As a teenager, I made my Babe Ruth League all-star team. I even won a history award when I was a senior in high school, but as for experiencing anything remotely close to those "fifteen minutes of fame" that pop artist Andy Warhol predicted for each of us Well, that never happened --- that is, until recently.
Two years ago, I celebrated (I use that word advisedly) my 60th birthday, At that time, I was beginning to doubt . . . or should I say I was beginning to believe that I was one of those exceptions to Warhol's 1960s prediction that all of us would enjoy " . . . fifteen minutes of fame." I had, up to that point, led a most unassuming life. For over thirty years, I had been a high school history teacher.
Periodically, over those years, I'd venture outside the cloistered classroom walls of academia and make forays into the world of sports and/or the media, or a combination of both. I had, over those three decades, been: a high school sports play-by-play announcer, a public address announcer, a sportswriter, a harness racing publicist, a producer of high school sports programming and a manager of the New England Patriots radio network. However, none of these so-called adjunct activities came anywhere close to giving me even seconds --- let alone minutes --- of everlasting fame. Yet, all that changed in the spring of 2003.
In April 2003, I read in an article in the Boston Sunday Globe sports section that said that Boston Beer, brewers of Sam Adams, was sponsoring a contest called "Announcer For An Inning." The contest was to be conducted in bars, taverns and restaurants throughout New England. The winner would get to call an inning of an inter league game between the Red Sox and the visiting St. Louis Cardinals.
At first I dismissed any notion of entering. "Mostly young guys will be trying out," I said to my wife. "What chance do I have?" I added. But at her insistence, I changed my mind and tramped over to a nearby Framingham, MA bar/restaurant called Desmond O'Malley's. It was May 30th.
I remember it was about 6 p.m. when I walked through Desmond O'Malley's doors. I really didn't know what to expect. As I entered, I immediately noticed that off to my left , a young man setting up some audio-visual equipment. I walked up to him (I later learned that his name was Kevin McCabe, Boston Beer's central MA sales rep.) and asked: "Is this where the contest is being held?" He replied, "Yes, but I'm not quite ready." He continued, "Why don't you go over to the bar and have 'a cold one'. I should be ready for you in about five minutes."
Well, I took Kevin up on his suggestion. In fact, I ordered a Sam Adam's light and took a seat near a TV monitor that was showing ESPN's "Sports Center" (little did I know then that I would end up on Sports Center in less than two weeks). As I was sipping my beer and watching the day's sports highlights, another contestant ( I would soon learn that he was a lawyer) arrived to participate. It was just about this time that Kevin waved me over. He was now ready to start the auditions.
The lawyer (the man who arrived second) suggested, "Why don't you go ahead, you got here first." I replied "That's all right, I've got plenty of time, you go ahead." So, the lawyer took a seat on a bench behind a table that had both a monitor and a microphone on it. Nearby was a VCR that would play, with the sound off, two minutes of an actual 2003 Red Sox highlight. Now, I might mention at this point, that there was a "method to my madness," in letting the other fellow go first. I liken it to the game of golf where both players are on the green and the player furthest from the hole putts first. Only as is sometimes the case, the player, who's "inside," has the same line as the player putting first.. The second player can thus "go to school" on the golfer putting first. And, that's just what I did.
As the lawyer sat down in front of the monitor and began to describe the action, I took a seat that was off to the left and at a right angle to where he was sitting. I could "peer around the corner" to see what action was coming up on the screen. The two-minute clip came from an Easter Sunday home game against the Toronto Blue Jays. A game in which then Red Sox shortstop Nomar Garciaparra hit a 9th inning walk-off homer to beat Toronto 6-5.
As I watched the other man do his rendition, it all came back to me. I had seen the game on television the day it had occurred. After the lawyer had finished, I then took my spot behind the mic and in front of the monitor. Seconds later, the picture came up and I described Nomar's batter's box, toe-tapping, batting glove routine. Garciaparra was batting against Toronto reliever, Cliff Politte. It was a 2-1 pitch that Nomar lifted off the base of the light tower in left, just above the "Monster Seats" that gave the Sox their come-from-behind win. As Garciaparra began making his way around the bases, I said, "Touch 'em all, Nomar. Good Decision!" (the phrase "Good Decision" is Sam Adams' tag line as in: "Samuel Adams: Always A Good Decision.") I finished up by describing the mob scene at home as Nomar scored the winning run. And then, it was over. I do remember Kevin McCabe saying rhetorically, "You've done this before?" I recall saying, "I've done a few games (actua
lly I had done over one hundred high school football, baseball and basketball games).
