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I gulp. “What do I have to do?”
“Well, we’ve been talking to the team about a great opportunity for you.”
I have a feeling my likability quotient for this idea will be below zero.
6
THE END OF THE FUN FACT ERA
Everly
Finishing my London fog latte, I work my way through emails and interview requests back at the office. As I go, I catch up on listening to podcasts and on-air interviews our players have done over the last few days.
Most I already sat in on, but if I can’t be there—since, well, I can’t be everywhere at once until I can clone myself—I like to listen to them. I don’t want to be blindsided with something I’ve missed. I hate surprises, which is weird since I work in sports, and literally every game is a surprise.
But sports are at least predictable.
What I aim to avoid is someone tipping me off to something I should have known—a problem I should have anticipated. I’m done listening right as I finish answering emails before they can pile up. When I hit send on the last one, my phone rings.
Perfect timing.
It’s Erin, the on-air talent at one of our broadcast partners, and I’ve been eager to hear from her. After researching other sports broadcasts, as well as the ways fans interact on social media, I proposed they add some new segments to their broadcast to increase engagement. Crossing my fingers, I pick up the call, hoping she’s keen on my ideas. I chat with Erin for a bit about the game plan the next few nights, then she says, “And we liked your engagement ideas and want to start doing some fun facts about the players. The fans really love that, especially since fun facts are all the rage,” she says, almost apologetically.
“Fun fact: I can tell you’re wishing for the end of the fun fact era.”
She laughs. “Is it that obvious?”
“Yes, but I’ll keep your secret. Especially since fans love them, and I can make this happen.”
I’m already thinking of the first few players to ask. Our team captain, Christian Winters, our outgoing center and all-around charmer, Chase Weston, our rising star right winger, Wesley Bryant, and our fan favorite left winger, Asher Callahan. Briefly I think of Max Lambert, and I roll my eyes. Fun fact: he’d rather eat nails than supply fun facts.
Erin and I chat some more about the project, then catch up on the latest sports news. We’ve been work friends since I started in the business—there weren’t many of us women covering the team, so we bonded. But I check the time, then say goodbye since I’ve got a meeting with my boss in twenty minutes, and I’m never late. I made a vow three years ago, after my life shattered one evening, to never run late again.
I grab my tablet and leave my office to meet my bosson the other side of the arena. It’s only a five-minute walk but not only does this allow me to arrive early, it also gives me a chance to catch up with anyone I run into in the hallways, which is always a good thing as the team’s PR person. You learn the most about the people you work with from these casual, unexpected moments.
It’s part of what I need to be good at my job, and my goal is to be the best publicist possible. Work got me through one of the hardest things I ever had to deal with, and this job in particular helped me to finally emerge from the darkest days of grief.
It’s funny in some ways, since being a publicist wasn’t ever part of my life plan. When I went to college, I thought I was going to study environmental science, which didn’t make a lot of sense because I’m not a science person. I liked the planet though, so it seemed like a good idea at the time—until I met college science classes.
I shudder at the memory of formulas and equations.
Briefly I toyed with English, but it turned out I didn’t want to read a lot of outdated books written by dead white men. I didn’t want to read modern essays either. But I did like trying to understand the world and how it worked, and I liked helping people. When I was twenty and drinking boba and eating French fries during spring break with my best friend Marie, she plunked down her milk tea and waved a fry airily, saying, “Why don’t you study journalism? You like to make sense of how things work. And it’s a helper’s profession. You’re helping the public understand the world too.”
I hadn’t seen it that way at first, but like with most things, she was right. Journalism was a perfect fit for me, and after I graduated I landed a coveted job with The Sports Network, then worked my way up to become thebeat reporter there, covering the San Francisco Sea Dogs hockey team.
At first I loved it, but a few years ago I became disillusioned with the sports reporting world. It’s cutthroat and relentless, and it started to feel like a race to the bottom. Trying to devise new ways to say “slapshot” or “shutout” was stressful, and I didn’t need that kind of stress in my life then. It was a fight to be more creative than the competition even as readers and listeners increasingly tuned you out.
Mostly, though, I wasn’t sure I was helping anyone.
When Zaire Mandavi, the VP of Communications for the Sea Dogs, pulled me aside after a hockey game one night and said, “I like your style. You’re not afraid of anything and you hold your own in a male-dominated field. Would you like to interview for a post?” I agreed faster than a puck flying down the ice.
And when they offered me the gig, I leapt. I had a feeling that Marie would have told me to go for it, even though I couldn’t ask her anymore. But her mantra was “if you can say yes, say it.”
I’m now more than a year into the job, and I've learned I’m damn good at being a publicist. For a lot of reasons, but first and foremost—I like helping people. It’s in my DNA, and while the job is stressful, it’s also joyful. Sports bring out a lot of emotions in people, and when fans love a team, it’s such a thrill to help bring the team and the players even closer to the community. Makes me feel like I’m bringing a little joy into people’s lives as well. We could all use a little more joy in our lives—that’s definitely good for the planet.
I head down the corridor to debrief my boss on the latest press requests, as well as my plans for an upcomingslate of charitable events, which I’m sure Max will try to wriggle out of.
As I walk toward the executive suites, I cut to the hallway that’ll take me past the locker room when I spot our yoga instructor up ahead, her lavender yoga pants like a calling card. “Hey, Briar,” I call out.
