Wednesday, September 14, 2011

Before I went to work for Crushed Soul Publishing in 2005, I was a sportswriter/sports editor. I spent a solid 15 years covering sports—mostly the NFL but also auto racing, baseball, and bits and pieces of everything else.

A number of things came out of those years that I’ll always cherish. For example:

• I learned how to navigate a buffet line. Some of the most harrowing experiences of my life occurred in pressbox buffet lines. You think I’m joking? Sportswriters would get maimed in these scrums, emerging sans fingers, ears, and other body parts. Okay, maybe I’m exaggerating slightly, but it was definitely survival of the fittest.

• I rubbed elbows with some of the biggest names in the biz. When I worked for Inside Sports magazine, for instance, Mike Ditka was one of our special contributors, and it fell upon me to ghostwrite his articles. We’d sit in red-leather armchairs at his golf club, smoking cigars and talking pigskin.

• I was a hit at cocktail parties. Whenever I told the fellas that I covered sports for a living, they’d be glued to me for the rest of the evening.

Eventually, though, I grew bored. How many times can you ask players about their hamstrings before you stop caring about the answers? I was happy to explore other forms of publishing, even if it meant I’d be transformed from Joe Cool into Wallflower Doofus at cocktail parties.

My dining room table, otherwise known as
Wagner Headquarters. It might not look like much,
but big things can spring from humble beginnings.

Not that I’m Wallflower Doofus all the time. Old habits die hard, and I still keep my finger in sports. Among other things, I edit a local golf publication (insert shameless plug here: Chicago Area Golf) for an old friend and former colleague, Val Russell.

When I told Val I’d been laid off from Crushed Soul, he suggested I go with him to the BMW Championship, a PGA tournament at Cog Hill in suburban Lemont that starts this week and runs through Sunday. I agreed to meet up with him on the final day of the tournament, and he set me up with press credentials.

They’re sitting amid the clutter on my dining room table. I’m looking at them right now, and I’m thinking the tournament will provide an excellent networking opportunity, as well as some fresh air.

Besides, I can’t play nursemaid to Fluffy forever. Speaking of which, the rallying cry from my blog’s burgeoning readership has been clear: “We want more Fluffy!” So…I’m happy to report that Fluffy is still alive. Although he remains in something of a funk—periodically sandbagging himself under the chair—he appears to be getting stronger and more energetic.

But enough about Fluffy—this blog is supposed to center on my triumph over adversity, not his. Along those lines, I’m happy to report that the eczema on my finger is back in check, I slept well last night, and I’m looking forward to covering some golf. A field trip will do me good.