Evan Craig

Anyone who has ever watched the American classic A Christmas Story knows that a triple-dog-dare is impossible to back out of. For a short period of my college career, I had triple-dog-dared myself into believing I loved something that I actually didn’t. The situation left me feeling like a tongue, aimlessly stuck to the frozen flagpole of life.

For two weeks of my junior year at Illinois State University, before I dropped the class, I was a reporter for the school’s news station, TV-10 News.

Your campus…Your community…Your life…This is Bloomington-Normal’s only live newscast…TV-10 News.

My sincerest apologies, I forgot their intro likes to cut in unannounced sometimes. Don’t worry, you’ll get used to it like my nightmares have. Where was I before being so rudely interrupted? Oh right! When I started at ISU in spring 2020, I had decided on majoring in journalism. I’ve never understood why I had chosen this major. I had zero intention of becoming the next Walter Cronkite nor did I have a passion for spreading Fox News conspiracy theories like, “Liberals are using Spongebob to push their global warming agenda”.

During those two EXCRUCIATING weeks, I was an MMJ for TV-10 News. An MMJ, or multimedia journalist, is a reporter who works solo to gather and eventually write their own news stories. This requires them to film all parts of the story such as interviews along with gathering their A-roll and B-roll shots. A-roll would be the interview subject talking to the camera or any captured natural sound while alternative footage, such as cutaways to surroundings, would be their B-roll.

The vast majority of available reporting jobs for graduating journalism students are MMJs. TV-10 made it essential to prepare their students for those types of jobs. Part of that requirement was to carry around three heavy @$$ bags wherever we got assigned. One was for

the camera, another contained sound equipment like a boom mic and microphones with the final one carrying a tripod for the camera. After gathering our stories, we would return to the news station located in the basement of Fell Hall to edit them together and record the voiceover.

Looking back, it wasn’t hard to see why I didn’t enjoy my time at TV-10. A major reason is that I DREADED interviewing people. For some reason, I chose to brush aside this seemingly insignificant detail like someone would push off a colonoscopy or a trip to the dentist. Part of interviewing included making small talk to put the subject at ease. Small talk, otherwise known as the Kryptonite to my Superman, made me long for a tumble down the Mariana Trench. Since part of my job as an MMJ required me to engage in small talk, I can’t believe I didn’t run like hell sooner when blatantly ignoring such a painfully obvious red flag.

Based on that reason alone, I always knew journalism was never right for me. However, I was terrified to unstick my tongue from the flagpole, afraid of the pain that followed. The ensuing uncertainty became difficult to stomach, but I grew far stronger as a result. Climb aboard my Magic School Bus and let’s go on a little journey. I guess this makes me Ms. Frizzle so dreams really do come true after all.

***

For one of my two weekly shifts, I had to work before the sun decided to wake its lazy keister up. The morning shift required me to arrive at the station by 7:30. I set an alarm for 6:30 so I was able to get ready in time. Usually, I couldn’t sleep very well the night before as I feared what type of small talk I would have to make before my interview. Maybe I could spice up the chit-chat by asking my subject how they would survive a zombie apocalypse or who they’d wish to reincarnate as. Revolutionary ideas like that are why I should totally be a news director somewhere.

When my alarm did finally go off, my wish was that the news would report the day was canceled and I could go back to sleep. Much to my dismay, I realized someone had to report that breaking news so it might as well be me. Through my groggy vision, I saw a series of lengthy emails sent by TV-10’s news director as to what I would be covering for the noon show. My first solo assignment was to cover a story on a student who was allegedly robbed at gunpoint over a pair of shoes. The whole situation seemed fishy so my bet is that drugs were involved. Let’s be real, the ONLY pair of shoes worth stealing are Nike Air Mag self-tying ones like the kind in Back to the Future.

