COLUMN: Me, the Jazz and Mr. Belding
When I first came to Utah State University a couple years ago, I was lost. However, I didn’t want to look like I was lost. I wanted to look cool, calm and collected.
When my first day of classes was over, I didn’t want to ask everyone for directions. I knew I had seen an LTD bus go somewhere near my new apartment, so I saw one and hopped on.
What should have been a short walk down the hill turned into a long bus ride, followed by a walkabout around town that would resemble an Alzheimer escapee from the local nursing home. Classes got out at 2:45, I got home around 6 p.m.
I had a similar experience last week. The Utah Statesman has a gig that allows its writers to get press passes for Jazz games. Like my first day of school experience, I didn’t want to look like a tourist.
I blew my “seasoned veteran” cover early on when I walked through the food server’s door trying to find my way to dinner.
A waitress looked at me and told me I had to go around to the other door. I told her “Of course I know that, I was ‘fixing the specs on the rotary gerder.'”
Halfway through dinner, I saw him. There are certain places where you don’t expect to see certain people. Going to a library I wouldn’t expect to see Mike Tyson sitting down at a table reading Shakespeare. I wouldn’t expect to see my mom tap dancing in a parade either, but she sent me the pictures to prove it.
Anyway, if you go to a Jazz game, you aren’t expecting to see Dennis Haskins, aka Mr. Belding, from Saved By The Bell, but there he was. He tried to disguise himself with a mustache, but I saw right through it.
I desperately wanted to talk to him about Screech, Zach, Kelly, Slater and everyone else. However, not wanting to look like an amateur, I didn’t go into my tirade. All I managed was a smiling, open mouthed “Hello.”
After dinner, time was winding down until the start of the game and I had no idea where to go. I discreetly asked a radio reporter.
If people hadn’t known I was a rookie before, they found out when he walked up to the press seating chart and showed me where to go while loudly asking where I go to school and saying how great it was for me to have an opportunity like this.
I found my seat and immediately started looking for Mr. Belding. I still hadn’t gotten over the fact that he was in the building.
So the game started, the Jazz were winning and halftime came. I started back downstairs to the press room and then I saw a sight even more daunting than Mr. Belding. It was Mark Eaton. Good night, he is one extremely large human being.
After the game it was time to go to the locker rooms for interviews. I saw a girl walking briskly in a certain direction saying “testing, testing” into a tape recorder. I figured she would be a good one to follow.
Soon I would be face to face with Jerry Sloan to ask him the question that had been brewing in my head for the entire second half. I couldn’t just throw an opportunity like this out the window. I was going to ask my question.
Only problem was when myself and the tape recorder girl arrived, I saw a coach surrounded by tape recorders, but it wasn’t Sloan. I had gone to the wrong locker room.
I felt cool flashing my media pass to all of the guards that I passed as I wandered through all of the tunnels looking for the Jazz locker room. My route probably looked similar to the aimless course of my LTD drive a couple years earlier. Finally I found it, and there was Jerry Sloan answering reporter’s questions.
I listened for the first few minutes and just as I was getting the courage up to ask my hard-nosed journalistic question, something stopped me. The other college reporter who was there asked Sloan, “Are you going to change your whole game plan if you play the Kings in the playoffs since they have beaten you handily every time that you’ve played them?”
Sloan looked at this guy for three long seconds and finally said, “What do you mean? I don’t understand your question. What do you think we should do different?”
All of the reporters turned to the college kid to hear his response. It sounded something like “ummm … you know … I … uh …” Sloan was as intimidating as the dad in The Wonder Years.
So I took my “brilliant” question (it really was better than the other guy’s), and filed it away for next time. I wasn’t feeling like making a fool out of myself.
Looking back, I’m a little disappointed in my interviewing cowardice. But hey, at least I said hi to Mr. Belding.
Clark Jessop is a sophomore majoringin broadcast journalism.He can be reached atclarkjessop@cc.usu.edu