3. Victoria
VICTORIA
“Just scoot a bit this way,” Miles, the cameraman assigned with me, waved his hand while staring down at the camera screen. I stepped to my right, and he held up a thumb. “Perfect.”
I smoothed my hair, cursing the late June humidity.
“Thanks for stopping to talk with us, Piper. I’m sure there’s a lot of nerves and excitement for your team, especially being able to reunite with your Olympic teammates.”
She grinned. “It is a little strange to be playing against some of them, but this is such a fun experience, and I’m so grateful for any chance to show off the talent of the women in our league.”
Miles lowered the camera a bit. “Can you do the animal trend?”
I fought to hold back a glare.
She looked between the two of us. “What animal trend?”
This was the part of social media I hated. We couldn’t just do short one or two questions interviews; no, we had to do stupid bits to attract views.
I shot her an apologetic smile. “We show you an animal and see if you can mimic the sound.”
Miles pulled his phone from his pocket and scrolled. “You can do the donkey or monkey.”
“Seriously?” she asked me.
“It will just take a second.” Miles held up his phone.
I shook my head. “You absolutely don’t have to do this.” I glared at him.
Her smile shook. “I want to be a good sport about this and do the silly things for socials, but we’re really trying to get fans to take us seriously.”
I swallowed. “I know. I understand.”
Miles finally lowered his phone and slipped it back into his pocket. “Right.”
“Maybe after our first win,” she added before slipping away.
I let out a sigh and leaned against the wall.
“Sorry,” Miles moved beside me. “They’re just really pushing for content.”
“I know.” I’d already received five texts from Chris reminding me of what the goal was here.
Initially, this was only going to be written web content, but once excitement spread about the event, the network upgraded us to video as well.
That meant I got to work with Miles, a videographer I hadn’t met before, but that I wouldn’t be doing only traditional interviews and articles.
“But we have to be respectful and build rapport with them before asking them to do something humiliating,” I explained again.
He glanced around the room. “Or we could find another trend.”
“We will. I’m not asking anyone to bray like a donkey.” I sighed and closed my eyes. It was the morning of day one. Not all the athletes had even arrived yet, and I was reaching my limit.
There were so many interesting stories to tell.
How some of the female athletes were only eighteen and playing on the world’s largest stages.
Going from high school to the Olympics, then a first-of-its-kind tournament in your first year, is unfathomable, and I wanted to get an interview with them before the first games to compare to how they felt after.
But no. The network wanted to humiliate the athletes instead, so they could go viral.
“There are dances––”
“No.” I shot him a look that had him sliding away.
“Got it.”
I felt bad; it wasn’t his fault. We were both just trying to do our jobs. I just happened to be very protective of these women. “If something funny or interesting happens organically, we can clip it. I’m not forcing them to do stupid things for views.”
“Clip farming,” he said, as if those two words formed a coherent sentence.
“What?”
“That’s what it's called when you set things up in hope of getting funny or viral clips.”
I cringed. “Yeah, we’re not doing that.”
“We have to upload at least one video a day.” He reminded me of one of the most annoying terms of our being here.
“We will, we’re just not doing farming.” I pointed to his pocket. “Nothing that embarrasses the athletes.”
“Can we embarrass you?” he teased.
I narrowed my eyes, then debated. I’d rather sacrifice my pride, not like I had much, than the women. “Sure. If that’s what it takes.”
He nodded. “We’ll figure it out.”
“Really?”
“What?” His brows pulled together.
“No more pushback? You’re not going to try to force me?”
He scoffed. “I can’t force you, and I won’t even try. The animal thing was a suggestion from my boss. It wasn’t my idea, but I can say I tried, but we’re going in a different direction.”
“Which is?”
“That’s what we need to figure out.” He pushed his glasses up. “We’re on the same side. I don’t want to offend anyone either.”
I hadn’t expected him to agree with me so easily. I hadn’t expected him to go along with my plan this morning either. I’d told him I wanted to go to the women’s breakfast to introduce ourselves rather than waiting for the men's teams to arrive, and he’d simply said yes.
