Even if Stevie had done the reading, he probably wouldn’t have remembered a word of it. Fortunately, none of his teachers was in the mood to pick on him. Everyone in school appeared to be on his side. Andrea Fassler even stopped by his locker to tell him she would never watch that show again if he wasn’t on it.
Stevie couldn’t resist. “So you aren’t a fan of Jamie Whitsitt?” he said.
She gave him a big smile—not a Susan Carol smile, but a pretty one nonetheless—and said, “I’m a fan of yours.”
Whoo boy! Stevie was flattered—and a little scared.
The rest of the day whizzed by, and before he knew it, his dad was driving him to the airport.
“Call us as soon as you land,” he said.
“Don’t worry, Dad.”
“I know, I know. I just hope you don’t get jumped on by the media in the airport the way you did at school this morning.”
“Dad, it’s the Super Bowl. The media out there have better things to talk about than me.”
“You would think so, but given the frenzy here today, I’m not so sure.”
“Dad, this is my hometown. People in Chicago or Miami or Houston aren’t going to care.”
Bill Thomas was quiet for a minute. “Stevie, just promise me you won’t get into any trouble this week.”
“I’ll do my best, Dad.” He smiled in the darkness of the car. “I doubt there will be any blackmailings or fake kidnappings this week.”
“We can only hope,” his father said.
Stevie’s flight was—thankfully—uneventful. His father’s worry had made him a little paranoid, though. As the plane was landing, he had a sudden vision of walking off the Jetway into a barrage of TV lights.
There were no lights, but plenty of action with people everywhere. As he walked through the concourse, he turned on his cell phone and called his parents. Then, as instructed, he called Kelleher, who had arrived earlier in the day.
“It’ll take you a while to get out of the airport,” Kelleher said. “Get a taxi and I’ll meet you in the lobby of the Marriott in about an hour. There’s a lounge right there in the lobby when you walk in. Tamara and I will be there waiting for you. We’ll get you a hamburger before you go to bed.”
That sounded good to Stevie. He had eaten dinner at five o’clock before leaving for the airport, and the bag of pretzels he’d had on the flight hadn’t exactly filled him up.
It took him a solid forty-five minutes to make his way through the terminal to baggage claim and then to the taxi line. Standing in line, he heard someone calling his name—although it was obviously someone who didn’t know him well, because he kept yelling, “Steve, Steve!” His friends called him Stevie, though he was thinking it was getting to be time to ask people to switch.
He scanned the crowd and finally saw someone waving at him. He had no idea who it was. The man walked over and put out his hand. “Sorry to startle you,” he said. “I’m Sean McManus.”
Stevie had no idea who Sean McManus was, although the name sounded vaguely familiar. The look on Stevie’s face clearly told McManus just that. “We’ve never met,” he continued. “But I’m a big fan of yours. I’m with CBS Sports. We’re televising the game on Sunday.”
Stevie knew it was CBS’s turn to televise the Super Bowl. And when he heard CBS, he knew exactly who McManus was from the sports pages. He wasn’t just with CBS Sports, he was its president—and president of CBS News too, if Stevie was remembering correctly.
Stevie shook hands with McManus. “Of course. It’s nice to meet you.”
“Where are you staying?” McManus said.
“The Marriott,” Stevie said.
“We’re at the Canterbury,” McManus said. “It’s only a couple of blocks from the Marriott. Come on, I’ve got a car here. I’ll give you a ride.”
Stevie recognized the hotel name because that was where he had been staying when he was still working for USTV. He remembered Tal Vincent saying, “It costs about twice as much as the chains, is twice as nice, and best of all, the only people staying there are NFL hotshots and the important people from CBS, ESPN, and USTV. No media riffraff.”
Now Stevie was back at a chain hotel with his fellow media riffraff and glad of it. Still, a ride from CBS sounded good, since Stevie was about twentieth in the cab line. “Are you sure?” he said.
“Absolutely,” McManus said. “To be honest, you were high on my call list for tomorrow. This will save me some time.”
