to work for a newspaper. I always felt that I could write news and report on news stories; I just didn't want to do that, because sports are way more fun. Besides, these days, there's just as much "news" writing around a baseball team as "baseball" writing. And I liked the versatility involved.

Anyway, I felt Jaime and I had good chemistry on the air, especially when one of us would do a "light" story heading into a commercial break. That's when you read a story, such as 80-year-olds having sex more often these days, and then we both express how grossed out we are by that for 10-30 seconds before the traffic is delivered.

It's been a fun week. There's more to do, so the time goes by faster than doing the sports three times an hour. It's also easier because doing the sports, you have to write your own scripts, find your own highlights, package it all together, and make sure your timing is just right.

But I will be glad when the week is over because then I go back to my normal schedule, which means doing my Modesto Nuts game notes and preparing for that night's broadcast inbetween my sports updates.

Fear of the magic

2007-08-22T12:40:00.000-07:00

Each day, the fifth line in my daily notes contains the Modesto Nuts magic number to clinch. This is the number that I use on broadcasts. This is the number we use on the radio, that I give to the opposing announcers, any members of the press, post on the internet, and that our season tickets holders (who receive a copy of the game notes) read in their seats.

Going into tonight, the Nuts magic number is two. That means, if they win, they're going to the playoffs.

But I have this massive fear that my number is wrong ... the Nuts will win, celebrate, and then I'll realize they haven't clinched just yet.

It's not wrong, don't get me wrong. I double check every day. I ask Brian VanderBeek of The Modesto Bee to check every few days. But I still worry about it. I'm not used to being the PR guy who provides the information. I'm used to being the reporter who has the PR guy tell me the number.

What makes it tricky is there's two different races going on. The Nuts are one victory away from this wild-card berth, and also chasing the second-half title. So there's two different wild-card numbers. And there was one day last weekend when it became mathematically possible (although very very very remotely possible) for it to appear like the Nuts had clinched a "wild card" berth, but then still choke away the second-half division lead -- and in the process would end up not winning the wild card after all. It sounds impossible, but it really was possible.

In order to illustrate how this was possible, I pretended it wasn't possible and told nobody. Sometimes, less information really is more.

OK, now I'm going to triple check the magic number yet again for today.

We're live on the radio tonight, start to finish, and I really hope we clinch it tonight. Then I only have to worry about one magic number.

Final exam

2007-08-21T23:53:00.000-07:00

In many ways, tonight was my final exam as a broadcaster. A good friend of mine, David "Google" Feldman, came out to Stockton and sat in the booth for the broadcast. Feldman is a producer of the Oakland A's games on TV, and he's produced a ton of other sporting events. He's called Google because he knows as much as Google, and knows it just as fast. Seriously. I thought I knew a lot about baseball, but he puts my knowledge to shame.

His job means he's sat in a production truck for thousands of sporting events and heard hundreds of play-by-play announcers. He's heard great ones, average ones, and bad ones. He knows the differences, he's opinionated, and he's not the type to sugarcoat what I'm doing right and wrong.

He's become a good friend during my years covering the A's, so I was fired up he would make the trip from Walnut Creek to Stockton to catch a game on a day off. We grabbed some lunch before the game, and he asked what I thought I was still struggling to do.

Told him that I'll probably always have to fight my urge to talk too fast, that I usually get tongue-tied once or twice a game describing a play, and I sometimes struggle with starting a story late in an inning that gets cut off.

On the last item, Feldman told me that's not a problem. Just say, "we'll talk more about that next inning" and it serves as a good "tease" to keep the viewer around. The key, Feldman added, is not to forget to come back to the story.

Early in the broadcast, Feldman gave me two excellent critiques.

One, I used one of his all-time hated phrases: "good success." He was right, and I can't believe how often I use it. It's totally pointless to use the word good. Feldman said the only thing that is "bad success" is when you have bad sex.

Two, he said my pacing was just a bit off. For example, Stockton third baseman Frank Martinez came to the plate in his first at-bat and I used him as an example of how the Ports have been devastated by injuries and promotions to Double-A Midland. I mentioned the first time we came to Stockton, he was batting ninth, and now he's batting third. Feldman told me it was really good information, but I rushed it. Introduce the batter. Pause. And then get to the information. I was rushing to get to my information.

Wasn't as nervous as I thought I would be for my final exam. Feldman sat right next to me, almost like a spotter or statistican would, and I saw him nodding his head out of the corner of my eye a bunch of times. I took that as a good sign.

Feldman left before the ninth inning, and told me something along the lines of, "you sound good. You're not talking too fast. You're information is great. You're doing really good."

Not sure if that counts as an A on my final exam, but it meant the world to me. It's probably more like a B or a B+. And again, he's not the type to blow smoke up my butt to make me feel good. He'd rip me if I deserved it. Feldman doesn't have the clout to hire me, but his approval definitely gives me the confidence to continue my broadcasting aspirations.

Still not sure if this means I'm ready for Double-A, or Triple-A, or the majors. Then again, I don't know how you determine if somebody is ready. I guess you're ready when somebody hires you. It's an extremely subjective process. There's guys in Triple-A who have been doing games for well over a decade, extremely good, and I'd think they are ready for the majors.

So I'm not going to get too far ahead of myself. But after tonight, and after a season of struggling to get feedback on what I'm doing right and wrong, it was awesome to know that I'm definitely on the right track.

Inning of the year

2007-08-16T22:55:00.000-07:00

Tonight was my favorite inning of the year. I had Eric Young, Sr. join me in the booth for the sixth inning. Early in the game, I was worried it would be a really quick inning, because it took 37 minutes to complete the first three innings.

But the baseball and broadcasting gods were smiling down on me. The sixth inning lasted a whopping 34 minutes. We had two pitching changes, a five-run top of the sixth, a run in the bottom of the sixth, and a manager ejection. We didn't take any commercial breaks, during the pitches changes or middle of the inning, and just stayed live.

Senior was tremendous. I knew him a little from 2003, when the Giants acquired him late in the season and I was covering the Giants. He's one of the all-time great people in baseball, he enjoyed a productive 15-year career in the majors, and now he's an analyst on "Baseball Tonight."

Looking back, I'm amazed that I was able to keep going with him that long. We covered all sorts of topics, from EY's home run in the first at-bat ever for the Rockies to his son's decision to chose minor league baseball over a football scholarship, and from his life after baseball on TV to how often he talks to his son during the season.

At the end, I told Senior that in addition to raising a great baseball player, he's raised a fine young man. Junior is always great on post-game interviews, he's respectful and a class act. Senior's face lit up and he told me that's the most important thing. I was told after the game our phone lines lit up at the radio station as well, people calling to say how great it was that Senior was in the booth, and my message to him at the end.

It almost seemed like Senior was disappointed to go at the end of the inning. He had a blast on the air with me.

Without question, that inning was my favorite of the year.

Losing yourself in the air

2007-08-14T07:54:00.000-07:00

On the bus home Sunday night, we were watching the movie, "Miami Vice." A few of the players were asking if we had seen it. Uhhh yeah, every Friday night growing up in the 1980s ... it was only the greatest TV show. Ever. There's a really horrible photo of me, circa around 1984, with a white sport coat, white pants and a purple collar shirt -- the junior Sonny Crockett. Hitting coach Dave Hajek admitted he owned a white sport coat too.

Anyway, 80s fashion aside, I bring this up because a remix of the Phil Collins song, "In the Air Tonight" set a really cool tone for a scene in the movie. As that was going on, Greg Young sent me a text message asking for suggestions for songs to use for these new between-inning spots he was creating about the push for the playoffs.

First thought was immediately the Phil Collins song I heard. Greg put together two spots, another using the Eminem classic "Lose Yourself," and both are pretty sweet. Hearing them last night between innings got me fired up for the playoffs and the final three weeks of the regular season.

At various times in the season -- and I felt this way as a writer too -- it feels like it's going by painfully slow. But right now, I can't believe there's 19 games left. I want to savior every inning down the stretch. There's some really cool things that I could be witnessing and describing the next month, and I'm pumped up to be part of it.

In fact, on the bus ride home, I started thinking about putting together a "season in review" CD that captures the storylines and emotions from this season. Greg is down for working on it with me. Should be a labor-intensive process, but we've done a good job of setting aside highlights throughout the season to make it easier.

With our library of materials and creativity, it could turn out pretty damn sweet. And if putting together something like that helps us get one step closer to the majors, all the sweeter.

'This is your job'

2007-08-12T09:43:00.000-07:00

The topic of my daily pregame interview with manager Jerry Weinstein was "the Dog Days of Summer," a fancy way of saying you're tired. Every team goes through it, usually this month. It's late in the season. The body is aching. It's hot. The finish line is near, but it's not the final sprint just yet.

The "dog days" apply to broadcasters as much as players. Must admit I was dragging a bit this weekend. I'll blame most of it on being in Visalia, which is always a challenge when you're broadcasting outdoors at this Godforsaken relic of a ballpark, the sun is beating down on you, and you're staying at the Godforsaken hotel that is the LampLighter Inn -- not to mention when you've only had one day off since early April.

I don't have problems getting motivated to call games. It's the daily pregame preparation that gets old. Plus, most of my fatigue stemmed from how annoying it is taking apart all the radio equipment, packing it up, then unpacking and setting it all up again each day. This is another occupational hazard from their non-existent press box.

Alas, hitting coach Dave Hajek put things in perspective. He told his players, "this is your job" -- which I took to heart. Thought about the excitement I felt for this career move four months ago, how no job is perfect, and told myself, "self, don't complain because you have to broadcast a baseball game every day."

I know a week after the season is over, I'll miss baseball and want it to start again. So that fired me up ... well, for the game, not for setting up all that damn equipment again.

Besides, happiness is knowing in a few hours, I'll be done with Bakersfield and Visalia for the season. Oh damn, almost forgot about the playoffs. We'll be back here once more.

Very removed from Barry's history

2007-08-08T00:24:00.000-07:00

Sometime during the 2001 seasons, when I was on the San Francisco Giants beat with Dan Brown, we discussed whether the first sentence of our obituary would contain the words "Barry Bonds" in it.

As in: "Josh Suchon, who covered the Giants during a four-year span that included Barry Bonds' single-season record 73-homer season and later wrote a book about him, died yesterday after the parachute broke as he was attempting his first solo skydive. He was 33."

We agreed it would. A year later, after I published a book about Bonds' season, I just about guaranteed that happening. Suppose I still have the rest of my life to do something more noteworthy than writing about Barry Bonds, but I understand these things. Do a Google search for myself and most of the entries still include Bonds, four years after I stopped covering the Giants. Such is life.

I became burned out on Bonds in recent years, but it didn't stop me from wanting to watch history. Took advantage of Monday's off day to visit SF. Thought the planets and stars were aligned perfectly and Barry would do it during the one chance I had to witness. Instead, missed history by a day.

When Barry connected on No. 756, I was in Lancaster, it was the sixth inning, and I was describing a walk to a No. 9 hitter from the No.5 starting pitcher in our rotation. It's safe to say that's not where I thought I would be four years ago when this moment arrived.

A minute or so after Barry's blast, we were during a pitching change, I was looking for the mlb.tv feed and accidentally ended up playing the audio of Barry on the microphone during my internet broadcast.

So yeah, my tiny sliver of being a part of history didn't go as I once thought it would. Still no regrets on this career move. But no question, it was hard not being in San Francisco tonight, hard not watching it live, and hard finding out from the public address announcer in the middle of the Mojave Desert at a minor league ballpark, and hard scrambling to get details as I continued to broadcast my lame ass stinker of a 15-2 loss.

What I miss. What I don't miss.

2007-08-07T00:27:00.000-07:00

Took advantage of a rare day off today to head back to San Francisco, in hopes of seeing Barry Bonds make history. Cashed in some good karma from my four years covering the Giants to get a press pass. Didn't see a home run, but came away with an interesting perspective on what I walked away from, and what I walked into.

Which, of course, is great material for an overdue new blog. So between Barry's four at-bats, as I sat in the press box where I made my living the last seven years, next to my former colleagues and friends and competitors, I made a list of the things I miss about covering major league baseball for a newspaper, and the things I don't. They're in no particular order.

WHAT I MISS
1. The food. Chicken fingers and fries, or pizza, is my dinner about 95 percent of the time at Modesto Nuts games. The spread tonight was salad, fruit, chicken, pasta, rice, green beans, deli meats, warm sourdough bread, and snickerdoodle cookies.

2. The spacious press box. Even packed with reporters from all around the country, it's enormous compared to the minors. The broadcasting booths at AT&T Park are actually small by major-league standards, but they look like apartments compared to most places in the Cal League.

3. The buzz of the crowd that understands the game. Cheering when an injured player gets up. Giving the starting pitcher a standing ovation when he departs after a great effort. Clapping their hands in unison to get a strikeout. And rising to their feet as one, chanting "Bar-ry, Bar-ry" as the man of the moment comes to the batters box. Instead of the minors where, you know, just standing up when the mascots are introduced.

4. An announcement of scoring decisions. Instead of the hand-sign games we play to try telling each other how a play was scored ... or waiting until the inning is over to walk into another room and find out how a play was scored.

5. The lighting.

6. Replays. To help describe a play a second or third time that was close.

WHAT I DON'T MISS

1. The scrum of reporters, at least 30, if not 50, around Giants manager Bruce Bochy before the game. Soooooo glad that's no longer me.

2. The distance between the press box and home plate. Even in SF, where it's much closer than most, it felt like another time zone away.

3. Signs that warn the press "keep off the grass" during batting practice, meaning the area in foul territory in front of the dugouts. Hell, I shag flyballs in the outfield before most road games.

4. Looking at your laptop more than the game. A horrible habit. Impossible to break. Intentionally didn't bust out my laptop tonight, just to avoid old habits. Instead, I looked at what my friend Paul Gutierrez from the Sacramento Bee showed me on his laptop ... and I aimlessly stared out into space thinking of items for this list.

5. The avalanche of stats. It's remarkable the amount of stats that are available to use. I purposely try to limit the amount of stats I prepare for myself each game, so I won't make my broadcasts stat heavy. Probably still rely on stats a little too much, but the volume of stats available in the majors is overwhelming and tantalizing. Like that piece of dessert you know you shouldn't grab, but you eat two anyway.

6. Players who don't run out grounders. Must say it's so refreshing that our players always run hard. Always. No matter what.

7. Reading the other papers first thing in the morning to see if I got scooped. Gawd, I hated that. No worse feeling that getting scooped. Painful. Rips your heart out. Ruins your whole day. The pain of getting scooped is far far greater than the pleasure of scooping others. In fact, I never enjoyed a scoop (not that I had many). Felt more embarrassed than proud when I had a scoop.

8. Thinking to myself, "I hope Barry doesn't break the record now, in his fourth at-bat, because it's almost 10 p.m. and that wouldn't leave much time to write my story on deadline." Or even when a historic moment isn't on the line, the anxiety of cranking out an early edition story on deadline in the final three innings, hoping that whatever team is winning doesn't lose the lead and force me to re-write quickly.

9. Reading a story that has anonymous quotes from players, and trying to think who was the source. OK, that's a lie. That's actually fun, especially since it's usually easy to pinpoint the 1-3 only possible candidates due to deductive reasoning.

A few other thoughts from my day back in the majors:

1. The number of jaded, bitter, cynical reporters who expressed genuine happiness for my decision to switch careers was pretty damn cool. Not sure if they just respect the cajones to make a fairly life-altering career move, if they wish they had the guts to try something new, or if they were just glad to get me the hell out of their daily lives, but it was a nice reinforcement to know that I'm not completely nuts.

2. Told my story to Dave Fleming, one of the Giants announcers, about broadcasting a game in Visalia in the rain. Dave broadcasted a full season in Visalia not too long ago, which is an inspiration to us all in the Cal League, and told me a story that made me realize my rain story was nothing. During a road trip, Visalia's clubhouse manager (or "clubbie") resigned, and Dave was forced to do the work. So he would cut up the watermelon as part of the pre-game spread in the afternoon ... broadcast a game at night ... then spent overnight cleaning dirty jockstraps and uniforms. And one of the days was his birthday! Dave doesn't seem like the type to take his surroundings for granted, but I hope re-telling the story reminded him a little more that paying those dues in the minors was worth it.

Alright, bus leaves for Lancaster in about six hours. I better pack and get to bed. Ehh, I'll pack in the morning.

