What we do isn’t all that it’s cracked up to be.
As a sports journalist, I get to see a lot of cool things. Don’t get me wrong for even one second, I love my job. I get the prime spot for sporting events that many people pay money to see. However, there’s a dark side of being a sports writer that not many of us are willing to share.
Hearing 101,000+ people sing “Sweet Home Alabama” at legendary Bryant-Denny Stadium? Check. Watching NBA legend John Stockton’s son light up the basketball court for Gonzaga at The Kennel in Spokane? Check. Hell, even throw in a miraculous bowl game victory that ended up as a lead story on ESPN? Check.
I was there for all of it. Pretty neat. But nobody tells you about the cost you pay for the bragging rights.
This semester, I’ve spent more than 100 hours in a car. Hotel rooms see me more than my own family. Classes are constantly put on the back burner because there’s no other choice.
This is the life I chose.
My little sister is in her senior year of high school. She’s trying on prom dresses and getting her driver’s license, but guess what? I’m constantly too busy burying my face in stats sheets and feeding it to my Twitter followers because that’s what my duties call for. I find myself sparking up random conversations with strangers at the local dive bars because those people have become my new best friends.
When your girlfriend is asleep, your parents would be disappointed in the decisions you’re making and your friends are too busy doing what normal kids your age should be doing, your options are limited.
So here we go, watching the same episode of SportsCenter for the fourth-consecutive time, crossing fingers for something different to pop into the news lead. This is our world and we stay informed to inform you. The worst part about it is that it’s oddly comforting.
Is it too late to switch to being a business major?
Sports Editor Quentin Sickafoose can be reached at firstname.lastname@example.org and on Twitter @QSickafoose.