When Producers Attack

April 18, 2009, 9:34 pm

I experienced a broadcasting "first" last week, and it's not something I'm very proud of.  For the first time in my entire career, I was assaulted by a co-worker.  Even worse, the culprit was the guy that sits right next to me, my good friend and producer Gary Carter.

Usually, Gary is a great guy to have next to you.  We often share Internet videos with each other, such as "How to Connect with your Audience Through Better Television Writing" "Sports Anchor Farts on Live TV!" or "Susan Boyle - Britain's Got Talent," which reinforces my belief that when we're each sitting at our desks, our combined I.Q. hovers around 56.

Gary is a die-hard Syracuse fan, so he always has bragging rights during basketball season because Carmelo Anthony single-handedly beat my Longhorns in the 2003 Final Four.  And I always have the upper-hand during football season because the Orange look like Susan Boyle has been quarterbacking them for the past decade.

(Also, I should point out that Gary is currently growing out his very curly hair, causing many of us to suggest that he start using Soul Glo.  This reference will make more sense later.)

Anyway, I was having a pretty good evening on Tuesday when I walked into the newsroom to begin my shift around 6:00PM.  All of the sudden, I hear my name called.  It's Gary, who apparently was very excited about seeing me and/or sharing an online video that probably had something to do with boogers.  But instead of shaking my hand, giving me a "high five" or slapping me on the butt, Gary became infused with the spirit of Jimmy "Superfly" Snuka.

He decides to surprise me by flying into me with a "shoulder bump."  When I turned around, Gary was already in mid-flight, giving me no time to react.  His shoulder hit me in the mouth, popping my head back, slamming my upper lip into my teeth and slicing it wide open underneath.

Immediately, I started bleeding and was forced to run to the break room so that I could stop the blood flow and apply ice to my lip.

You know when there's a wreck on the highway and traffic slows down because everyone just has to see what happened?  It was no different in this situation.  Heather Schwartz, our assignments editor, immediately left her post to follow Gary and me into the kitchen area.  As I'm bleeding into the sink, Heather provided sweet comfort with her running commentary:

*"I should get a camera and document this."
*"Jenks, are you going to blog about this?"
*"I wish I could have helped Gary stab you more forcefully."
*"It's too bad you're not dying."

Alright, she didn't say all of those things, but she did provide me with my own personal rubbernecker/heckler.  And to his credit, Gary felt terrible and even rewarded me by buying me a burrito from Chipotle.  What a guy.  If he ever murders a member of my family, I'll probably get a halfway-melted Snickers bar.  I can't wait.

Once I finally stopped the bleeding, my lip was slightly swollen.  But I had a bigger problem.  My entire upper lip was completely numb, which explains why my anchoring during SportsNite on Tuesday might have been my worst effort in months.

At one point during the show, I was trying to read this line: "The state of Maryland has passed a law giving it eminent domain rights over the Preakness Stakes."

This is how it sounded on the air: "The state of flubby dubby has Wang Chung the Long Duck Dong."  It was just awful.

Now I'm fearful that Gary might have other dangerous greetings in mind for my co-workers, such as:

*Giving Chick Hernandez a "nipple cripple"
*Pile-driving Kelli Johnson at Redskins Park
*Subjecting Jill Sorenson to a random "Indian rug burn"
*Saying something to Lisa Hillary that doesn't sound Canadian

Thankfully, I'm almost back to normal, and I am definitely counting my blessings.  If Gary had been wearing Soul Glo at the time of his attack, a greasy drop from his hair could have fallen into my eye and blinded me as well, so things could have been worse.

Then again, it probably won't be long until we find a video like that on the Internet.

Superfans

April 11, 2009, 1:02 am

Since my last blog tackled the topic of stalkers, I thought it was time to give due credit to the people out there that give television viewers a good name, the "superfans."  I've only met a handful of these people during my career, but the stories are certainly worth sharing.

I actually met my first "superfan" via e-mail in Austin.  I also went on a date with her.  Once.

Out of the blue one day, I received a message from a girl who told me that she really enjoyed my sportscasts.  Obviously, that meant I should immediately try and find her on the Internet.  Isn't that how all great relationships get started?  You e-mail someone, they search for you on Google and then you make lots of babies together.  Right?

Well, lucky me.  It turns out this girl was on the University of Texas pom squad, and there was a hot picture of her online to prove it.  Holy Schnikes, I thought I had hit the jackpot.  Now I just had to convince her to go on a date with me.  I replied, thanked her for the compliment and admitted that I had looked her up.  I asked her out, and she agreed to let me swing by her place later that week.

