by Jay Onrait
I made a promise: If I was able to make it through that broadcast, I would never, ever drink heavily the night before a broadcast again, no matter how late the broadcast was the next day. Clearly a recovery time of more than twelve hours was still not enough for my delicate body.
As 11:00 p.m. drew closer I began to have serious fears: My nausea had not subsided, and I was going to be sitting on a desk for half an hour with no chance for a quick bathroom break. The commercial breaks were only two minutes long, and the bathroom was a one-minute walk from the set. It began to dawn on me: Exactly one month into my broadcasting career, there was a very good chance I was going to vomit uncontrollably on live television, thus ending my career in one of the most spectacular flame-outs in the history of the business. I was destined to become an urban legend. All of this also occurred just as the Internet era was about to blossom, meaning there was a good chance that someone would save the tapes of the incident and I would become one of the first YouTube sensations. My chances of career recovery would be slim.
I emptied a garbage can under my desk in the newsroom and brought it up on set with me. At the very least I could lean down and puke into a bucket like a normal person rather than doing it all over the desk like some neanderthal. That would show class and sophistication on my part. Maybe that would save my job: “Jay, we’re really disappointed that you puked on live television; however, nice work bringing the bucket up to the desk! Quick thinking!”
I sat down in my chair behind the Sportsline desk and organized my papers. Once the opening theme music kicked in, my mind started to focus and my stomach started to feel better. Somehow I made it through the show that night. A little adrenaline kicked in and settled my stomach just enough to get me by. I drove home, relieved that I wouldn’t have to head in early the next day to face my boss and explain myself for the vomit—that someone now had to clean up off her set—just before I was escorted out of the building.
As for the promise I made to myself to not drink that heavily the night before a broadcast ever again, I have kept it, for the most part. I was never very good at leaving the party early, and someday it will probably be my downfall.
Six months after the near-vomiting experience on the set of Sportsline, I had moved out of the bungalow and was now living in my own apartment in downtown Saskatoon. Uncle Reg had just returned from Florida, and I drove up to his place for dinner and a visit. It was nice to see him, hang out for a bit, and hear his stories about all the older ladies who had been “pawing at him” throughout his time in Florida. When he was ready to crash I got up to leave. I made sure that he saw me stop and check my hair in the mirror in the entranceway, and then I started out the door. Uncle Reg waited atop the front steps as I walked toward my car, and just as I was about to open the driver door he called out:
“Oh, by the way, I hope you got someone in to clean the bathroom after that night before I left.”
I looked up and saw him smiling.
“You were on the big white telephone with Ralph all night!”
CHAPTER 11
Pinball Was My Bieber
AFTER MY INITIAL BRUSH WITH death by vomiting in my first month on the job, I started to settle in at Global Television. At the ripe ol’ age of twenty-four I was hosting Sportsline five nights a week at 11:00 as well as a short four-minute segment on the 6:00 news. I was also in charge of assigning stories to the other two guys in the department. Derek worked alongside me during the week. The weekend anchor desk was manned by R.J. Broadhead, who was just making the transition from radio to television at the time. I thought R.J. was an excellent broadcaster, and we got along swimmingly. His voice was so powerful it was almost like he was putting it on, but then you met him in person and realized that he had just been blessed with an incredible set of pipes. His father was a longtime Saskatoon radio host, so R.J. came by his talents honestly. I’ll always remember that after Lisa told us she had hired him, Derek mentioned that R.J. had left a message on the sports department phone. He said he couldn’t believe the voice. He played it for me, and I sincerely thought R.J. was doing a bad impression of Troy McLure from The Simpsons. It was like the imitation I do of a “broadcaster,” all overexaggerated syllables and dulcet tones.
Derek recovered from his brush with death at Halloween and remains a friend to this day. Having made the move to Calgary years ago, he has worked steadily in radio and television there ever since. Whenever I talk to Derek these days about our time working together in Saskatoon, one of the things I love to bring up with him is the Big Bang Incident.
This had nothing to do with the popular CTV/CBS sitcom of the same name, which was not around at that point—a good thing for me because I probably wouldn’t have been secure enough at the time to accept everyone telling me how much I look like the guy who plays Sheldon on that show, actor Jim Parsons. Since I joined Twitter I probably hear that I look like Sheldon ten times a week, and it’s not necessarily intended to be flattering. Nonetheless, this particular Big Bang Incident involved something different entirely.
It was about two months after I had started at Global Saskatoon and one month after the worst hangover of my life. My new boss, Lisa Ford, called Derek and me into her office and informed us we would be emceeing a Champions for Christ luncheon that was set to take place that week, and it had all been arranged by a salesperson at the station. Derek accepted this without question, but I was taken aback. “A Champions for Christ lunch?” I repeated with massive skepticism. “Is it even appropriate for us to be involved with that?”
