"Shut Up," He Explained

During FOX's coverage of the Major League Baseball All-Star Game on Tuesday night, I learned that National League starter Jake Peavy brought 17 friends and family members to San Francisco from his hometown of Mobile, Alabama. Actually, it was a smaller town north of Mobile where Peavy owns a second home, where the population is just 1200.

I also learned that after this season, umpire Bruce Froemming is retiring to his home state of Wisconsin, to spend more time with his wife of 47 years. I learned that not only does Derek Jeter have the second-best career All-Star Game batting average in baseball history (minimum 10 plate appearances), he's also got the 5th-best career regular season batting average in Yankees history.

During the All-Star Game on Tuesday, I saw video of the Mets' Carlos Beltran climbing the hill in center field at Minute Maid Park to make an incredible catch last Saturday. I was told that the Mets, who were expected to run away with the NL East this season, held only a two-game lead on Atlanta at the All-Star Break. And in another Mets note, I was informed that third baseman David Wright homered last year in his first ever All-Star Game plate appearance.

All of this information, and much more that I have omitted, came in the first inning.

To repeat: the first inning.

Ironically, or perhaps coincidentally, this epic example of information overload occurred on the same day that one of my co-workers at Sun Sports forwarded me an article from the ESPN Ombudsman, Le Anne Schreiber, in which she claimed that the network doesn't allow its game announcers "to be as good as they can be":

"Too much talk, too little game is the quintessential complaint about ESPN's event telecasting. Some of these complaints arise from a simple mismatch of sensibility between viewer and announcer. What is insight to one viewer may be babble to another. More often, though, I think the complaint arises from a mismatch between what event producers think viewers want and what at least some of us viewers actually want."

(Note: for the last couple of years, ESPN has taken the innovative step of hiring an independent ombudsman to manage and report on viewer reaction to their programming. It's common in print, less so in electronic media. In light of the All-Star Game, the timing of her article was fortuitous, regardless of network, so don't think I'm picking on Bristol.)

The most telling paragraphs in Schreiber's column come in conversation with Jed Drake, ESPN's senior VP for remote productions -- the man to whom all of the game announcers (and game producers) on that network report:

"Those of us who oversee all of this are probably our own worst enemies," Drake said, "because we continually demand that our production teams are incredibly prepared to do a telecast that is rich in context, and at the same time have the discipline to be restrained enough to give the telecast some room to breathe. To some degree, these are conflicting agendas."

As the man responsible for all event production, what does Drake think about announcer silence?

"There's not enough of it," he said, "That's my opinion, and at times I feel a bit like Don Quixote. A little bit of natural sound would be a good thing."

Then why aren't there more moments of announcer silence, when viewers might rest their ears on the sound of bat hitting ball or the anticipatory hum of the ballpark crowd?

"It's one of those things that is hard to demand," Drake said, "because announcers are paid to talk, and they have prepared themselves to talk, and they have great insights, and they want to share all of it with you."

Gotta tell you, in my nearly 17 years of working in radio and television, I have heard every single one of those sentiments dozens of times. In fact, I would venture to say that it's one of the most common topics in sports television -- the eternal struggle between "informing the viewer" and "presenting the game."

In our 500-channel universe, merely presenting the game isn't enough. At least, that's what the networks believe, and in our defense, much of that belief is rooted in audience research and ratings analysis. Though many fans tell us that they wish we would occasionally shut up and let the game happen, the research also tells us that viewers want more insight, more "behind the scenes," more stories and context to the broadcast.

However, I believe that when Jed Drake uses that phrase, "a telecast that is rich in context," he's talking about adding value to the show in such a way that casual viewers (as opposed to hardcore fans) might stick around to watch. That's how you boost your ratings, which satisfies your sponsors and helps your bottom line. I've written about this before as it pertains to the NBA and sports less popular in the US -- television faces more competition for your time and energy than ever, and the constant tweaks to the product, be it a glowing puck, an in-car camera, or shows with interactive components (like "American Idol") are all attempts to grab and hold viewership. It's the corporate side of television, the necessary business side, asserting itself.

As a result, the producers of sporting events on Sun Sports, FSN Florida, ESPN, and every other outlet in this country are told, in so many ways, to go the extra mile on their game broadcasts. As an announcer, I have to be on board -- somebody has to read that trivia question, and somebody has to explain the "Hot Zone." But a loaded broadcast is not entirely the fault of management or a producer, not by a long shot.

Brady Ackerman, Terry Norvelle and I often joke on the set of "Rec Warehouse College Kickoff" or the Gator or Seminole Postgame shows that we can't "leave anything in the barrel" -- in other words, we just spent all week preparing for these shows, breaking our necks to uncover every conceivable angle of the game at hand, and we'll be damned if we're not going to use it. When I move out of the more scripted environment of the studio and into the turbulent waters of play-by-play, I get downright fanatical about research. My greatest professional fear is not being ready, and I refuse to allow it. So when I get to the game, it's almost a knee-jerk reaction to make sure all that preparation comes across on the broadcast. Not only do I want to give the viewer the insight that he doesn't have the time or the access to acquire on his own, I also want my employers to know that I was ready. I did my homework, and the instinct is to prove it.

Plus, as a guy who came up in radio, my natural inclination is to relay the game step by step. Ned Tate, the executive producer at Sun Sports and FSN Florida, offered me this gentle bit of feedback soon after my very first basketball play-by-play assignment here four years ago: "remember, they can see it, too."

In considering the question of informing (and hopefully keeping) the viewer vs. merely presenting the game, it's interesting to note that the play-by-play announcer widely considered to be the best in the history of electronic media is a man with an uncanny knack for shutting up.

On September 9th, 1965, when Sandy Koufax struck out Harvey Kuenn to complete a perfect game for the Dodgers, Vin Scully remained silent for a full 38 seconds, allowing the crowd noise to carry the broadcast. On radio, no less.

Kirk Gibson's homer to win Game 1 of the 1988 World Series? Scully paused a full 15 seconds between his home run call and his legendary "in a year that has been so improbable, the impossible has happened" comment. Gibson, limping on two bad legs, was already rounding third by the time Scully spoke.

And just this summer -- last month, in fact -- Scully presented a tense matchup between the Angels' lethal Vlad Guerrero and Dodgers closer Takashi Saito with a staggering 56 seconds of silence. Nearly a full minute of television time with nothing but the rising tension of the crowd and the image before you.

Of course, none of us has Scully's job security, not even Joe Buck. After 57 years with the Dodgers -- the longest tenure of any broadcaster with any professional sports franchise in American history -- Vin Scully could probably spend three innings per night reading a menu from Chili's and nobody would dare say a word. The rest of us, on the other hand, have to worry about things like "telecasts that are rich in context."

Then again, maybe "merely presenting the game" is the reason he's been there so long in the first place.



Good night.