When I got home, my wife asked, "How'd ya do?" I replied, "It's hard to tell." Yet, in my mind, I thought I had done well. I knew that Boston Beer would have to decide soon as to who the finalists would be. The winner would be at Fenway Park in less than two weeks I remember Kevin McCabe telling the other fellow that the semi-finalists would hear back by early next week.
The following Monday, I was substitute teaching (I had retired from full-time teaching two years before) in an area school. My wife, also a teacher, had beat me home. When I did get home sometime after 3 p.m., my wife said, "There's a message on the answering machine; I think you should listen to it." I didn't know what it was or what to expect. It turned out to be from Dave Virden, a member of the public relations staff at Boston Beer. He had left his number and asked if I could call him back. I did. I remember the first word out Dave's mouth was: "Congratulations!" He went on to say: "Walter, you've been selected as a semi-finalist." He also said that one person from each auditioning venue had been selected as a semi-finalist and that I was the Desmond O'Malley's winner (I learned later that there were some 50 or 60 venues throughout New England). Before he hung up, Virden said, "If you're selected as a finalist (he indicated that the finals were being held at a Boston sports bar called "The Place") would you be available to participate this Wednesday evening? I said, "Yes."
The next day would be decision day. I would know by Tuesday evening one way or the other another whether I had been selected as a finalist, or not. I spent most of Tuesday doing yard work around my house. By around 3 PM, my wife arrived home from her teaching job. "Have you heard anything?" she asked. " No," I said. I then added, "And it's starting to get late. If I don't hear within the next couple hours, I'm not a finalist."
Well, another hour goes by and still no call. Just then the phone rings, but it's one of my wife's friends (I might mention at this time that with all that's going on with the contest, my daughter is getting married this coming weekend in Newport, RI) Then, around 4:30, the phone rings again. It's Dave Virden, "Congratulations Walter, you're a finalist!". We want everybody at The Place on Broad St. in Boston by 5 PM tomorrow. You'll be doing the Red Sox -Pirates game live," He added. I'll be e-mailing you all the particulars in the next fifteen minutes. I hang up the phone. I'm ecstatic.
I immediately tell my wife and a few close friends and then "boot up" my computer and check my e-mails. Sure enough, Dave Virden has spelled out all the particulars of tomorrow evening's finals. Almost from that point on, even as I waited through a rain delay in Pittsburgh for that evening's Sox-Pirates game, I was downloading as much as I could about the current Pittsburgh Pirates and their new PNC Field. The rain delay lasts over two hours and, in the end, the game is postponed. It will be made up as part of a twi-night double header the following evening. But what impact will that have, if any, on the Sam Adams contest. I don't know, but the uncertainty is unsettling.
The next morning I call Dave Virden. He says as things stand, it's still the Pirates v, Red Sox, but he went on to say that he'd e-mail everyone about noon as to any late developments. About noon I receive Virden's e-mail. It says it's still the Red Sox-Pirates for the contest, but he hedges by saying it's possible that it might be the Yankees-Red Sox (previously played) Memorial Day game in which Roger Clemens went for his 300th win. What do I do? I'm in a quandary. Do I continue studying the Pirates (who I know so little about) or do I start looking for info on the Sox-Yankees Memorial Day game? I make a compromise by downloading a bunch of information about Roger Clemens himself. I download everything I can.
When I arrive at "The Place" that evening, I meet the other contestants and then learn that the live Sox -Pirates game is out as far as the contest's concerned (too much uncertainty, especially for the broadcaster-judges who have to be back at their stations for their 11 p.m. to do sports reports). So, it'll be Clemens quest for his 300th. Although there are almost two hours before the contest begins, there's a lot going on: interviews, questionnaires, photo shoots, and informational meetings. I'm using every free second to try to put to memory as much as I can about Roger Clemens. As the contest is about to begin, the five finalists (including myself) draw numbers out of a hat to determine our order of appearance. I draw fifth and last. I'm happy about that. It'll give me a chance to both size up my competition and to get into the flow of the game,
At 7 p.m., we're ready. One by one, each of the finalists will be seated at a table with a mic in front of them. The action will come up on a large monitor to our right. Across from the audition table are adjoining tables. There are eight celebrity judges from the Boston media sports scene seated at these adjoining tables. Also a member of the judging panel is Jim Koch, owner and brew master of Boston Beer.
