DENNIS ODA / DODA@STARBULLETIN.COM
ESPN's Joe Theismann, Mike Patrick and Paul Maguire got touch-ups by the stage manager, Nancy Voelker, before the start of the Pro Bowl on Sunday in the press box.
ESPN's broadcast of Sunday's
Pro Bowl is quite an experience
from behind the scenes
THERE were about 125 people wearing an ESPN all-access pass for Sunday's Pro Bowl, and for some reason, somebody gave one to me.
Seems the head of public relations for the sports network got this bright idea to lift up the ropes and let a print guy into Thunderdome. Two men in, one man out.
"Hey Kalani," I cried out across the newsroom. "Guy named Rob Tobias called and wondered if we wanted to watch the Pro Bowl from their side of the camera."
Our columnist didn't miss a beat.
"I already did that once with KFVE, remember?"
Vaguely, but there's a difference between college and pro.
"Maybe I can ask somebody who covers the wonderful world of television to cover this," I said, almost to myself. But some part of me already knew this ESPN badge had my name written all over it.
Friday before the game solidified it when, quite by chance, Tobias and I arrived at the same time at the Hilton Hawaiian Village to pick up our badges from Karen Bell. Badges, we don't need no stinking badges. But in Thunderdome, you do.
"Wow, isn't that a little strange?" Tobias said to me as we shook hands for the first time.
We exchanged pleasantries, talked about the wonderful weather and did a little brainstorming of how to go behind the scenes without anyone noticing. In this world, folks live by a script. Anything that deviates from the script is greeted with extreme prejudice.
Of course, I had other plans.
"Let's don't follow a script," I told him. "Let's just wander around and see what happens."
He eyed me warily, but come game day, it was the perfect part of the plan.
KNOWING PRO BOWL traffic as well as I do, I parked at the K-mart, went in to buy a big bag of cat food as my parking fee and headed toward Aloha Stadium for my 14th NFL All-Star Game. Unfortunately, Mr. Tobias didn't follow my instructions and took a media bus from Waikiki, instead. Bad move.
GEORGE F. LEE / GLEE@STARBULLETIN.COM
ESPN's Suzy Kolber interviewed a player during Sunday's game.
"I don't understand why this is taking so long," he said from his cell phone, bus stopped somewhere on Salt Lake Boulevard. "At the Super Bowl, we went right in."
"Hey that's Houston, this is Honolulu," I said through the bites of my second Pro Bowl hot dog. "Biiiiig difference, bubba."
I didn't hear from him again until 30 minutes before kickoff. By then, the talent in the ESPN booth were practicing for their opening monologue. Tobias let Star-Bulletin photographer Dennis Oda in to fire off some quick pictures of Joe Theismann on our left, Dan Patrick in the middle and Paul Maguire on the right.
"You can stand in there too, if you like," Tobias said. I looked over Dennis' shoulder at three men putting on their pancake game face. It was too disconcerting.
"Nah, I think I'll stay out here, have me another hot dog and head to the trailer. Let's talk to these guys at the half."
So off we went, believing we had plenty of time to catch the opening quarter in what is affectionately called the truck. We wound up in the wrong end zone just as the NFC players exited their locker room. Not even our all-access pass would let us escape the south end zone dugout.
"Where did you say the trailer was again?" I asked, crammed behind several other trapped photographers.
"I think they said it was Gate 6."
That was in the north end zone, which required a quick hike through the bowels of the stadium. We made it inside the trailer just in time for the game's intros.
FROM THE OUTSIDE, a production truck looks like any other trailer. Those of us in the island chain aren't as familiar with the trailer as the lower 48 on the North American continent, but trust me, a trailer park on the outskirts of Fresno, Calif., doesn't look like this.
DENNIS ODA / DODA@STARBULLETIN.COM
ESPN's Chris Berman and Michael Irvin prepared to go on the air before the start of the Pro Bowl on Sunday.
As you walk in, you are greeted with a blast of cool darkness similar to that of a cave ride in Disneyland. There is a main compartment with little in it, but to the right is where the heart of a national broadcast exists.
Inside this tight compartment is a wall of at least 100 television monitors, mostly black and white and maybe 5 inches across. Below each screen is a name in electronic writing. There's bonnie--flaps, larry--grift, allen--soviolent and a dozen others that only have real meaning to the half-dozen guys in the room.
There is a long, black table in front of these myriad monitors where four men sit and stare with the intensity of Captain Kirk at the comm. The chatter is endless as a series of commands are asked and answered like air traffic controllers at La Guardia.
