journalism | PR around the horn

(Last in a series of three)

“You are one of the reasons I went to journalism school.”

Bob Ryan’s face jerked up at me, away from the book he had been inscribing to me. He did a double-take and looked at me a bit wide-eyed. (I was kind of proud of myself to get that reaction because I imagine that this guy isn’t shocked by anything he hears from baseball fans yakking away at him.)

It was early afternoon on August 3, 2022, and we had just emerged from that day’s Author’s Series presentation at the Baseball Hall of Fame & Museum. Bob Ryan and Bill Chuck had discussed their new book, In Scoring Position, and I had been transported into my own personal Field of Dreams for the better part of an hour. The joy and giddiness I felt were both unexpected and inspiring. Everyone and everything else fell away as I listened to the stories, as Bob spoke directly to me, it seemed, and I hung on every word he and Bill shared.

We (my son Will, sister Nancy, and baseball bestie KK) had planned to get on the road from Cooperstown around noon, but the night before, my son Christopher, who was then an intern at the Hall of Fame, had told us who would be appearing at the Author’s Series. I was psyched! There was no way we’d be getting back in that car mid-day.

Growing up in Massachusetts, and in particular, as one of the seven children of Adam Wolkovich, I was born a Red Sox Fan, although the fandom didn’t completely invade my formerly rational being until the summer of 1975. With that came an occasional weeknight game on tv, omnipresent radio casts, and the daily reporting by a fantastic corps of writers working on the Boston Globe sports page. That’s when and why I began reading a daily newspaper.

Through the years, my favorites were Ray Fitzgerald, Bob Ryan, and Leigh Montville. Their writing exuded such life! Their columns flowed like rivers of thought and emotion that connected me to the beauty of writing through sports – the Celts, Sox, and Bruins, mainly. (I must admit that Ray Fitzgerald was a personal favorite. I can only imagine the poetic prose he would have written about the drama, frustration, and ultimate glory of the summer and fall of 2004, had he not left this world way too soon.)

As a high school basketball manager in Hudson, Mass., I would call the team’s game stats and scores into the Globe sports desk. There was one person, an intern, I presume, who often answered the phone and responded to my questions, including a play-by-play of whose desk was where from his vantage point at that very moment. (Apparently, I was fan-girling before that was a thing.) Wow! Bob Ryan. Leigh Montville. Ray Fitzgerald. And many more scrappy, talented sports scribes! I wanted to be there one day.

Eventually, no Sunday would move forward until I read Peter Gammons’ Baseball Notes page; it was pure gold, filled with the inside scoop, and intriguing bits and pieces that you just couldn’t get anywhere else pre-digital revolution. Eventually, as the Baseball Notes page was handed down to other reporters, I also began to read weekly insights “from the Bill Chuck files.” Delicious!

I wanted to write like that and, initially, to become a sportswriter myself. Off to college I went, studied journalism, and wrote for The Diamondback, the University of Maryland’s daily paper. (#Feartheturtle!) I never worked as a reporter or eventually as a columnist (but Scott Moore, my Diamondback editor, remains a dear friend and kindred baseball soul). I have, nonetheless, applied my interview and writing skills in other ways throughout my communications career.

I try to pull some creativity into the daily writing that has been part of almost every day of my career. My communications work has been incredibly rewarding at times, exciting, fun and challenging, and has brought me through the years.

But on August 3, 2022, that spark came back to me, and I realized how and where my passion for writing professionally was born. Thanks for the reminder, Bob Ryan, and for speaking only to me during that hour (and really, for our actual five-minute chat) in Cooperstown!

(Second in a series of three)

August 3, 2022, began like any morning I’ve woken up in Cooperstown, NY. Gloriously.

The first time I rode down this main street, I was in my mid-20s, in the back seat of a car driven by my brother-in-law Jim, with my sister Chris riding shotgun. As we arrived on Main Street that gorgeous summer evening, I got goosebumps, and tears sprang to my eyes – an involuntary reaction to this baseball soul entering a mystical environment. It was epic, and I will never forget it. But that wasn’t the day when I stepped into my personal Field of Dreams.

August 2, 2022, had already been amazing. I drove to Cooperstown with three of my best baseball sidekicks: my sister Nancy, my dyed-in-the-orange-and-blue Mets fan bestie Karyn (KK), and my son Will.

Walking up to the Baseball Hall of Fame & Museum, we were greeted by my fourth (but not least) baseball bestie, my son Christopher, clad in his official Hall of Fame shirt and a nametag that read, “Intern”. I think I behaved well enough so as not to completely embarrass my long-ago “Little Nomar” (although that was achieved later during the trip).

By 2022, I was a veteran Hall of Fame visitor and of course, a museum member, but as always, my heart skipped a beat as I gazed at that year’s shiny new membership card and walked through the hallowed halls.

Along with other baseball moments shared among the four of us, The Intern treated his big brother to a once-in-a-lifetime birthday experience of being up close and personal with an artifact that had never been displayed, one wielded by Will’s favorite player, Jason Varitek. It was a fantastic afternoon, and even one with historic baseball significance, as the great Ford Frick Award-winning Vin Scullly had passed away that same day. A baseball legend if ever there were one!

At dinner that night, The Intern told us something that caused us to delay our drive home by a couple of hours. So on August 3, we enjoyed another fantastic morning roaming shops on Main Street and soaking up more baseball in the museum. And then, just after lunch, we returned to enjoy that day’s speakers’ event.

And unbeknownst to me, an erudite, wisecracking, time-tested sportswriter was about to remind me how and why I came to go to journalism school. And why I love to write.