The leadoff man in the contest is a recent college grad named Jamie. His three-minute segment involved describing the Yankee Stadium pre-game activities. He did an excellent job talking about Clemens' career and the members of his family and also the many former ballplayers and dignitaries in attendance. We all chuckled at his humorous comments. When he finished, the judges gave him high marks (each judge had a bunch of cards with numbers ranging between 1 and 10,similar to judging figure skating or diving in the Olympics). They would then hold up the number that they felt best measured the contestant's performance.
As Jamie finished, I asked myself, "Are the other guys all as good as this?" I thought, if they are "I've got my work cut out for me." The next three contestants, a man in his mid-twenties, who was a stock analyst; a man in his thirties who broadcasts college sports in the Boston area; and a man in his mid-50s who currently has a college football program on a Boston radio station, were all very good. But their scores couldn't match those given to the first contestant, Jamie.
It was now my turn. "This is it," I thought. "I've got to perform." I called a portion of the Red Sox half of the second inning. It was an inning in which the Sox scored a run on a Manny Ramirez double. My segment ended as Shea Hillenbrand (he had been traded to the Arizona Diamondbacks) was about to come to the plate. During my three or four minutes, I tried to intersperse as much as I could about Clemens career highlights: MVPs, Cy Young Awards, high strikeout games, etc. After I finished, I anxiously awaited the judges' decision. I remember the first celebrity judge gave me a 5 or 6. I was disappointed. But from there on, it was 7, a bunch of 8s and one 9.
Was it enough. I knew it was close. Well, by a razor-thin margin, I had bested the first contestant, Jamie. I remember the M.C. for the contest saying, "...and the winner is Walt Levy." I was overjoyed. I had done it. I prevailed. Amazing!.
After it was over, I shared a beer with Boston Beer's owner, Jim Koch. I was also interviewed by a couple TV stations for their late-night sports segment and received and accepted congratulations from a host people who were in attendance. When I arrived home later that evening, I informed my wife of the good news. The next morning, I told my adult children and a few friends. As much as I wanted and needed to prepare for the upcoming game at Fenway Park, there was little time to do so, especially in light of the fact that my daughter's upcoming wedding was that weekend..
That weekend was wonderful. My daughter's wedding was beautiful. It was also good to see many friends and relatives I hadn't seen in quite some time. But, the wedding and accompanying festivities, left me little time to prepare for Tuesdays' game at Fenway Park. I had but one day to prepare: Monday. As it turns out, Monday was busy as well as my wife and I had to retrieve my son-in-law's car at Boston's Logan Airport (my daughter and son-in-law were honeymooning in Bermuda).
In what little time I had, I crammed as much into my brain as possible about the visiting Cardinals.
Tuesday, June, 10, 2003 turned out to be a beautiful late-spring day. In the morning, I kept studying my notes on the Cardinals. I would also receive a call for an interview from a local paper. That afternoon, I picked up my son ( (I was allowed one guest) at his home in Taunton, MA and we headed into Fenway Park. We arrived at Fenway at 4 PM. I was immediately met by representatives of both NESN and Boston Beer. They took both my son and me down onto the playing field itself. It was quite a thrill. For years, I had watched Sox games (I saw my first game with my late father in the summer of 1949) from various seats in the Fenway Park, but now I would walk where my childhood heroes had played: Ted Williams, Bobby Doerr, Walt Dropo, Dom DiMaggio, Billy Goodman and a host of others.
Shortly after we arrived on the field of play, I was interviewed by both NECN (New England Cable Network) and NESN (New England Sports Network). About an hour later, my son and I ate dinner in the Red Sox media cafeteria. The food was excellent and it was a treat to see and meet several radio & TV sports personalities. After dinner, we were escorted to our roof box seats on the first base side of Fenway Park.
As we watched the Red Sox jump out to an early 2-0 lead off Cardinals' ace, Woody Williams. I couldn't help but think that in an hour or so I would be in the NESN booth calling the play-by-play for close to two million viewers. As the game progressed the Cardinals began using the home run ball to pepper an array of Red Sox hurlers. By the time I headed for the announcer's booth near the end of the 6th inning, the Cardinals had jumped ahead by a 6-2 score.
When my son and I entered the NESN booth, I was greeted with a surprise. A most unsettling development. I was --- at least I believed --- scheduled to call one entire inning, the 7th. I was, I thought, slated to do play-by-play of the Cardinals at-bats in the visiting top-half and the Red Sox at-bats in the home bottom-half. However, I was informed at the last minute that I would only call the bottom half of the 7th, the Red Sox half of inning. I was taken aback. I was literally "thrown for a loop." But I knew that I couldn't let this last-minute development affect my performance. I watched as the Cardinals added a run in their half of the 7th. At the same time, I was also preparing myself to call the last half of the 7th inning.