It was a lonely walk to the apartment complex after stopping by the station to pick-up all the equipment. My mind distinctly echoed my news director telling my class to NEVER walk away from the camera while it’s on the tripod. This, to avoid the risk of having it fall over and shatter. The cameras were very expensive but I was never told how much. That lack of information worried me because I have the luck of someone who opens a box of Lucky Charms to find it without marshmallows. Hypothetically, I wanted to know how much so I could get the money ready beforehand or fake my death and move to Fiji. Hypothetically of course. I have far better options than Fiji.

As I dabbled in the peeping Tom life while filming shots outside an active apartment building, I had the most difficult time finding anyone to interview. For some reason, not everyone wants to be on-camera, imagine that. For two-and-a-half hours in the blazing heat, I had only one person talk to me and I was required to get two interviews before I could return to Fell. I had people walk by me and fail to acknowledge my presence after I had called out to them. Their behavior was an utter dick move and most definitely a page out of my book. Several times I packed up the camera, tripod and sound equipment to move around the quad, hoping that the fish were biting in another area of the pod.

My best chance came when I approached a guy sitting on a bench to tell him who I was and what I was doing. He didn’t run away so I found that to be a pretty decent start. Naturally, I thought this was probably too good to be true. Sure enough, it was as the interview gods toyed with me yet again. This guy told me he wasn’t even a student and that’s who I needed to interview. I was disappointed but he began telling me about a local Christian radio station that he worked for and had offered me a spot on a podcast he was doing. Following our discussion he handed me a card which read; No Matter Who’s President, Jesus is King, as a consolation prize. Oh for Christ’s sake, Jesus take the wheel already, I thought to myself. What still bothers me about this situation is how he naturally assumed my religion. I could’ve been a Satanist for all he knew. Although, an interview with a devil worshiper might’ve made his podcast a hell of a lot more interesting. Naturally, I headed back to Fell Hall with my tail between my legs like a puppy realizing they’re being driven to the vet.

***

When I wasn’t having good Christian fun with podcasting Jesus freaks, I had volunteered to do the weather during the noon show every Tuesday. Going in front of the camera was something that never bothered me but the green screen was a whole other monster. I had to remember not to wear green-colored anything or I risked pulling a Brick Tamland from Anchorman.

Whenever I gave my weather report, nearly everyone in the room was impressed by my voice. I wouldn’t ever say it’s Morgan Freeman quality but it’s gotta be pretty darn close. Around this same time, I was highly recruited by WZND, the student radio station at ISU.

WITH 60 NEWSCASTS A WEEK AND 24/7 ONLINE COVERAGE, WZND BRINGS YOU YOUR NEWS NOW.

Oh fudge, skunked again. It’s bad enough I have the TV-10 intro following me around, but now I have this joker to contend with. I was saying that I was highly recruited by WZND. Being recruited by them was like a highly-regarded football player receiving numerous offers from blue blood Division I schools…NOT. One of WZND’s news directors had heard me in action on the broadcasts which is why I was so sought after. On a side note, for one of my broadcasting classes, I had to give a “fake” news broadcast over the WZND airwaves. One of my classmates loved my voice so much that they remarked to my teacher that they’d like me to read them a bedtime story. To this day, I have no clue who said it, but I’d happily do it, for a small fee of course. This voice has a mouth to feed.

Even with a mystery fan and a promising future on the green screen and possibly the airwaves, something still didn’t feel right in the pit of my stomach. However, much as I had up to this point, I ignored it. Then came my breaking point, where I decided, enough was enough.

***

My final day as an MMJ at TV-10 was so strangely unforgettable that it was sadly immune from the Men In Black memory zapper. The night before, I feverishly scribbled down notes on how to use the editing software along with the Mac, neither of which I could figure out whatsoever. I had rarely ever used a Mac so being required to learn all the command keys and shortcuts was practically a foreign language of its own. Needless to say, no one should ever leave me alone in a room full of Macs from now on as I might end up starting a Mac-ssacre.

