Those Guys Have All the Fun - James Andrew Miller [245]
Thus ended the ESPN practice of making mad dashes to broadcast the latest fatality before the competition did.
The second covenant on reporting deaths was that there was never to be any humor attached to these accounts without approval from executives at the highest levels of management—which basically translated as “Never, ever.”
In the late nineties, ESPN insiders took notice of the aging population of sports superstars from the second half of the century, and realized that many legends or near-legends were approaching their golden years and beyond. So, beginning in 2000, and under Vince Doria’s supervision, many obituaries and biographical packages were assembled in advance, just as major newspapers had routinely done for a long time. Material was gathered and stored so that, when the bell tolled for large-looming iconic figures like Muhammad Ali, George Steinbrenner, or John Wooden, there’d be less frantic scurrying to produce a proper tribute.
There was at least one large, obvious flaw in this approach: it didn’t take into account sudden, shocking tragedies—like the one that occurred on February 18, 2001.
DAN PATRICK:
I saw the accident and thought it didn’t seem like much, but then there was no movement and all I kept saying was, “Get out of the car, get out of the car.” A little while later, I was in the back corner of the newsroom, and one of the producers came out and said, “He’s dead, he’s dead.” And you just stop yourself and you go, “It can’t be. Dale Earnhardt doesn’t die.”
JERRY PUNCH:
Dale and I were very close friends. When Dale didn’t get out of the car, I knew it was not good, because if there’d been any way at all, he would have been up there in the victory lane to congratulate Michael and Dale Junior. So I waited a few minutes, and I had them page the trauma surgeon who’d worked with me in Florida. He called me back within thirty seconds and said, “I thought you’d be calling.” I said, “Do I want to know?” He said, “You don’t. It’s really, really bad.” Just as he said that, the door opens and a producer said, “We’re ready for you to go on SportsCenter and talk about the race.” So I’m sitting in the studio pretty much believing that Dale Earnhardt may have been critically injured or worse.
But then, while we were on the air, they made the announcement that he was gone, and it was the most difficult day of my professional career. I was on live national television and one of my friends I grew up with, and had so many private conversations with, was dead.
DAN PATRICK:
There were about thirty-five people in the newsroom, and it’s always noisy with people yelling to one another and phones ringing. At that moment, though, I don’t think anybody said a word. It was almost as if the newsroom was giving Dale Senior a moment of silence.
JERRY PUNCH:
When I got home, to me, it was like when Elvis died. NBC, Nightline, Good Morning America, and HBO were coming to my house and setting up satellite dishes. Some people couldn’t understand why thousands and thousands of people were dropping everything they were doing, calling in sick at work, and getting in their cars and driving cross-country so they could be at Dale Earnhardt’s home to sit there on their knees with flowers and cry. I wanted people to realize he was the great American success story—the kid who grew up with next to nothing, whose dad died of a heart attack, and who was left alone to do it on his own. He had only a seventh-grade education, but he was one of the smartest men I ever knew. And he refused to believe that he could not be successful. He was special. He was more than just a race-car driver. He was hope to millions of people.
STAN VERRETT, Anchor:
I had worked in Norfolk, Virginia, for six years before I came to ESPN, and that’s NASCAR country, so I actually had experience covering Dale Earnhardt’s career. When he died, it really affected me, but because I’m an African American, no one really expected that. We had to do a