Backtime On The Front Porch

On Lincoln's Birthday I got plowed into someone's front porch. On Washington's Birthday, I was featured on The Front Porch.

I remember sitting down at The Creative Coast with Jake (ironically a George Washington grad) to do this a couple of months ago. He had obviously lined up a bunch of these so they would be his legacy before abdicating and bolting northbound. Sort of like the less celebrated President John Adams setting up Midnight Judges.

The Podcast is actually quite good, and I don't just say that because it features my own voice. It was the type of discussion a couple of people would have on the front porch and I enjoyed it even more the second time.

One of the topics we discussed was this blog, begging the question: What Is Backtime?

December 19, 2012

I was sitting on The Front Porch just a couple of days ago, and during our fireside chat Mr. Hodesh asked about the derivation of this blog's title.

Backtime, in TV terms, is the time left in your show. This is of course presuming that everything goes to format. You'll need to expand or compress your content to fit the show's length.

Life of course has no given length, but there are only 24 hours in a day. And if you're a Dad, a frequent business traveler, writer, researcher, and someone who wants to remain in reasonably good physical shape, that may not be enough time. So you learn how to maximize your time to get the best content on the air, which in this case means your life.

So my constant evolvement as a Dad, my road adventures, memoirs, perspective on sports, TV and book reviews, and not-too-serious political commentary are all a part of who I am. They all need to be cultivated, watered like plants, to keep my mind sharp and focus on whatever the hell comes next.

Yesterday was a good example:

7:30 AM - Homework at coffee joint

9:30 AM - Haircut

11:00 AM - Holiday Feast at the kids' elementary school

12:30 PM - Car wash

1:30 PM - Conference call (90 minutes)

3:30 PM - Conference call (60 minutes)

4:30 PM - Monitor kids' karate and gymnastics class

6:00 PM - Address and stamp 75 holiday cards

7:15 PM - My karate class

9:00 PM - Prepare food for Wednesday holiday party

10:00 PM - Write blog

Then I set the alarm for 6 AM, with a 7 AM personal training session hanging over my head. And a 12-day, 4-event road trip begins on Thursday.

My son is only 8, but he saw my "must" do list for the week and he was moved to say, "That's a lot of stuff." Come May, I'll likely be sitting on my own front porch devouring a book or just watching the traffic go by. But for now, this is the season. You can set your watch to it, I am the traffic.

An Alma Mater Hit and Run

I lived in the Northeast from when I was born until 2002. During that time I graduated from Syracuse University in 1991, and returned several times to cover college football and basketball games.

But since moving all over the country, I hadn't been back in 5 years and my 42 hours in town felt very familiar.

First, our group stayed at the Genesee Grande Hotel, which was the first hotel my Dad took me to when I first visited the campus in 1986. It was the Genesee Inn at the time, and a little more spartan than the boardroom suite I commanded on this trip.

We were there long enough to hit an excellent dinner at Phoebe's. And before heading to the Dome, I got my dome shorn up at a barber shop that was open at 7 AM on a Saturday.

I walked through campus to work, picked up some Orange gear for the kids, and remembered the 44-degree weather wouldn't be so cold without the 20 MPH winds, an observation I made many times in my 4-year (no summer classes, no 5th year) tenure.

Syracuse football is back on the map this year, with 7 wins and their first guaranteed winning season since 2001. And I was there to cover it - and in the press notes to prove it.

I'm sure my parents, who paid 6 figures in tuition, would've felt some sense of payoff for their investment. But as for the emotional investment in the football team, it was an uninspiring 23-6 loss to surging Connecticut.

There's always next year. Besides I never made it to Cosmo's - my first trip back to M Street without a signature tuna bomber.

Through The Looking Glass

It's rare when the story-tellers become the story. But on this occasion The Columbus (MS) Dispatch and one very thorough reporter tried "keeping up with Eric Posman and Dave Burchett," at least on one afternoon.