When I had gotten to the station that morning, I discovered I was FINALLY partnered with someone for the first time. While I was overly ecstatic to have a partner, I was less than

thrilled to learn he had a serious need to go to the bathroom. This was something he brought up just about every chance he got as we rode over to our location. Before you start thinking that he must’ve had an accident in my car which pushed me over the brink, I will tell you that he was house-trained. At least, as far as I know he was.

Our story was covering a major party which happened the previous night at an apartment complex called The Lodge on Willow. About the only way to describe this place is to picture the Wilderness Lodge at Disney World filled primarily with party-crazed douche flutes. Over 500 party-goers had packed the streets, breaking local COVID-19 guidelines in search of popular YouTubers who had come to town.

Seeing the aftermath of the party was about as bonkers as the story sounded. Shattered bottles of Corona beer littered patios outside several of the rooms. I bet that wasn’t the only kind of Corona being passed around during the festivities. Too soon? Moving on…it was eerie seeing the gym and pool areas roped off by crime scene tape, all to ensure social distancing was being practiced. As we continued getting shots, I served as the default lookout from any hungover college students aiming to chase us out with a shiv made from a red Solo cup.

Our time filming had me worrying about being arrested for once again dabbling in the peeping Tom life. This time, I would’ve been an accomplice to the crime. In one of my classes, I remember my professor prepping my class on what to do should we ever get arrested while on the job. This made sense considering the dangerous locations some journalists are required to travel to. Still, you’d think that would’ve been another red flag for me. Considering I had wanted to go into sports broadcasting, the most dangerous setting I could imagine myself in was a stadium full of drunken, rowdy fans armed with hot dogs to chuck at my noggin after making a godawful cold take.

My partner increased our odds of a run-in with the law once his bladder finally got the better of him. Ditching me with all the camera equipment, he dashed across the street into some bushes behind student housing. I peered around awkwardly, wondering if this was a sign from above to make my grand escape. You gotta go when you’ve gotta go I suppose. I would’ve awarded him a Purple Heart for bravery as I couldn’t imagine doing what he had just done with my shy bladder.

 

My partner and I had gotten some excellent soundbites. We had taken longer than expected when gathering our story. Once we made it back to the newsroom, we had to race against the clock to complete our story before the noon show. Unfortunately, it all came down to me. As my partner checked the equipment back in, I was tasked with uploading the video files from our SD card to the Mac and finding the proper soundbites.

Needless to say, I didn’t have my heroic moment where I swooped in at the last second to save the day. My brain froze up at the worst possible time, much like a movie freezing up in the middle of an unexpected sex scene while watching it with your parents. What I would’ve given to experience that moment instead. Wait…no, that’s a fate way worse than death.

Naturally, my partner made his heroic entrance at the most opportune time. I asked him whether he was good at editing to which he told me he wasn’t great but he’d give it a go. His “go” made my efforts look like the remnants of a beefy melt burrito in a Taco Bell bathroom. He must’ve been the type of person to say he wasn’t good at basketball, only to perform like the second coming of Michael Jordan. Upon leaving the station that day, I was disheartened and furious. This stuff was never going to stick. I had to face the music; I couldn’t do this anymore.

***

I had no one to blame but myself. Somewhere down the line, I had strayed away from being true to myself. Deep down, I had always known journalism wasn’t for me, but I deemed it a safer option than what I actually wanted to go for. Ever since I was a kid, I had aspirations to make movies. I planned out what films I wanted to make and even created a movie studio with my cousins that we’d all work for someday. Being the nice guy I was, I decided to include their names in the studio title and gave them film credits despite them hardly doing any of the work. Soon enough, we all grew up but that dream was never extinguished inside of me.