I will say, she was very attractive.  And she got bonus points when I found out that she had recently won over $28,000 on "Wheel of Fortune."  How awesome would it have been if I had immediately responded, "Oh really?  Well, I'd like to buy a vowel.  An 'I.'  Because I'm totally falling in love with you."

I know, that's lame.  Plus, how often do you think she heard a line like that once people knew her little game show story?  I sort of imagine it's like any guy who tries to pick up Mary-Kate or Ashley Olsen: "You know, I used to watch you on 'Full House.'"

The guy thinks he's being creative, but instead, he's just being creepy by repeating something they've probably heard a million times.  I would say something like, "God, I loved how you immersed yourself into your role as Madison Stewart in 'Holiday in the Sun.'"

You've got to think outside the box, people.

Unfortunately, my experience with pom-pom girl didn't end so well.  She was extremely religious, and there's certainly nothing wrong with that.  However, at one point during the date, I reacted to something by saying "Geez," and she immediately scolded me by responding, "Hey, don't make fun of Jesus."

It was a little much for me.  I should have started a sentence with the word "say" to see if she would have accused me of calling her Satan.

The second "superfan" I met was also in Austin at a small bar named Lala's.  The girl was having a bachelorette party, and she wanted me to sign her arm with a pen.  In fact, I had just started dating Lisa at the time, and she was there to capture the moment:



However, the girl in question made a colossal mistake.  She told me that I could put anything on her arm.  In my attempt at humor, I drew a faux-tattoo of two stick figures making out and indicated that they were brother and sister.  Then above the stick figures, I wrote the caption, "Keep it in the Family."

I have to tell you, I laughed for five minutes after typing that line.  Sure, you might think I'm a twisted sicko, but think about it.  Of all the things this girl expected to see on her arm, I am quite positive that two incestuous stick figures did not make the list.

When I was done with my Picasso-esque creation, she had this big smile on her face in anticipation of what I had created.  That grin quickly turned to complete confusion and a bit of disgust.  I don't know what in the world go into me, but I still find it hilarious.

My final "superfan" experience actually came here in D.C.  A couple of years ago, I had just finished doing a live report from a local bar when a teenage girl approached me with a note.  "Well, that's cute," I thought, "This girl is in high school, and she wrote me a fan letter."

I was wrong.  She was delivering it for her mother... who was pushing 60.

I forget the exact wording of the note, but it was some sort of invitation to come over to this woman's house.  Now I don't have anything against our older population, but clearly, my demographic has dropped off quite a bit from the days when I was getting e-mails from pretty college girls.  But let's be more specific.

The typical Michael Jenkins fan:

*60 to 63 year-old woman
*Addiction to Nicorette
*Prefers talking in pig-latin
*Huge Coolio fan
*Interests include grooming hard-to-tame cats, drinking malt liquor and maintaining an impressive collection of jams and jellies

A warning to all of the other sportscasters in this market.  You can forget about trying to make headway into this demographic.  I own it.

And that brings me to the big news.  Almost a year ago--partially as a joke--my girlfriend created a fan club for me on Facebook, which I blogged about previously.  Recently, she even came up with the official logo of the club:


She must think very highly of me considering the flattering picture she chose and the obvious fact the logo looks to have been created in 2-3 minutes using a semi-broken Etch-A-Sketch.

Anyway, Lisa has always insisted that she was going to arrange a fan club party that anyone could attend.  Well, she's actually done it.

Lisa has teamed with Comcast SportsNet for the first-ever Michael Jenkins Fan Club Party.  It's going to be held on April 23rd at RFD in Chinatown from 7:00PM-10:00PM.  I certainly don't take myself this seriously, and I'm fully prepared for the party to consist of me sitting alone in a corner booth drowning my sorrows with a bottle of Old Crow.

However, the current itinerary says that I'll be signing cheesy, five year-old head shots, beer from my home state of Texas will be on special, and we'll be giving away tickets to Maryland football games.  I even promise to wear my "Sex Panther" cologne.

We've also invited lots of other media luminaries in Washington--including our own anchors here at CSN--to join the fun as VIP guests.  Oh, and there's a good possibility that the Caps will be playing down the street at Verizon Center, so it should be a great atmosphere.  

Everyone is welcome, and even if you detest me, I encourage you to come on down and talk behind my back to my friends.  Or, if you prefer, I'll tell you what it's like to sit just a few feet away from Chick Hernandez in the newsroom.  Maybe you want to know if it's possible to return a blistering tennis serve from Russ Thaler.  Or maybe you wonder how much Molson that Lisa Hillary can drink in a single sitting.

I hope to have all the answers.  Just don't ask me to solve a puzzle on "Wheel of Fortune."