Excuse the shameless plug ... more press about me

2007-08-01T15:10:00.000-07:00

Nuts' Suchon savors broadcasting
Successful sportswriter would rather call the action like a fan
By Mark Shugar / MLB.com

MODESTO, Calif. -- With one out in the bottom of the 10th, the Modesto Nuts had strategically worked runners into scoring position against the Stockton Ports, allowing outfielder Travis Becktel to step to the plate with the chance to drive in a game-winner for Modesto.

That's when things got a bit, well, nuts. And up in the press box, Modesto radio broadcaster
Josh Suchon had the call.

"The pitch gets away from the catcher. Here comes [Nuts outfielder Justin] Nelson to the plate. He's safe! The Modesto Nuts have won the ballgame, 9-8, on an errant intentional walk pitch!
"You've got to be kidding me! Now I've seen it all."

** The entire story can be viewed at this link **
http://www.minorleaguebaseball.com/news/article.jsp?ymd=20070719&content_id=277144&vkey=news_milb&fext=.jsp

I think it will always be weird when I read a story about myself, since I'm so used to writing stories about other people. Must admit, like many athletes, I was a little worried the reporter would mis-quote me or take something out of context. Power to the digital recorder. The writer made me look good ... which ain't easy.

Getting over yourself

2007-07-30T16:09:00.000-07:00

Minor league ballparks, especially press boxes, are not built for people who are self conscious. Learned this quickly. First stop of the year was Bakersfield, where the others in the box can hear every word you say. Second stop was San Jose, where the scoreboard operators sits right next to you in a very tiny box.

In Rancho Cucamonga, the most gorgeous ballpark in the league, you're still in a wide open with the writer(s), other announcer, and scoreboard operators. Some call your corner -- it's not a booth -- a penalty box from hockey. In Visalia, you're completely outside ... rain or shine.

The point is, others in the press box can hear every word you say. In most ballparks -- the people in the last rows before the press box -- can hear every word. In Visalia, we had a game with so few attending, the starting pitchers who were charting pitches later told me they heard every word -- and they were a good 20-30 feet away.

In Bakersfield, where we are tonight for thank goodness the final time this year, our bus driver and his son, all the pitchers, and all the fans (well, both of 'em) underneath my booth can hear every word as well.

No doubt, I was very self conscious when the season began. To this day, I'm still a little self conscious. Perhaps I'm just more aware, especially if I screw up something. But when we were in Rancho Cucamonga last weekend, I didn't feel the same anxiety that I felt when the season began.

Told myself the followings things:

1. The people who are hearing me are used to hearing the visiting announcer every game.
2. I can't do anything about it.
3. I owe it to the audience to not worry about it.
4. I can't possibly be the worst announcer they've ever heard.

And most recently:

5. Here's a chance to show off ... and maybe get some feedback.

It's still not easy. I know it's hard to imagine this, because hundreds are listening on the internet and on the radio, but it's really weird to know that a few people right next to you are listening.

Slowly but surely, I'm continuing to get over myself and just do the job.

Life in A-ball, cuz

2007-07-28T15:17:00.000-07:00

The headline was a popular expression, or so I'm told, of last year's Modesto Nuts manager Glenallen Hill. We had one of those days when G-Hill would have said that phrase a lot.

We bussed down to Bakersfield, which just edges Visalia for the most depressing place in minor league baseball. OK, most depressing in the Cal League.

For some reason, we had a different hotel. Never a good thing when you're switching hotels in the middle of the season. The address we were given was for a Ramada. We pulled up, and the lady at the front desk about had a heart attack when she saw 25 baseball players, plus coaches and staff, get off a bus. They had no record of us staying there.

Phone calls were made. Hotels are setup by the home team. The Bakersfield front office insisted we were at the right place. Turns out, there's another Ramada in town. Who'd have thought there was two Ramadas in Bakersfield?

But thank goodness there are. The first Ramada looked like a dump. Of course, I will admit, it was sad that we weren't staying at the same hotel as the pale-skinned woman sitting at the pool, weighing a good two and a half bills, legs spread wide, and smoking a cigarette. But a few others on the bus had already called "dibs" on her anyway.

I digress. Arrived at the other Ramada, and all is well in the world. Temporarily.

The phone lines at "historic" Sam Lynn Ballpark -- I prefer to say prehistoric -- are a joke. You can't stay connected for longer than 20-30 minutes. Not when I call to the radio station. Not when the radio station calls me. So once again, we had to use the cell phone comrex to establish a connection.

There's no internet. No wireless. No DSL. That means, even though we had an internet-only broadcast, we had to broadcast the game from a cell connetion. I had ringing in my ears all night. Tough game to broadcast. We scored eight runs in the second inning for a 9-0 lead. From that point on, I'm trying to fill seven innings of a game that is essentially over.

It's a good 20 degrees hotter in the press box than the ballpark, and the game time temperature was an even 100 degrees. When the night was eventually over, I'd see a sun rash all over my chest.

But the night wasn't over when the game ended. Our bus had a flat tire. No way he could drive it. It's hard to find somebody to fix a bus tire at 11 at night. Now, if this happened in Modesto, ever front office member would be giving rides for the players and staff back to the hotel. We'd volunteer to do it, and wouldn't think twice of it.

Instead, no such help from the Bakersfield front office. Only one guy was left in the front office, and at least he called a cab company for us. Most of the team waited on the bus watching a movie until the first cab arrived. Some players got rides from friends and family back to the hotel.

The things about cities like Bakersfield, there's not a lot of cabs. It was two drivers who ended up taking everybody back and forth who didn't get a ride elsewhere.

I let the players go first, and waited until the end. Ended up swapping stories with Chris Strickland, our trainer, and a few others about busses breaking down in the middle of nowhere. One thing about people in the minors like Chris, they have great stories. When I say great stories, that's another way of saying, "oh my goodness, that's horrendous. Tonight is bad, but that was ridiculous. I'm so glad that happened to you, and not me."

Finally got back to the hotel around 1 a.m., almost three hours after the game ended. I've had my share of ridiculous travel stories in seven years covering major league baseball. Last night wasn't the worst. It was probably in the top five, but only because of the dueling Ramada hotels from the afternoon.

Indeed, welcome to A-ball, cuz.

** UPDATE: Our bus driver Craig had the tire fixed the next day. He found a key inside the tire. Yes, one of the great citizens of Bakersfield keyed our bus. Nice. **

Polishing a turd

2007-07-27T08:36:00.000-07:00

About three weeks ago, I started to prepare myself for a rough summer. Our team had just been swept three games in Bakersfield, who brought a 10-game losing streak into the series. Our record was 3-7, and I feared the prospect of broadcasting another 60 games with lots of losing, and lots of bad baseball.

To my relief, the team has taken off. Going into tonight's game in Bakersfield, the Nuts have won 18 of 24 games. We're in first place, and the playoffs are looking like a foregone conclusion.

No doubt, I got lucky. I just don't know how you broadcast games nine innings every day for a losing team. For instance, my new friend John Rosen is the High Desert announcer, and his team has lost eight in a row entering tonight, 26 of 34 in the second half, after being in last place in the first half ... and, he has to broadcast 70 home games in the middle of nowhere (aka. Adelanto).

Another new friend, Zack Bayrouty of the Stockton Ports, is forced to call games for a team that has lost 22 of 34 games in the second half. In Zack's case, his team is really tough to watch because all the good players have been promoted to Double-A. All that remains is journeyman, castoffs from independent leagues, and non-prospects.

You can't be super critical of your team. I mean, most of your audience is the friends and family of the players on the internet, season ticket holders listening on the radio, or a handful of other diehard baseball fans who stumble upon the game while driving down the freeway. In the cases of High Desert and Stockton, they just don't have the talent the other teams in the league do.

Once again, this really makes me appreciate a guy like Ernie Harwell, the legendary announcer of the Detroit Tigers. Harwell did a lot of games between the 1984 World Series and the 2006 World Series, a lot of really dreadful games where the Tigers rarely won, and did it with dignity and class. As a result, he's probably the most beloved employee of the Tigers. That's the ultimate pro.

It takes a special pro to strike the right balance of "being positive vs. being honest" as you broadcast games for a team that's really bad. At some point, if I stay in broadcasting long enough, I'm destined to eventually have to do that.

Sure hope that I could do that, if I had to do that, but I'm very happy that I don't have to find out right now.

Breathing more

2007-07-20T11:44:00.000-07:00

The biggest theme to the feedback I’ve received this season is to slow down, and let the broadcast “breathe” more. This will always be tough for me because I have a fairly hyper personality. Always room for improvement now in my broadcasts, but listening to my games over the last 3-4 weeks, I realize that I’m wayyyy better than I was in April.

The telling sign for my improvement is how it’s changed my speech patterns in everyday life. I’ve always been a fast talker. An amateur psychologist might conclude it stems from being self conscious, or a lack of confidence, or just being nervous. (Personally, I think I’m just always in a hurry to do everything – talk, type, eat, drive, etc.)

During one of my recent coaching sessions, this point was driven home as we evaluated my interview with Oakland A’s general manager Billy Beane.

One of my questions was: “your assistant general manager, David Forst, many consider him the heir apparent in Oakland, or a GM candidate elsewhere. Did he try to talk you out of that seven-year extension?”

My coach thought it was a great question, but he thought the delivery was off. I’ve listened to that question about 20 times now, and it kills me, because it would be soooooooo much better if I relaxed and asked it slower.

Such as, “your assistant general manager is David Forst. (pause) Many consider him the heir apparent in Oakland or a GM candidate elsewhere. (longer pause). I’m curious (quick pause) did he try talking you out of that seven-year extension?”

As any stand-up comic will tell you, it’s not just what you say; it’s how you say it. I’m learning that … slowly … sometimes, very slowly. I’m learning it’s much easier to do solo, in the booth, than it is doing a live interview with the most famous GM in baseball.

Recently, I was talking ball with my friend Zack Bayrouty, the Stockton Ports announcer, and I asked him if he heard what Bakersfield third baseman Chris Davis did the night before. Z-Bay said no, so I explained how Davis extended his hitting streak by going 4-for-4 … with four runs … and four RBIs.

“Wow,” Z-bay said.

“Annnnnnnd,” I added, pausing a second or two for emphasis, “he had four errors also.”

Two months ago, I’d have said, “hehadfourhitsfourrunsfourRBIsandfourerrors.”

Nowwwww … I draw out the words a little longer … pause for dramatic affect … let the words from the first part of the sentence sink in … and then finish my sentence. Granted, easier said to do that talking to Z-Bay, than a live interview with Billy Beane, but a lesson to be learned and practiced more.

Knowing my friends, they will probably find this really annoying … and tell me to stop talking like I’m on the air and just talk like the old Josh.

Channeling the ghost of Jack Buck

2007-07-16T08:30:00.000-07:00

My first "Jack Buck" moment came last night. During his famous call of Kirk Gibson's home run to beat Dennis Eckersley and the Oakland A's in Game 1 of the 1988 World Series, Buck told the audience, "I don't believe what I just saw."

The stakes weren't exactly the same in my game or my call. OK, mine was a like a pebble of sand on Waikiki Beach compared to that game, but it was my own moment to use a Buck-esque phrase.

The scenario: tie game, 10th inning, second and third, one out. Stockton was intentionally walking Modesto's Travis Becktel to load the bases. Well, that was the plan. The second pitch sailed to the backstop for a wild pitch. The winning run scored on it.

Here is how I described it. Midway through the call, felt myself screaming a little too much, and tried to lower my voice, without losing the excitement or the drama. If you listen closely, you can tell when I flipped the mental switch in my brain to not scream.

You can never prepare for a call like that. It's all about your spontaneous call. Truth be told, I was lucky this called turned out how it did. For one, I was actually writing "IW" (intentional walk) in my scorebook when it happened. When I heard the crowd go crazy, I looked up and saw the catcher running to the backstop. I described the rest pretty well, although the perfectionist in me would have changed a few things.

"You've got to be kidding me," I said. After a pause, I then added, "Now I've seen it all." Made a conscious decision not to admit on the air that I didn't actually see it. I'll admit it here on this blog. It's easy to say, "never take your eyes off the field because you might miss something." That's true. But you have to look down at your scorebook and stat sheets. Nobody has a photographic memory. It's called note taking.

But I tell you what, I'll probably never look down during an intentional walk ever again.

A midterm exam

2007-07-15T14:38:00.000-07:00

Imagine being early into a report, and finding out it was a mid-term exam that's worth half your grade. That's what last night's broadcast felt like.

We went live on the radio in the second inning, and I learned that my boss was running the board back in the studio. Not often that a program director will spend a Saturday night pushing the buttons for commercials, and this wasn't his choice.

No grade was given out, so it wasn't a real mid-term exam, but it was definitely weird knowing the boss was listening to every word. He'll listen to bits and pieces of games, but he has a life, and he lives with his girlfriend, and I'm sure she doesn't want him listening to games every night.

It was almost like not wanting to disappoint your parents. After all, few people were giving me the time of day as I tried to make the transition from print to radio. This guy took a huge chance on me, and this was the ultimate opportunity to show him that he made the right decision.

Overall, I thought the broadcast went fine. Most importantly, it went smooth. In and out of breaks, and the transition from one announcer to announcer. Thought my best call of the night was on a double play, and these days, I get more excited about making a good call on a double play than a home run.

Early in the broadcast, the boss sent a text message that said, "you guys sound good." I wrote back, "we always sound good." If you don't believe us, just ask us.

Hopefully, he took notes and will provide some feedback when I see him Monday in the office. Then we'll know how I did on my mid-term.

** UPDATE ** No feedback at all. Jeez, talk about your buzzkill. Thought it was a mid-term, or at least a pop quiz. Guess it was just another game after all, which I suppose is fitting, the more I think about it. Baseball broadcasting isn't about having a great game when your boss is listening. It's about having 140 consecutive quality broadcasts because you never know who might be listening. You have to be a grinder in this business.

In a pickle

2007-07-10T06:45:00.000-07:00

Pickles are great on sandwiches. Pickle was one of my favorite games to play as a kid.

Describing a pickle in a baseball game is not easy. It's one of the hardest, in fact, and I've been thinking lately it's the ultimate test of a baseball announcer's skill. They don't happen very often, and they usually end quickly .. well, at least in the majors.

In the minors, sometimes they take awhile and don't end so well for the defense. We had back-to-back pickles in the last two games.

The first was Monday night, when Eric Young, Jr. was caught between first and second base, and Travis Becktel made a dash home ahead of the throw. Everybody was safe.

The second was last night, when Cole Garner was caught between first and second base, the Bakerfield infield -- no doubt thinking about the previous night's play -- butchered it again. This time, the lead runner stayed at third base, and Garner was safe at second.

Upon further review, I ended up getting wayyy more critical than I usually get. Hope it wasn't overboard, but figure the audience needed to be told the truth.

Overall, I don't love or hate my calls on those. Consider them acceptable, but think it displays that I'm still not exactly where I expect myself to be at handling these plays.

Next came an example where my journalistic background helps me. A botched rundown is an immediate storyline and I wanted to go with it. So I said the standard, "let's see if the Nuts can make them pay" line, and sure enough, they did.

A two-run single by Young. Then a two-run double by Chris Nelson. Then an RBI double by Justin Nelson. Another RBI double, this one by Jeff Kindel.

Then I took a light-hearted approach, saying "I was just being optimistic" about making Bakersfield pay for the mistake. In all, the Nuts scored seven runs in the inning, led 8-0, and rolled to a 15-2 victory.

Earlier in the game, nearly nailed the call of Young scoring from second base on an errant pickoff throw. I've quickly learned to always expect Young to take the extra base, and proud of the way I saw this play developing. But at the beginning, I accidentally said the pickoff throw to first base -- instead of second base -- and had to correct myself.

P.S. Yes, in case you're wondering, now that I finally know how to post audio clips, I have gone mad in posting a lot of them. A record nine in this post!

Only in the Cal League

2007-07-09T23:18:00.000-07:00

Well, maybe you can get away with some of this stuff in Double-A or Triple-A. But tonight was an example of something you can do broadcasting a baseball game in the California League that you can't do in the big leagues.

The Nuts won easily tonight, 15-2. It was 8-0 after two innings. Total blowout.

Greg Young and I had been thinking about a night when we'd ask the team's biggest character, shortstop Chris Nelson, to interview one of his teammates live on the radio. Just to mix things up. Received clearance from the program director to go for it. Not every time. But just for something new.

We figured with a game like this, everybody on Modesto's side would be in a good mood and it was the perfect night. It took some prodding from batting coach Dave Hajek, but Nelson agreed to interview teammate Cole Garner. It was hilarious. Nelly was cutting off answers, making sure that nicknames were explained, and handled himself like a pro.