The two men in the center are producer Jay Rothman and director Chip Dean. To Dean's right is a man sitting in front of a multifaceted electronic board. He executes each of Dean's cuts, dissolves and fades effortlessly. To Rothman's left is a guy they call Andy, who lets Rothman know everything from records set to the best restaurant in Honolulu. He feeds Rothman the info and he spits it out through his headset to people located throughout the stadium.
It's high-volume madness.
Tobias and I stand unseen behind them and next to a couple of other techies whose jobs are always noticed, but they are never seen. They are responsible for rolling all the interviews, graphics and beach scenes of Hawaii that the travel industry loves. They are programmed into a computer with a four-digit number.
There are several computer screens of them and when Rothman wants one yesterday, he issues the number.
There is no margin for error in this dark den. People at home are so accustomed to watching flawless national broadcasts, they only notice something when it goes wrong. The seamless cuts and fades from taped interviews to accompanying graphics, to the play being snapped just as they dissolve to live action is a thing of beauty when it works.
When it doesn't, don't be next to Rothman.
During the introductions of the players, it seems the three Pro Bowl Patriots didn't want to follow the script for the first ESPN broadcast of the NFL All-Star game in nine years. Rothman had plans for an interactive broadcast not even John Madden's PlayStation2 game can match.
For this exhibition, he has 21 cameras, including Sky Cam, which is a robot camera that slides along on wires above the field. And Steady Cam, which is a guy wearing a camera running in and out of the huddle like a bad substitute.
In addition, ESPN has 12 players wired for sound, including all six quarterbacks, and two sideline reporters prepared to interview anyone who comes along.
"Go by the script, you can't do this to us," he says to someone located somewhere on the field. The graphics are in place. It's tough to switch when you aren't sure which starter emerges from the special-effects fog on the field. This time, they are quick on their feet, but there's still four hours to go to touchdown.
MUCH LIKE HAWAII head coach June Jones, who, when a play doesn't work moves on, these guys quickly forget when something doesn't pan out. There are times when the live action is too quick for a replay or a sound bite. Other times, they work perfectly. While Rothman sorts through all the information that accompanies the images, Dean is giving it to the nation with an assortment of camera shots, live and recorded.
Seamless is the word used in here. Don't disrupt the broadcast. It's like dead air on the radio.
Of the front foursome, Andy is the most relaxed. He looks around at everyone helping putting this together and smiles from time to time to keep the intense pressure from killing anyone.
He is the countdown artist as well. His favorite phrase is, "Five, four, three, two, one." He helps Rothman take the broadcast in and out of commercials. Many times Rothman reminds the announcers, "We're still hot. We're still hot. We're still hot." Until Dean fades to black and cuts to the commercial.
Dean likes to say "brother" at the end of his sentences like a surfer uses "dude." He is the good cop in the room. While Andy enjoys counting, Dean is fond of saying to his camera crew, "Ready 2, take 2. Ready 7, take 7," almost as much as Dick Vitale says, "Take a T.O., baby." Dean is dressed in a nice shirt and slacks ensemble, a little out of step with the casual air of Hawaii. But not much is casual in here.
"These guys are making me nervous," I tell Tobias.
Sideline reporter Chris Mortensen is yelling at Andy in a small headset, "I've got Coach Reid. I've got Aeneas Williams. I've got Don Shula." And it's still only the first quarter. Just because the sideline reporters have someone, doesn't mean Rothman's letting them tell their story. Suzy Kolber had Kansas City Chiefs offensive lineman Will Shields stand by her side for nearly 10 minutes, much to her chagrin, before he had to return to the field.
"LET'S GO BACK to the booth," I tell Tobias. "We can come back here and watch the end of the game."
So off we go back to the booth for another round of halftime hot dogs. Joe Theismann bursts onto the scene, looking nice and tanned in a peach shirt and dark slacks. Tobias whispers something in Theismann's ear just before he crushes my bones with a hearty handshake.
He's happy to talk about ESPN getting back the broadcast, feels that's where it belongs, and how the people behind the scenes are the ones who make it work. He is a true quarterback, even in the talent business. He knows if Rothman isn't whispering something in his headset from time to time, his job is made more difficult still.
"We've got a good rhythm going in the booth," Theismann said. "I know when Dan is ready for me to talk by the pause he gives me. I wait for that pause. I sit next to Paul and if I want to say something, I just give his arm a squeeze and he lets me in."
I'm thinking Maguire's arm must be one large bruise as Theismann crushes my hand goodbye. The second half is about to start.
"Let's go back down to the field to interview the sideline reporters."
Tobias pauses a moment and then says, "Well, we can try."
Back on the field for the start of the third quarter and Tobias goes off to get Mortensen in the NFC bench area. He has interviewed nearly everyone in the stadium. He is on the field with his young-gun son. He tells me later his kid thought about attending the University of Hawaii as a quarterback, but just couldn't pass up the chance to play at Arkansas.