He followed McManus and a young woman, whom McManus introduced as his assistant, to a waiting car. Once they were inside, Stevie’s patience gave out. “Did you say you wanted to talk to me?” he asked.
“I did,” McManus said. “I’d like you to work for us this week.”
“Me, work for CBS?” Stevie said. “Doing what?”
“Doing what you do,” McManus said. “I’d send you out with a crew each day and see what you come back with. You seem to have, as the old saying goes, a nose for news. We have a late-night show each night here starting Wednesday and we have a four-hour pregame show Sunday with lots of time to fill.”
Stevie was staggered. He had just been fired by USTV—a major cable network, but still cable—and now the president of CBS Sports was recruiting him to work for him during Super Bowl week?
“Well, um, wow. I mean, I’m really, really flattered, but…”
“You’re here to work for the Washington Herald,” McManus said. “I know. I’ve read all the stories. I think we could work things out so you could do some work for us in the morning and then have time to write in the afternoons. I don’t want to push you, but give it some thought.”
“Well, I’d have to talk to my parents,” Stevie said. “And to the Herald.” He wasn’t all that sure he wanted to jump back into any kind of TV work after what had just happened. But McManus was only talking one week, and he was already here….
The car pulled into the circular driveway in front of the Marriott. Stevie got out and went around to the trunk to retrieve his bags, and McManus got out with him. Stevie spotted Bobby Kelleher walking out the front door. When he saw Stevie standing with McManus, a smile crossed his face.
“Stevie, what have I told you about accepting rides from strange men—especially strange men who work in TV,” Kelleher said, walking over to shake hands, first with Stevie, then with McManus. “Hey, Sean, trying to steal my reporter?” Given the way Kelleher felt about people who worked in TV, Stevie was surprised that he seemed so friendly.
“I’m not stealing—just borrowing,” McManus said. “You may be a hack, Bobby, but you are very good at spotting talent—look at who you married.”
He was smiling at Tamara Mearns, who had walked up behind Kelleher. She gave McManus a hug, then gave Stevie a bigger hug. The collegiality of it all confused Stevie.
McManus took out a card and handed it to Stevie. “Talk to your parents,” he said. “You should talk to Bobby too. Give me a call tomorrow. Or, if you prefer, have your dad call me.”
Kelleher’s smile faded a bit. “You’re serious, aren’t you, Sean? You are trying to recruit him.”
McManus smiled. “Yes, Bobby, I really am.”
He clapped Stevie on the back, and before Stevie could even thank him for the ride, he jumped back into the car.
Stevie looked at Kelleher for a reaction. “Come on,” he said. “Let’s get you checked in. Then we’ll get you something to eat and we’ll have a talk.”
Stevie nodded. He was suddenly very tired. There had been an awful lot of talking going on the last few days.
Once Stevie had checked in, Kelleher and Mearns told him to come to room 1748 after he had dropped his bags in his room. “I thought we were going to eat?” Stevie said.
“We are,” Kelleher said. “Or, you are. Tell me what you want and I’ll order room service. We have a surprise for you.”
Stevie wasn’t sure he could handle any more surprises. But he asked Kelleher to order him a hamburger, french fries, and a C
oke and took the elevator to his room on the twelfth floor. He dropped his bags on the bed and noticed it was after eleven o’clock. No wonder he felt exhausted. He knew media day for the two teams began at nine the next morning. Just going to sleep was appealing, but he was hungry. “A quick hamburger, then right to bed,” he told himself as he walked back down the hall to the elevator.
He took it up to seventeen, walked around two corners until he found 1748, and knocked on the door. Almost before he had finished knocking, the door swung open and Stevie’s jaw just about hit the floor.
“Stevie!” Susan Carol Anderson said, pulling him into the room and throwing her arms around him. “I didn’t think you were ever going to get here.”
Stevie saw Kelleher and Mearns sitting in armchairs behind her. Susan Carol stood back from him. “Let me look at you,” she said. “Tamara, you’re right—he’s at least five eight.”