As the Cardinals made their final out in the top of the 7th, I was ushered down to the lower portion of the NESN booth that's located high atop Fenway Park, but directly behind home plate. All I could think of at that moment was "What a view!" I was then provided a seat between play-by-play announcer, Don Orsillo and color commentator and ex-big leaguer, Jerry Remy.
As we came back from commercials, Don Orsillo introduced me to the NESN viewers as "the Sam Adams contest winner." I saw my face on the monitor and waved to the audience. I also remember remarking: "...beautiful evening here at Fenway Park. Where else would you want to be?" But then, it was time to describe the action. The first Red Sox batter, Jason Veritek, grounded out to Cardinals second baseman Miguel Cairo. Veritek was followed by Johnny Damon who flied out meekly to right fielder J.D. Drew. There were now two quick outs (one of my biggest fears was a 1-2-3 inning). Now, with two out, Todd Walker lofted a fly ball down the right field line not far from the foul pole. It landed inches fair and then skipped into the crowd for a ground-rule double (it least a got to call a hit!).
Well, the next batter, Nomar Garciaparra, after nearly striking out on a check swing, hit a long fly ball off the "Green Monster" in left. It hit the top of the scoreboard and caromed away from the St. Louis outfielders for a triple; Walker easily scored from second. That brought up Manny Ramirez. In the Cardinals half of the 7th, Ramirez had muffed an easy fly ball that led to the seventh Cardinal run. I remember saying something like, "Manny, let's see if we can atone for that error in the previous half of the inning." Well, on the very first pitch from Williams, Ramirez lofted a ball deep to right field. I remember saying, "There's a long drive deep to right. Drew going back.
Back...back...back...back...Gone! The ball had landed in the Cardinal bullpen for a two-run homer and the Red Sox were now trailing by only two runs, 7-5.
At that point, Cardinals skipper Tony LaRussa made a pitching change by bringing in left-handed reliever Jeff Fassero to face David Ortiz. "Big Papi" proceeded to line one of Fassero's serves into right for a sharp single. The next batter of the inning was Kevin Millar. Millar, on a 3-2 pitch (he had battled back from an 0-2 count) hit a sharp grounder to second baseman Cairo and the inning was over. As we headed toward the commercial break, I thanked both Orsillo and Remy and also Boston Beer, NESN and the Red Sox. I then left the NESN booth and headed to a press area to answer some questions from a couple reporters.
Shortly thereafter, my son and I were taken over the NESN studios (located within Fenway Park) where I met the future Hall of Famer, Dennis Eckersley ( he's one of the former players who does a Red Sox post-game show). About fifteen minutes later, my son and I left Fenway Park and heading for my car. The game was still in progress when we reached where my son had parked. In the meantime, the Sox had battled back to tie St. Louis at 7-7; however, they eventually lost the game, 9-7.
As we drove to my son's house to leave him off, he told me that just about everyone (Boston Beer, NESN people, etc.) watching in the upper part of the announcer's booth thought I had done "an excellent job." I was pleased to hear that. As we were about to reach my son Bruce's house, I remarked (I hadn't realized it at the time) that I had a announced an inning in which four different Red Sox players combined to "hit for the cycle." "What are the chances of that?" I remarked.
When I finally got home around 11:30 PM, my wife said she watched (I would hope so) and that she videotaped my appearance. She said, "You did a very good job!"
The next day was bedlam. I was stopped by neighbors who wanted to congratulate me as I was walking my dog. I even got a call from a Boston radio station to recreate my home run call of Manny Ramirez's round tripper (that segment was shown on ESPN's Sports Center right after the game). During the day itself, my phone was ringing off the hook. I heard from former teaching colleagues, old friends from my Boston neighborhood whom I hadn't talked to in years, and just local folks from my own town who wanted to congratulate me. It was great!
That evening, as things settled down, I played the videotape of my Fenway Park appearance. As my VCR has a time-elapsed tape display, I would soon learn how long "my moment in the sun" actually was. Well, as I watched my Fenway appearance come to an end, I looked at the time-elapsed readout. It read: 15 minutes (almost to the second). Yes, Andy Warhol, you were right! Your prediction came true --- at least, in my case. Because on the evening of June 10, 2003 at Fenway Park, I did indeed experience 15 minutes of fame.
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Copyright © 2004 by $mell Inc.. Posted March 17, 2005.
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