Afterward, the fellas in the sound room turned on Chris Nelson's entrance music again, which is "Heart of a Champion" by, fittingly Nelly.

The part they use starts with "Nel-ly, Nel-ly" as he comes to the plate and includes the line, "ain't no way they can stop me now." Anytime Chris gets a hit, they play the "ain't no way they can stop be now" line again, and you can see Chris fired up on the bases. So when they played it again after the interview, Chris puts his hands above his head, and took a victory lap around the bases.

Described it all on the radio, as I tried to keep from laughing. It was a beautiful moment and showed the comraderie you get in the minors between the players, broadcasters and videoboard operators.

Can't imagine A's shortstop Bobby Crosby interviewing teammate Shannon Stewart live on the field on A's radio broadcast, then taking a victory lap as they played his song. But in the minors, it worked.

My days of staying in a king bed in four-star hotels, flying to the best cities in the country, and expensing everything are over.

A night like tonight, however, was priceless.

4th of July fun

2007-07-05T06:52:00.000-07:00

No idea if this is accurate, but I felt -- or maybe it's hoped -- that our radio audience last night was our biggest. The circumstances were certainly there. It's the 4th of July, and I imagine a lot of people BBQing in their backyards, and having a radio on with the ballgame. After all, what's more American that fireworks, BBQing and baseball?

Here in Modesto, the postgame fireworks is also the city's municipal fireworks. So the golf course behind the ballpark was packed, as were the soccer fields beyond the outfield fences. The fans were constantly setting off fireworks of their own. In fact, so much smoke was in the air from the fireworks, San Jose center fielder Antoan Richardson even lost a ball in the smoke, during one of Greg's innings.

The area around the ballpark was packed with fans. Again, perhaps wishful thinking, but I imagined the fans around the ballpark with their radios listening to the game, or at least listening to the game on the radio as they circled the ballpark looking for a place to park, to know how close the game was to ending.

Made it a point to say hello to the fans outside the ballpark a bunch of times. One of them is an older dude who is always at games and calls himself "tree guy" because he sits under a tree and collects foul balls. At least once, when a foul ball was headed his way, I'd let him know on the air.

It was a good game, the Nuts won 9-5, thanks to a leadoff home run by Eric Young, Jr. and another first inning homer by Justin Nelson. Against my better judgment, I watched the fireworks, got stuck in massive traffic, and will get one less hour of sleep.

If I was in a rut a few days ago, the sellout crowds the last two nights, plus all the great action definitely have me out of it.

Exhausted, yet exhilirated

2007-07-04T13:30:00.000-07:00

Now I know how arena football announcers must feel. Or how my colleague Jeff Lasky, the play by play announcer in Lancaster -- where every game is a slugfest -- must feel every night.

Last night's game was a 16-12 slugfest. Modesto won it, and the back-and-forth drama made for a lot of fun. Exhausting, yes. Ridiculous, yes. And exhilirating, most defintely.

It was yet another example of something that's wayyyyyy more fun to broadcast than it would be to recap for a newspaper. A lot of home runs were hit, and I got to have some fun describing some of them. Such as the tape-measure home run by Justin Nelson that made me pretend I was in San Francisco.

On the heels of my post a few days ago about calling the other team's dramatic home runs, I thought I found a better balance of "excitement vs. oh no" when Stockton's Tommy Everidge hit a three-run home run in the eighth inning to give the Ports the lead.

Nearly got caught with my head down in the scorebook, and recapping the scoring from the top of the ninth inning, when Chris Nelson hit a towering home run that broke the game open, and provided the final score. Wasn't happy that I missed the pitch coming to the plate, but recovered good enough.

This was one of those games when I'm still jacked full of adrenaline an hour after the game. That makes falling asleep difficult. And that means I'll have to be extra careful that I don't carryover that emotion into the first inning of tonight's game.

Think we got carried away in our giddiness over the crowd mic. We had it cranked up a little too much, so a good majority of the game wasn't as clean sounding as we'd prefer. I have the ultimate respect for engineers and sound techs. Whatever they get paid, it's not enough.

The ultimate crack of the bat

2007-07-02T10:02:00.000-07:00

It's always fun going to Banner Island Ballpark in Stockton because:

1. the ballpark is new and beautiful.
2. the radio booth is enormous.
3. the Stockton Ports are the A's affiliate, and I know more about that organization than any other.
4. it's a road game, but it's the shortest trip.
5. there's good free food.

The list is not necessarily in that order. One really cool thing about the ballpark is they have a crowd mic somewhere in the ballpark that we can plug into our mixing board. We don't even know where it's located, but it makes the broadcast sound soooo much better. For starters, we don't have to tape a mic to the outside of the press box, and don't have to worry about some jackass fan walking by and thinking he's funny by saying something into the mic.

But also, it makes the crack of the bat sound amazing. In addition, in last night's game, you could really hear the crowd make a collective "ooooooohhh" when one of the Ports players missed a catchable flyball on the warning track.

The broadcast sounds big league. Very cool.

In fact, in the latest cool thing we've got going on our website, Greg figured out how we can post audio highlights from the game on the website. The links are inside the game recaps. You can hear last night's right here, and you can definitely hear the crack of the bat in the highlights.

Baking in Bake-oh

2007-06-30T22:15:00.000-07:00

The primary purpose of this blog is the photo. It's basically to make you laugh, and make you feel sorry for me.

This is the "broadcast booth" in Bakersfield. I couldn't doctor this photo, even if I knew how. The window really is that dirty. The room really is that tiny. Not to mention, what you can't see is how the temperature in that closet is somehow 10-15 degrees hotter than it is in the ballpark.

Fortunately, it was only in the lower-90s this weekend in Bakersfield. It could be well over 100.

So earlier this season, when it was raining and I had to close the window to keep the equipment dry, and I unfathonably said a home run was a home run, even though it was flyout, my excuse is trying to call a game through that disgusting window.

Calling the other team’s walkoff

2007-06-29T06:26:00.000-07:00

Like a lot of things in broadcasting, the excitement level when describing the other teams’ dramatic moments is a fine line. Don’t want to get too excited. Don’t want to show no emotion either.

Last night was my fourth game calling the other team’s "walkoff" victory. Listened back to my call, and actually wished I’d have gotten just a little more excited. Not a lot. Just a little more excited. My biggest regret was taking so long to say the final score.

Thought my setup was pretty good. Bakersfield’s Chris Davis was 4-for-4 with a home run. As the Blaze batted in the eighth, I said Davis would get another shot in the ninth. As the Nuts batted in the ninth, with a one-run lead, I said it would be wise to get more runs because Davis is due up in the ninth. As the bottom of the ninth started, I said the dangerous Davis is due up third.

Sure enough, Davis hit a two-run walkoff home run. Problem was, he hit it so quickly, I didn’t have much time to call it. It was a line drive that barely cleared the 20-foot fence. The crowd, as usual, was pretty weak in Bakersfield -- so there wasn’t a ton of excitement coming from the crowd mic. I should have delayed my call a second or two behind the action, giving it a more dramatic call. But at the same time, it’s the other team.

Earlier this week, I heard the A’s Ken Korach say, “do you believe it?” when Kelly Shoppach hit a three-run, pinch-hit walkoff home run to beat the A’s. That was on my mind, but I could believe this one.

I flat-out expected it, and felt it coming for a couple innings. Ended up saying something like, “can’t say it’s not surprising” based on what he’d done earlier in the game. The biggest thing I wish I’d had done is say that Bakersfield won sooner. It was implied, and I definitely said it, but I should have stated it precisely a little sooner.

With nothing else better to do in Bakersfield, listened back to some of my calls from earlier this year when the home team beat Modesto.

Actually really liked my call – short and precise – when Inland Empire’s Luke May hit a walkoff homer in late April. The stupid train horn interrupts the call at the end.

Probably a little too excited, and tried to say too much in too little amount of time, when Stockton beat Modesto in the 11th inning last month.

The game winner by San Jose a couple weeks ago was a little tricky. It was nearly a spectacular, “catch of the year” play by Modesto left fielder Cole Garner. Couldn’t tell, in fact, if he caught it or not. Even after he dove, I wasn’t sure because nobody chased after the ball to the wall, so I had to wait longer. That ever-so slight delay minimized the so-called “perfect call” from occurring.

The other factor making it a difficult call is that play basically won the first half for San Jose because Stockton was about to lose in Visalia. But it wasn’t official yet. So again, I couldn’t accurately state the San Jose Giants had won the first half just yet. I did quickly say, “it’s pandemonium at San Jose Muni” and did what I think announcers should do – shut up and let the crowd tell the story. The crowd was going nuts, pardon the pun, but the crowd mic didn’t pick up on that as well as I’d hoped.

Oh well. I’m reminded of something my friend Johnny Doskow, the announcer for Triple-A Sacramento, recently told me: “you’re never as good as you think you are; and you’re never as bad as you think you are.”

The inevitable rut

2007-06-26T09:49:00.000-07:00

The past few games I've felt like the broadcasts were ... well, not bad. Just not great. Perhaps it's an inevitable rut from doing so many. Perhaps it's not coincidence my rut arrived at the same time as the team's hitting rut. The games haven't been very interesting. Quite boring, truth be told. I know it's my job to make them interesting, but it's tough when the storyline becomes the same.

It leaves me with a few options.

1. Rip the team's offense. Not going to do that.
2. Neglect the team and talk about other stuff. Don't want to do that.
3. Turn into a homer who is cheering/urging the offense on.

The last is the lesser of three evils. Being a homer is a very, veryyyyy fine line. Talked with my program director about this, and he reminded me of the audience.

I'll paraphase his advice: this isn't the majors; it's still A-ball; the only people listening are the season ticket holders, host families, relatives and friends, and diehard baseball fans who just love any baseball on the radio. They aren't exactly looking for a down-the-middle, ESPN Sunday Night Baseball broadcast.

It's funny, one of his other pieces of advice was, if a certain player is really slumping and gets a hit, it's alright to say, "there you go (insert name)". I laughed because I did exactly that last night. Travis Becktel was in a 12-for-115 slump. When he singled, "there you go" might have been my exact words. In fact, in my excitement for the kid coming through, I called it an RBI single immediately.

Problem was, the runner hadn't scored. In fact, the runner was only about one-third of the way home. Luckily, the runner scored. In my call, I pretended like I never said "RBI single" as I described the close play at the plate. As I looked at my partner Greg Young, he gave me a "that was close" look, so I decided to just talk about it on the air. I said how I was so excited for Travis that I gave him the RBI wayyyyyy before he had it. Probably a mistake on my part, but I hope it's because my heart was in the right place.

Again, being a homer is a very fine line. The overwhelming majority of your audience wants your team to win, so you should speak to them like a fan. The old journalist inside me wants to stay more objective, but one of the things that I really like about this career switch is that I don't have to be objective anymore. It's fun to get fired up when your team does something well.

Of course, when your team is struggling, then it's a struggle balancing between being honest, being supportive, being excited (even when there's nothing to be excited over), and still sounding genuine about it.

The midway report

2007-06-20T20:02:00.000-07:00

Hard to believe, but the season is halfway over. Seventy games in 74 days. Whew. Time flies when you're talking baseball all night and barely sleeping. Figured the all-star break was time for some deep, philosophical thoughts on how it's going.

The more I think about my feelings, the more I just feel lucky that I landed where I did. For a couple years, I've been trying to get back into broadcasting. But no team anywhere in minor league baseball would give me the time of day. Some of my broadcasting friends went above and beyond the call of duty to hype me up as a possible No.2 announcer at a couple Triple-A jobs two offseasons ago. But for all the No.1 jobs I applied to get, I basically was totally ignored.

When somebody finally did give me a chance, it came in a city just outside the Bay Area, limiting how far I had to move, and allowing me to stay close to my friends and family. It was with a team that happened to hire my cousin (when neither of us knew the other was about to get hired).

The official employer was an all-sports radio station, which allowed me to:

1. continue my journalistic background as the sports director of the morning news.
2. be a fill-in, talk-show host for a couple segments of my co-workers' talk shows regularly, or even the entire show when somebody is sick.
3. cover the NCAA west regional in Sacramento.
4. do live interviews with players, such as Bobby Crosby and Nick Swisher, or just yesterday with A's general manager Billy Beane, that we air later that day or the next day on the radio station.
5. basically yuck it up and have fun on radio.

Most minor league radio announcers -- as in 99 percent -- work exclusively for the team. Not me. Which means, more important than anything else, I don't have to sell advertising. Nothing is more deflating than applying for a job as the play-by-play announcer, and being told that your ability to sell ads means more than you're ability to call a game.

Granted, not every game is on our radio station because we carry the Oakland A's and other pro sports, which get first priority. (All games are live on the internet though.)

But the all-sports station provides a priceless amount of crossover programming opportunities, such as broadcasting live for six hours yesterday from Stockton's ballpark to pump up the California-Carolina League all-star game -- even though we weren't broadcasting the game. Some of the other announcers in the Cal League, who I've quickly come to call good friends, call their games during pledge drives for PBS or on a station that switched to a Spanish format during the season.

I'm lucky at how our product has turned out too. This might sound arrogant, but at least for home games, we have -- by far -- the best overall broadcast team in the Cal League. And it's not even close.

No other team has a daily manager show. Nobody else does a live postgame interview with a player down on the field. Nobody else has a newspaper beat reporter with the talent and knowledge, not to mention the feel for radio, like our Brian VanderBeek of The Modesto Bee. I humbly think Greg Young is the best No.2 in the league, could be a No.1 right now, will be a No.1 next year for sure, and I'd find it hard to believe that anybody else has better on-air chemistry than we do. If nothing else, nobody has as much fun as we do.

Don't worry, I'll stop bragging shortly.

And here's the kicker: not only did I not know any of that coming in, I didn't even make the decision to setup the broadcasting team. Pure luck.

This blog started three months ago with me mostly making fun of myself and my mistakes. Call it all-star break nostalgic thoughts, or the lack of sleep, or an over-indulgent sense of self, but we've been damn good.

Now, just wait until we know what we're actually doing.

That gut feeling

2007-06-17T20:18:00.000-07:00

So far, so good when it comes to my worst fear about broadcasting -- needing to badly use the bathroom in the middle of a game. The first thing I scout out, when arriving at a ballpark for the first time, is how far the bathroom is from the press box. You know, just in case.

I can make it, between innings, in Modesto and Lake Elsinore. San Bernardino would be close. No chance of making it in Visalia, Bakersfield, Stockton -- or this weekend, here in San Jose. So when I'm calling games solo at those four places, I do three things.

1. Hit the bathroom about 5-10 minutes before starting the broadcast. (I also call this my daily nervous pre-game pee.)
2. Avoid drinking lots of fluids.
3. Carefully watch what I eat before the game.

Now that the temperature is over 100 degrees, this is a challenge. The need to stay hydrated and keep the pipes from getting dry is important. A couple close calls this weekend. When the game ended Friday, the bladder was running out of patience with me. The game Sunday went 11 innings, and there were a couple moments when it seemed like it could go forever. That was another welcome end to the game.

At my father's house after the game, during a Father's Day BBQ with the family, my sister asked if I lost weight. Since she was the second person to ask in less than 24 hours, I weighed myself. Sure enough, I've lost about 20 pounds since the season started.

I have four reasons why.

1. No alcohol since the season started. (My longest stretch of sobriety since high school.)
2. The major-league press dining room is all-you-can-eat, and always has desserts. Now, I alternate between chicken fingers and a slice of pizza at home games.
3. The overall minor league lifestyle. It's hard to eat quality meals consistently. The small towns don't have many options, and not much is open after a night game. I've somehow continued to avoid eating any fast food burgers (or Taco Bell), a streak that dates back to December 2002.
4. It's now over 100 degrees in Modesto, and I simply can't eat anything hot when it's this hot. That means lots of salads and fruits and sandwiches. Who knew that hot weather could be so healthy?

Who the hell is Joshua?

2007-06-16T14:19:00.000-07:00

Just before the season began, I spent a game in the A's radio booth with Ken Korach and Vince Cotroneo. The idea was to watch the A's announcers describe the game on the radio, and takes notes on how they went about doing it. Found it very helpful. Vince volunteered to listen to one of my games, and I finally took him up on it.

Vince's first resposne was, "who the hell is Joshua?"

Ok, so here's the story.

For 33 years and some change, the only person who called me Joshua was my mom ... and that's when I was in trouble. I was always Josh. I used Josh in print, and for all the radio/TV interviews I did. Always thought Joshua was too formal and biblical.

