WEEKLY WRITER'S PATH #31
The signs of autumn are rampant: the Maximillion daisies unfurling their yellow fingers in the rain, the squeaking breaks of the school bus in the morning, and Al Michael’s voice calling the latest down from the NFL broadcast booth.
Last winter I decided to give up football when I learned as the 2005 season ended that Michaels—the announcer of Monday Night Football for two decades—had signed with Disney-Owned ESPN to call the games. I wasn’t about to buy cable just to watch Monday Night Football, and I didn’t want to watch football without Al.
His controlled tenor, his wry wit, his extensive experience hidden behind a cool exterior had become synonymous with the game for me. When Al left—my translator, my guide to the highs and lows of the game, my effortless statistician—I was as lost as Dante would have been without his Virgil, left alone or with an inferior muse to guide him through the circles of hell. No other announcer would do.
And although I told my family it would be better for me to give it up, truthfully, I was dejected that Michaels could leave us, be bribed by money, betray the American public. He was a traitor and we’re used to them. Every celebrity that has sold out, every independent thinker who compromised their individuality to corporate image, every small business that went global and forgot its roots has taught us to accept these attritions to power and money; Al was no different.
But what is it about someone’s voice that attracts us, captures our interest and makes our lives more special? Is it just the beauty of tone and modulation? Or is it the particular personality that is carried over the vocal chords and is defined by that physical limitation that entices us? How much humanity can you express in your voice? How little?
I don’t remember when my obsession with Al and football began, though certainly the roots came from growing up in the Chicago area in the 80s. Who couldn’t be a fan then? It may have been Al’s description of wide receiver Ed McCaffrey’s near-magnetic attraction to the end zone: He will not be denied, I remember him saying.
Football is both grace and brute force; intelligence and dumb luck; superstars and sidelined heroes. I discovered intent and planning in the game that I hadn’t seen before. Every character from the brain on the sidelines calling the play to the field goal kicker in his spotless jersey had a part. There were moments of unparalleled physical beauty combined with heart-breaking mistakes that I looked forward to each week. Viewing the game through his eyes, Al instilled in me a sense that all of humanity can work and play together in an exacting and nerve-wracking environment.
Now the unbelievable has happened: Al has returned to us, the non-cable masses. In February he was “traded” to NBC like the hot commodity that he apparently is for rights to sporting events and, of all things, Disney’s first cartoon character.
Why did he do it? Some say he wasn’t going to “slum it” over at ESPN. Maybe his contract wasn’t big enough, maybe he was going to miss his big buddy John who was already signed up for Sunday nights at NBC. Maybe he was offered even more money to flip-flop.
For whatever reason, he’s back. And now fall can properly begin.
