Chapter 47
Forty-Seven
Cassie’s first months as a broadcaster were a whirlwind.
She shadowed established color commentators, sat in on production meetings, learned to rely on a producer whispering in her ear via an earpiece.
She practiced talking while breathing differently from writing.
She worried about tripping over words. She also found she loved the immediacy.
There was no rewrite, no editor note. When a player executed a perfect saucer pass, she could gush in real time.
When a penalty was called, she could explain why.
When a player’s facial expression betrayed frustration, she could note it.
She worked to bring nuance without jargon.
She used metaphors—likening a collapsing defense to an umbrella folding, describing a failed zone entry as a car stalling.
She prepared more than she ever had for a single article: rosters, pronunciations, backstories.
She watched endless tape. She visited practices and chatted with players.
The first broadcast felt like an adrenaline rush.
The WNHL Pittsburgh Spirit faced the Minnesota Aurora in a pre-season tilt.
The arena was three-quarters full. Cassie sat beside her play-by-play partner Josh Green, who had a deep voice and a calming presence.
She wore a houndstooth blazer and a headset.
“Good evening from Allegheny Arena,” Josh began.
“I’m Josh Green alongside Cassie Pearson, a familiar voice to Renegades fans.
” Cassie smiled into the camera. “Thanks, Josh,” she said.
“It’s an honor to be here as professional women’s hockey comes to Pittsburgh. ”
The puck dropped. Cassie’s world narrowed to the ice.
She noted the speed of the game, the spacing, the creativity.
She commented on how a winger used her edges to delay and find a trailing defender.
She explained the difference between an overload and a spread power play.
She kept her tone excited but measured. After the game, her phone buzzed nonstop.
Texts poured in: from former colleagues, praising her.
From fans, thanking her for explaining the sport without condescension.
From young girls, saying they wanted to play hockey because of her voice. She cried.
Luke watched the broadcast from his phone in the stands with Tanner and Damien.
“She’s a natural,” Damien said, elbowing Luke.
Luke beamed. After the game, he waited by the zamboni entrance.
Cassie walked out, headset off, hair slightly mussed.
He hugged her, swinging her around. Fans cheered. “You were amazing,” he whispered.
“So were they,” she said, grinning. “Can you believe this is our life?”
They went home and celebrated with takeout and cheap wine. Luke sat on the couch, hair damp, legs sprawled. Cassie curled up next to him. “We did it,” she said. “We made it through the storm.”
“We did,” he agreed. “But I think the storm made us stronger.”