Of course, ever since the "Friends" episode in which Rachael says her boyfriend's name as "Josh ... ooooohhh .... ahhhhh" I've been a much bigger fan of Joshua. But that's another story.

Anyway, the name Josh Suchon is a tongue twister. To say Suchon, it's like the girl's name Sue and the boy's name Shawn. That makes for a lot of sh's in a short amount of time. You have to consciously pause between my first and last names, or else they run together. It usually gets butchered.

So I decided to go with Joshua Suchon. Thought it sounded smoother. Also liked the idea of a slightly different name to coincide with my new career. Josh was the writer. Joshua is the broadcaster.

Everybody still calls me Josh in person, including my program manager -- even on the air. So I guess the new name isn't exactly taking off.

Working solo vs. partnering up

2007-06-15T23:29:00.000-07:00

The first game of a road trip is always an adjustment because I broadcast all nine innings, solo, for road games. For home games, I do six innings of play-by-play (always with somebody in the booth with me), and two innings sitting "second chair."

Must say I'm very happy with this schedule. I get to learn how to work solo, and how to work with somebody. After all, if I ever reach the majors -- or I should say, when I return to the majors -- there's a very high chance that I'll have one (if not two) analysts in the booth with me. Yet, there's times you need to be able to carry a broadcast solo.

We're nearly halfway into the season, and I've realized that I definitely prefer working with somebody. Main reason is because I think I'm just a social butterfly who prefers to be around other people. But also, it's damn awkward spending three hours basically talking to yourself. A lot more exhausting. Harder to come up with something to fill the time between the action, especially when the game is lopsided.

The key, of course, is who your partner is. If the two people are fighting over the microphone, it's a disaster. The second guy needs to let the broadcast "breathe" by picking the right time to talk, and then knowing when to ... well, shut up.

I try to randomly listen to a different minor league broadcast every game, just to get a feel for how other broadcasters approach their craft, and compare that to my own style. There's always something you can learn, either good or bad, from others. I heard one game when the "color analyst" felt the need to analyze every pitch and say something between every pitch. It sounded horrendous.

Brian VanderBeek, our buddy from The Modesto Bee, is really good at knowing when to talk and when to let me do my thing. I think Greg Young and I have developed good chemistry as well. Greg will rarely say anything the first inning of a game, just so I can set the stage and get into the flow of the game. I try to do the same for him, when he takes over in the third inning.

Beek joins us for the middle innings, and that's when it becomes story time. Sometimes, it's like we're hosting a talk show within a baseball game. I try to have 1 or 2 topics to discuss within the flow of the game, which have to do with what's happening with the team or around baseball. I'm sure there's been a couple times we ventured too far from the game, but I don't think we do it often. Besides, you can't know what's too far over the line, until you cross that line.

For the last three innings, it depends on the game. If the game is over, Greg and I will be more chatty. If it's close, I try to stay out of Greg's way in the seventh inning. Besides, he's looking to build his demo reel, and every inning is potentially the inning that will land him his next job -- so I need to stay out of his way.

For the last two innings, Greg is usually frantically putting together highlights for our post-game show, or he's thinking of questions to ask our postgame guest. So he's not on the air much anyway.

I can honestly say there hasn't been one time, in nearly 70 games, that I've wished my broadcast partners would shut up. That's quite an accomplishment. And trust me, I'd write it, if I felt it.

Overall, I'm damn proud of our broadcasts. Between having three voices, and mixing the time spent focusing squarely on the game and branching out, I think there's great variety to the broadcast. I might not be Vin Scully, and Beek might not be Tim McCarver ... well, actually, thank goodness Beek is not Tim McCarver.

When luck and preparation merge

2007-06-13T07:07:00.000-07:00

Not to sound too cocky, but I'm really starting to feel like I'm on a roll. Obviously, there's still lots and lots more for me to improve on, but I'm excited about where I'm at right now. I thought Sunday's game was my best nine innings of solo work. Thought that Monday's game with Greg and Brian was our best group effort. Thought we topped that last night.

It helps to have a compelling game, but you can't depend on a good game for a good broadcast. Last night wasn't even a great game, but I thought we had a great broadcast. Part of that is luck, and part of that is preparation.

Examples:

1. When Daniel Carte came to the plate in the second inning, I started off by describing how he normally hits fourth or fifth in the order, but he's been slumping lately. That's why he's hitting eighth, but he's dangerous in that spot of the lineup. Carte hit a grand slam a pitch or two later, the biggest hit of the game, so I looked like a genius. That was premeditated luck.

2. When Nick Haley came to bat in the fifth inning, I said that he was, "an admitted steroid user." Brian VanderBeek of the Modesto Bee was in the booth with me. Beek laughed. Haley grounded out on the next pitch, and then I said, "Brian will tell you why he's an admitted steroid user." Beek described the disease that Haley had, how much weight he lost, and had steroids were prescribed to him as part of the cure. I'd consciously held back in describing this disease earlier in the game because Beek told me about it, and the journalist in me didn't want to scoop Beek on his own information. Then we had some back-and-forth interchange about steroids and testing. I explained what a "whizzinator" is, and we had some laughs. I humbly thought it was a compelling slice of the broadcast, and a great way of "setting up" my broadcast partner.

3. In the eighth inning, I noticed that Max Scherzer was throwing a perfect game for the Visalia Oaks. Because I'm scraping for extra dollars, I write a weekly Cal League notebook for http://www.minorleaguebaseball.com/, which forces me to keep track of the other nine teams in the league. Scherzer is a first-round pick of Arizona in 2006, just signed before the one-year deadline for $4 million and some change, and made his pro debut the previous week. I knew all this because the notebook forces me to learn this stuff. Also know this because a high school buddy of mine tipped me off him about, since they both attended the University of Missouri. Otherwise, I'd be oblivious to the guy. As a result, I had all this information in my brain about Scherzer that I was able to say on the air. Didn't have to look it up. Hopefully, this background info meant more to people listening, rather than just hearing about a perfect game. That was preparation-based (and desperate for money-based) luck.

4. We had some fun too. Our good friend Zack Bayrouty, the Stockton Ports announcer, had a constant stream of attractive females saying hello to him in his booth (which is right next to our booth). So I mentioned this on the air, and complained how Greg and I have no female admirers, and how Z-Bay is putting us to shame in our own ballpark. It was a five-run game at the time, so we weren't neglecting critical moments. That wasn't lucky or preparation. That was just envy.

Let them hear you smile

2007-06-12T11:50:00.000-07:00

The headline is the biggest piece of advice that I took from my first coaching session. The other biggest lesson was, "it's not what you say; it's how you say it."

We talked about some of the most memorable play-by-calls, such as: Jack Buck's, "Go Crazy, People, Go Crazy!" after Ozzie Smith's game-winning home run in the 1985 playoffs; Al Michaels saying, "Do you believe in miracles?" after Team USA beat the Russians in the 1980 Olympics; and Jack's, "I don't believe what I just saw," after Kirk Gibson's home run beat Dennis Eckersley in Game 1 of the 1988 World Series.

What made those calls so memorable wasn't just what they said; it was how they were said. Using your voice -- going up and down, being incredulous, spontaneous, and empathic -- is critical to the success of a call.

Still, the hour didn't go as I thought. I was hoping to get feedback on my play by play. Instead, we focused on interviewing and I did a couple mock interviews by phone. It was odd, and I don't think the mock interviews were indicative of what I'm normally like doing interviews.

But it was still helpful. If nothing else, it made me realize that when I'm trying really hard to focus, I end up sounding wayyyyyy too serious. I need to sound more conversational, like I'm talking to a buddy.

Interviewing is truly an art form. It's the hardest thing to do in journalism. Most people take for granted how difficult it is, and laugh when they hear dumb questions. But ask anybody who has done it -- a little or a lot -- and they'll tell you it's a constant struggle to ask questions in a way that elicit the best answers.

Interviewing for newspapers is much different than interviewing on the radio or TV, which is something I'm constantly learning. For print, it's all about being informal, chatty, conversational. You don't want the subject to feel like they're being interviewed. For radio and TV, you need to be empathetic, concise with your words, and setup the subject best. I feel like I'm better than most at interviewing, but I'm still far from perfect.

Anyway, I hope the second session involves a critique of my play by play. After all, interviewing is important, but that's three minutes of my day. The play by play is three hours of my day.

By the way, I'm not ashamed to admit that I'm getting coached. Some of my broadcasting peers told me it was a waste of money. The way I see it, Tiger Woods has a coach. So does Roger Federer. Dan Patrick gets coached. They are the best at the professions. It seems silly that a journalist turned broadcaster would not get coached.

Predicting my critique

2007-06-12T07:26:00.001-07:00

In a few hours, I'll get the first of four professional critiques of how I'm actually doing in this career move. I mean, this is fun and all, but it would be good to know whether I'm any good.

I know that I'm not making a fool of myself. And that Jon Miller's job is safe. And that I'm (hopefully) not the worst announcer in the Cal League. And that I'm (probably) not the best in the league either. Considering I haven't received any specific feedback -- good or bad -- figured it was worth the investment. (Plus, I could use the tax writeoff.)

Eager and excited to get this feedback, and then apply it to games later tonight and throughout the rest of the season. In an attempt to self critique, and decide how much the professional critique is worth the investment, I've decided to make a list of things I'm expecting to hear.

1. I talk too fast too often.
2. It wouldn't hurt to stay a second or two behind the action, instead of exactly as it's happening, because it will allow room for "cleaner" calls that aren't as rushed.
3. Too repetitive coming out of each commercial break.

Submitted two games. One was nine innings solo when Modesto beat Visalia, 4-1, behind a complete-game effort by Brandon Hynick. The other was the six innings of play by play from one of the games at Stockton. Can't even remember which one, but I know it was a long game with lots of offense. Figured a pitchers duel and slugest, plus a solo game and working with a partner, would provide good contrasts for feedback.

Topics I'm most curious to hear:

1. Do I give the score often enough?
2. Do I give too many (or not enough) stats?
3. Do I "paint the picture" of the sun, the fielders, the ballpark, etc.?

I'll post the feedback when it's done.

Static feedback

2007-06-10T13:17:00.000-07:00

Found myself lacking interesting topics for the blog lately, which means one of three things.

1. I'm so horrible I've just gotten to used to being horrible.
2. I'm so incredibly talent I should be promoted to the majors today.

(or more likely)

3. The grind of 62 straight games has made the "new-ness" factor (if I'm allowed to make up a word) wear off, the games are starting to blend all together, I don't want to write about the same topic every day (especially technical difficulties), and a first-year broadcaster's life isn't really all that interesting once you get past the "holy cow I was nervous for my first game" thread.

One thing does come to mind from last night and Thursday's game. We weren't able to establish a "land line" connection, so we did the game via a cell phone comrex. See the post "cell of a debut" for more details on this. For whatever reason, the crowd mic comes blasting through my ears at record decibels through this cell phone comrex -- even when I barely had the crowd mic up at all. Don't know why, or how, but I swear my ears were ringing worse from the 3,749 fans in attendance last night than my ears rang after Games 6 and 7 -- combined -- in the 2002 World Series.

Between a 5-0 deficit in the first inning, and the crowd mic blasting me away, it was a game I'd rather forget. Considering our team lost 10-3, made three errors, and could have been charged with 2-3 more errors, they probably agree to forget it.

That's the beauty of baseball. Always a new game the next day to make you look great ... or sound dumb.

Knowing the audience

2007-06-08T23:45:00.000-07:00

The first rule I was taught in journalism was to know your audience. It makes a big difference in what you write. I have no clue who my audience is for this random blog of mine, but I do know my audience for our internet broadcasts. It's the friends and family of the players and coaches.

I know this for two reasons:

1, It's common sense.
2. I get emails from them and the proud mothers are eager to introduce themselves to me when they come to a game.

It's all very flattering, and the compliments are always good for the ego. Of course, I'm talking about their sons, so of course they're happy with me. Still, it's a little weird when a pitcher comes into a game, and I know the grandparents are listening intently to every word.

The radio audience is wide and vast. The only information they know about the players is what I tell them, so I feel like my job is just as much to inform them about who these players are, as it is to describe the game. I probably get a lot of accidental listeners on the radio because their car radio was left on AM 970 from an A's game, or one of our talk shows, and they listen a little. I'm trying to keep those listeners. I'm sure there's a few season ticket holders, especially the host families, who listen to every inning.

But the internet audience already knows everything about the players because they are related to them. Still not sure how that should change my approach to calling a game, or whether I should even be thinking about all this.

It's not the first time I've been accused of thinking too much. I should probably follow the legendary advice of Crash Davis from the movie, "Bull Durham," which was ... "Don't think. It can only hurt the team."

Totally distracted

2007-06-05T23:28:00.001-07:00

Always thought it was so cool the way the A's would use a highlight from Bill King or Ken Korach at the Coliseum -- either in pregame to recap the previous game, or during a game after a big play, or just after the game to show the highlights of the game -- and I wondered how it must feel to have 20-35,000 fans hear your call.

Well, now I kinda know ... at least, what it's like to have a couple thousand hear a call I make. It's weird. Very weird. It's both exhilirating and nerve-racking. I'm usually paranoid that it's a bad call and I'm going to sound like an idiot. Then I get self-conscious when I realize how many people are paying attention. Then I don't know how to react when people say something to me afterward.

Guess I'll get more practice at this. My cousin, the videoboard guru, is now incorporating the calls of myself and Greg Young into the highlights they show on the videoboard at home games. This includes pregame, the "save" of the game, and something after the game.

So during my open tonight, I was totally distracted talking because I heard myself over the PA system. During one half-inning, when I was talking to the internet audience instead of taking a break, I was totally distracted hearing myself over the PA. And then after the game, I was totally distracted for another reason ... the post-game victory song.

I'll gladly brag about recommending a somewhat-forgotten Santana song from the early 1980s titled, "Winning" and my cousin Grant used it, as soon as the final out was made. Totally pumped to hear the song, whatever I was saying I'm sure was nonsense because I was distracted by the victory song I recommended.

It's worth repeating

2007-06-05T14:13:00.001-07:00

One of my biggest pet peeves for radio and television is when the host/newsmaker/announcer says, "welcome back" to the audience. The audience didn't go anywhere. You went to a commercial.

When I come back to start an inning, after a commercial break, I try to rotate the first thing I say between something like, "top of the fourth, no score" or "Modesto leads 1-0 after two innings" and other phrases. But I've realized, after some self-critiquing lately, I get stuck saying the same thing too often.

Made a copy of all the "Jerry Weinstein" shows for our manager the other day. Listening to them quickly in the car, I realized how similar the beginning of almost every show was. I'd start with something like, "It's game two of a three-game series tonight between the Lancaster JetHawks and Modesto Nuts. Last night, Modesto lost 8-5, and Jerry, as we look back on last night's game ... "

This had me thinking how repetitiveness as a broadcaster. Certain phrases are natural and needed. But after two months in my career, I've started to get tired of hearing myself say certain phrases. One of them is, "that will do it for Modesto in the bottom of the seventh, but they scored a run .... "

Driving home last night after our game, the A's game was still on the radio, and I heard Ken Korach simple say, "that's it in the 10th" and just liked the simplicity. Also realized that I probably say, "throws to first base" every time on grounders to infielder. Heard Korach say, "flips to first" and liked that as another option -- especially for a second baseman.

Made me think about phrases and ways to describe plays. On the bus to San Bernardino on Thursday, I'm going to brainstorm a long list of ways to describe the same thing. I'll post my results.

Calling it down the middle

2007-05-31T23:59:00.000-07:00

Interesting balancing act for myself tonight. This was our first game against the Stockton Ports, the affiliate of the Oakland A's, so I had no shortage of information and stories about the players and the organization based on my three years covering the A's for The Oakland Tribune.

Eager to share this knowledge, and eager to think of anything else to talk about during a verrrrry lengthy game, I felt like I was talking more about the Ports than the Nuts. During one of the commercial breaks, I said this to Brian VanderBeek of The Modesto Bee. Brian told me it was only natural, and not to worry about it. He felt the same way a couple years ago, after the A's switched affiliates from Modesto to Stockton, because he knew the players in the Stockton clubhouse better than Modesto's.

Since Modesto and Stockton are close in proximity -- about 30 minutes away and our station can be heard in Stockton -- I hope the listeners didn't mind. Figure a lot of people are interested in both teams. A lot of people in the Central Valley are A's fans. Heck, our radio station is the Central Valley's home for the Oakland A's.

Still, it felt weird spending so much time talking about the opposition.

