Read Online Life Its Ownself by Dan Jenkins - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Dan Jenkins
Tags: Fiction, General, Performing Arts, Texas, History & Criticism, Television, Football Stories, Television Broadcasting
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mid-air collision of 747's. But I didn't say any of this to the person who might want to pay me good money to go to several American cities and get drunk. What I said was:
"Larry Hoage has a familiar voice."
"Yes, he does," said Richard Marks, offering me a fruit- flavored Cert. "Ideally, I would like for Larry to get fewer names wrong when he's calling a game, but he has a high recognition quotient, and you can't overlook this in television."
Richard Marks then outlined the future of CBS Sports for me.
"I want to enhance audience sympathy for the athletes as people," he said. "There are many instances during telecasts when we need to spend more time humanizing sports. You can help us do that. I plan to see to it that my network becomes the one that enriches the viewer. I want us to be frothy, keenly focused on issues; comedic at times, yes, but never pessimistic. Wary but not cynical. Aggressive but never inaccurate or chaotic. I see us as the network with texture, depth, spark, clear concepts, spontaneity, and above all, perhaps, the network with the inner conviction that a professional football game is very much a part of the human narrative."
I said, "Most of my friends seem to like announcers who just give you the score and the clock and otherwise shut the fuck up."
"That, too," Richard Marks said.
He asked if I was represented by IMG.
"Who?"
"Mark McCormack."
"No."
"The Hook?"
"Who?"
"Ed Hookstratten."
"No."
"Mike Trope?"
"No."
"Don't tell me you're with ICM! I didn't know they handled athletes."
"I'm not."
"Ron Konecky, of course. I'll give him a call and we'll bang the dents out of the fenders."
"Who's Ron Konecky?"
"Who's your agent?"
"I don't have an agent."
"How can you not have an agent? Everybody has an agent or a business manager. You don't have an agent?"
Richard Marks didn't seem to know whether to be flabbergasted or accuse me of an out-and-out lie.
"All I do is play football," I said. "My wife has an agent in L.A. Actually, he's a lawyer. She's never seen him, but he does her stuff. Barry somebody."
"Barry Sloan?"
"Could be. All I know is, some guy told her that in Hollywood, she'd better have her own Jew or they'd play racquetball with her liver."
"I'll give Barry Sloan a call."
"Why?"
"Why? You and I can't talk money, Billy Clyde. Things aren't done that way."
"Make me an offer. I'll probably accept it. What's the big deal?"
Richard Marks took a pocket calculator from his coat. He began pecking on it.
"Hmmm," he said. "Twelve games left in the regular season... playoff possibilities... these darn lashups are getting more and more expensive. Looks like our budget can stand to make you a... one-year deal for... well, let's round it off...a hundred thousand."
I cleared my throat. I wasn't balking. I honestly had to clear my throat.
So Richard Marks said, "Heck, I know you've talked to NBC. Make it one-fifty and we'll wrap it up."
NBC had only offered me $75,000. Richard Marks had already doubled it because I cleared my throat. It made me wonder what a violent coughing spell would have done.
"NBC mentioned something about expenses," I said.
"Look," he said, "I hate this bargaining business. Of course you'll get expenses at CBS. We fly first class. Let's say two hundred thousand for the regular season, we'll negotiate the playoffs later—okay?"
I took the job with CBS. I would begin work the first week in October. A regional game. Me and Larry Hoage.
Some people might have thought that being paid $200,000 for going to twelve football games was sinful. Ordinarily, I would have agreed. But later on, when I thought about the fact that I would have to spend three hours at each of those games with Larry Hoage, and no telling how many dinners the night before, I decided I had sold out too cheaply.
Before he departed that day, Richard Marks said, "I don't think you need voice lessons. You still have your Texas accent. Good! It will create an aura of sincerity on the air when
"Larry Hoage has a familiar voice."
"Yes, he does," said Richard Marks, offering me a fruit- flavored Cert. "Ideally, I would like for Larry to get fewer names wrong when he's calling a game, but he has a high recognition quotient, and you can't overlook this in television."
Richard Marks then outlined the future of CBS Sports for me.
"I want to enhance audience sympathy for the athletes as people," he said. "There are many instances during telecasts when we need to spend more time humanizing sports. You can help us do that. I plan to see to it that my network becomes the one that enriches the viewer. I want us to be frothy, keenly focused on issues; comedic at times, yes, but never pessimistic. Wary but not cynical. Aggressive but never inaccurate or chaotic. I see us as the network with texture, depth, spark, clear concepts, spontaneity, and above all, perhaps, the network with the inner conviction that a professional football game is very much a part of the human narrative."
I said, "Most of my friends seem to like announcers who just give you the score and the clock and otherwise shut the fuck up."
"That, too," Richard Marks said.
He asked if I was represented by IMG.
"Who?"
"Mark McCormack."
"No."
"The Hook?"
"Who?"
"Ed Hookstratten."
"No."
"Mike Trope?"
"No."
"Don't tell me you're with ICM! I didn't know they handled athletes."
"I'm not."
"Ron Konecky, of course. I'll give him a call and we'll bang the dents out of the fenders."
"Who's Ron Konecky?"
"Who's your agent?"
"I don't have an agent."
"How can you not have an agent? Everybody has an agent or a business manager. You don't have an agent?"
Richard Marks didn't seem to know whether to be flabbergasted or accuse me of an out-and-out lie.
"All I do is play football," I said. "My wife has an agent in L.A. Actually, he's a lawyer. She's never seen him, but he does her stuff. Barry somebody."
"Barry Sloan?"
"Could be. All I know is, some guy told her that in Hollywood, she'd better have her own Jew or they'd play racquetball with her liver."
"I'll give Barry Sloan a call."
"Why?"
"Why? You and I can't talk money, Billy Clyde. Things aren't done that way."
"Make me an offer. I'll probably accept it. What's the big deal?"
Richard Marks took a pocket calculator from his coat. He began pecking on it.
"Hmmm," he said. "Twelve games left in the regular season... playoff possibilities... these darn lashups are getting more and more expensive. Looks like our budget can stand to make you a... one-year deal for... well, let's round it off...a hundred thousand."
I cleared my throat. I wasn't balking. I honestly had to clear my throat.
So Richard Marks said, "Heck, I know you've talked to NBC. Make it one-fifty and we'll wrap it up."
NBC had only offered me $75,000. Richard Marks had already doubled it because I cleared my throat. It made me wonder what a violent coughing spell would have done.
"NBC mentioned something about expenses," I said.
"Look," he said, "I hate this bargaining business. Of course you'll get expenses at CBS. We fly first class. Let's say two hundred thousand for the regular season, we'll negotiate the playoffs later—okay?"
I took the job with CBS. I would begin work the first week in October. A regional game. Me and Larry Hoage.
Some people might have thought that being paid $200,000 for going to twelve football games was sinful. Ordinarily, I would have agreed. But later on, when I thought about the fact that I would have to spend three hours at each of those games with Larry Hoage, and no telling how many dinners the night before, I decided I had sold out too cheaply.
Before he departed that day, Richard Marks said, "I don't think you need voice lessons. You still have your Texas accent. Good! It will create an aura of sincerity on the air when
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