No push back. No countering with his own plan.
I eyed him, my suspicions growing.
The harsh reality of our industry was that we were all fighting for space, for recognition, for just a little bit more.
If he wanted better assignments, he needed to provide excellent videos and images. He could hide behind me as an excuse, but ultimately, he had his own boss to impress and answer to.
“Why are you just agreeing with me?”
He flinched back. “Why would I argue?”
Because the vast majority of the men I worked with did. “Because I’m not taking the easy route.”
“The easy route being?”
“Focusing on the men.”
“You’re assuming a lot about me.”
I was.
“I asked for this, begged, actually. I wanted to cover this event more than anything else this year. I told my boss, Teresa, that I’d get the content. I’d keep the social media team flush with options.”
“And yet you let Piper walk away,” I reminded him.
“Because we might have gotten one video, but she’d go back to her teammates and the other athletes and warn them about us. We’d burn a whole lot of bridges on day one. You were right to stop me, but I did promise I’d ask.”
We both had things we needed to do and people to answer to, but I was relieved he seemed to be able to see how dumb this was.
“Let’s agree that unless it’s the athlete’s idea, we don’t do any stupid trends like that.” I needed him to be on the same page as me with this.
“Sure, but we do need clips.”
I nodded. “We’ll get them.”
Somehow.
Unfortunately, he didn’t mean of the women talking about how hard they’ve worked to get here and how great it feels to finally begin to get the recognition they deserve. That isn’t what the internet wants.
After another quick interview with one of the women, I turned to him. “Maybe we can set up little competitions, like with mini sticks or trick shots. Something still fun and unique to see from professionals, but also related to hockey and showing off their skills.”
He began to nod slowly. “A daily challenge could be fun.”
“Something for viewers to look forward to,” I agreed.
“Might take a lot of planning,” he warned.
In addition to everything else we have to do.
“It’s better than the alternative. I could even ask them questions while they’re trying to do the challenge, like a fun distraction to add pressure.”
He cracked a grin. “That would be entertaining, not just for viewers but for us and the athletes. It’s better than the generic questions.”
Great, getting him on board was a major win; now we just had to figure out execution. But this was better for everyone and would be worth the extra work.
I didn’t care that my contract was coming up for negotiation…Okay, I cared a lot. But I wasn’t going to sacrifice the athletes, some I considered to be my friends, just to appease the higher-ups to keep my job.
I was going to do better.
Give Sports Now unique and authentic content that didn’t sacrifice my journalistic integrity.
Plus, if it was a hit like we were hoping, then it would add to my argument of getting me off written online material and shift to the mainstream side of things. A promotion I’d been working for since I was hired.
Noise erupted behind us, and we both turned to see a mass of people arriving.
Based on the excitement of the few guests who happened to be in the lobby, and the sudden direction all cameras were pointed, the men were here.
Miles was already filming. He glanced over to me. “Do you want to make your way over?”
It seemed like a genuine question, but I still prickled at the idea of having to deal with them.
In my experience, female athletes were professional, poised, and genuinely excited to be talking about their profession. They were grateful for the attention the media was giving them.
Then there were the men.
They avoided. They dodged. They acted as if we were hounding them for something other than a few words.
It was strange because most people assumed hockey players were like other athletes: crass, attention-hungry, or prima donnas.
Nope.
Hockey players, in general, wanted nothing to do with cameras. They were quiet, reserved, and just wanted to play their sport without the add ons.
But there were necessary add-ons!
Press was needed. Media was needed. Fans wanted to get to know the individuals on their favorite teams.
Yet, they acted like it was physically painful for them to speak to us.
You’d find one ham every once in a while. The one guy who actually wanted to talk and do commercials and chit-chat without wincing.
Those were the superstars. Household names.
Unfortunately, those were one-in-a-generation types.
The NBA had it so good.
Even the NFL had divas who craved the spotlight.
Not here.
