I recently gave a talk to the journalism students at Huntley High School. Despite the early hour I had to be there (coming directly off a production, which is always grueling), the talk went especially well, the students were interested, I was interested, and nobody fell asleep. Mostly, I was impressed by the studentsā questions: What was the first legal newspaper I worked for? Did I get the first job I applied for after I graduated college? Did I always know I wanted to work in newspapers? And I think they were equally impressed with my answers: I didnāt graduate college (so, I guess, no, Iām still waiting to get the first job I apply for after graduation); I was a terrible student; and I hated reading when I was young.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the teacher who invited me softly shaking her head and covering her eyes. Actually, the teacher encouraged me to talk openly about all my experiences because that was real life.
One student asked me did I have a favorite type of news story I liked writing? My answer was no. I told her and her classmates that I was partial to people features and historical pieces, but I generally liked all forms of news stories. Although, I did tell them that there was one form I hated writing: sports.
Iām not a sports guy, I explained, and have no real interest in sports. And in my entire career as a reporter, Iāve only written two sports stories, one about a baseball league in DeKalb County, who play by 1900 rules, and another about a state-champion wrestler.
What I did not know at the time was that Sun Day Sports Reporter Dwight Esau was about to take a well-needed and deserved vacation. Good for Dwight, bad for Chris, as I was left with covering this editionās sports section all by myself. I wished Dwight a good time, told him not to worry, I can handle it, and immediately emailed Sun Day Reporter Joanie Koplos, who is always good for a fill-in sports-related topic to submit, which she did, but could offer no more because, lo and behold, she, too, was leaving on vacation. I had to suck it up and tackle sports myself.
The thing about writing sports is that having some base of knowledge helps, and I have no knowledge base on any sport or sportās topic.
I was never really into sports, even as a kid, despite my feeble efforts to play soccer, football, and baseball. I stuck with soccer longer than the others, but I was terrible at it and so young, it was just considered play. In little league, I was so afraid of getting hit that I wouldnāt even step inside the batterās box and demanded that I play outfield…way outfield, as far away from the ball as possible, coach. The one time I was forced to play third base, I nearly collapsed when the first up to bat was a lefty. I was not good at sports nor was I good at math and calculating degrees, but I could see that by the angle the batter was standing, that ball was going to be a line-drive right down the third-base line, at the end of which I was a petrified human target. I immediately started coercing the short stop to āswitch, please, Iām going to be killed over here.ā Then in high school, during freshman year football, I flat-out faked a knee injury to keep me out of games and practice.
I did, however, find two sports I liked: skiing and beach volleyball, both of which I quickly excelled at, really excelled at. However, I havenāt done either in ten years, and I admit, I donāt miss them that much.
Needless to say, when I was a kid, I was always last picked for games, even when we played rocks, paper, scissors or eeny meeny miny mo or bubble gum, bubble gum in a dish or odds/evens to select players, either the greater unseen forces out there were working against me or kids were skipping shoes, my shoes, when they counted. I was always the runt of the pick-up litter.
And I canāt say I blame my classmates. I was no good and twice I hurt myself and others playing touch football. In seventh grade I broke my left wrist. But my crowning injury came years earlier and became a saga between me and my oldest brother, who was in dental school at the time.
Itās a joke in my family that the dental work my brother did on my mother and I while he was in school counted for all the credits he needed for graduation.
I donāt know if thatās entirely true, but I did earn him some major points when I flipped over the handlebars of my bicycle and knocked the front tooth out of my mouth. It wouldnāt have been a big deal if it was a baby tooth, but it was an adult tooth and required several sessions in his chair and a root canal to save it.
After weeks of intense work, my brother saved my tooth.
No joke, the very next day after he finished, I collided with a classmate during a game of touch football at recess and broke the tooth at the root this time, making it unsalvageable.
Assisted by one of his teachers, my brother pulled the tooth. I spent the next several years of my life walking around like a little hillbilly missing his front tooth because I was growing, and a permanent bridge or implant couldnāt be put in until I stopped growing, which sounds bad, but is nothing compared to my classmate who will spend the rest of his life walking around with tooth-shaped scare in the middle of his forehead.
Itās no wonder I donāt like writing about sports.
Chris La Pelusa
Managing Editor
(Thanks to an outstanding submission by Sun Day contributor Sam Geati after this Happy Trails was written, the sports section will feature a great article and interview on the Chicago Express Hockey Team. My efforts as a sports reporter will be unveiled in our November 17 edition!)