Maybe I had forced myself into something realistic because I realized making movies was pure fantasy. Oftentimes, I would catch myself fantasizing about walking across a stage and blowing kisses to an adoring audience after receiving an Oscar for my critically-acclaimed screenplay. There came a point where I was planning an escape from my future job as an MMJ to pursue this life-long dream. My final day at TV-10 forced me to finally confront the nightmare of my own creation. After all, you make escape plans from your crazy uncle at Thanksgiving who’s adamant that the presidential election was stolen by aliens from outer space, not from a job you plan to do for the rest of your working life.

***

Deciding to tell my parents about my intentions was the most nerve wracking thing I ever had to do. It was up there with explaining why I had those types of images saved to my computer. I tried telling them they came with the computer but they were having none of it. When I had discussed it with them, I opened by saying I couldn’t envision a future of being happy in the field. They had wondered whether my other arch nemesis, the Mac, was the reason for wanting to leave. I told them that was never the case as these feelings were bubbling for quite some time. So for the time being, I had conquered my foe the Mac (how do you like them Apples?) That was an excellent Apple joke. I’ll probably have no trouble finding Jobs making puns that’s for sure.

My parents had taken the news very well. They told me switching majors was very common and they had done it themselves. I wasn’t even fazed by my mom saying she switched into the wrong major. Naturally, I was going into my new English major with no backup plan. It was like skydiving out of a plane in an action movie. I never flinched once at the plane exploding behind me. I had only prayed that my parachute would work before reaching the ground.

I had originally wanted to go into sports broadcasting. The announcement disappointed my dad a bit since he had hoped I would be writing for his favorite team, the Denver Broncos, and would get to sit in the press box with me. I think he wanted this after learning that the press gets access to a buffet line during every home game. To be fair, I would’ve stuck with journalism just for access to all the free prime rib I could eat. While I had stolen this experience right out of his hands, he still showed his support for my dream of making movies by adding with a slight smirk:

“Well, I guess a trip to the Academy Awards will do too.”

***

One year after switching majors, I’ve been happier than ever. Leaving journalism and TV-10 was…

Your campus…Your community…Your life…

You aren’t haunting my dreams anymore. Go back to the crypt you came from, you slippery bastard. Back to what I was saying, leaving journalism and He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was one of the best decisions I’ve ever made. A couple months after joining the English program, I submitted two pieces to Euphemism, ISU’s creative arts journal. One was even

runner-up for editor’s choice in the spring 2021 issue. The work was a survivor’s guide on how to survive a rollercoaster, which was just picked up recently by Cedar Point amusement park to use as a handbook for weary first-time riders. Fine, you caught my bluff, Cedar Point didn’t pick it up…but they should.

Much to my dad’s delight, I never gave up on sports journalism. Almost a year after leaving TV-10, I became a contributor for Turf Show Times, an NFL blog for the Los Angeles Rams. This blog is one of 300 blogging communities on SB Nation, a well-renowned sports website. My work is visible to thousands of Rams fans all across the country. They must like my writing because to my knowledge, none of them have called me an idiot…yet. Don’t worry, there’s still time. I also nearly had the opportunity to interview legendary Rams Pro Football Hall of Fame running back Eric Dickerson for the blog. Oh well, it was close to being a cool story to tell the kids someday. Either way, I’m passionately loving my experience so my dad might join me in the press box someday after all. That’s good considering reporters have access to a sundae bar too so there’s no possible way I’m missing that.

I’m unsure what the future holds, but I know it’ll be a beautiful mystery. Making a movie has always been a dream for me, but I have to be realistic about the obstacles in my path. Maybe it’ll happen, or maybe it won’t. What I do know is that I’d rather die trying than never to try at all. No one will get out of this life alive, so it’s important to go for what makes them happy while they still have the time.

I’m forever grateful for calling the fire department that day to unstick my tongue from the flagpole. Even while it pinched a little, I don’t regret the painful experience for a second. It’ll just be another gnarly scar to show the boys down the road. Now, I know how Ralphie felt after getting his Red Ryder BB gun (sorry, spoiler alert). I’m excited to try it out and pray I don’t shoot my eye out in the meantime.