It was and remains to this day a completely legitimate question. Champions for Christ is an organization that brings pro athletes of Christian faith together under one roof to do charity work and celebrate the teachings of Jesus. I knew they did a lot of wonderful work in helping those less fortunate. I also knew I did not share their beliefs, and I felt that was reason enough for me to not have to participate in this luncheon. Take my beliefs away and I still found it inappropriate for us, as the news-gathering arm of a television station, to align ourselves with Champions for Christ. It was one thing to sell ads to them promoting their luncheon. They had every right to promote whatever they wanted as long as they were willing to pay for the advertising and weren’t offending anyone. However, to have anchors from the station emcee their luncheon was inappropriate to me. Just as inappropriate as having one of the station’s news anchors emcee a political fundraiser.
Lisa did not understand my concern. What was the big deal, she thought? You show up, introduce the guest speakers, eat a free lunch, and leave. Derek just didn’t care. He was friends with the salesman whose Christian beliefs had led to CFC advertising on our station, and he was the one who wanted Derek and me to emcee the event. If we were to drop out, Lisa would need to find someone else, which would be a headache she didn’t want to have to deal with at this point. Had I flat-out refused on the basis that I didn’t share the same Christian beliefs, then I obviously wouldn’t have been fired, but I knew I would be labelled as a guy who wasn’t a “team player.” Even my new friend Chris Krieger, the station’s news anchor and obviously a good judge of what was and wasn’t appropriate in our business, thought I was being too much of a stickler about the whole thing. “In the end it doesn’t really matter that much,” he said.
So, a few days later, Derek and I made our way to the luncheon along with our camera guy, Paul Yausie, who was going to get some footage of the event to send to Champions for Christ later. Everyone attending could not have been nicer. I decided to just relax and go with it. Admittedly, I was also somewhat excited to hear the guest speaker that day: Mike “Pinball” Clemons.
Pinball was a running back for the Toronto Argonauts of the Canadian Football League and had put together a prolific Hall of Fame career. But that’s not why the man is such a beloved figure in the Canadian media landscape. He’s a beloved figure because he is one of the most charming and charismatic athletes to play pro sports in North America over the past three decade
s. He speaks passionately, smiles constantly, and has an incredibly infectious way about him. For years people have asked Pinball when he is going to run for public office, maybe even mayor, but so far he has resisted that calling. He coached the Argonauts on two separate occasions, but after his playing career he generally made his living as a motivational speaker.
After we briefly introduced ourselves, and then a man of the cloth said grace, the entire group dug in to the catered lunch. We happened to be sitting at the same table as Pinball, and he was gracious and kind to everyone seated around him, asking and remembering names, essentially interacting with people like a really good politician would. I told him I wasn’t really a fan of him in his playing days because he had repeatedly burned my Edmonton Eskimos. This delighted him to no end. Unlike a politician, from Pinball you got the impression the laughter was genuine.
After lunch was over it was time to introduce Pinball. He approached the stage to high fives from the crowd and gave Derek and me a big hug as we passed him the microphone. He then completely took over the room, speaking like a southern Baptist minister. A more gifted orator you would likely not find anywhere. He talked about his personal belief in Jesus Christ and how Christ’s teachings had made him a better player and person. The content of the speech wasn’t groundbreaking; he was literally preaching to the choir. The delivery was mesmerizing nonetheless. I was riveted by Pinball’s ability to capture the attention of the audience, moving from one side of the stage to the other, making eye contact with everyone in the room. A true professional speaker and worth every penny.
Then Pinball made the decision to attack those of us skeptical about Bible scripture, those of us who believe that “science” and “evolution” are the primary reasons that life exists on this planet today. In particular, Pinball wanted to discuss the now widely accepted big bang theory, which states that the universe essentially exploded into creation millions of years ago, leading to evolutionary life on planet Earth. We may have learned about it in high school science class, but even if Pinball had been paying attention in those classes he was having none of it. As far as Pinball was concerned, the story of Adam and Eve was the only logical explanation for life on Earth.
“Are you telling me”—now Pinball was really getting fired up—“that millions of years ago, there was a big bang? And after this so-called big bang, POOF! There was Derek …”
Pinball gestured to Derek, and Derek looked over at me. Suddenly, out of nowhere, we had become a part of the show! Even though I thought a large part of what the man on stage was saying was complete gibberish, I would be lying if I told you I wasn’t waiting in giddy anticipation for Pinball to mention me too.
“Are you also telling me …”
Here we go …
“That millions of years ago, there was a big bang, and POOF! There came Jay?”
Pinball gestured to me. Pinball mentioned me! You could not wipe the smile off my face! This must be what it’s like when teenage girls are pulled onstage at a Justin Bieber concert. Pinball was my Bieber!
I didn’t leave the luncheon a religious convert, and I still thought it was inappropriate that we were asked to attend and emcee the event, but the truth is, in the end the entire exercise was pretty harmless. I learned one important thing that day: Pick your battles in this business. Sometimes being known as a “team player” is better than fighting for principles you don’t really care too much about anyway. It’s not a defeatist attitude, it’s a practical one. Sometimes you just have to say “Poof” and let it slide.
