It’s Not the Destination, Stupid. It’s the Journey

Last night, I went to a high school football game.

I don’t suppose there’s really anything noteworthy about this. Hundreds of thousands of people attend high school games all across America on Friday nights in the Fall, true, but I hadn’t been to a game since the last time I broadcast one, back in the day when I was barely older than the players I watched in Milan last night, and it reminded me of the one true regret I have about my career.

When I was young and just getting started in broadcasting, I worked in two towns – Miles City, Montana and Detroit Lakes, Minnesota – that weren’t all that different from Milan. They were small, the people were friendly, and high school sports were a focal point for folks of all ages. It’s not that I didn’t enjoy the work; I did, even though it was hectic, with high school football of Friday and Saturday in the Fall, followed by girls basketball on Monday and Thursday and boys hoops on Tuesday, Friday, and Saturday, with the occasional hockey game sprinkled in, in the Winter. It was in towns like Milan that I gained the experience I needed, developing skills that would one day allow me to work at higher levels in the field, and getting endless opportunities to make mistakes and hone my skills. These small towns were marvelous training grounds, but for me that’s where it ended when I was young, and as I’ve gotten older I’ve really regretted that I didn’t take full advantage of what towns like these have to offer.

I was in such a hurry to climb to the next rung on the career ladder that I really didn’t appreciate the experience as I should have. It’s not a professional regret. I spent about 15 months in Miles City and another 18 in Detroit Lakes, learning what I needed to learn there, and I moved on. No, my regret is personal. There were so many people there that helped me, from coaches who put up with my endless idiotic questions as I learned how to interview people, to the mother of a young lady I dated who made it her mission to make sure that I took the time to shop for clothes so that I might dress as well as I could on a salary that was barely north of the poverty line. It’s not that I wasn’t grateful for the help. I always thanked people that helped me, and those thanks were sincere, but once I left those towns, those people were generally in my rear view mirror, never to see or hear from me again. They had no reason to help me; I was just some guy coming through town on the way to somewhere else, but they went out of their way to make me a part of their community, even if only for a short period of time. I was single and thousands of miles from home, and when the holidays came around there was always someone (and usually multiple folks) that would drop by the radio station to bring me food or a Christmas wreath for my apartment door. It was not at all unusual for wives of the local coaches to invite me to their homes for dinner, and the people who worked at the radio station – some of whom were women old enough to be my mother and treated me accordingly – were always making sure I was eating right (well, at least they tried…I don’t eat right to this day) and taking care of myself.

When I talk to kids today about careers in broadcasting, I try to stress that they should enjoy these early career experiences. I know from experience that there’s nothing at all wrong with being ambitious and goal oriented, but it’s a mistake to miss out on the chance to enjoy the things that a small town environment offers. I know these kids probably don’t hear me – I wouldn’t have when I was their age – but I feel a responsibility to try and deliver the message.

Last night as I soaked in the atmosphere at the Milan-Batesville game, I spent a of time watching the people. I was asked to participate in the opening coin flip, so I got a chance to see the anxious looks on the faces of the players as they prepared for competition. I noticed how the students at the game weren’t really paying much attention to the action, but were more interested in moving in and out of the various social cliques that seem prevalent at all schools, no matter the size. I saw parents watch their kids participate, the looks on their faces ranging from tension to elation. I noticed how the kids in the band became increasingly excited as halftime, and their few minutes in the spotlight, approached. Mostly, I just spent some time watching and enjoying things that I was way too myopic to notice when I was young, living in a small town, and trying to make a name for myself.

So an invitation from the Batesville Bulldogs and Milan Indians ended up being one of the best nights I’ve had in a long time. I may not have appreciated the small town experience when I was young and stupid, but for one night I had another chance to experience a Friday night in small town America, and it was wonderful.

Thank you.

Sunday’s Journey: Nowhere. Day off

Mileage: None

On the iPod: Nothing

P.S.: As always, photos are available on my Fcebook page (Mark Joseph Boyle).