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.
Tuesday, August 21, 2007
Thursday, August 16, 2007
Inning of the year
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.
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.
Tuesday, August 14, 2007
Losing yourself in the air
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.
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.
Sunday, August 12, 2007
'This is your job'
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.
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.
Wednesday, August 8, 2007
Very removed from Barry's history
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.
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.
Tuesday, August 7, 2007
What I miss. What I don't miss.
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.
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.
Wednesday, August 1, 2007
Excuse the shameless plug ... more press about me
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.
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.
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