Adam Minichino's main beat is Mississippi State athletics, but threw us for a little bit of a loop when he walked into our truck wearing an old-school San Diego Padres jacket. He seemed sharp, asked good questions and talked to a lot of people. I thought it would be a nice little feature in the hometown paper.

It turned out to dominate the Sunday sports section - a central story with 8 sidebars, focusing on the talent, the replay operators, and the producer's opening format among other things.

We kept the language clean, and stayed away from off-color jokes (except one from the director - just ask him about it). I even had to turn around and say "Don't print that!" But generally it was the only time I thought about being observed.

My only issue was there was no picture of me, the producer. There is a photo of director Dave Burchett very much in his domain.

There were pictures of the announcers, audio guy, tape room. Why not me? I guess the photog was afraid of the glare.

Not only do I have a face for radio, but a head that can't make the daily rag.

Can't Forget Paris

It never fails. This time of year, I turn on the TV in the morning and I see the red clay and I can only think of one thing (and it's not the Garth Brooks song).

I was one year out of college and bouncing around the country working on baseball, football, basketball, boxing, and tennis, trying to get my foot in the door of the TV business.

Then I had an opportunity to go to Paris and work for ESPN on the 1992 French Open. No flight, no hotel, just $175 a day for 3 weeks. For a 23 year-old single guy, I thought it would be a great experience.

It turns out that I wasn't as ugly an American as I thought. My burgeoning coffee addiction and pack-a-day cigarette habit fit right in. I enjoyed sitting at cafes and partying at discotheques. I loved staying at the flat of a friend-of-a-friend in Monmarte and riding the Metro to work each day.

When you got your change at the grocery store, the cashier actually said voila, and the moped rider on the opposite side of the street would actually stop for an attractive woman, whistle, and shout ooh la la!

Mind you, this was before the internet, cell phones, ESPN2, and before Derek Jeter and Mariano Rivera changed history. I was wide-eyed and wasn't distracted.

That year, I was in the stands to see one of the great events as Monica Seles defeated Steffi Graf in the Women's Final 10-8 in the final set. Jim Courier was at the peak of his career, winning his second straight Men's title, quickly dismantling Petr Korda. Courier thanked the adoring crowd by accepting his trophy and addressing the Court Central faithful in French. A nice touch.

These days, the French Open isn't much of a mystery, at least on the men's side. I saw an article recently titled: French Open Preview - What's The Point?

That's because Rafael Nadal has never lost a single match at Roland Garros. He's won 4 straight titles, including 3 in a row over Roger Federer.

But mostly I remember my experience there for the work. I didn't know what I was going to do there, but somehow wound up in a great spot.

I sat in front of a computer that was spitting out real-time scores all over the grounds. I had a walkie-talkie with two channels - one for each camera crew I was directing to various locations on the outer courts. And it was mostly based on my instincts.

If there was a great match, upset brewing, American result on the line, or we just needed video on an up-and-comer, it was my job to send the crews to the right spot, then inform the producer when they were in position. He would determine whether to go live or roll it back as a taped highlight.

Pretty heady stuff for a guy who was essentially an extra to start. But after returning home and getting back into the grind, I now realize I didn't have the maturity or the people skills to handle my new-found success and responsibilities. My career changed direction, and it wasn't exactly my decision.

By the next year I was on the inside, but working my way up from the bottom.

I worked at HQ for 3 years, but decided to go free-lance and move to New York to improve my life if not my career. You can't fret about the life decisions you make when you're young and a little impulsive. Everything leads to where you are.

Captain James T. Kirk had the best quote, ironically from the worst Star Trek Movie - Star Trek V: The Final Frontier, when Dr. McCoy suggested that he give his life's pain over to an empathic cult leader and his emotional healing powers...

"I've made the wrong choices in my life. That I went left when I should've gone right? I know what my weaknesses are...You know that pain and guilt can't be taken away with the wave of a magic wand. They're things we carry with us
– If we lose them, we lose ourselves."

Experience dictates everything. And I have a lot more to remind me of my one spring in Paris than just a Roland Garros necktie.