Chapter 3
Alright, Azalea Violet Blackwater. Today is your day. You will be the boss bitch that you know you can be. You will absolutely crush this new job. The world needs to watch out. It doesn’t matter that I know absolutely nothing about hockey. Players names I can memorize. I can learn the rules and positions, but what I already have cannot be learned. Talent. Sure, I have a natural talent for interviewing people, but I didn’t get to where I am on luck alone. I have worked hard for everything I’ve accomplished and will not stop now. I will do everything in my power to make sure that I'm successful.
Which leads me to where I am today. Back in the middle of hell on earth, downtown Atlanta. The time has come. This week is Rachel’s last week in her position. I will be officially taking over for her as she takes a step back from travel while she's pregnant. The travel schedule is grueling, and from what she has told me already, it wasn’t worth her mental well-being to keep pushing herself like that for the job. From what I’ve heard from all of my coworkers, she is great at her job and loves it, so she’ll be back as soon as possible.
I walk into ACN for our last big meeting before we leave for Pittsburgh. I’m confident; no one can say otherwise, but that doesn’t mean I still can’t be nervous. Without delay, I locate Rachel in the crowd. She is the closest thing I have to a friend in this place. I’m pretty sure it’s actually going to suck once I am out on the road by myself, but I won’t let her know that.
“Hey, Ziggy, got a minute? We need to go over a few things before we head out.” Rachel says.
“Hey, Rachel. Let’s get this over with.” I give in.
Rachel gives me a small smile. “Well, since you will be me while I’m away, I want to ensure you’re prepared for the upcoming games and all that entails.”
Starting to get a little annoyed, I get a little snappy before I can rein it in. “Rachel, I’ve got this. I’ve been watching you and taking notes. I know the routine inside and out.” Whatever I said must have been funny because it made Rachel chuckle.
“That’s what you might think now, but you will thank me later,” she says.
Going over this with Rachel is like stepping into an alternate universe. I can talk circles around most people, so it’s kind of comical that everyone is so concerned about my abilities they think that I need her guidance. She drones on about what to expect when we travel this week for the game between the Pittsburgh Predators and Vancouver Wolverines. Honestly, I could write a book on it myself. Travel schedules, pregame interviews, postgame wrap-ups—none of this is rocket science. While Rachel rattles off her checklist, I nod politely, all the while mentally rearranging my own much more efficient plan. After all, I'm not here to just follow in someone else’s footsteps; I'm here to redefine the role. But sure, Rachel, tell me more about how the sun sets in the west and how to breathe air—truly groundbreaking stuff.
Rachel, bless her seasoned heart, thinks she is enlightening me with her so-called “expertise.” She takes me through the ropes, from pregame preparations to live commentary techniques, as if I haven’t already mastered the basics in my sleep. We review game footage, and she yammers on about strategies for effective commentary, pointing out the obvious like it is some secret sauce. Then comes the grand introduction to the production team, where Rachel emphasizes the importance of teamwork while traveling. Teamwork—how original. I can run circles around these guys with my hands tied behind my back, but I let her have her moment. I smile and nod, pretending to absorb her wisdom, all the while planning how I’ll revolutionize this whole operation once she is out of the picture.
Packing my bags for my first road trip is an exercise in perfection, naturally. The thrill of a new adventure is undeniable, even if it is a little nerve-wracking—though I’d never admit that to anyone. I planned my itinerary down to the minute, ensuring I have all my equipment and notes. Not that I need a detailed list. It’s more for the production team’s sake so they can try to keep up. I triple-check everything, from my perfectly pressed outfits to my top-of-the-line tech gear, making sure it is all in pristine condition. After all, I’m not just going to cover a game; I’m going to set a new standard. Heaven forbid anyone thinks I'm not absolutely on top of my game.
The flight to Pittsburgh was uneventful. It gave me time to mentally prepare, hype myself up, and then bring myself back down to neutral. I arrive at the rink early, which is my way of showing everyone I’m serious about this. I soak in the new experience, the crisp chill of the ice, the hum of anticipation in the air. Mentally, I’m already a step ahead, visualizing every moment of the evening. Rachel is there, of course, guiding me through the pregame procedures as if I haven’t already memorized them. Interviewing players and coaches is part of the routine, and I follow along, pretending to absorb her ‘wisdom,’ biding my time until I’m running the show.