Height had been an issue from the first time they had met ten months earlier in New Orleans. Stevie had grown about three inches since then, but Susan Carol was still taller.
“Generous,” he said, laughing. “And when are you going to stop growing?”
“Soon, I hope,” she said. “You are catching up, though. I used to be five inches taller than you—”
“Four,” he interrupted.
“Okay,” she said, smiling. “Four. Now it’s closer to two.”
It looked more like three to Stevie, but why argue. She was as pretty as ever, even with her hair tied into a long ponytail. Stevie could see by the looks on Kelleher and Mearns’s faces that the entire conversation amused them.
“I thought you were at the Canterbury?” he said, following her into the room.
“I am. Bobby and Tamara asked me over so I could surprise you. I was so glad to get out of there. When I checked in, there were a bunch of TV crews who wanted to talk about what happened.”
“Did you talk to them?”
“No. There were like three USTV PR guys there and they kept saying there was nothing for me to say because I had nothing to do with the change. Which is true, of course. But what’s more true is they know I’d blast them. They’ve told me if I say anything negative about the network, I’ll have breached my contract.”
“What are they going to do, fire you?” Kelleher said. “You’re the big star, remember?”
“I guess you’re right,” Susan Carol said. “But if I’m going to have to live with these people all week, it’s easier if I’m not fighting with them every second.”
There was a knock on the door and Tamara stood up to answer it. “Susan Carol’s right,” she said. “And she doesn’t need to rip USTV. Everyone else is already doing it.”
She opened the door for the room service waiter. As soon as he had put Stevie’s food on the table and left, Kelleher switched topics.
“So how did you end up riding with Sean McManus?” he asked. “What kind of job is he recruiting you for?”
Stevie told them all the story as he ate, finishing with “I know what you’re going to say, Bobby—and this time I’m going to listen. No more TV for me.”
“Except this is different,” Kelleher said.
“Why? Because it’s CBS?” Stevie said.
“Because it’s Sean,” Kelleher answered. “He’s not your typical TV exec. Maybe it’s because of who his father is, I’m not sure, but he’s never acted like being in TV makes him important. He’s as nice as he seems, and, more important, he’s honest.”
“Who’s his father?” Susan Carol asked.
Kelleher gave her a surprised look. “Susan Carol, as much as you know about sports history, I thought you’d know. His dad’s Jim McKay.”
“The Jim McKay?” Susan Carol asked, repeating a name Stevie didn’t know.
“Uh-huh,” Kelleher said. “You’ve never heard of him, have you, Stevie?”
“Um, no.”
Susan Carol gave him the lack-of-sports-knowledge-sigh-and-eye-roll combination. “Jim McKay is only the most important sports broadcaster in history,” she said, looking at Kelleher, who nodded in affirmation. “He was the voice of ABC Sports for years and years. Wide World of Sports, the Olympics, golf. He was the one who said ‘the thrill of victory, the agony of defeat.’”
“He was also the one who gave the world the news when the hostages were killed in Munich,” Tamara added.
“That was twenty years before I was born,” Stevie said—a weak defense, he knew, but the best he had.
“The point is,” Kelleher said, “Sean grew up in a TV home, he grew up around famous people. He respects Jim Nantz and Dick Enberg, and he knows the importance of having stars working for the network, but he seems to take the glitz stuff in stride.”
“So are you saying I should do it?” Stevie asked.
“I’m saying you should listen to what he has to say. It’s only for the week, and if he promises not to tie you up all day, the Herald won’t have a problem with it. Plus”—Kelleher paused as a grin crept onto his face—“it would be a great way to really stick it to USTV.”
Stevie hadn’t thought of it that way. But a little revenge did sound sweet. He looked at Susan Carol. “What do you think?” he said to her.
She gave him her smile, the one most people found irresistible. “I think you ought to go for it,” she said. “Mostly because you’ll be good. But I’d also like to see the look on Mike Shupe’s face when he finds out.”
“Maybe you can,” Stevie said. “If it works out, you can give him the news yourself.” He took a massive bite of his hamburger. It tasted very, very good.
