I’ve had some fun during my freelance travels. You have to have fun or else being away from home and stressed about a show will really get to you. The fun can come from anything, my personal favorite is sitting in a terminal people-watching. I have heard some absolutely hilarious statements and seen people commit completely stupid acts.

Today is no different… except for the fact that my plane was supposed to leave for Newark at 5:02, and it’s now 5:08.

Apparently Newark is all in a tizzy and stressed because of all the incoming traffic, so the regional flights have been asked to hold for an hour. Apparently, from the road warriors I’ve talked to, this is a very common occurance at EWR on a Friday evening.

So, we’ve all gotten off the aircraft and are back sitting in the terminal. I don’t want to be like these frustrated people I see sitting around me, so I thought I would take this opportunity to blog and share some of the funny things that have happened during my freelance travels this basketball season.

• Flight attendant during safety speech before flight:
  “To operate your seat belt, insert the flat metal tip into the buckle. I’m explaining this in case you haven’t been in a car since 1965.”
• Same flight attendant conversing with me when she came to check on us in the exit row:
  “Are you willing and able to perform these functions as instructed by the crew?”
  “Yes.”
  “Promise me you won’t practice opening the door.”
• The same flight attendant, yet again, on final approach:
  “Please return your seat to its full upright,  locked and most uncomfortable position.”
• Pilot prior to flight from Indianapolis to Cincinnati (lasts about 15 minutes in the air):
  “Folks, this is the Captain. We’re going to keep things short and sweet from the flight deck. We’ll take off, give you a *ding* after 10 minutes, make a turn to the southeast then the south, give you another *ding* and be on the ground 5 minutes later. Enjoy your 25 minutes with us, we know we will.” 
• Pilot on a different flight:
  “Flight time from Indianapolis to Charlotte will be approximately 15 minutes once we’re airborne.”
  [Passengers begin looking around curiously]
  “What’s that? Really? Excuse me ladies and gentlemen, flight time from Indianapolis to Cincinnati will be about 15 minutes. If you’re going to Charlotte, you’re on the wrong plane.”

Note: This does not include watching Mike run through the Norfolk airport with his sandals on his hands because he forgot his cell phone in the rental car and was 5 minutes from missing the flight.

What sort of odd or off-the-wall things have you experienced while traveling?

Please tell me you got the Queen reference.

With how much time I spend on the road, I’ve become very friendly with the radio frequencies in each town.

I really love when my rental car has XM or Sirius, because I don’t have to worry about scanning through stations to find something good, I already know what I’m going to listen to.

What I love even more is when there’s an 1/8″ adapter and I can plug my iPod in and listen to whatever I want.

Unfortunately the Mitsubishi Galant that National gave me, had neither of these features.

Here were my genre choices on the drive from Montgomery to Troy, AL:

• Country
• God
• Christian-God
• NPR
• Pop and Top 40 from a station promising “10 songs in a row and Rick and Bubba in the morning”

It was an interesting drive.

What was even more interesting was the rocking chair sitting in the middle of the passenger terminal. I was expecting to see an old man with a heavy blanket and a shotgun, rocking back and forth, reminiscing about the “good ol’ days.”

Is it just me, or does this rocking chair seem out of place?

Watchdogs of democracy?

About a week ago, I finished reading Helen Thomas’s Watchdogs of democracy?: the waning Washington press corps and how it has failed the public. And I absolutely loved the book.

If you’re in journalism, interested in journalism or think the media is a left-leaning entity, I would highly recommend giving it a read. Thomas calls out the press for doing nothing when President Bush called on America to go to war with Iraq. She points out that it is the media’s function to question our leaders and ensure the public is getting all the information. “Gotcha journalism” is the biggest buzzword, but asking those kind of questions usually helps expose corruption or incompetence.

Thomas goes on to talk about media consolidation, and its impact on the messages Americans receive.

As Representative Maurice Hinchey once said, media consolidation “is the most critical issue facing the American people today: whether to allow a handful of people to determine what information we receive and influence the decisions we make.”

