Re: WEEI - Must they...

[Chuckigo@att.net]

  i'd been hoping to stay away from this, but this one 
area is one of my BEST radio stories.  sadly, my better 
radio stories end up with me being "that guy over there" 
instead of the one with a great gig and a trophy wife 
and a fishing show on CMT or something.
 
1986:  a Saturday night.  headed into the plant at 441 
Stuart St. for the Saturday-into-Sunday overnight 
shift.  i'd been watching the game at my sister's house 
in Arlington.  around 9:30, i figure it's in the bag.  
grab the headphones and head for The Nifty 850, WHDH.  
arrived at Stuart Street, downstairs from the studio, 
complete with TV Parking (as the Japanese call getting a 
parking spot RIGHT where you need to be), around 10pm or 
so.  off the elevator and through the "Get Smart" door 
to the WHDH conference room and hospitality suite, 
wherein the big ol' tv was regaling all within (News 
Director Ed Bell, Sports Director Tom Larson, as well as 
a few engineers and one other newsperson whose name at 
the moment escapes me and i feel terrible about... maybe 
Naomi Clements? not sure.).  So Ed Bell says "Chuck!  
Head over to Champs (Bob Wolfe's Champions Sports Bar 
across the street) and get ready to do a post-game 
phoner with us!"  "Cool," replies Chuck, somewhat hoping 
that the payphone would be within sight of a tv screen 
so i could actually SEE "THEM" win it.  Cross the street 
to Copley Place, flash the Wha-Hood-Da-Huh ID and get 
escorted right to a nice stool at the edge of the alcove 
near the payphones.  Payphones are NOT within sight of 
tv screens.  I'm watching.  Waiting.  Grab the dime out 
of my pocket and call the WHDH Hotline.  "Stand by, 
Chuck," says the voice of the engineer back at the 
station.  "We're gonna put you through to Jim Bohannon.  
He wants an on-scene reaction thing when it's 
over."  "Wow!" thinks Chuck.  "Jim-bo himself?  And me?  
Coast-to-freakin-coast?  YES!"  
   On the payphone next to me is a guy who is definitely 
Brooklyn.  No doubt about it.  "Oh, man," he whines to 
his buddies back home, trying to be heard over the ever-
rising din in Champs.  "I can't believe it's ending like 
this..."  
   A moment later, the silence in the SRO bar was broken 
only by the gentleman on the phone next to me, his 
(bleep)ing shrieks the only sound aside from the sobs 
and wails of grown men and women weeping.  "What the 
(BLEEP) happened?" screamed Brooklyn.  "What the (BLEEP 
BLEEP BLEEP) happened?"
    down the payphone line came the gentle intonation to 
return to the studio.  "Thanks anyway, Chuck," said Jim 
Bohannon.  Click.  And with that, my coast-to-coast 
thing dribbled up the right field line.  So, i ran 
across Copley Place and over to the second floor studios 
to prepare for a very long, depressing night.  
    As i set up my spots for the first hour, I watched 
Tom Larson deliver THE Eulogy.  His face: drawn; tired; 
dejected.  His emotion: frothing; seething.  the report 
closed with words i'll never forget:
   "And so now it's Bill Bleeping Buckner going down in 
history with Bucky Bleeping Dent.  Tom Larson, WHDH 
Sports."

regarding the 1978 thing:  Who's Bucky Bleeping Dent?  
(De Nile... a river in Egypt.)

- -Chuck Igo