Another thought occurred to me driving home: did we spend too much time talking about how long the game was? and how ugly the game was?

Fifteen walks and five errors combined. Just under three hours and 45 minutes to complete. Certainly can't neglect these aspects of the game, or pretend it's not happening. Still, it's our job to entertain the listeners during such a blowout.

Myself, Greg Young and Beek had no trouble doing this, telling a bunch of stories and getting onto some great tangents. Did my best to not neglect the game and steer us back to the action -- or lack thereof -- in the game. In a lot of ways, it felt like doing a sports-talk show, during a baseball game.

A couple of times, I made sure to say something like, "but where else would we rather be than the ballpark?" when the discussion was about the length of the game. Or I mentioned once that sometimes a three-hour and 20-minute game can be beautiful because there's so much action. I always find it annoying when people getting paid to watch and talk about a sporting event complain about being there so long.

Didn't want to be "that guy," and hope I didn't come across that way.

The more I think about tonight, the more I realize how fun it was. The game was horrible, no doubt. But the broadcast was actually a lot of fun.

Sign of the times

2007-05-27T19:17:00.000-07:00

Promised myself I wasn't going to complain about Visalia's facilities, and I made it through a game without a complaint. It was actually fun broadcasting today's game outside. Temperature in the 80s. No wind blowing my papers everywhere. A big umbrella was above me, blocking the sun from doing bad things to the equipment -- and the back of my neck.

Between innings, one fan came over and asked for my autograph. Honest.

"Do you even know who I am?" I asked him.

"I just know you're the announcer," he replied.

Thought about signing it Vin Scully or Harry Caray or Jon Miller, but settled for my own name.

The first few road games are always an adjustment because I'm solo for nine innings. Likewise, when I get home, working with a partner becomes an adjustment for a game or two.

Today was a quick game. Lots of quick innings, which makes it tough to weave any stories into the game. I've been trying to think of ways to bring the free-flowing, conversation-that-might-go-anywhere style that Brian VanderBeek and myself usually have into a solo broadcast. Not easy though. Going solo for nine innings, I don't want too many stats, or overdo the placement of the defense, or rely on the out-of-town scoreboard. I want to weave stories and do a little of it all.

You need some long innings to do that. Brandon Hynick, our ace starting pitcher, gets so many quick innings because he throws so many strikes, that was impossible yesterday. After all, it took my four different half innings to get through the major league baseball out-of-town scoreboard.

Anyway, no complaints. It was "cow" day at Rec Park, so the fans brought lots of cowbells to the game. I wonder how it sounded on the radio. Visalia isn't the comfortable place to broadcast. But as long as it doesn't rain, it's all good.

Packing for Visalia

2007-05-27T07:39:00.000-07:00

Trying really hard to keep a positive attitude for this upcoming series in Visalia, which is not an easy task, especially at 7:45 on a Sunday morning. Bus leaves at 9:30 for about a three-hour ride. The game starts at 4 this afternoon.

In case you haven't read the blogs from the first trip to Visalia, here's the short version: no press box ... no roof ... froze one night ... sat in rain doing another game ... a bunch of drunks blocked part of my view in the last game and random people kept talking into my crowd mic ... oh yeah, and the hotel sucked. Beyond that, I loooooove Visalia.

At least packing isn't that hard. Four days. Three nights. Upper 90s is the expected high. Lower 60s is the low. Since the front office would prefer I wear a Nuts polo shirt every day, makes that decision easy. Throw in some shorts, a sweatshirt and shoes, and I'm done. I'll pack some workout shorts and shirt as well for the hotel, uhh, "gym" -- one treadmill and one stairmaster.

I need to find some paper weights and an umbrella for my outdoor "booth." The final game on Thursday is at 1 in the afternoon, and I'm sure the back of my neck will get cooked by the sun. At least I've packed my glove. Hopefully, I'll have time to shag some more flyballs in the outfield.

Don't forget to breathe. Very important.

2007-05-26T23:44:00.000-07:00

After two months, you'd think the surge of adrenaline would go away whenever I go on the radio, but it really hasn't. Tonight was another "joined in progress" game after Oakland A's baseball on AM 970, and maybe it was because I was going along smoothly in a normal broadcast, when all of a sudden the Modesto Nuts jingle gets pumped into headphones and I know that we're going from internet-only to live on the radio.

Quite the jolt or adrenaline rush. When this happens, the exact details of what's happening in the game become secondary. I try to recap what's happened in the game, and figure it's OK if I miss a pitch or two, as long as I keep up with actual plays.

Tonight, we went live in the middle of an inning. I'm pretty sure there was two outs in the bottom of the fifth inning, although my memory isn't so good. The San Jose pitching coach came to the mound within 30 second after we came on the radio, and that gave me the perfect chance to catchup the radio audience on what they'd missed.

Problem was, I was so amped with adrenaline, I was probably talking too fast. I'll have to listen again to be sure. Hopefully, I was still making sense. If nothing else, it wasn't healthy to say as much as I said without breathing.

After my recap, Brian VanderBeek -- our middle innings analyst from The Modesto Bee -- took a gigantic breath for me. He told me I can breathe now. It's like Beek is Miyagi-son from "The Karate Kid" for me: breath in, breath out, very important, Joshua-son.

Still need to work on my breathing, especially late in games. We went 12 innings tonight, and I felt afterward I was trying too hard to capture the perfect, dramatic, game-winning play. I think I've gotten much better at being laid back in the early innings, and not rushing my broadcast. I'm sure the "pacing" of my broadcast is still rushed at times, however, almost like I'm trying to do a baseball game with the rapid-fire intensity of a basketball game.

Using your voice to capture the drama is important, especially later in a baseball game. But since the game hung on every pitch from the eighth to the 12th, I was amping up on lots and lots of pitches, and felt totally exhausted at the end of the game. Oh yeah, as for that dramatic game-ending call ... the game ended on the most anti-climatic play possible ... a walkoff walk.

My friend David Feldman, a producer for A's baseball on TV, always told me what makes Ken Korach so good is his ability to go "low" at the really big moments -- and how that sounds so good. I know what Feldman means, but still have no clue how to do it myself.

Also had another thought tonight. This goes back to my post a few nights ago about how I could hear the San Jose announcer, Joe Ritzo, quite a bit because of how the press box is situated.

How much do the other announcers hear me?

Sure hope they don't leave town thinking they're glad that series is over, so they don't have to listen to me anymore. I really hope I wasn't overdoing it and distracting Joe. After the game tonight, Greg Young and I agreed we hear Joe more than any other announcers, but he's by no means a screamer. His voice just carries more and projects better.

We also agreed that, although we haven't heard all the announcers in the Cal League yet, we think Joe is the best so far.

Getting out of A ball

2007-05-24T22:57:00.000-07:00

Wish I had something interesting today or another lesson learned. But it was pretty much a nothing day. Modesto was clobbered 11-4. The broadcast wasn't fantastic. Wasn't bad. Felt it was solid. Confessed my "no doubt about it" from last night on the air. A few technical problems early in the broadcast were irritating, but it was just one of those days.

Now that I think about it, this was actually another day that makes me glad to no longer be a newspaper reporter. Watching, or broadcasting, a stinker of a game like that is one thing. But as a writer, you still need to craft out two stories that are compelling to readers. Sometimes it's about trends or what's wrong with a pitcher, and there's storylines available. Other days, it's just one of those days, and those are the hardest game stories to write.

One thing did get me thinking. In my daily chat with manager Jerry Weinstein, for the pregame show, we talked a lot about the hardest jumps to make in the minors. Jerry felt the jump from Single-A to Double-A is the hardest, outside of the jump to the majors. Double-A is considered the stud league. Only real prospects are in Double-A. Most players don't make it out of A-ball.

Makes me wonder if the same applies to broadcasters.

Plenty of doubt

2007-05-23T23:16:00.000-07:00

If it's possible to will a baseball over a fence from the broadcast booth, I did it tonight. Jose Valdez was at the plate in the sixth inning and hit a drive into right-center field. Sure, I'd like to see the kid connect on his first home run of the season. But my "willing" the ball over the fence had everything to do with my premature call.

Valdez crushed it. Loud crack off the bat. Ball exploded off his bat. Can't recall my exact words, but I know for certain that I said "there's no doubt about that one ... "

Except there was doubt.

Pretty much as soon as those words left my mouth, there was tons of doubt.

In fact, outright fear. The ball doesn't travel well to right-center at John Thurman Field in Modesto. It's deep too, about 375 feet, although players think it's deeper. The ball seemed to be moving in slow motion. I debated whether to say on the air there was doubt, or some doubt, but decided to just stick with my call -- and pray like crazy.

My stomach was turning. Palms were sweaty. I was calling upon the ghosts of broadcasters past to blow that ball over the fence. (All this, mind you, took place in about 2.5 seconds.)

Sure enough, it went over. Barely. Nonetheless, I'll take it. The audience didn't know any differently (well, unless they read this) and it sounds great on tape. It was another lesson learned. Don't jump the gun. Make sure there's no doubt if you say "there's no doubt."

The Modesto Bee's Brian VanderBeek, who was in the booth with me at the time, even sold my call a little by saying how Valdez got all of it. Might have even reiterated there was no doubt. When the inning ended, Brian asked me, "did you have any doubt?"

Hell yeah.

Remarkable game tonight. I'm still pumped. Great game and great broadcast. Puts me in a much better mood, especially after last night's fiasco. No technical troubles at all.

Modesto was down 7-0. Rallied to take an 8-7 lead, starting with Daniel Carte's two-run triple. San Jose re-tied it. Modesto won it 9-8 on Jeff Kindel's RBI double. Other than nearly blowing the Valdez home run call, I thought myself and broadcast partner Greg Young had great calls of the big hits in the comeback. Brian and I broke down the options for San Jose, if/once the Oakland A's move to Fremont.

Greg interviewed the two heroes on the field, Jeff Kindel and Daniel Carte, and hustled back to the booth to cue up highlights of the big hits in the game.

Sure felt like a major-league broadcast.

Another cool thing about tonight: these are the games I couldn't enjoy as a newspaper reporter. These nights require massive re-writing, and torn emotions. Especially when I covered the A's, my childhood favorite team, the fan in me wanted to be pumped with the crowd and players and savior the victory. The objective journalist in me couldn't do that, and didn't have time to do that. Not to mention, it's hard to do justice to a comeback like this in print, especially on deadline.

But now, as a broadcaster, it's my job to get pumped and go crazy -- a controlled and well-spoken crazy, of course -- so that my voice (and crowd mic) tell the story of what's happening.

The game ended two hours ago as I type this. I've still got adrenaline pumping through my body. I call this "a sober buzz" because I can't think of another way to describe it.

My alarm clock will go off in four hours. Still have a morning show to do. Need to get to bed. But no idea how I will sleep when I'm still so pumped.

Can you hear me now?

2007-05-22T22:55:00.001-07:00

Never felt in sync tonight. It was a weird night. It was a night of being able to hear too much, and not being able to hear enough.

The way the press box is situated at John Thurman Field, the visiting and radio booths are right next to each other. The walls aren't thick, so depending on how loud each announcer is, and how loud the crowd is, you can usually hear each other a little. It usually only occurs when I stop talking and the crowd is quiet. Usually. Over the weekend, I never heard the Inland Empire once. Maybe he's just quiet or the crowd was so loud.

But tonight, it seemed like I heard Joe Ritzo, the San Jose Giants radio announcer, the entire night. Especially in the first couple innings. Not only did I hear him, but it was crazy how often we were saying, or about to say, the exact same things. I think Joe's a helluva announcer and wish I sounded as silky smooth as he does, so I figured it must not be a bad thing. Still, it felt like I was copying off the kid next to me in class.

I'd be ready to say something and hear him say it, so then I wouldn't say it. Or I would go out of my way to say something totally different than what he might say. For instance, whenever I heard him giving the stats of a certain hitter, I'd talk about the shadows on the field and what impact they are having. If he discussed the standings, I'd describe the pitcher's mannerisms on the mound. As a result, I never felt comfortable with what I was saying because -- being the contrarian that I am -- I found myself saying something different just to be different.

So I could hear Joe. And he could hear me.

But few people could hear me on the internet. The reason is our website was down. Not sure for how long or when it came back. Normally, by first pitch, we have 15-25 people listening. (The Live365 service we use tells us exactly how many are online and the peak of people listening, but it doesn't say the number of unique listeners.) Tonight, we had two people at first pitch. Must admit, it rattled me a little. Even though it shouldn't have rattled me at all. We usually average 25-35 a night, and we've hit as high as the 50s -- which I'm told is really good for a minor league broadcast. Our peak tonight was 12. I'm sure people gave up on us when the website was down.

Then we were supposed to join in progress with AM 970 ESPN Radio, after the A's game ended. The way this works is I get a phone call to my cell. When I feel it vibrate, I know we're 5-6 minutes away from joining with the radio audience. Then with about 15 seconds left, I get the radio station pumped into my headphones. That's my cue and I know when to start talking once the jingle is over. I hear all the commercials and know when to start talking again.

But tonight, I couldn't hear the engineer back in the studio, and I couldn't hear the commercials.

Don't know when we joined in progress or what was the first thing I said. It wasn't the opening I prefer. We used a cell phone and a timer to make sure we were clean coming in and out of breaks. That was fine. But it was all just weird.

The good news is Greg Young, my broadcast partner, did two great interviews live on the field after the game. As the Nuts walked off the field, he asked closer Andrew Johnston to wait a few minutes, which he did, then Greg grabbed catcher Neil Wilson. So back-to-back interviews, which I thought made our postgame show kick butt.

So to recap: I heard Joe. Joe heard me. The internet audience didn't hear me. And I didn't hear the radio station.

Gone. Outta here. Tell it goodbye. See ya.

2007-05-21T17:02:00.000-07:00

The most-asked question I received upon telling my fellow newspaper writers about my career switch was, "what's going to be your home run call?" Baseball announcers are supposed to have these great home runs calls.

The great Lon Simmons, who is in the Hall of Fame, would say, "you can tell it goodbye!"

Duane Kuiper of the Giants is famed for saying, "it is high ... it is deep ... it is outtttaaa here!" Except you need that in caps with a lot more exclamation points to get the full effect.

I could make a list of more, but why bother when somebody else already did?

My boss happens to hate, "SSSEEYA!" I even had to promise, on the air during his drive-time afternoon talk show, that I would never use that one.

This is my standard response to my home run call: If Bill King didn't need one, I don't need one. Besides, I want to focus on the fundamentals. What's the count? Where are the infielders? Are the shadows a factor? What's the score? I want to crawl before I walk.

I haven't had a ton of practice with home runs. The Nuts hit six in one game back on April 13, but Modesto is third-to-last in longballs. They hit three on Saturday night and I'm feeling pretty good about nailing all three of the calls. Once I figure out how to post sound bytes, I'll add them.

Driving to work at 4 a.m. this morning, I got to thinking more about home run calls. Pretty much all of them are taken. Now, it's pretty much "it's gone!" or "that is outta here!" After that, you risk saying something really stupid in order to be different.

My good friends on the Angels beat entertain themselves during the season by playing something called "the late game." There's an elaborate point sytem, but it basically boils down to the first person to say "late" on a home run. They thought I should use "late" for my home run call. I actually practiced it in the car this morning ... "to the track ... to the wall ... looking up ........... late!"

Didn't work.

The other dumb idea involves a popular baseball phrase these days: "he gone." Although to get the right affect, it's like a hybrid mix of hip hop and country. So I practiced that one too ... "to the track ... to the wall ... looking up ...................... he gone!"

Didn't work either.

I'll stick to fundamentals for now.

Trust your words, idiot

2007-05-20T17:16:00.000-07:00

Anybody know if there's a mind trick I can use so that I trust the words I'm about to say? I noticed during today's game that I have the extremely annoying habit of changing my mind on what word to use just as I'm starting to say the first word.

It happened at least twice, both times in the exact same context, and I'm still pissed at myself.

The pitch was a simple ball out of the strike zone. No contact made. The pitch was taken. But instead of saying "misses outside," I wanted to use, "misses way outside." Except that just as I started to say "way," I changed my mind and said "well."

So what listeners heard was a hybrid cross of both. It probably sounded more like "whale" with a funky cajun accent.

Thought about this driving home. The more I think about it, the more I realize I'm doing it a lot. Most of the time, when I change my mind on a word to use, the two words don't blend together. But I still find this a personally annoying habit of mine. I need to break it. I need to committ to a word and say it.

What if Bristol is listening?