Congressman Bernie Sanders (I-Vt.) summed up the issue well when he said the FCC rules “will lead to even fewer media giants owning and controlling what people see, hear, and read in America. That’s truly dangerous because the health of our democracy depends on multiple viewpoints being debates. When you have only a few companies controlling everything, you get one corporate view.”

Even if you’re not interested in the rest of the book, I would suggest picking up a copy and reading her epilogue.

She definitely sticks it to bloggers, saying they aren’t really journalists and shouldn’t be credentialed for events. Thomas says that “real journalists” work for papers, wire services or television outlets. But those outlets are the ones being impacted by media consolidation.

While blogging may be more of an opinion piece, in lieu of journalism, bloggers are digging up facts and writing posts that are in the public interest. The problem stems from writers who are pushing their opinions as reality, and the readers who believe those interpretations to be true.

Overall, it’s a great read, though. I would urge you to go out and borrow the book for a weekend.

Heading down Arkansas way

On another note, I’m in the process of getting ready to head out to the brand new terminal at Indianapolis International Airport. This will be my first trip through Weir Cook Terminal, and from everything I’ve heard, it’s fantastic.

I’ll be working this week’s Sun Belt game on ESPN+, Florida Atlantic at Arkansas State.

I was looking forward to heading to Arkansas for the weekend. It’s in the south, it should be warm, right? Apparently not. The forecast for tomorrow has the high at 48°, but we’ll be there at 7:00am and it’s going to be cold!

Rental car delicious-ness

I couldn’t believe I got this rental car in Monroe, Louisiana. A Ford Mustang? From an airport that only takes prop and regional jets? And they had a whole fleet of Ford Mustangs?

I guess I should look into moving to Monroe, LA, there’s apparently more happening there than it appears.

This is the ending to yesterday’s post, Planes, [no] trains and [only one, not two] automobiles. And now, the rest of the the story.

This is what my trip has turned in to

It’s 9:45pm Friday. I’m in Washington, D.C. And I have a rental car reservation.

I’ve got to be in Buffalo by 5:00am Saturday.

I head straight to row of cars reserved for Emerald Club members at the National Car Rental lot.

I’m not very picky when it comes to rental cars, but I do prefer at least a mid-size car. Satellite radio is always a bonus, especially when you’re going to drive as far as I will.

I pick a red Impala.

I picked poorly.

I have nothing against the Impala, in fact I own a 2008 model, but this one didn’t have satellite radio. And it didn’t come with an 1/8″ cable to hook my iPod into the stereo.

I drove out the ramp and headed toward the airport exit. I had already checked the best route to get there, and it was going to take me back almost to Ohio. I got out my GPS-enabled phone and started cruising. Out the airport exit, onto the G.W. Parkway. Smooth sailing.

It was 9:55pm and doing the math in my head, I should be to Buffalo right at 5:00am. I know Google said 7 1/2 hours, but I figured I’d be driving pretty fast the whole way.

All of sudden, the last mistake of the night came upon me.

“Toll Booth – 1/2 mile – Pay 75¢”

75 cents? Well, I just happened to exactly 75 cents in my bag. I opted for the “Exact Change” lane.

I grabbed the 3 quarters and dropped them into the change bucket.

The LED display said “Please pay: 25¢”

I did. I paid all of it. Everything. I began to scramble.

I dug through all of my bags to find whatever change I had left. There was a dime. That’s it. A dime. I threw it in the machine, knowing I wouldn’t be using it for anything else.

By the time I decided it was worth it to just up (always a terrible idea), two cars came up behind me and blocked me in. 

Great. There wasn’t a gate in front of me, but I really don’t want to run through a toll booth in a rental car.

Then I see it. A button. But not just any button, a button with a speaker.

I press it frantically hoping someone on the other side will answer and tell me what to do. No dice. No one answers.

There’s a phone number to call for help, I punch it into my phone and drive through without paying the toll. I pull over to the side.

“Our hours of operation are,” is all I hear before I hang up and scream.