When it is time for my first interview, I’m ready. The star player swaggers up, all charm and confidence. I nail my questions, of course, effortlessly blending incisiveness with wit. But despite my flawless performance, I feel the sting of being overshadowed by his star power. The cameras and the audience are more interested in his every smirk and nod than in my deep-diving questions. I try to draw out more engaging responses, but it’s like pulling teeth. Making sports commentary compelling is turning out to be more challenging than I anticipated. Who knew these athletes could be... all flash and no substance? Still, I’m determined to shine, no matter how much I have to drag these players into giving me something worth broadcasting.
My meticulous nature, which I consider one of my greatest assets, leads me to prepare exhaustive notes while analyzing the structure of game interviews. I delve into every statistic, every player’s background, and every possible angle to ensure my commentary is not just good, but exceptional. While others might settle for mediocrity, I refuse to let anything slip through the cracks. My work is a comprehensive masterpiece, if I do say so myself, designed to provide unparalleled insight to elevate the broadcast to new heights.
Despite my thoroughness, it becomes painfully clear that my contributions are overlooked or unappreciated by the higher-ups. I’m willing to pour hours into crafting the perfect narrative, but if my hard work is not going to be seen or even be given a passing mention, is it even worth it? When I make broadcast suggestions before we start filming and they are ignored, what is the point? My detailed notes, the ones that were the backbone of my previous jobs, seem unimportant. My personality drives me to excel, but now I feel the bitter sting of being underappreciated. I’m furious! How can they not see the value I bring? My hard work and dedication deserves recognition, not to be drowned out by the droning voices of those who can’t hold a candle to my level of preparation. It’s infuriating, but I’m not about to let it stop me. They’ll see my worth soon enough—whether they want to or not.
Debating whether to push through the constant challenges or consider other opportunities where my talents might be better recognized is a recurring thought that gnaws at me throughout the game. I know I have the skills and the drive, but the lack of appreciation is infuriating.
Rachel, on the brink of her leave, is who keeps me from making a change. We sit across from each other at a dimly lit bar in Pittsburgh, nursing our drinks after the game and a long day of filming the coverage. I swirl my cocktail around, watching the ice clink against the glass, trying to drown out the unrest that is growing inside me.
Rachel looks over a slightly less exciting non-alcoholic drink, sensing my unease. "You seem distracted," she says, raising an eyebrow. "What's going on?"
I sigh, leaning back on my stool. "I don’t know if this is where I’m supposed to be," I admit. "I feel like I’m wasting my time, like maybe I should just give up and find a new job."
Rachel gives me a once over. "I get it," she begins, her tone surprisingly gentle. "But you’re forgetting that your success in this field will take time. And giving up when it gets hard isn’t going to make what you do next feel any better. No one gets it right on the first try. I’ve been exactly where you are."
I look at her, intrigued. "Really? You’re telling me that you didn’t always have it together."
She laughs, shaking her head. "Oh, no. I struggled a lot in the beginning. It’s practically a right of passage. I felt like I didn’t belong, that I was a fraud. But I kept at it. I learned from my mistakes, and eventually, I found my way. You will too. You just have to give yourself some time."
Her words are unexpectedly comforting. "I guess I’m just impatient," I say, smiling a little.
Rachel smiles back. "Impatience isn’t a bad thing, Ziggy. You’ve got talent, and you’ve got drive. Just because it's not where you expected to be doesn’t mean that you don’t belong here."
Fine, I’ll give it my all. And just like that, she begrudgingly inspires me to stay the course. With renewed determination, I decide to prove my worth. Using every skill I have in my possession, I seek out new ways to shine in my role, setting ambitious goals for getting noticed for my presence and finding unique angles for my reports. I’m exhausted but still full of renewed purpose. I’m ready for the next game, eager to tackle the challenges head-on and finally make my mark in the world of sports commentary. They haven’t seen anything yet.