It was a misplaced moniker, to say the least. In high school Iwore Dockers on Telegraph Avenue, scoffed at the squatters pleadingfor hash cash and went to a Giants game the day Jerry died. Buthere, at Daily Sports, it stuck.
Two weeks after a flaccid handshake from Sports Editor TommyCraggs welcomed me to Daily Sports, then-football writer JeffCarlton branded me “Hippie” after I had foolishly disclosed myhometown of Berkeley, Calif.
Four years later, I still can’t call the desk as Adam. No oneknows who that is. To everyone at Daily Sports, I’m Hippie.
If nothing else, the nickname is a constant reminder of how longI’ve been here. Some people say this is a thankless job, and inmany ways, they’re right: Thursday nights reading copy instead ofdrinking, road trips to cover abominable teams, computer meltdownsat 3 a.m., editor meltdowns at 3:05.
But to me, it’s been worth it. My experience wouldn’t be thesame without the athletes, coaches, stories, road trips, latenights, and most importantly, the people who work here.
I’ll never forget being on the sideline when Northwestern beatWisconsin in double overtime in 2000, then listening to MarkLazerus say “holy fucking shit” over and over as we raced down I-90toward Evanston. One month later I stood slack-jawed in theMetrodome press box after Sam Simmons hauled in a Hail Mary on thefinal play of the game. I’ve seen elation after Michigan, thenheartbreak one week later in Iowa City, Iowa.
I remember being hung over on press row when men’s basketballsnapped The Streak, then avoiding Collier Drayton’s eyes as hestared through me at the postgame news conference. I rememberreceiving tons of e-mails from some weird guy named Chris whowanted a press pass to the 2000 NCAA women’s swimmingchampionships. Turned out he wanted the pass so he could propose toNorthwestern swimmer Amy Balcerzak on the pool deck (he did; shesaid yes).
Daily Sports has flown me on Vanguard Airlines to places likeWhite Settlement, Texas; taken me to Mystic Lake Casino;transported me in a rented Daewoo; housed me in the Big 10 Inn andthe Minnesota Econolodge; and fed me at Stake ‘n Shake, Big Boy andLa Bamba.
But this job is more than road trips and media buffets.
I’ll never forget coming home on a balmy August night to learnthat Rashidi Wheeler had died after a conditioning drill. Even nowI remember talking to him the previous April about the comingseason.
I would like to thank the athletes and coaches for helping me domy job. Many Daily Sports staffers are huge NU fans (myselfincluded), but our job is to report and not cheerlead, and more andmore of you are realizing that.
To media services, well, I’m running out of space. Mahoneyrules!
To the few e-mailers, I’m glad someone was reading.
Finally, I salute the talented, dedicated, admirable, obsessive,and masochistic folk that make up Daily Sports. To Tommy, Laz, Sam,and Jeff, you showed me the way. Take a hit on Tommy’s pipe for me.Glenn, we had a blast. To my football writers, thanks for makingGameday fun. Thanks to Turney, the jewel of Joliet — you are, asthey say, a rock star. And finally, to the new guys — Cohen,Sterrett, Ams, Eligon, Collins, Mah-Tino — the section is in goodhands.
The Birkenstocks are stowed, the Hendrix album stored away. AsBob Dylan writes, “I’m closing the book, on the pages and the text,and I don’t really care, what happens next.”
For this hippie, it’s been quite a trip.