2007-05-20T16:12:00.000-07:00

Between one of the innings today, my broadcast partner Greg Young asked something that I'd been trying not to think about -- which means I've been thinking of it every day.

"What if Eric Young Sr. is at ESPN Headquarters in Bristol, and he's listening to our broadcast to hear how his son is doing?"

We started to think about how great this would be. Maybe Chris Berman asks him what he's listening to, or maybe one of the head honcho decision makers is listening. We started to think about cool it is that maybe some people at ESPN are listening to us online.

Then I had a sobering thought ... what if they are listening, and they think we really suck?

Best broadcast yet

2007-05-19T23:49:00.000-07:00

Pretty fired up about tonight's game and broadcast. Best of the season so far. It all came together. The game was compelling. It was an electric crowd, really into every pitch, and that background noise does three things.

1. It fires me up.
2. It creates great background noise.
3. It allows me to raise my voice when something big is happening, so it doesn't sound like I'm screaming over dead silence for no apparent reason.

There was some dramatic moments that I handled well. Three home runs were hit and nailed my call on all three.

In fact, I'd say the last two games were our best two broadcasts. The three innings with Brian VanderBeek, our analyst from The Modesto Bee, went really well. Felt we covered a lot of interesting topics, got off onto some good tangents, then I brought us back to the game and we didn't neglect the game.

I'll give Friday a B and Saturday a B+. Even with my ego, I just can't give myself an A or even an A- minus.

But regardless of the grade, I'm pumped. These nights remind me that I made the right decision in this career switch. The key is doing this every night, not just when there's big crowds and compelling action.

Hank Greenwald always said something to the effect of, "anybody can do a great job on a great game. It's the truly great announcer that can make a boring game sound interesting." Hank was the announcer for a long time on some really bad Giants teams, so he had lots of practice doing it. And he was extremely good at it.

Woke up this morning

2007-05-18T14:33:00.000-07:00

The body wasn't created to wake up at 3:45 a.m., especially when you go to bed around midnight. I'm still not used to it. Probably never will be. I'm usually in a fog for a few minutes when the alarm goes off. I'm not a "push the snooze button" guy. Don't have the time. I literally roll myself out of bed, splash water on my face, throw on a hat, and drive to the radio station.

This morning, however, I needed to lay in bed for a few minutes to comprehend things.

I guess my dream was the result of watching the latest Sopranos episode, and reading a book about the series. Anyway, onto my dream.

The details are fuzzy, like most dreams, but the jist is that somebody was trying to shoot me just before I went on the air to broadcast a game. So it was my job to try and shoot the other person first. The rub was, the only way I could do this is by wearing my headphones, because somebody was telling me where to go, where to stop, and when to shoot.

I don't own a gun. Haven't shot one in over 20 years. No desire to change any of that, all of which made this one of the most intense dreams of my life. Right before "the final sequence" was about to go down, the alarm went off. My heart was racing like crazy. I needed a good 5-10 minutes, staring into darkness in my room, to comprehend what happened.

Even an hour later, as I did my first sports update at 5:10 a.m., I was still in a fog from the dream.

The other No. 22

2007-05-16T12:38:00.000-07:00

Talking for three hours requires a lot of concentration. I have borderline ADD, which makes this difficult. A baseball game provides many times to sound like a dummy. Mine came in the seventh inning last night. The mistake was simply. Didn't flip my scorebook over. Looked on the mound. Saw the No.22 was making warmup pitches. I'd just been told a No.22 was warming up in the San Jose Giants bullpen. Figured it was a new pitcher. Started talking all about No.22, where he's from, his height and weight, his stats this year. The whole thing. About 30 second into this diatribe, I realized that Wayne Fultin couldn't be the new pitcher for the San Jose Giants ... because the San Jose Giants were batting. Ooops. It was still Brandon Hynick, the same pitcher for Modesto who had started the game.

Thought about pretending like this never happened. Instead, I mocked myself on air.

Then I said, "let me try this again."

I paused a second and started again.

"Bottom of the seventh from San Jose Municipal Stadium. Modesto leads 4-0 and Brandon Hynick is out for his seventh inning of work ... "

Woooo .... I got ruined

2007-05-15T23:58:00.000-07:00

Learned a valuable lesson today about complaining to the boss. Found out this afternoon that yesterday, the guys at the radio station had some fun with somebody I said during Sunday's broadcast.

It was a wild, dramatic game. Modesto won 8-7, but not before Lake Elsinore scored three runs in the bottom of the ninth inning, had the tying run at third, and the winning run at first, when the final out was a rocket back to the mound caught by the pitcher. Upon describing this play and the final outcome, I was exhausted and in need of a breath.

Didn't mean to do what I did. Didn't want to do what I did. But in my desire to catch my breath and use that to indicate what type of game it was, I ended up doing a "woooooooooooooo" instead of a quick "whew." My "wooooooooooooo" reminded some of pro wrestler "Nature Boy" Ric Flair. At least, that's what one of my colleague at AM 970 ESPN Radio, thought when he heard it. (I'm withholding certain names, until I get their permission to use them). My colleague replayed the clip about 20 times, or so I'm told. Then my boss, in the final segment of his show, admittedly with no material left, played it again. And again. And again. Plenty more laughs at my expense.

Against my better judgment, I sent a text message from the bus to my boss that said, "talking shit about me again? You're totally and absolutely dead to me." (For the record, we have the type of relationship that we frequently declare we are dead to each other. It's not literal.)

The boss asked if I can come on the radio at 5:20. I figure he wanted a segment on the Nuts and maybe on the A's. I'm wrong. He took a page from the Howard Stern Radio Handbook. That's the page that declares that any hard feelings -- real or imagined, half or fake, or anything in between -- must be discussed live on the radio.

The "woooooooooooo" gets played another 20 times in about five minutes. I have three choices.

1. Hang up.
2. Continue to be pissed off.
3. Play along and laugh at myself.

I chose the third option. I mixed in a few lame attempts to give context to my "wooooo" and justify it. Tried to change the subject. Nothing worked.

In short, I was totally ruined on the radio. For a second straight day. With colleagues like these, who needs friends?

Wasn't feeling too good as I walked back to Modesto's batting cage. They were wrapping things up. One of the players, outfielder Cole Garner, walked up to me and asked, "why is my mom asking if my face is alright?"

The night before, Garner was out on a play at the plate. It looked to me like he was tagged out in the face. That's how I described it. We don't have instant replays in the minors. Cole's mom was listening online. She called him after the game to make sure his face was alright. Cole wasn't too happy. He wasn't too pissed. More like curious and maybe a little annoyed. I explained that's what I saw, it happened fast, and I don't have replays.

So now I'm feeling like a total jackass. Nice way to get ready for the game.

Early in the game, I was awful. I mean it. Awful. I'll admit it. Can't talk. Stumbling over my words. I'm saying ball when it's a strike. I'm saying outside, when it's inside. I'm saying left field when it's right field. I'm just a total mess. At the end of an inning, I take off my headphones, turn off my microphone, and declare, "holy cow, that was horrendous."

In San Jose, the visiting announcer shares a small "booth" with Andre, the scoreboard operator. Andre looks at me and agrees.

"That was really bad," Andre tells me. "You even said the score wrong at the end of the inning. You said San Jose is up 5-2, instead of Modesto."

Great. I realized that I was still rattled from the afternoon. Andre is a former play by play announcer, and he's ready to pump me back up though, just like a coach. "It's alright. Shake it off. It's a long game. We all have bad innings. Settle down. Come back strong this inning."

I stand up and stretch. Shake my head. Try to loosen my shoulders. Drink some water. My first reaction is to curse my colleagues and blame them for "getting in my head." Then I realize how lame that is. I need to be mentally tougher. I need to be a pro. If a player melted down from what a heckler said, or a talk-show host said on the radio, I'd ruin him in print.

(OK, as a beat writer, it's not my job to ruin somebody in print. I might mention some of these details and let the reader draw the conclusion. But I'd rip him over drinks that night at the bar after the game.)

The two-minute inning break ended before I knew it. I started over. It's a grind, but the broadcast gets better. I get back into the flow of the game. My mistakes are minimal, and I'm probably the only one who notices them.. It's still in my head a little. I'm still pissed, but I'm now pissed at myself for getting rattled.

At the top of the eighth inning, I get a hunch. Daniel Carte is going to hit a home run. Not sure where it came from, but I felt it. So I told myself to really focus and be ready for a home run. Sure enough, on the second pitch, Carte goes deep. I nail the call.

"GREAT CALL!" Andre writes to me on a sheet of scratch paper.

A little redemption. A little comeback of my own. And a couple big lessons learned.

Don't bitch to a boss who has an afternoon talk show.

Don't let an embarassing moment get in your head.

Issues wit te laptop

2007-05-12T13:01:00.000-07:00

An email to my bosses:

Fellas, just an FYI, but tis keyboard on tis laptop as a bi issue. You see, te letters tat are between te F and J do not work. Tats wy teres so many typos in tis email. In addition, te backspace doesnt work and te sinle and double apostropys do not work eiter.

I first noticed tis problem a few days ao. It came back witin a couple ours. But it appened aain Friday mornin (temporarily) and now as occurred aain today and its remainin a problem. I took te laptop to a computer store on Friday. To order a new keyboard would take at least tree days, if not more. Tats not realistic for us.

I also ad tem briefly look at te wireless connection. Te connection is fine. Te problem exists on some leve wit te laptop, but tey cant tell to wat extent until tey spend serious time wit it. Te bottom line is tis macine is becomin more and more useless by te day.

Te wireless sinal ere at Lake Elsinore was cuttin out over and over durin Fridays ame. Its ard to broadcast a ame wen Im constantly lookin at te computer to see if its workin, ten tryin to troublesoot as te ame is oin on.

I hate vague positive feedback

2007-05-10T12:14:00.000-07:00

Somebody told me, "you're sounding really good. Keep it up."

Didn't know what to say. Never know what to say after a compliment -- other than "thanks" -- but this was really awkward, because what I really want to say is, "really? What specifically sounds good?"

Actually, what I really, really want to say is, "I know that overall I'm sounding good. But give me something specific that's bad."

Generic compliments are the worst. They don't help. I have a healthy enough ego to know that I'm sounding good. I'd have already quit if I sucked. But I'm only going to get better if I get told something specific that I'm doing wrong, or that's annoying, or isn't clear.

So if you listen to a game, and feel like giving me feedback, do me a favor.

1. Tell me, "I liked the part of the game when you .... "
or
2. Tell me, "Why in the world did you say ..... ? That was dumb and made no sense."

I'll like you a lot more and it will help me a lot more.

Happiness is Visalia in my rear-view mirror

2007-05-04T01:19:00.000-07:00

Okay, I have a new outlook on games at Visalia and Bakersfield. I'm no longer going to worry about a so-called perfect broadcast, or anything even resembling it. I'm going to do the best I can, but I'm going to lower my expectations to a point that it just doesn't matter. I just want to grind through each game, not think about it afterward, and move onto the next ballpark.

Tonight, there was a loud rapping sound during the middle of a game. Thought it was somebody setting off firecrackers. I was later told it was gunshots by a car as it drove by an apartment complex. Still not sure if that's true. Either way, it's just not fun. It's hard to get comfortable here.

It was also dollar beer night. The crowd was pretty tanked. A group of six guys spent most of the game at the top of the stands, just in front of me. I was high enough that I could see over them, for the most part, but I had to bob and weave a few times. I thought about telling them "down in front," but realized drawing attention to me wasn't good.

Besides, these guys looked like they were looking for trouble. It's bad enough that all the sober people -- or drunks paying attention -- see the crowd mic as they walk by, and feel the need to say something directly into it. There's no security around me. The last thing I need is a bunch of drunk dudes who think it's amusing to mess with me.

So I don't say a word. The drunks come and go. The gunshots or firecrackers are behind me. It's freezing cold again. It's super dark.

Happiness is Visalia in the rear-view mirror.

Oh yeah, and the boss not making me work tomorrow morning from 4-9 a.m. at the radio station.

Blame it on the rain

2007-05-02T23:31:00.000-07:00

Remember yesterday's warm-and-fuzzy story about how charming life in the minor leagues is, even when it sucks? Forget it. I freakin' hate Visalia.

Tonight, I broadcasted a game in the rain. In the fucking rain. You've got to be fucking shitting me. I'm trying to avoid cursing in the blog, but I don't think you can truly comprehend what I was thinking unless I swear this time. All I could think the entire game was, "you've got to be shitting me. This is not happening. You've got to be shitting me."

It didn't rain hard enough to stop the game, but it rained pretty much non-stop the final five innings. Remember, I'm outdoors. No roof. What did I do? Put a towel over the equipment. Kept my scorebook under the table. Used no notes or any reference books. Just sat in the rain, got drenched, and broadcasted a game.

You've got to be shitting me.

It will be funny one day in the future. I guess it's funny now. I hope this is worth it. I hate Visalia. I love my job. Most of the time.

A day in the life of the majors

2007-05-02T01:08:00.000-07:00

Shortly after sending out "A day in the life in the minors" -- it was originally a mass email to my friends and family -- my friend David Feldman responded with his own slice-of-day posting about life in the majors. Feldman is the associate producer for A's baseball on KICU-TV. Here it is:

On Monday I arrived at the A's charter flight to Boston, and was quickly greeted by a Airline worker who took my bag to be loaded on the plane. After a very quick security check, boarded the tricked out 757 with nothing but first class seats and was offered a cold beverage by a very cute flight attendant. On my way to my own row, I picked up a very tasty breakfast sandwich and a candy bar for later.

Twenty minutes after take off (none of that tray tables up, or electronics off) I was offered my choice of lunch: Chicken Cordon Blue, Beef tips, or a cheese burger. I ordered off the menu and had a very nice peanut butter and jelly sandwich. After arriving in Boston, we were bussed directly to our 5-Star Sheraton hotel and picked up my room key which was waiting for me on a table, along with snacks and beverages.

I enjoyed a wonderful dinner at Legal Seafoods, including a tremendous bottle of wine. When I returned to my private room my luggage was waiting for me. Today, I watched an amazing game from one of the most storied ballparks in baseball history and capped the night off with a night of bowling.

And of course, everything will be paid for by someone other than me. (Editor's note: ahhh, I remember the good ol' days of an expense account.)

Now I just have to ask if I can shag balls.

My first reaction: okay, even if I'm not on the team charter, why did I give up that life again?

My second reacton: oh yeah, because this is still more fun, and I'm following my dream.

A day in the life of the minors

2007-05-01T23:46:00.000-07:00

Today was the ultimate “only in the minors” type of day at Visalia. Recreation Park in Visalia is about 60-something years old and pretty much needs to be imploded. There is no visitors radio booth. I’m on a table next to the press box underneath a Bud Light canopy. I’m just above the crowd, so the folks in the closest rows can hear every word (no seven-second delay either). A fairly small crowd, so I’m self conscious as it is, knowing they can probably hear every word – especially if Modesto does something good and I go crazy.

But first, rewind to batting practice. The daily "Jerry Weinstein" show is recorded, edited, and ready to be fired from the laptop. My lineups are in the scorebook. My stats are next to the lineup names. We have a pitcher doing a “simulated game” before batting practice. Back in my days as a newspaper beat writer, this would mean standing around, taking notes, charting or counting pitches, talking to the pitcher, and pitching coach, and hitters afterward, and making a lead note out of it.

Instead, I was in the outfield shagging flyballs. Yes, I was shagging flies. Not because I had to, or was asked to, but because I asked if it was OK because I thought it would be cool to do -- and it was.

Extremely cool.

Granted, the first ball hit at me in right-center was a rope, I broke in, heard a reliever yell “back” and felt it whiz over my head and felt like a total schmuck for mis-judging the ball so badly. But I settled down and caught four balls in all, and one was a damn fine running catch if I do say so myself. It nearly took the glove off my hand too. I choked on two others I should have caught and missed cutting off a couple balls in the gap. Damnit.

But I didn’t get conked in the head, didn’t hit any of the pitchers while throwing the ball back into the dude on bucket patrol for the day, didn’t totally humiliate myself, and had a blast. Just as I took the field, Elton John's, "Tiny Dancer" was being played over the ballpark's speakers.

Felt like it was my own "Almost Famous" moment. Definitely the highlight of the season.

Then the game started. We didn’t get connected with the radio station until well past we were supposed to go on the air. (Fortunately, it was an internet-only broadcast.) They started the game almost two minutes early too. I had to cutoff the manager show early because the game was starting. During the broadcast, in the middle of an inning, I somehow ordered a bottle of water from a waitress when I thought it was free.