CHAPTER 12
Goin’ to Winnipeg …
AS MUCH AS PEOPLE MIGHT think I am some sort of pop culture junkie, I don’t watch entertainment shows like etalk or Entertainment Tonight. This is not a comment on the abilities and attributes of the fine people working on those shows. I just don’t like the presentation style that has become ubiquitous with them. SHOUTING LOUDLY AND BOLDLY while posing in some sort of weird cross-legged stance so I can understand just how important this upcoming story about John Travolta’s latest masseuse is. It’s just not me. It’s just not anyone, really. If someone actually came up to you on the street and started talking to you like that, you would think they were a bloody lunatic. Whoever invented this presentation style should be exiled from the industry and forced to work with mannequins. I’m pretty certain that would be preferable to them anyway.
I have hostile feelings toward these types of shows because it was their resurgence in the early part of this century that ushered in the death of the half-hour local sports highlight show where I got my start. All across the country, Global Television had Sportsline shows that provided a half-hour of daily highlights and local sports content you couldn’t really get anywhere else. The greatest thing about these shows was that they provided the ultimate training ground for any aspiring sports broadcaster. Those shows were never ratings blockbusters, more like niche cultural mini-blockbusters for local sports fans. So it wasn’t entirely surprising that Global scrapped all their Sportsline-style shows across the country and replaced that half-hour of Canadian content with Entertainment Tonight Canada. Despite my mixed feelings, I had always been a bit curious about the world of entertainment television. I wondered if I could fit into it with my own presentation style. That is to say, with no style at all.
I started to think about applying for entertainment reporter jobs. This was still pretty much pre-Internet, when even a small start-up local TV station had two full-time entertainment reporters! You had four media outlets to inform you of entertainment happenings in your city: radio, TV, newspapers, and of course the local alt-weekly left-leaning newspaper, which probably had the best local entertainment coverage of all of them.
Around this time, Manitoba-based Craig Media Inc. was launching another one of their not-so-successful A-Channel stations in Winnipeg. Ads were plastered on the back of Playback magazine, an industry paper, announcing openings for on-air and behind-the-scenes talent for this exciting new start-up station, which in this case wasn’t really a true start-up because the Craig family were just rebranding their already existing Manitoba station to match their two television stations in Alberta.
At no point in my life had I ever imagined moving to Winnipeg. I didn’t have any preconceived notions about the city, I just never really thought about it unless the Jets or the Blue Bombers were playing. Still I thought I’d send a demo tape to the station anyway. I didn’t think I’d be contacted about a job, but maybe I could get a bit of feedback about whether going in the entertainment direction was even a viable option for a complete and utter jackass like me.
I sent a VHS tape (still prominent in 1999) to A-Channel news director Darcy Modin, and she called back surprisingly fast. Shockingly fast, actually. I should have realized I was immediately in a position of bargaining power, but I was simply too surprised by getting a phone call at all. Darcy told me the entertainment anchor posts had been filled, and she was actually wondering if I might be interested in hosting the station’s brand new morning show, The Big Breakfast. Years later Darcy would reveal that her first two choices for the job had fallen through over, surprise, money. Turns out A-Channel was a bit desperate. Desperation! The gateway to opportunity! (That was an alternative title for this book.)
While travelling in England in the summer of 1998 I had seen the U.K.’s version of The Big Breakfast on Channel 4 with Johnny Vaughan and Denise Van Outen, and it seemed like a laugh riot and something I’d love to try. Darcy offered to send me a few VHS tapes of Calgary’s Big Breakfast show starring Dave Kelly and Jebb Fink so I could watch them and have an idea of what I might be getting myself into. They arrived a couple of days later, and I popped them into the VCR at my apartment near the legendary Bessborough Hotel in downtown Saskatoon. I was immediately captivated by the show. Dave Kelly was the absolute perfect morning show host, like a young Regis Philbin. Perky, friendly, good-looking, but not too good-looking, the guy positively radiated energy, but not in an annoying way. Th
e guests and subjects he tackled were actually interesting to me. Local restaurant chefs, local bands, and local entertainment happenings. To sum up, the whole thing was very local.
The thing I liked best of all was the free-flowing nature of the show and the sense that the hosts were genuinely enjoying themselves. While Sportsline had been a very structured and classic-style nightly highlight show featuring teleprompter reading, highlight reading, and a bit of occasional banter, The Big Breakfast was pretty much the exact opposite: three hours of pure mayhem on the prairies. No script, no prompter, no rules! The formula was relatively simple: One main host in the studio, another co-host on remote, and a news anchor, preferably female, who bantered frequently with the main studio host and kept the show a little bit grounded. It was, for all intents and purposes, a note-for-note rip-off of Citytv’s Breakfast Television format that had been so successful in Toronto. Without all that pesky traffic and transit reporting getting in the way of the fun.
Darcy liked the demo tape I had sent her for the entertainment reporter job but wanted to see something more. “Could you head out onto the street in Saskatoon and interview people and ask them interesting questions?” Um, no, I’m pretty sure me stealing a camera for an afternoon would arouse the suspicions of my current boss in Saskatchewan, I replied.