And scream.

And scream.

I regain my composure. Whatever, I’ll deal with it when I finally get home Saturday evening. I pull back out into traffic and head on.

10:30pm rolls around. I’m outside the beltway, but not that far out of D.C. I drive past the ramp for Dulles. My mind races. “Would I have made the flight?” “I think I would have.” “Crap. I think I might hav- no. There’s no way.”

I keep driving.

I get on I-70 and head east. Yup, I’m heading straight back toward Indianapolis.

I keep driving.

Long after midnight I stop for a quick stretch and a breather in Breezewood, Pennsylvania. I get out my laptop to make sure my phone’s GPS isn’t leading me astray. Sure enough, just keep going. I’ve got to get to Pittsburgh before I can turn north, and then it hours before I can head northeast.

I run inside to grab a cup of coffee and something to snack on. My eye catches a Powerbar. “Worth a try,” I mutter, followed closely by, “$3.29! Damn.”

I pay, head to the car and get back on the road.

The rain and winds that had been delaying flights all day had finally caught up to me. At 1:00am in the middle of Pennsylvania.

1:45am- Start hydroplaning going 75. I decide I should back it down a little.

2:00am- Start hydroplaning going 65. I finally realize that the problem is there’s so much water rolling down the steep grades of the highway I can’t do anything except slow down.

I carry on through the night. Belting out songs playing on the local radio station I had heard in years.

At some point in upstate Pennsylvania I stopped for gas and another huge coffee. I was surprised I had made it that far without finding a cheap hotel to spend the night in. In fact, I felt pretty invigorated to finish the drive.

I hopped back on the road and carried on. I crossed into New Yorkat 4:00am and figured I was home free. Apparently I hadn’t looked closely enough at the map.

It took me another hour and a half to get to U.B. Stadium in Buffalo. I pulled in at 5:30am, personally running on empty. I’d been up since 8:30am Friday, and I was about to work 10 hours, including a live televised 3 1/2 sporting event.

I had called the director when I was on the road the night before to let him know the situation, the first thing he said to me when I arrived was, “I know you just got out of your car, but here’s a parking pass. I need you to move into the lot next door.”

I prayed I wasn’t going to fall asleep walking over from the other lot.

I returned to the production truck, surprisingly awake. The build: you don’t really care about our prep work. Let’s just skip over the game. We were on the air at noon, I changed to a page of starting offense too early, no other problems, off the air at 3:30pm. We did a quick hit for ESPNU.com and I started packing up.

I got in the car at 3:50pm and headed toward Buffalo-Niagra Airport, my flight was scheduled to leave at 5:01pm and I knew it was going to be tight.

I pulled into the rental car return lot at 4:05pm. After exchanging some pleasantries- and trying to avoid explaining why I drove from DCA to BUF, but had only had the car since 10:00pm the prior night- I turned in the keys and ran to the ticketing desk.

Back on Friday, waiting to leave Indianapolis, I tried to check in for this flight. Everytime I put in my confirmation number it said I had to complete the flight I was about to board before I could check-in. This wouldn’t have been odd if I was flying the same airline for both trips, but I was on US Airways to get to Buffalo and United to get home. I figured they could clear it up at the desk on Saturday.

So, I walked up to the ticketing desk and over to one of the self-service terminals. It asked me to present identification, so I did. I grabbed the passport from my bag and went to put it under the reader.

Or at least what I thought was the reader. 

I passed the passport underneath it 5 or 6 times before I gave up and grabbed a credit card to swipe instead. It wasn’t until 15 minutes later I realized I was the idiot swiping the passport in the wrong place, the passport reader was on top of the whole apparatus and labeled “PASSPORT READER.” Idiot.

After running the credit card through it told me to see a ticketing agent, I stepped up to the counter.

I explained the situation and looked at the clock. It was already 4:15pm.

The agent typed, not like a normal person, but how they always type in parody or saitre movie scenes. Think Meet the Parents, those were the clicking sounds she was making.