4: TOP DRAFT PICK
WHEN STEVIE FINISHED EATING, they walked Susan Carol downstairs to put her in a cab.
“I thought the hotel was only a couple blocks away,” Stevie said when Kelleher suggested it.
“Yeah, but they’re long blocks, it’s about twenty degrees out, and it’s close to midnight,” Kelleher said.
The mention of midnight reminded Stevie how tired he was, and Bobby had already suggested meeting for breakfast at 7:30 so they would have time to walk to the Dome—which was across the street from the Marriott—and deal with picking up credentials and getting through security before media day, as the Tuesday of Super Bowl week was called, began at 9 a.m.
“I have a breakfast too,” Susan Carol said, rolling her eyes. “They want me there when they brief my new partner.”
Stevie liked her apparent disdain for Jamie Whitsitt, although he could still hear her saying on the phone, “He is gorgeous,” a few nights earlier. That didn’t thrill him.
It was snowing lightly when they said good night to Susan Carol. Mearns shook her head as they walked back inside the lobby. “Snow in Indianapolis in February,” she said. “Who would have guessed?”
Stevie was probably asleep about five minutes after he put his key card into the door lock, which was a good thing since his wake-up call came soon after that—or so it seemed. Except it wasn’t his wake-up call. It was Sean McManus.
“I know it’s early,” he said. “But I was hoping to catch you before you leave for the Dome. Have you had a chance to talk to your parents about what we discussed last night?”
He hadn’t. He told McManus he was about to call his father and one of them would call him back shortly one way or the other.
“I’m curious,” McManus said. “What’d Bobby think of the idea?”
“Surprisingly enough, he wasn’t against it,” Stevie said. “He’s not usually very high on television.”
“I know,” McManus said. “But I think he knows me well enough to know I’m not like the guys you’ve been working for. I’ll be straight with you one way or the other.”
Stevie hung up with McManus and called his dad’s cell phone—knowing he would be en route downtown to the office at that hour.
“Dad, I’m going to ask you something, and I know your first reaction is going to be absolutely not, but listen to the whole story first,” he said.
“Given your h
istory at big events, whatever it is you’re up to, the answer is no,” his father said. He was laughing when he said it, though, so Stevie plowed ahead and gave him chapter and verse on what had happened since his plane had arrived in Indianapolis.
“Never a dull moment in your life, is there?” Bill Thomas said. “Tell you what, give me McManus’s phone number and I’ll talk to him. I think I’ll call Bobby first so I can hear firsthand what he thinks. If nothing else, we owe it to him to be sure he’s okay with the idea since he’s the reason you’re there.”
“I agree.”
By the time Stevie reached the lobby restaurant, Kelleher had talked to Stevie’s father. “As long as they offer you decent money—which I’m sure they will—there’s no reason for you not to do it,” Kelleher said. “The only day you’re on a tight deadline for us is the night of the game, and you won’t be doing anything for CBS then.”
Tamara laughed. “The way things are going, Stevie might replace Jim Nantz by Sunday night.”
“I see myself more in the Phil Simms role,” Stevie said. “I’m more of an analyst than a play-by-play guy.”
“Sure,” Bobby said. “And just like Phil, you can talk about the Super Bowl in which you completed twenty-two of twenty-five passes and were the MVP.”
“Who was that against?” Tamara said. “I’m blocked.”
“Denver,” Bobby said. “Twenty years ago. I was a senior in high school.”
“I wasn’t born,” Stevie said.
“You’re killing me, kid. Let’s go. You know what security will be like.”
Stevie remembered from the Final Four that it could take forever to pick up credentials and clear security on the first day. Even so, he wasn’t prepared for the mob scene that greeted them once they had walked through the Indianapolis Convention Center, which was connected to the Dome, down a long hallway, following signs that said MEDIA and CREDENTIAL PICKUP. The good news was that the NFL public relations people clearly knew what they were doing. There were six lines for pickup arranged alphabetically. The only bad thing about that was that Stevie had to split from Mearns and Kelleher to get in the line marked T–Z.
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