Suddenly, I see someone out of the corner of my eye. I get out my cell phone, call the office and tell Assistant Sports Editor Sjarif Goldstein, "You'll never guess who's standing 10 feet away from me."
He couldn't.
"Bonnie Bernstein. And she looks even better in person."
Sjarif might be one of her bigger fans. She's dressed very casually, has a pair of nice sunglasses on and is interviewing people for CBS radio in direct competition with her fellow sideline reporters.
"Tell her the Mets suck."
I'm not sure why I can't tell her that, but Tobias is motioning for me to come over for a quick talk with Mortensen, so I tell Sjarif goodbye.
Although he's filling in for someone who was ill, Mortensen is made for the quick interview. His print background affords him to ask sensible questions, not make a statement and wait for a response.
"I love this job because you can break news right on the air," Mortensen said, the roar of the crowd snapping his head to attention. "What a great setting. I'm having the time of my life."
We leave the NFC sidelines with Mortensen telling Andy in the truck, "I got Hall of Famer Bob Brown down here. Do you guys want him?"
TOBIAS SEEMS A little reluctant to walk to the AFC sidelines for a quick sound bite with Suzy Q. I see our photographer George Lee along the way and tell him I need a quick shot of the woman in pink over there. She's not very tall in the land of the AFC giants and George spends a lot of time trying to get a clear shot.
By now, the fourth quarter is about to begin. There's an exciting game going on, but Tobias and I are taking little note of it. Down here, you can't really see anything, anyway. I've got my eye on Suzy, which is making Tobias a little nervous.
"She's a little intense during a game," Tobias warns.
"Aren't they all?" I said with a laugh. He patted me on the back and said, "Well, here goes."
Tobias whispers something in her ear, but unlike Mortensen and Theismann, Ms. Kolber is not as receptive. She turns to look at me and with a smile that would make Joe Namath cry, says, "In the middle of the game?"
She walks away and Tobias kind of shrugs his shoulders. I wanted to say, "Then I guess a kiss is out of the question," but thought better of it. I also had a newfound respect for Joe Namath. She scared me on a first approach. I can't imagine three or four.
"Where's Bonnie, let's talk to her," I said. "Oh yeah, wrong network."
BACK IN THE BOOTH, Dean and Rothman had aged at least 10 years. Andy was still counting down, Buzz was providing the video and Dean was cutting, taking and dissolving with the best of them. Mortensen was telling Andy he had Mark Bulger and Suzy finally landed Shields at the end of the bench.
It was the ninth straight Pro Bowl for the Kansas City Chief lineman. Suzy asked him which was better, his first or ninth? Too bad sullen Duane Thomas wasn't still around. He could have said, "My fourth."
Moments later, the idiot kicker for the Indianapolis Colts did the smartest thing of anyone that afternoon, he missed a field goal that would have sent the game into overtime. There was no cheering in this small press box, just a sag of the shoulders and sighs of relief. Dean told everyone, "Great job." He meant it.
Tobias whispered something in his ear and he agreed to talk with me. I kept it short. I thought about how I felt after writing on deadline and a mai tai sounded better than any question I could ask. What came through, was how important this game was for ESPN.
"We did a lot of thinking out of the box for this game," Dean said. "We knew when they were going to run and pass, which allowed us to use Sky Cam on running plays. You can't do that during the regular season because no coach is going to tell you when to run or pass."
I told him I had noticed he seemed to know a lot of plays. Anybody who has followed football can often tell when it's a run or pass. But it's best to know in advance. If Peyton Manning fires a pass that hits an errant Sky Cam, it's not a good thing.
Tobias whispered in Rothman's ear as well. I figured he might pull a Suzy on me, but I was wrong.
"We knew we wanted to make this game fun for the fans, so we did a lot of things you can't do in a regular game," Rothman said. "We wanted to make the game fun and I thought it was. Sometimes we're too hard on ourselves in there, I guess. I thought tonight went well."
About that time, Theismann comes around the corner of the truck to shake the hands of Rothman and Dean. He looked like Lawrence Taylor had been chasing him around the last four hours, so maybe his grip wouldn't be as firm. I met Tobias' wife and child. We had waved to them from the field earlier.
"I enjoyed it," I told him. "It's all about timing."
It took about 45 minutes to get back to the paper and into our own pressure cooker of putting out four blank pages in two hours. I didn't yell out, "Take Page 2" or "you've got to follow the script, Dave." But it was enough pressure for me.
Now, where is that Q and A on Bonnie's Web site? Too bad Tobias isn't around to whisper something in her ear.