“So you flew here,” she paused, then said, “I have an unused ticket for you from Dulles. How did you get here?”

I explained that I drove to Buffalo through the night because that was the only way I would make it in time. At this point I’m pretty sure I wasn’t making any sense because the adrenaline rush of a live broadcast was fading and I had been up for 30+ hours.

“Okay. Well, I have a reservation for you. But no ticket has been purchased.”

“How can that be?” I ask myself.

“Alright, well what can I do?”

She asks me to hang on and goes back to typing.

“So you bought this ticket?”

“No,” I replied, “the client I’m working for made the purchase. Either ESPN or Disney.”

“Well can you get in touch with the booking agent?” she asked.

I get out my phone and call ESPN’s emergency travel number.

“Hi, the ticketing agent says there is a problem with my ticket. It needs to be issued, is that something you can do?”

I look at the clock. It’s now 4:32pm, the flight leaves in 29 minutes and I still have to get through security.

“Okay, please hold, Mr. Keever. We’re going to get this straightened out.”

I explain the whole travel fiasco to her. She thanks me for being so patient.

4:42pm, she comes back on the line.

“Mr. Keever? I’ve found the problem. We’re going to issue your ticket, I’m just waiting on my supervisor. She has to receive the request and submit her approval.”

Perfect. There’s still a chance I can make it. There’s a bigger chance I’ll get to the gate as the plane is leaving, but there’s a chance I can make it.

A voice comes back on the phone, “Alright Mr. Keever, the ticket has been released. The airline should be able to print your boarding pass. Would you like me to stay on the line?”

I would have wanted her to stay on, but the ticketing agent ran into their back office. I tell the voice on the phone that if I have any more problems, they’ll be my first call.

4:46pm, the agent comes out of the back office and starts typing away.

“Alright, it looks like your ticket has been reissued,” she tells me.

I quickly reply, “Okay, then I’m just going to assume they repurchased the ticket and I’m going to have ‘SSSS’ across the bottom and have to go through additional screening.”

“That’s not always the case. I think you’ll be fine- nevermind. You will be subject to a thorough screening process.”

I think to myself, “Thorough screening? So the other security is just for show and doesn’t keep anything out?” I grab the ticket she hands me and run to the security checkpoint.

I hand over my passport and boarding pass to the TSA agent and say, “I know that I’ve been selected for random screening.”

He laughs, “Done this before, eh?” and escorts me off to the line reserved for late-ticket-purchasers and could-be-terrorists.

I get through screening at 4:56pm. “Great, 5 minutes,” I say aloud, sarcastically.

I rush down to gate 10. There’s almost no one there. It looks abandoned. We’re supposed to be on a Boeing 737. The door is open, maybe they already boarded. Then I see a swarm of people come through the doorway. The inbound flight was delayed 30 minutes, so I’m right on time.

I sit down. Catch my breath. Realize I have showered, brushed my teeth or eaten anything except a Powerbar and a breakfast burrito the school provided.

We start boarding the plane at 5:10pm. There are literally 20 of us on board when we pull back from the gate.

We make our way out to the active runway, but before we get there pull over to a waiting pad and the captain shuts down the engines.

“Ladies and gentlemen, we’re shutting down the engines. O’Hare has a parking lot above them due to weather, they’re asking flights to hold. They’ve told us to remain on the ground until :58,” the captain says.

It’s 5:20pm. “What’s a half hour after the weekend I’ve gone through?” I thought.

I finished reading a book I had taken along. Finally at 5:40pm the captain announced that we had been cleared for departure and would be on our way to Chicago.

The rest of the trip was fairly uneventful, except for the massive turbulence produced by the remnants of Hurricane Ike.

I made it home, and climed into my own bed at 10:00pm Saturday. I had been awake since 8:30am on Friday, and was finally going to get some sleep.

There were some bumps with this past weekend’s travel plans.

Not really bumps, as much as never-ending chasms of despair I could not escape from no matter how hard I climbed.

