By Michael Marsh
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For nine years I covered high school sports for three local newspapers. Sometimes I wondered why I stuck with it, watching football games during hot humid days in the late summer and cold wet nights in the fall. After basketball games I’d anxiously wait for teenagers to get off pay phones. Sometimes I had to compile game summaries while I wrote my stories. Try writing as phones ring off the hook and editors hover over your head, waiting for copy. But it wasn’t a completely thankless job. There were some great games. And occasionally I’d get a free hot dog or a slice of pizza.
“I’ve been picking the fake cleavage from the real,” said a guy leaning against a bar. “It’s about 50-50.”
“I used to work for you,” I told him.
“Well,” he said, heading back into the crowd, “nobody’s perfect.”