When I pulled out a five and motioned for change, so I could tip her, I was handed $1.25 back. So I guess the waters aren’t free or else that was a helluva tip. I was going to ask about this, but I was on the air. The equipment manager sent me a text message in the fifth asking what sandwich I wanted from Togo’s. I managed to type “r beef. wheat. 6.” during a half inning.

Doubt I missed a pitch. Doing a broadcast outdoors wasn’t too bad when the sun was out … then the sun went down, the wind kicked up, then reallllly kicked up, and I froze my butt off the last 3-4 innings. There’s no lights above me, so it was like broadcasting in the dark. I could barely see a thing in my scorebook.

Notes to self: bring a jacket tomorrow, bring morepaper weights, and bring a flashlight.

As I’m walking to the bus quickly – so I didn’t get left, like I did Saturday night in the ghetto part of San Bernardino (think tattoo shops and churches with metal bars) – the lady at the concession stands asks if I’m with Modesto. When I say yes, she stuffs my arms with about 25 slices of pizza. So I hop on the bus and suddenly become the most popular radio announcer in the Cal League, walking down the aisle and passing out cold pizza to hungry ballplayers.

Later I’m back in the hotel room. The wireless isn’t working. I can’t post my game wrapup to the Nuts website. I’m watching the A’s rally at Fenway Park on ESPN. Instead of crafting a story about this for a couple hundred thousand readers, I simply get to enjoy my boyhood team rally for a win.

We’re staying at the Lamplighter here in Visalia. I have a roommate … it’s the Togo’s gathering clubbie. The players are just outside dropping off their uniforms because they wore them on the bus back to the hotel. They didn’t shower at the ballpark because only two of the showers there work. I’m not sure what we’ll do after Thursday’s game, considering we are bussing back to Modesto (a three-hour ride) immediately after the game. That could smell really bad.

At least I’m catching up on my movie watching on these bus trips. Casino Royale and Déjà vu was our viewing material Monday afternoon from San Bernardino toVisalia. We saw the new version of The Natural when coming back from San Jose a few weeks ago. Cheezy to watch it on a bus of baseball players, but fitting and that made it extra cool.

This was the day before I decided that an extra 90 minutes of sleep was worth driving myself from Modesto to San Jose. Felt pretty good about my decision until after the game, when I got to my car, and saw where a foul ball hit my front windshield and the broken glass spidering throughout the window. There does 300 bucks that I don't have.

I must admit, there are times I wonder what in the world I was thinking with this career move. There are other times when I just think that I’ll appreciate the major leagues even more when I get back there.

Then there are other moments that I savior, like my running catch in the outfield during batting practice today, when a player comes up to me after the game and says his uncle enjoyed hearing me call the game on the internet, when the manager looks at me after our daily pregame show and says “that was a good one” and later requests a copy of every show to date, or when I get tiny little goosebumps hearing my own call of the final out of our pitcher’s two-hit, complete-game shutout Monday.

I have no idea if I’m really any good at this. But I’m sure having fun doing it.

At least, I’m having fun when I’m not freezing my butt off from an outdoor press box, while somehow ordering a water and text messaging my dinner order during the middle of an inning.

I can see clearly now

2007-04-20T22:08:00.000-07:00

About a year ago, I went to the eye doctor to have my vision checked. Figured my inability to tell the difference between a 6, 8, 9 and 0 on the scoreboards at night was an issue. This was back when I was a newspaper reporter.

The eye doctor didn't think my vision was that bad. I was fitted for glasses. His recommendation was to wear the glasses at night when I was driving home from games. Did it a few times. It made my head hurt. When I looked into lights, my vision got blurry and I got scared. So I took the glasses out of my car, put them somewhere in my room, and forgot about them.

Today, I went through my moving boxes and found the glasses. Put them in my laptop bag. Out of nowhere, in the fifth inning, I put them on. It was weird. Just feeling glasses around my face was weird. How they rubbed against the headphone was weird.

But the weirdest part was being able to see. I could read all the letters in the outfield fence signs. Used to think it was common to not read them. The numbers on the scoreboard were crystal clear. Wow. What a difference.

I'm going to keep wearing my glasses when I'm on the air.

I better not cry

2007-04-20T11:29:00.000-07:00

Today is Alumni Day at my high school. They invite back alums each year to speak to the seniors about their careers and try to give the kids some inspiration. This will be my eighth straight year attending. It's fun going back to Foothill High, even if there's fewer and fewer familiar faces every year. The alums speak to two classes and it's pretty much an open forum to say anything you want to kids aged 15-17 for 45-50 minutes.

As I left Modesto for Pleasanton, about an hour drive, I thought about how what I've said each year to the kids is the story of my career. My first year, in 2000, I was 26 years old and covering a major league baseball team for the first time. Pretty much had no idea what I was doing, but I faked it well. Couldn't contain the smile on my face. I pretty much bragged to the kids about how cool my job is, and why I'm the luckiest guy ever.

The next few years, the focus was the book I wrote about Barry Bonds, the pre-steroids book titled, "This Gracious Season: Barry Bonds & The Greatest Year in Baseball." It's about the 73-homer season that broke Mark McGwire's single-season home run record. (I still have copies if you want to buy one. So does Amazon.)

By year four, my tone wasn't as enthusiastic. Still enjoyed the job, but the grind of traveling everywhere started to show. It was as much job as it was fun. By year five, it was a brief return to enthusiasm because I switched from the Giants beat to the A's beat -- so it was about seeing new ballparks and new cities, comparing the differences in the two organizations, and which one I preferred.

Last year, my third on the A's beat and seventh overall, I'd just returned a couple days earlier from a job interview with The Seattle Times about covering the Seattle Mariners. Thought the interviews -- there was eight -- went extremely well. Felt very confident I would be offered the job. So confident, I started to have serious doubts about moving away from home. Yes, I love Seattle. One of my favorite cities in the league. But I loved San Francisco, it was my home, and I'd be going a place where I didn't know anybody. I actually used the two classes to get the kids advice, talk to them about what's most important to life, and have them decide if they'd take the job. I gave them all the financial data, personal information (I'd just met a chick who I really liked), etc.

Never got the Seattle job, as it turned out.

A bummer at the time, but now I feel fortunate. No way I try getting into broadcasting after a few months in Seattle.

So this year, I figured I'd talk to the kids about the choices you make in life regarding your career. It dawned on me there's three types of job.

1. Jobs that pay really well.
2. Jobs that you love.
3. Jobs that provide flexible hours.

Most people only get one of three options. Some get two. Very few are provided all three. I started to practice what I would say, give the examples of doctors and professional athletes, the hours away, the satisfaction gained, and all that good stuff.

I decided my overall message would be an inspirational one. I wanted to tell the kids, "you can do anything you want in life. Don't let anybody tell you that you can't. Not your parents. Not your friends. Not your teacher. And most of all, don't EVER tell yourself that you can't do something. Find a reason why you can, instead of a reason why you can't. It might not be easy. It might take awhile. You might have to make major sacrifices, like moving from San Francisco to Modesto, taking a massive pay cut, and waking up at 3:45 a.m. every morning after going to bed around midnight. But if you want it bad enough, you won't mind doing it."

As I practiced this, I felt myself getting choked up and water forming in my eyes.

Uh oh.

Not good.

I better not freakin' cry in front of these damn kids.

A crack in my outlook

2007-04-19T23:57:00.000-07:00

The rule in the California League is if the teams are located less than 100 miles apart, you commute every day. Anything over 100 miles, you spend the night in hotels. This is done to save money. In Modesto, we commute to two cities. Stockton is real close, about a 30-minute drive away. San Jose is right on the cusp of the 100 miles. I think it's 99.4 miles, although it's probably 93 miles.

That means a two-hour drive, each way, for three days in a row. These daily trips are more draining than a seven-hour bus ride to Lake Elsinore. We left Modesto at 1:30 Tuesday and Wednesday, which means leaving home at 12:30 to get lunch for the bus and arrive on time.

Since I work mornings from 4-9 a.m., and try to sleep from 10 to 2 p.m., this cuts into my nap time. Laugh all you want about a grown man needing his daily nap time, but remember that I got home after midnight each night and wake up at 3:45 a.m. -- and your body can only operate on 3-4 hours of sleep for so long.

Anyway, today I chose to skip the bus, sleep an extra hour, and drive myself to San Jose. The entire game is on the radio and I want to be at my best. This seemed like a tremendous decision. Feeling pretty good about it as I depart Modesto, not tired at all. Game went smoothly. Thought I had a good call. Packed up the equipment and walked to my car, which I parked across the street from San Jose Municipal Stadium.

Feeling even better, knowing that I'm leaving 10-20 minutes before the bus will leave, and I can drive faster than a bus. I'll get home sooner, and get to bed sooner. It's all good. I'm a genius.

Then, I see it.

My windshield.

It's smashed. The landing place of the baseball is visible. I can see the blue skid mark from the Cal League logo and the imprint of the seams. The place where the baseball made contact is intact, but everywhere around it there's cracked glass. It spiders all over the windshield.

You've got to be kidding me. This is what I get for driving myself for an extra hour of sleep? Like I really have the money for a new windshield.

Former writer goes Nuts for broadcasting

2007-04-17T13:57:00.000-07:00

My former newspaper, The Oakland Tribune, did a story about me today in the media section. It was really weird being interviewed. I'm used to asking the questions, not answering them. It was even weirder reading a story about myself. I'm used to reading my words, not somebody else's words about me. Anyway, here's a copy.

Andy did a real nice job on it. As I read some of my quotes, I thought about some of the dumb things I probably said that he didn't use. Gave me an all-new appreciation for my old job, and how easy it is to make somebody look really good or really bad -- simply based on what quotes are used.

http://www.insidebayarea.com/sports/ci_5685275

By Andy Altman-Ohr
STAFF WRITER

DOES THE name "Josh Suchon" ring a bell? Think in terms of a byline you used to see in this sports section. He was our Oakland A's beat writer from 2004-06 and our Giants beat writer for four years before that.

Now, Suchon is the voice of the Modesto Nuts of the California League.

"Some people thought I was nuts — literally — to become a Nut," Suchon said.

Suchon had many a sports fan's fantasy job as a reporter covering a big league ballclub; he even wrote a book, "This Gracious Season: Barry Bonds & The Greatest Year in Baseball," shortly after the 2001 season.

But since his first job out of San Diego State in 1996 — a job that included play-by-play for the Watertown Indians of the New York-Penn League — he had the announcer's itch. In 1997, he was set to call games for another minor league team, but fate stepped in — a canceled radio contract one day before opening day. He ended up being a reporter for the next 10 years.

"But when Bill King died, it really had a big effect on me," said Suchon, 33, who grew up in Pleasanton listening to the great King. "I thought, maybe I should give this one more shot. Even if I fall completely on my face, I'll know I at least gave it a shot."

In college, Suchon had announced Aztecs baseball, men's and women's basketball and football. He noted that in an online resume, where he also posted clips: from a "broadcast" he did an empty booth during an A's game on one of his off-days, and from some on-air appearances (during a game on Ch.36 and on "Cold Pizza," for example). That led to a job in the one-month, four-team Texas Winter League a few months ago.

"That actually helped me a lot," Suchon said of the somewhat bogus pay-to-play league. "It made me so much more prepared for opening night in Modesto. I would have been so much more nervous, going through much of the angst and learning curve I already went through down there."

Another positive from the Texas experience: He asked A's play-by-play man Ken Korach (who had already encouraged him to follow his heart) to review his work.

"Ken is an amazing announcer and an even more amazing person. Some of the best advice he gave me was to build the game from the field up to the press box: What's the count? Where are the position players? Start on the field, then, as time permits, work it up to the press box," Suchon said. "With my background as a reporter, I had so much information I wanted to give, I'd be behind the action. That was a good reminder. What happens on field comes first, and my notes come second."

Suchon's work in Texas helped him land the Modesto job, where he works solo for road games and has a partner at home. The Nuts (a Colorado Rockies affiliate) are in San Jose tonight to open a three-game series.

Suchon said covering major league baseball for seven seasons is a plus in the announcer's booth, but not in terms of regaling listeners with stories from the road or the clubhouses. For example, last week a Nuts hitter was in an 0-for-10 funk with seven strikeouts when he had a good at-bat, drawing a walk.

"I said, 'Frank Thomas often liked to say he could walk his way out of his slump. You don't have to get a hit to break out of a slump,'" Suchon said. "Then in his next at-bat, the guy got a base hit, so I felt that was maybe a good story to tell. I try to work stuff like that in."

The Nuts radio station, KESP ("ESPN Radio-970"), usually can be heard in the Livermore, Pleasanton area at night. But it is also the Oakland A's and San Jose Sharks' station, and those teams' games take precedence, often rendering Nuts games to Internet-only status (www.ModestoNuts.com).

Suchon also does weekday sports updates on KESP during homestands and nearby road games, three times per hour from 5-9 a.m. — for which he awakens at 3:45 a.m.! Sometimes he also fills in as the No. 2 man on an afternoon sports talk show.

Sleep? He grabs it when he can.

"Covering major league baseball was a dream job, and then I had a new dream," Suchon said. "The main thing is I didn't want to have any regrets. I didn't want to look back and in 10 years and say 'What if.' I wanted a new challenge, and I wanted to see if I could do this."

Then and now

2007-04-16T13:31:00.000-07:00

It's been one week and our first road trip is complete, so I figured it was a good time to compare and contast what it was like being a major league newspaper reporter and what it's like being a minor league baseball announcer.

Getting there -- I used to fly on United to all games and rack up the frequent flyer points. I'd average 2-3 upgrades to first class a year. Now I'm on a bus with the rest of the team. I'm thankful to have my own row.

Accomodations -- I used to stay at Marriott and Renaissance hotels, with a room to myself, a king-size bed, a welcome gift (which I'd usually pick as a half bottle of wine, plus cheese and crackers). Now I share a room with the clubhouse manager at the Best Western. I'm thankful there' s still free mini bottles of shampoo and conditioner.

Getting around -- I used to expense a rental car or any cabs. Now I'm at the mercy of the bus and what's in walking distance of the motel. There isn't a cab, even if I wanted to pay out of my own pocket.

Meals -- I used to complain about how hard it is to stay under my $40 a day average for meals on the road. Now I get $20 cash a day for road games. I used to have a hard rule about never eating at any "chain" restaurant. Now I decide between IHop and Denny's.

Cities -- I used to debate whether I liked Chicago or New York more, if Seattle or Anaheim had the best press box, if Kansas City or Milwaukee was more under rated, and if Miami or Scottsdale had more beautiful women. Now I'm in Bakersfield and can't wait until we go to Stockton.

Clothing -- I used to wear jeans and a button-up "going out" shirt, so I can go straight to bars after the game. Now I wear a Modesto Nuts polo shirt. Every day.

Sightseeing -- I used to take day trips to Niagara Falls (from Toronto), Aspen (from Denver) Notre Dame (from Chicago), and the Football Hall of Fame (from Cleveland). I'd go to the top of the Gateway to the West in St. Louis, the Experience Music Project in Seattle, Dealey Plaza in Dallas, Ground Zero in New York City, the Samuel Adams Brewery in Boston, the beach anywhere in southern California, and the Rock n' Roll Hall of Fame in Cleveland. Here in Bakersfield, uhh, uhhh, uhhhhh, I stared out the window at the truck stop.

I can't believe ... what I just said!

2007-04-14T23:47:00.000-07:00

Another internet-only night. Another night of dropped calls every 15-20 minutes. I stopped keeping track when the number reached 11. But the biggest mistake was mine. And it was a huge one. It happened in the third inning with Chris Nelson at the plate.

First, I'll offer my excuses. It started to rain. To keep the equipment dry, I shut the window. Vision was a major problem. The windows are filthy. Couldn't see much. Tried to look through the small sliver of an opening for most of the action. If a ball was hit somewhere, I'd open the window, stick my head out, call the play, then shut the window again.

If you recall yesterday's post, it's hard to see in the outfield. Home runs just seemed to get swallowed by the trees. It's dark. The rain isn't helping. Okay, enough with the excuses.

Chris Nelson hit a flyball that was caught by the left fielder. I called it a home run. Not just any home run, but "CHRIS NELSON HITS HIS THIRD HOME RUN IN THE LAST TWO GAMES AND MODESTO HAS TRIMMED THE LEAD TO 4-3!"

Then I wonder why the baseball is being thrown back to the infield. Then I wonder why Chris Nelson isn't circling the bases, but headed straight for the dugout. Then I hear the laughing around the corner from those in the press box that can hear me.