I was crewed to work Temple vs. Buffalo, which ended with an unbelievable reception, for ESPN Plus. Crew call was set for 5:00am on Saturday. The trip was supposed to take me just a few hours Friday night; from Indianapolis to Buffalo via Washington, D.C. And it did work out, to a certain extent.

The following is a detailed account of the trip.

 

It’s always tricky to make freelance gigs work with a full-time job. Occassionally you have to use vacation days to work or turn down gigs so you can work other jobs later. I try to take evening flights so I only have to use 4 hours of vacation or comp time. Usually this all works out fine- though I have had a few close calls.

Those close calls would be nothing compared to Friday, September 12.

I arrived at Indianapolis International Airport at 5:20pm. Security was a breeze, except for the guy checking IDs. He must have looked at my passport for a full 2 minutes, while the woman next to him had already let 3 people go through.

Finally I made my way through to the US Airways gate. Concourse D doesn’t have much for a traveler; a crappy Dick Clark’s American Bandstand restaurant and a coffee/pastry cart don’t really pass for sustinance. I grabbed a cookie and a water and sat down to finish e-mails and some work before the next day’s show.

US3228 left Indianapolis nearly on-time- only 5 minutes late. The captain and first officer assured us it wouldn’t affect our arrival time.

Sure enough, they were right. We landed at Reagan National Airport 15 minutes early.

“Fantastic,” I said under my breath.

We taxied past every gate at the airport, and then came to a stop at the end of the terminal. That’s when the engines shut down. Apparently I spoke too soon. The pilot came on the loudspeaker.

“Folks, we’ve turned off the engines. There’s another plane at our gate, apparently weather out west is preventing them from taking off. They assure us they’ll be underway in a few minutes and we can taxi to the gate.”

“‘A few minutes?’ Well, at least we landed 15 minutes early,” said the passenger next to me.

15 minutes go by. It’s 8:30pm. We were supposed to be at the gate right now. My connection to Buffalo leaves at 9:05pm.

The captain comes back on, “Folks, they’re just finishing boarding. I know a lot of you have some tight connections, we should be heading to the gate shortly.”

Another 10 minutes go by. Nothing.

Finally at 8:50pm the engines start back up.

This time the flight attendant gets on the loudspeaker, “We’ve been cleared to proceed to the gate, once we arrive we ask that if DCA is your final destination you remain seated so those catching connections can leave the plane immediately.”

We park at the gate at 9:00pm. As we run off the plane, a worker tells us to go out to the tarmac where they have buses waiting for us to take us to our gates.

9:01pm- I board the bus.

9:02pm- I’m still sitting on the bus.

9:03pm- The bus starts up and we head across the tarmac to another terminal.

9:04pm- They let us off the bus. I run up the stairs and get to Gate 42. The plane is still sitting at the end of the jetway. But there’s not gate agent and the door is closed.

“Can we still get on 1712?” I shout to the ticketing agent across the terminal.

“No, that flight has already departed.”

I can see the plane right out the window, but I’m not going to argue- even though the jetway hadn’t been pulled back yet. There were 6 of us waiting for that flight, I’m sure they don’t want to put all of us up in hotels for the night.

Apparently they did.

It’s 9:10pm Friday. I’m in Washington, D.C. I have to be in Buffalo. I have until 5:00am Saturday.

“I have to be in Buffalo by 5:00am tomorrow for ESPN,” I find dropping that name sometimes greases the wheels, “what other flights do you have to Buffalo or anywhere close I could drive from?”

The ticketing agents, in all of his slowness, tells me, “Well, there’s a flight to Syracuse- nope that one’s leaving now.

“Ummm, there’s a flight to Albany- well, that one already departed.

“The next thing I have would get you in to Buffalo-Niagra at 10:15am tomorrow.”

Apparently he didn’t hear me say, “I have to be there by 5:00am.”

Or maybe he thought that meant, “I would really like to be there at 5:00am, but there’s no reason I would have to be, it’s just a random time I picked out of the blue.”

I immediately realize the futility of continuing and call the ESPN emergency travel number.

