|
Emotions are a funny thing...
A long time ago in a galaxy far, far away, I did play-by-play of high school football games for a small, local radio station in McHenry County, Illinois.
I was also the station manager.
One particular year we had three teams from our area make the championship game of their respective classes.
We would be broadcasting three consecutive championship games in one afternoon from one location, Illinois State University in Bloomington, Illinois. It was unprecedented. The entire county would be listening and I wanted to get it right.
I tabbed the other play-by-play man at the station, Scott, to call the middle of the three, while I would call the first and third games. I lassoed another local coach into doing the color for all three games.
I had zillions of emotions running through my little pea brain that day.
I was pumped at the prospect of this historic broadcast. I was aware that the entire county's ears would be tuned to us like never before. I wanted to do right by the kids who were playing and their families-give them something to remember. I also was working with this coach for the first time and wanted him to have a really good experience. And I was orchestrating a three-man booth for the first time too.
I was...umm...err...how do I want to put it...focused.
When the game began I was rattling with anticipation. I was tense and bubbly, excited and riveted on the action in front of me.
I noticed, however, that during the breaks in the action Scott would pipe up immediately with some factoid, observation or comment before the coach spoke.
It seemed to me that Scott was squeezing the coach out. It was gnawing at me. I even projected my own concern onto the coach. In my mind I was sure he was bothered by Scott's hijacking of the conversation as much as I was.
But, of course, the coach was too polite to say anything.
And then during about the fourth commercial break I was percolating.
Strange, it was as if I had zero control over the words coming out of my mouth. They flew out like a bunch of escaped ferrets. It was unthinking and unblinking. They launched from my mouth like a vomiting volcano.
I turned to Scott.
"Here's the way it's going to be," I blew, "He's talking first," I pointed at the coach, "and you're talking second," I pointed at Scott.
Scott sat dumbfounded. He had never heard me erupt like that. I had never heard me erupt like that. It stung Scott. He was shocked and confused at my reaction.
So was the coach. "No," he said. "Everything is good. Scott's doing great. I'm just getting comfortable and I'm picking my spots."
I was wrong, of course. The coach was not concerned in the least. Hadn't given it a thought.
I felt terrible, but the broadcast had to go on. And it did with Scott silent as a mortuary at the bottom of a sea.
At halftime I turned to both men and apologized profusely for my outburst. I told them both I had been wrong and encouraged them to do the broadcast the way it felt best to them.
And so they did. I could hear the hesitation linger a while in Scott's throat, but he got rolling again like the professional he was.
I've often thought of that day. I think about the helplessness I felt in keeping those words bottled up in my mouth. It shocked me at how involuntary it seemed.
I also know that as involuntary as that moment felt, even if it was indeed uncontrollable, there were many moments leading up to that moment in which I could have eased my tension.
Instead of bottling my concern, I could have expressed it before the broadcast began to make sure we'd all be on the same page. Much better to let tension out gradually like slowly letting the air out of a balloon, then let it build and blow.
I had little command of that moment, but only because I didn't command the moments before.
Our explosions are of our own making. "I couldn't help myself" doesn't fly.
Handle emotion right as you go. Then you won't have to pick up the pieces later.
Indeed, emotions built and unexpressed over time tend to take on a life of their own.
| 
