Opinion: Unintended director’s commentary during game

September 17, 2008
By Robert Jackson
Sports Writer

Last Friday I told my roommate how dumb I thought articles chronicling a journalist’s experience at something are. The next day I accepted to fill in as the women’s soccer team’s videographer.

Five minutes into the gig I decided to write a column about it when I could get back to Trillium. It’d be a unique perspective and maybe I could write a deep, complicated book with a nice didactic spelled out in imagery, metaphor, and a little more metaphor—maybe even more metaphor unless I plan a sequel.

So here I am in the same annals as Dave Begel who played a beer vendor at a Brewers game in the ‘80s and Alex off of MTV’s “The Paper” who played a football player for one practice.

I decided to fill in because the length of the radii of my two circular pit-sweat stains on my shirt equated to an unhealthy and unsightly amount of sweat.

I had never made a home movie of any kind. I have never taped a wedding, and I don’t have any kids to tape their games. I am an average writer and an inexperienced videographer.

The first goal of the game by Beth Rayman, which was a header off a cross by Jessica Jaime, looks like an actor dropped a soccer ball while riding to the heavens on a deus ex machina.

“Maybe I didn’t draw a mustache on
the “Mona Lisa,” but I felt like I ruined something
special.”

After a while tracking the ball and keeping it in the center of the frame came easier. I even remember saying to myself after a corner kick, “Geez, Robert, you could work for ESPN.”

I wish I did work for ESPN because their cameras don’t run out of film with about 25 minutes still left in the first half. All before I even learned to steady a camera for the benefit of my future kids.

The people in the press box told me to take it easy until half time and then it’d be figured out. It was and the second half was uneventful for me, but obviously a big one for the Prairie Stars because they added their third goal to cement their first victory as a program.

With about 10 minutes left Zach from the press box walked in the room and asked if I would be willing to do the men’s game coming up next because their videographer had yet to show up.

“No. I gotta poop first and then talk to the coaches,” I said.

“You know that has audio, right?” He said.

“You’re joking.”

So the game film for the first women’s soccer win has camerawork zeminiscent of “Cloverfield” and my plans for the next thirty minutes at the time. I apologized to Coach Pete Kowall later when he came down from Cloud 9 somewhat.

Maybe I didn’t draw a mustache on the “Mona Lisa,” but I felt like I ruined something special. Maybe I fed one of El Greco’s figures. My friend never asked me why I thought firstperson accounts of their experience as something was dumb. I couldn’t answer that without any insight until now.

Journalists are journalists and why be anything different? Nelly Bly is probably the only exception this. But beyond that, the experience from these first person accounts always comes at the expense of something or someone else.