Now I want to crawl in a hole and never come out.

An awkward pause.

The pause gets longer. And more awkward.

"My bad. It was actually caught by Jake Blalock in left field. It was an out, not a home run. Two away here in the top of the third. Bakersfield still up 4-2."

I try to forget it. Try to move on. Make it a point to not mention my massive gaffe the rest of the broadcast. Pretend like it never happened. But it did.

And that can never happen.

16 runs, 8 dropped calls, 6 home runs

2007-04-13T23:58:00.000-07:00

Tonight was an internet-only broadcast. As a result, the radio station's desire to foot the bill on a cell phone call for three hours is limited. Okay, it's next to nil. The phone lines are working though. Of course, we still have the long-distance access issue. At some point, I don't recall if it was tonight or last night, in a moment of weakness, the Bakersfield general manager gave me his passcode.

With some assistance from our engineer, I discover that if I punch in the phone number to the studio on this comrex gadget, then press the pound button six times, then the passcode, then it will pause long enough and the call will be completed. Viola. It works!

Still not sure how this works exactly, but the phone call to the radio station gets me connected. From there, certain buttons are pushed in the studio, certain buttons are pushed on a laptop, and my broadcast is launched to the internet. My ignorance is bliss on this.

Modesto scores 10 runs in the second inning. At some point, I don't recall exactly when, I look at the equipment and realize the connection was lost. I call. I don't get connected. I call again. No connection. I try 10 pounds. I try three pounds. I try six pounds again. Finally, I'm connected again.

This continues all night. It happened about every 15-20 minutes, or whenever Modesto hit a home run. Modesto hit six homers. I was dropped eight times.

This was incredibly annoying. I debate how to handle this on the air. Three ideas come to mind.

1. Continue to apologize on the air for the drops.
2. Pretend like it's not happening.
3. Rip Bakersfield for the crappy phone lines.

I choose number one. And a little of number three. Okay, maybe a little more than a little.

Cell of a debut

2007-04-12T23:59:00.000-07:00

Seven games are into the books, and all were internet-only broadcasts. Tonight, there was no pre-emption by A's baseball, Sharks hockey or Warriors basketball. I was live on the radio, start to finish, all alone, the entire game.

The conditions for my radio debut were, shall we say, challenging. Before leaving Modesto yesterday, I was informed all the phone lines were down at the Bakersfield ballpark, and they didn't expect to have the phone lines back up. Broadcasting a game without a phone connection is not easy. But it's not impossible.

Upon the conclusion of my Modesto Morning News responsibilities, at 8:45 a.m., I was given a crash course in how to use something called a cell phone comrex. Packed up this equipment, added it to the already overwhelmingly intimidating box of equipment, and headed for the bus. We left at 10 a.m., arrived around 1 p.m. at the hotel, and I went straight to the ballpark to setup the gear.

For the past week, each time I setup the equipment, I did something wrong. This doesn't say much for my note-taking skills as a journalist. But even though I'm technologically challenged, I know how to adapt. So the day before, I went to Office Max and bought a bunch of different colored stickers. I had somebody -- okay, it was my partner Greg -- put together the equipment the correct way. Then I lined up the parts with the same colored stickers. Brilliant!

As I put together everything in Bakersfield, I conclude my decision to use colored stickers to match the parts just might be the smartest decision of my life. Feeling pretty good about all the technical stuff. That's the good news. For now. The area of the press box cornered off for the visiting announcer is about the size of a hall closet. I feel cramped, clausterphobic.

Naturally, things don't go smoothly with the equipment and connection. I'm told the phone lines at the ballpark are working. Then they aren't. Then they are. Then I need a long-distance card to connect. Which I don't have. Phone calls go back and forth between the Nuts, the radio station and me. I play middle man talking to the Bakersfield front office and everybody else.

Apparently, it's not standard protocal for every team to pickup the phone call tab for the visiting announcer. I don't understand why not. That seems perfectly logical to me. The Blaze have a passcode they don't want to give me. I make the logical argument, at least to me, that whoever picks up the tab on this phone call should be decided by the GMs of the team and the broadcaster shouldn't be negotiating. Just get me on the radio and let's figure it out later.

I'm given the passcode. But I still can't connect because the passcode must be entered at a specific time, and this red box that is my lifeline for connection won't allow me to enter numbers at that time. Then the phone lines crash again. So it's a moot point.

So it's back to the cell phone comrex. A few problems getting connected, but finally we're good about 30 minutes before the game. The Cliff Notes version of this "cell phone comrex" is it provides a phone hookup, via cell phone, without putting a cell phone next to my ear or talking into a hands-free device. I was still able to use a mixing board and start the manager's show from a laptop.

It doesn't sound as good on the radio (or so I was told) and I did need to keep the cell phone charging all game, just in case the battery dies. But the gadget worked.

Vision isn't good. The lighting at Sam Lynn Ballpark was horrendous. Modesto's shortstop and left fielder completely lost the first popfly of the game. So do I, until I see the center fielder race over -- just like Kelly in "The Bad News Bears" -- to make the catch in left field. The outfield fence is green. The uniforms are dark. Beyond the fence are big green trees. The white baseball disappears constantly.

The windows to see through are filthy. I open one, which gives me some vision. But even that open window slot is small. My heart is racing through most of the game. Nervous. Excited. Paranoid. Elated. I try to do yoga breathing techniques between innings. Doesn't work. I'm constantly checking the cell phone to make sure we're still connected. I question how I would know if I'm not connected, and how unprofessional that would sound.

There's no internet connection. That means no out-of-town scoreboard to provide updates during a lull in the action. That means no looking up a stat or some notes between innings. I'd grown accustomed to this over the last week.

Then I remind myself that baseball announcers did just fine for over half a century without an internet connection. Doubt that Bill King ever worried about an internet connection. Remind myself of Ken Korach's advice: focus on the fundamentals. Build the game from the ground up to the press box. Where are the infielders? The outfielders? Is the hitter left or right? What's the count? What's the score? Which side of the rubber? Are the shadows a factor? Is the wind a factor?

In the end, it's all good. Modesto rallies from a 3-0 deficit for a victory. It's a good game, back and forth, and the Nuts score three in the ninth to win it 8-5. No dropped connections. The cell phone comrex is my new best friend.

I don't know if people liked my broadcast.

But I sure had a blast doing it. At least, I did once I stopped hyper-ventilating.

Sitting on the bus, waiting to go back to the hotel, hitting coach Dave Hajek looked at me and said, "for a radio guy, you sure don't say much."

"I've been talking non-stop to myself for three hours," I tell Dave. "I'm sick of my own voice."

It's opening night

2007-04-05T12:23:00.000-07:00

Tonight is the start of my new career. To my friends and family, if you miss tonight, no worries. I'm only doing 140 games in the next 151 days. You'll have plenty of chances.

In fact, Randy Johnson is scheduled to make a rehab start Sunday at 1:05 p.m. against the Nuts. So if you're nearby, you might want to buy tickets and check it out -- or listen live to that game. Our game is pre-empted tonight on radio by the A's game, but will be live on the internet.

Just log onto> http://www.modestonuts.com/ and click the "listen live" button on the top left. If you were brave enough to listen to any games when I was in Texas, you'll notice a few differences tonight:

1. I should be able to see out the window of the press box. In fact, there's a window that slides up.

2. You should hear crowd noise, instead of it sounding like I'm in a closed bathroom.

3. I'll have broadcast partners. Greg Young will broadcast the 3rd, 4th and 7th innings on home games and a few road games. The Modesto Bee's Brian VanderBeek will be the color analyst for 4th, 5th, and> 6th inning.

4. These are real players with real futures. Justin Upton, the first overall pick of the 2005 draft, is on Visalia. The Nuts have Eric Young, Jr.

5. My boss is broadcasting his radio show live from the ballpark this afternoon and we might even throw that online (since it's no additional charge). That would be from 4-6 p.m., which will include myself and a couple interviews with players.

Suchon takes over Nuts play-by-play

2007-02-13T13:55:00.000-08:00

The following article was in today's Modesto Bee. When Brian called me and said he wanted to do a story, I figured it would be a couple paragraphs inside the sports section. I was shocked to learn it was splashed all the way across the front of the sports section. Even more frightening, they dug up an old photo of me from somewhere at The Oakland Tribune -- and made it enormous on the website.

It was after a horrendous decision to dye my hair blonde. It looks like I have radioactive waste coming from my hair. Pretty sure I'd just gotten back from a cruise too, so my face is bright red and I'm wearing a red sweater. It might be my worst look since my 4th grade school photo, when I had pencil marks all over my front teeth because I was a dumb kid who didn't even realize what he was doing that day in class. Anyway, here's the story.

By BRIAN VanderBEEK

BEE STAFF WRITER

Last Updated: February 13, 2007, 05:20:29 AM PST

Ten years ago, Josh Suchon embarked on what he hoped would be a career as a baseball play-by-play announcer, taking a job as director of broadcasting with the Modesto A's.
There were a few technical glitches.

The renovated John Thurman Field didn't have a press box, let alone a broadcast booth. Oh, and the front office never bothered to look into securing a radio contract.

Suchon stayed with the team for six weeks before taking a job covering high school sports for The Oakland Tribune. Within four years, he became the paper's San Francisco Giants beat writer, then moved his laptop across the bay in 2004 to cover the Oakland Athletics.

"When I first left Modesto, the way things went down I was so disappointed that I didn't even listen to games on the radio," Suchon said. "Then my love of baseball took over. And every year it became more and more important to me that I give it another shot."

Now 33, Suchon has taken the large step back into the radio side, taking a position with ESPN Radio 970 that includes being the play-by-play voice of the Modesto Nuts.

Local listeners will be able to hear Suchon beginning March 1 as part of the Modesto Morning News show from 5-9 a.m. The Nuts open April 5 against the Visalia Oaks, and Suchon will continue to deliver baseball by night and sports news by sunrise once the season starts.

"The only time I'm ever awake at 5 a.m. is when I have to catch a plane," Suchon said. "Now, I have to be awake and coherent and let people know what's going on in the sports world. I'm hoping there's good caffeine in Modesto."

Suchon replaces Jim O'Reilly in the Nuts' booth. O'Reilly suddenly left the station last fall.

"It was an extensive search that we opened nationwide," 970 program director Geoff Silvius said. "We had guys with Double-A jobs send in tapes, and we had guys right out of college looking for their first job. But the great thing about Josh, in addition to his passion for becoming a play-by-play guy, is his understanding of the area."

Even while writing about major-league baseball, Suchon never lost the itch to get behind a microphone. Several times a year, he would find an open broadcast booth in Oakland and do play-by-play into a tape recorder.

Oakland announcer "Ken Korach has been very supportive, and it was an inspiration just being around Bill King," Suchon said. "I thought it was cool that Bill King knew my name. I would do the play-by-play just to remind myself how much I liked doing it and to keep those fires alive."

Those recordings became handy when Suchon needed audition tapes to reclaim the same Modesto play-by-play job he landed in 1997.

"Coming back here to start again is very funny to me," Suchon said. "I wouldn't trade the last 10 years for anything, but this is like going back in time."

To comment, click on the link with this story at http://www.modbee.com/. Bee staff writer Brian VanderBeek can be reached at 578-2300 or bvanderbeek@modbee.com.

Carl Steward darting here and there

2007-02-10T19:03:00.000-08:00

My colleague at The Oakland Tribune, Carl Steward, had a nice plug for me at the bottom of his column today. I hope Carl is right.

http://www.insidebayarea.com/sports/ci_5200948

Finally, a fond farewell to ANG Newspapers baseball writer Josh Suchon, who is following his longtime broadcasting passion and will be the radio play-by-play voice of Class A Modesto for ESPN Radio 970. It won't be surprising to those who know Josh's professional work ethic and love of the game to see him back in the big leagues before long.

Moving time

2007-02-07T13:51:00.000-08:00

It's taken me a little over 10 years, but I've finally landed the type of job I wanted when I departed San Diego State. I accepted a job offer Tuesday from AM 970 ESPN Radio in Modesto to become the station's sports director.

My primarily responsibility will be the play-by-play announcer for the Modesto Nuts minor league baseball team (California League; Rockies affiliate) for all 140 games. I think I will also do play by play for the Friday night high school football Game of the Week in Modesto, in addition to do three sports updates an hour between 5-9 a.m. on the station's morning newscast. (I have no idea when I will sleep.)

Making the transition from newspaper reporter to radio broadcaster is extremely exciting, yet more than a little nerve racking. I basically said "yes" before I had the chance to think it through and get cold feet. It's something I've always wanted to do, I love new challenges, and I didn't want to look back later in life with any regrets for not giving this my best try.

Over the past month in Texas, where I've basically been testing to see if I'm any good at broadcasting, I've learned that describing the action of a baseball game is challenging, but highly rewarding and quite the adrenaline rush. After Wednesday's game, which was actually close and entertaining, I had the amazing sensation of a sober buzz.

Whether or not I'm good enough to reach the majors again -- this time as a broadcaster -- remains to be seen. It's just as much about luck and timing as skill, but maybe I can pull it off.

I start in Modesto on March 1. I still can't believe I'm leaving San Francisco, the city I love so much, but at least it's only a 90-120 minute drive away.

I'll definitely miss seeing my friends and family in various cities throughout the league. That was always a highlight of the job, which usually made up for the time I missed at home. Now I guess these friends and family members will have to get out their Cal League schedules and meet me in Rancho Cucamonga or Stockton, instead of Chicago or Miami.

Cheers.

Advice from Ken Korach

2007-02-05T14:09:00.000-08:00

The following is an email from A's announcer Ken Korach:

Scribe....good to hear from you and I really think you are on the right track. I especially liked the improvement you have made from the first couple of broadcasts to the recent ones.

The only thing I would stress as far as a critique would be to focus more on the game. Obviously, you don't have the advantage of crowd noise. And, I think you have done a great job of doing your homework and getting interesting information from the players. Really good hustle on your part.

Very impressive and this would mean a lot to me if I was hiring someone. And, in the league like the one you are covering, the games are of little importance compared to the individual struggles of the players to make it.

Still, in doing the play by play, I would like to see you focus more on the fundamentals. At times, you seem to want to get your stuff on the air, and the game is secondary. I like to think of a broadcast as being built from the field up to my stuff...not from my stuff down to the field. In other words....right handed hitter or left...where is the outfield playing...is the third baseman in on the grass...the count the score...is the pitcher on the first base side of the rubber.

Ernie Harwell said it is simple...you call the game, but that would be boring if just called the game for three hours, so you mix in a little color.

Several times you get caught with "And there's a fly ball to left field." I hate when I do this...and it is going to happen...you can't avoid it all the time...but, I hate to get caught off guard. I like to have the pitcher into the windup and delivering the ball to set up the play.

The pacing is so important. You really improved in this area. It seemed forced in the first game I heard. The best broadcasters...and maybe this is why so many of the greats came from the South (Harwell, Barber, Allen)...have great tempo. Nothing is forced...it is relaxed and easy. Intensity may work in football and basketball, but not in baseball.

And, the good ones have the ability to bring the action into focus when the game is on the line. Increase the tempo...capture the drama with their voices. King was great at this.

One little thing...you use "zero" when giving the score. You don't hear anybody using zero. It may not be proper English, but it is 2 to nothing instead of 2 to zero.

Anyway, it sounds like you are having fun...and, what great experience.

KK

Going to Texas

2007-01-10T18:12:00.000-08:00

Some people spend their vacations going to Europe. Some go to Hawaii. I'm going to Harlingen, Texas. Honest. I couldn't make this up if I tried.

Here are the details: I'm going to spend a month working as the media relations director and play-by-play announcer in the inaugural season of the Texas WinterBaseball League. I'll broadcast 48 games in a 24-day stretch, which should provide the ultimate test of how much I enjoy baseball broadcasting, whether I'm any good at it, and whether other people think I'm any good at it.

I start Monday.

Harlingen is located in the southern tip of Texas, about six miles fromthe Mexico border. It's close to San Padre Island. For more information about the league -- or if you actually want to hear me -- check out http://www.texaswinterleague.com/index.html

The good news is that my newspaper was kind enough to grant me permission to do this -- I'm calling it an extended free-lance assignment -- without losing my job or my beat covering the Oakland Athletics. I'll still arrive in Arizona for spring training on the same day that I normally would arrive and cover the A's as usual.

I have absolutely no idea what I've just gotten myself into. All I know for certain is I'm packing for a 10-week trip in the next 36 hours. Life is an adventure, right?

Cheers, Happy New Year, and yeee hawww.