Good morning ladies and gentlemen,
What a great time for a special edition of the Jonathan Clause! I couldn’t have timed it better myself. As you are well aware, the sweltering heat of summer has given way to the early morning frosts of autumn. Major League Baseball is going through similar changes with the marathon of a 162 game season bowing to the pageantry of post-season play. Why am I worried about the playoffs? Well normally I wouldn’t be (the Indians won’t be there anytime soon, and my allegiances really do belong to the NHL playoffs), but I have two new teams to root for. I’m glad the Chicago Cubs and Boston Red Sox have made it to the post-season dance. Over my four years in the Chicagoland area for college, I began to admire the Cubs from afar. Now that they have an outstanding pitching staff and sluggers like Sammy and Moises, I’m expecting big things. How did I become a Red Sox fan? Glad you asked, in fact it’s the reason why this special edition is being written.
On September 15th, Joe Castiglione one of the Red Sox broadcasters for WEEI radio in Boston called our home. Mr. Castiglione was a member of Cleveland’s media with WKYC TV as well as being a radio broadcaster for the Indians. It was during this time that Mr. Castiglione began a friendship with my father that has lasted for over twenty years. He wanted to let my father know the team was coming into town and that hopefully they could get together for lunch or dinner. He inquired about what I had been doing since graduation and I told him of my desire to write and find a career in journalism. He then invited me to watch the Indians game from the broadcast booth.
I called him back on Thursday (September 18th) to let Mr. Castiglione know that I wanted to partake is this great experience. We made plans to meet down at Jacob’s Field (where the Indians under perform), and I was to pick up a media credential to gain access to the clubhouse, broadcast booth and dugout.
Friday finally came, but I didn’t reach the stadium without incident. A banking mess up (my own personal miscalculation) and a traffic accident (overturned semi-truck) pushed my arrival time with Mr. Castiglione back about a half and hour. Once I reached the media gate at the stadium some security personnel asked me for a form of identification (I tried my NRA card, but they were looking for my driver’s license). I asked for directions to the field and was directed to go down a service ramp that leads to the bowels of the massive structure. A long corridor stretches around the stadium that usually isn’t seen by the paying public (unless you have one of those fancy dugout suites). I made my way through the corridor being passed by modified golf carts and motorized dollies carrying anything from hamburger buns to workers trying to get from one end of the stadium to another. I was quite familiar with this part of the stadium. About twice a year, my father would speak for the Indians chapel and the chapel for the opposing team. We usually came through the player’s parking lot, but due to security concerns, things have drastically changed. This was also the first time I had been to the ballpark on my own.
I reached the Red Sox clubhouse and showed the security guard there my media credential. I told him that I was meeting with Joe Castiglione and he directed me where to go. I felt like I was meeting some important dignitary or on some special top-secret mission. Now I was in very familiar territory. I bypassed the clubhouse, manager’s office, and laundry room and went down two flights of stairs that would lead me to the opposing team’s dugout. I passed through another hallway that housed some batting cages and up a few stairs to the dugout. Here’s where things got interesting.
It had just dawned on me that it had been quite a while since I had seen Mr. Castiglione. In fact, I couldn’t remember the last time I saw him and now on top of being late I’d probably walk right past the person who had enabled me to get down here in the first place! As I reached the dugout, I passed a couple players, and media personnel who were just sitting and talking. In the middle of the dugout sat Mr. Castiglione (I’m sure I had a quizzical look on my face). Whew! It worked out perfectly. I sat next to him, said hello, shook his hand and we began a little conversation. Normally, one of the teams would be on the field taking batting practice, doing stretching and throwing long toss. But the remnants of Hurricane Isabel had brought about sixteen hours of rain to the Cleveland area, which thwarted any idea of on field activities until the game. The sky was quite dark for around 4:45 pm in the afternoon. Mr. Castiglione had told me during our phone conversation on Thursday that he would be conducting the general manager’s interview (with Theo Epstein) around this time (4:30 or 4:45).
The show is scheduled to take place every game either by phone or with Theo showing up in person. Now most of you may not know this but Theo Epstein is the youngest general manager in the history of Major League Baseball. Not only is he the youngest general manager, he’s probably one of the smartest; he graduated from Yale with a degree in American studies and received his law degree from the University of San Diego. For some reason I thought that, the interview would be something elaborate. In reality, it’s a relaxed conversation that goes on between two people. Mr. Castiglione asked Theo for some clarification on some topics that he want to delve into during the interview. I tried to be as businesslike as possible meeting writers and broadcasters from Boston’s media and some of the other New England media that cover the Red Sox. It was hard at times not to be a deer in the headlights, just looking out at the field and being amazed that I was in the position that I was in. One of the beat writers that I met wrote for a newspaper out of Providence, Rhode Island (if my memory serves correctly). His undergraduate degree was in political science, which gave me some hope. I also had the opportunity to meet Bob Hohler, who is one of the writers for the Boston Globe. He was a writer on White House affairs for some time before covering the Red Sox. He told me that I should get in contact with the sports editor for the Globe, Don Skwar (which I did do).
By this time, Mr. Castiglione and I were in the booth. I had the opportunity of meeting Mr. Castiglione’s broadcast partner, Jerry Trupiano, Dick (not sure, if he was the producer, or just the radio control person) and Dick’s granddaughter Kelly (It could end in i). She attends Mount Union as a freshman cross-country athlete. The broadcast booths in Jacob’s field are two-tiered. They’re what?! The lower level (closest to the field) is meant for the broadcasters, with an in house television monitor (for replays), and huge windows that open and close (that’s what windows do) during inclement weather. Each game brings loads and loads of stats, which are given to each broadcaster in the form of game notes. Before the game, Mr. Castiglione took each packet (he called them reams of paper; they WERE a lot) and started to highlight different stats, player profiles, and other tidbits that he could use during the game. This information was then Scotch taped to the aforementioned window for quick reference.
Dinner was next on the itinerary. Jacob’s field has a mini cafeteria (Wheaton students it DOES NOT rival the monster that is…SAGA), but the food was good nonetheless. Mr. Castiglione again held conversation about siblings, children, and other things. It was about ten minutes to game time before we went back into the booth. OH! I forgot the second tier of the booth! Is where the producer/control person sat, along with Kelly (or i) and I. The view from the broadcast booth is something to behold. Seats that wore only green paint now have collected a warm human body for three hours (well in the Indians case about 20,000 seats got the night off). The field that is so meticulously taken care of by the grounds crew was getting ready to be torn, spit upon, and kicked by multi-millionaires in tights wearing oversized leather gloves. Strange game baseball…
I can already see it now. You’ve been sitting at the computer for three hours reading this and your eyes have glazed over. I’m quite sorry, but that’s how real events are recounted. I’ll get to the game next week (yes, in another special edition). Don’t fret, the J.C. is just like Law & Order, you have to wait a week to see the new episodes (unless you have cable and view the older episodes in syndication). Until next week!!
Jonathan
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