My call is answered almost immediately. I tell the representative my issues and what I need. With a sigh of relief she says, “There’s a 10:30 on United,” I was relieved, too. Then she added, “wait, that’s a Dulles.”

It’s now 9:20pm. I ask my fellow passengers how long it would take to get to Dulles in a cab. The general consensus is between 30 and 40 minutes.

“Okay, get me a ticket on that flight,” I tell the very helpful voice on the other end of the phone.

She responds, with a little disbelief, “Alright, I have you ticketed on United from Dulles to Buffalo. You’ll need to see the US Airways agent to get some paperwork.”

Great, I get to deal with that guy again. Other people have stepped in now, complaining about missing flights and what they’re going to do. After waiting for a few minutes, I decide I’ve got to hit the road. I make my way for the exit and a cab, with a quick stop at the ticketing desk at the front of the airport.

There are two agents, each assisting other customers. I wait at the back of the line, but with a very urgent look on my face. Finally one of them wraps up, as I walk up to the desk I’m greeted by, “We’re closed, sir.”

What. The. Hell.

“But I just need to get-” I get cut off mid-sentence.

“Sir, we’re closed,” she tells me again.

Fine. I take off down the stairs. Furious with US Airways and their terrible customer service. First a gate agent who doesn’t move fast enough to be in the train industry, much less the airline industry. Then a ticketing agent who sees me waiting, but doesn’t tell me they’re closed until I’ve waited 5 minutes.

It’s now 9:40pm. I run outside to the ground transportation area. There are buses to rental cars and taxis. I ask a cab driver, “How long would it take to get to Dulles?”

“Dulles? Why Dulles?” I don’t respond. “Well, about 40 minutes,” he tells me.

At least the people inside ballparked it right. But not I won’t even get to the airport until 10:20pm, and there’s no way I’ll get my ticket and get through security in time.

I hop on the bus to go to the rental cars and call @mmagnolia22. “Go to Google and get directions from DCA to BUF.”

“It says 7 1/2 hours,” she tells me.

“Okay, thanks.” I hang up and call travel again.

“I need a rental car from Reagan National to Buffalo-Niagra. One-way,” this is going to be expensive for them.

“Okay. I’ve got the reservation in, can you drop the car off at 9:00am on Saturday?”

I quickly respond, “No, I can’t do that. Our crew call is at 5:00am and I’ve got a 5:01pm flight out of that airport. Can’t I just keep the car?”

“Oh, I see that now,” she sounds quite surprised, as I believe she just realized what I was about to do. “You’re all taken care of Mr. Keever.”

Fantastic. It’s 9:45pm. I’m in Washington, D.C. And I have a rental car.

The rest of the story comes tomorrow…

Well, not really “we,” but rather “me.”

College football is literally just hours away. And that means, work is ramping up and I’m getting ready to hit the road.

For the launch of the 2008 season, ESPN Regional Television has me heading to Huntington, WV where the Thundering Herd from Marshall will take on Illinois State.

It’s a nice little drive to get me in the mood for the rest of the season. It may start at Marshall, but it will take me to LSU, Buffalo, Virginia Union and Arkansas State.

So, it’s a quick post. I’m waiting to finish some stuff at regular work then hitting the road. Look for some funny stuff here this season.

Working these Mecum Auto Auctions up at the State Fairgrounds, I’ve had a chance to see some amazing cars. Here are just a handful of the ones going up on the block tonight (LIVE on HD Theater at 8:00 pm).

When I freelance, I always try to do my best work.

Sometimes it results it compliments, sometimes nothing, but just sometimes it results in SWAG.

That was the case with a series of shows I did this spring. I got a very nice long sleeve shirt out of the deal, but I don’t even know what I did. More importantly, I don’t think they know who I am. Here’s why I think they sent me a XXL shirt:

• He’s from Indiana
  • People from Indiana weigh three times as much as those on the coasts
• Typical sports fan
  • Too much beer and strippers
• Oh shit, we don’t remember him
  • Well, he’s only 24 so this will give him room to grow into it