Today's a busy one, but I want to post at least a couple times a week, so here's a quick memory I'm sharing that is about what nearly became the greatest tragedy of my journalistic career.
HERE GOES:
So, the time was fall '99, Christmas season to be exact. I was a fall quarterly paid intern for the Chicago Tribune, the first weekly newspaper person ever to be picked up by the Tribune, or so I was told. It was a thrill and an honor to work for the paper i most loved in the world.
But I got sent on all sorts of random assignments, and one of them was to watch Michael Jordan show up at the Boys & Girls Club he'd named in his late father's honor and hand out thousands of Christmas presents to hundreds of needy kids. Afterwards, we in the press would be blessed with the privilege of throwing some questions his way.
At the time, Jordan was the most popular man on the planet. Or at least, definitely in Chicago. I had never been in the room as a reporter with anyone this famous, knowing that my take on it all would be THE definitive story people could read. I was nervous, but I grabbed my mini tape recorder and got my place in front of the man, the myth, the legend.
That is, i had a place until the TV cameras barged in, at which i point i was literally ordered to move. I wound up getting pushed and jostled around to the back of Jordan, leaving me no option but to swing my arm around his head from behind and hold the tape recorder just under his mouth.
Let's just say Jordan is a "low talker," or at least he was that day. Mushmouth from "Fat Albert and the Cosby Kids" was Winston Churchill next to Jordan. This surprised the hell out of me.
Anyway, I'm standing and straining for my tape recorder to pick up whatever it can. And the other, far more veteran reporters were starting to notice my tippy-toes act and trying not to snicker. If I fell one step wrong, i'd either fall smack into Jordan or away from him, choking him, maybe both. And again, we were being filmed for the TV news.
Just then, things got worse. I had just been getting over a horrible cold, my nose building up an itchy sensation over and over before releasing visible globs of goo anytime i sneezed. It was allergy season for me...And I knew something was about to make me sneeze.
Ya know how, if you are trying to prevent a sneeze you start twitching your face and blinking your eyebrows? This was worse, much worse. I had to twist my face muscles into pretzels in order to hold it in as The Greatest Athlete Ever kept mumbling. And the other reporters were starting to notice and trying not to laugh.
That only made me feel worse, and more nervous. And of course the more you think about something happening, the more likely it is that it's going to happen. On top of that, I'm convinced that I'm God's personal court jester, the one human being that He most enjoys watching crazy shit happen to.
So i know that i won't be able to hold it for ten seconds more. With 5 seconds to spare, Michael finally shut up and I whipped my microphone out of his face and proceeded to double over with the LOUDEST SNEEZE EVER. My nose shot out clear sticky goop at rocket speed straight into the floor. Everyone saw it.
Including Michael.
I was mortified.
He was pissed.
Thank God he had an image to maintain. As everyone else backed away in disgusted horror or grossed-out giggles, Jordan shot me a look that I don't think he ever gave to any other member of the public, at least. It was a look that wanted to kill me. And then he turned and walked away, leaving me as the source of gossip that day for the entire Chicago press corps as i found a paper towel and proceeded to mop up my mess.
And to think I didn't get picked up by the Trib after my fall session was over. Hmmm, wonder why.
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