It was like we were the enemy.
Which we were not. In this sport, most of the journalists and commentators were previous players.
I hated getting quotes during or after games when I was assigned NHL games. I could predict word for word the responses I’d get without even having to ask.
It was always ‘we,’ never just the player. Whether the whole team was playing well or poorly, they took accountability as a whole.
I did like that, but it made their comments repetitive.
“Victoria?” Miles took a step toward the mayhem, and I groaned quietly before leading the way over.
Break the ice, get them used to my face, remind them I’m a friend, not a foe.
“Let’s head this way.” I guided him along the crowd to a less busy area the players would have to pass in order to get to the elevators. “We can wait for them here.”
“Good call.” Miles scoped out the angles he could get while I pretended this wasn’t an excuse to delay the inevitable.
Most of these guys were great. I’d worked with them before and even hung out with quite a few during the Olympics.
There were some I wasn’t too fond of, and for some reason, the feeling seemed mutual. Maybe it was the East Coast versus West Coast thing. I just got along well with those who understood my New England roots.
Fortunately, it seemed the East team, or the Stripes as they were called for this tournament, had arrived first.
“Vicky!” Otto Stagmeier called as he hurried over and pulled me in for a quick side hug. “How’ve you been?”
I pulled back with narrowed eyes. “Don’t say that so loud. You’re the only one who gets to call me that.”
He’d decided he’d earned the right to a nickname a few years back when he happened to block a puck from hitting me in the side of my head during a pregame interview.
Sure, it was heroic, and I owed him for saving me from pain, if not more, but Vicky was my childhood moniker that usually came with Icky.
Miles chuckled behind me. “I was bracing to drag you away. I’m shocked you just stood there.”
I shot him a warning look. “Don’t get any ideas.”
“She owes me a life debt; I chose to accept payment in the form of a nickname.” Otto grinned and held out his hand. “I don’t believe we’ve met before. I’m Otto.”
“Miles,” he introduced himself. “I usually cover outdoor events, so I’m excited to be here.”
“Me too,” Otto turned back to me. “Do you know all of the guys? I can introduce you.” He took a step in the direction of the loud mass, but I stopped him.
“I’ve interviewed most of them, but I wanted to run something by you, actually.” I hadn’t planned on getting player input, but I might as well.
“Shoot,” he smirked. “Hockey pun.”
I shook my head. “You need to get out more.”
He sighed. "Unfortunately, that is true.”
“Are you talking about our plan?” Miles asked.
“Yeah,” I looked between them. “We were thinking instead of the same old questions or doing silly internet trends, we set up challenges. Something super quick and easy.”
“Like trick shots or mini stick goals,” Miles added.
Otto grinned. “Sounds good. Anything to break up the monotony of press days.”
“Great,” Miles nodded to me.
“Yeah, although I do like the random quick-answer questions too. Like favorite cartoon character as we’re passing by. Those make us laugh on the bench.”
“Good to know. I’ll be ready.”
He opened his mouth when someone called his name. “Sorry, we should catch up later!”
I agreed as he jogged away and faced Miles. “First task: Find mini sticks and goal.”
He pulled out his phone and began typing.
“Second, plan at least ten challenges. Third, come up with. . .” I scrunched my nose, trying to come up with a realistic number, "twenty quick-fire questions?”
“That sounds good. We can come up with more if needed.”
“Right, then I can ask relevant questions about practice or games as they come up.”
I felt slightly better having a plan that differed from the usual, and having built a good rapport with the players over the years, and the Olympics, would make it easy to get them to buy into the mini games.
“There’s a sporting goods store a few blocks away.” Miles slid his phone into his back pocket. “We can check there and make it back to greet the women’s team when the rest of them arrive.”
“Perfect.” I couldn’t be more grateful for him. If I had any chance of making this work, I needed his help.
This might just be enough to set us apart. To show the network I have potential beyond thirty-second clips. If we could build this into something during the tournament, it would be exactly what I needed to bring to the negotiating table.