Andi was dozing off watching a baseball game between the Phillies and Reds when her cell phone pinged to let her know she had a text.
She picked up her phone and saw that it was from Jeff.
Call me, was all it said.
She was about to dial his number when she was pinged again.
Please.
She smiled. She didn’t know Jeff all that well, but she knew he was polite to a fault.
She dialed.
“Thanks for calling right back,” he said, which made her smile all over again.
“What’s up?” she said.
“What are you doing Sunday morning?”
The question was a bit odd, but she played along. “Not much,” she said.
“Church?” he asked.
She laughed. “My parents tried it with my brothers and me until I was about eight. Then they figured out we were all going just for the doughnuts. So we haven’t gone for a while. Why, what’s going on Sunday morning?”
“I want you to go with my dad and me to the Eagles game,” he said. “Sort of.”
“Sort of?” she said.
“We’ll get there early and go to the press box,” he said. “Then we’ll walk over to the TV studio and watch my dad do the pregame show. Then we’ll go home.”
“Why are we going to the stadium to not go to the game?” she asked.
She heard Jeff sigh on the other end of the phone.
“My dad wants to help,” he said. “He thinks what Coach Johnston is doing to you is a story, but he knows his bosses won’t go for it because it’s not about the Eagles or the Phillies or the Sixers or the Flyers. They won’t get it.”
“So he’s giving me a behind-the-scenes tour as a consolation prize?”
“Not at all. If he can get Michael Barkann and Ray Didinger to hear your story and get them on his side, he thinks he can get his bosses’ attention. If he asks on his own, they’ll just start saying, ‘There’s no digital traffic for a story like that, blah blah blah.’ But if Barkann and Didinger back him up, they have to listen.”
Andi knew who Barkann and Didinger were: Barkann was the longtime host of a weekday sports talk show and also hosted the Eagles pre- and postgame shows. Didinger was one of the most respected sports columnists in the city and also appeared with Barkann on the Eagles shows.
“So what does going to the game have to do with Barkann and Didinger?” she asked.
“They’re going to meet us in the press box at ten thirty to talk about the story,” Jeff said. “My dad thinks they should meet you. Actually he wants to meet you, too. He’ll drive us to the studio, where he has to get ready to do the pregame show. We’ll walk across the parking lot from there to the press gate. Then, after we meet with Barkann and Didinger, we’ll walk back, watch the show, and then take Uber home.”
“Why can’t we stay for the game?” Andi was thinking if she was going to go to the stadium it would be fun to see the game.
“The NFL doesn’t allow kids in the press box during the game,” Jeff said. “We can go in there before the game but not during. That’s why we’re doing it this way.”
Andi understood. “I’ll ask my parents, but I think it’ll be okay.”
Once a year, Andi’s dad took her to an Eagles game and they sat in his law firm’s box—which was pretty cool. There was lots of food, and the seats were very comfortable. This would be different, she thought, but cool in a different way. Most important, it might help her get a chance to play soccer.
When she told her parents what Jeff and his father were proposing, her father smiled.
“I think the plan is fine—except why don’t I see if we’ve got three seats in the firm’s box. I can meet you there, you kids can watch the game, and then I’ll drive you home.
“I gotta admit I’m a little jealous,” he added. “I’d kind of like to meet Didinger and Barkann myself.”
“Do you want me to ask if you can come to the press box?” Andi asked.
He shook his head. “No, you two kids should go on your own,” he said. “It’s a better story if it’s two kids fighting to make a coach do the right thing. The less the parents are involved, the better.”
As it turned out, Andi’s dad was able to snag three tickets for the law firm’s box.
“We got lucky,” he said. “Weather’s supposed to be good, so a lot of guys are stealing one last weekend at the beach.”
That was fine with Andi. Even if Mr. Michaels couldn’t do the story, she was getting a chance to see the press box at “the Linc,” as everyone in Philly called Lincoln Financial Stadium, and see the Eagles play the Lions. In all it should be a pretty good day.
It was warm and sunny on Sunday morning when Jeff and his dad got in the car to drive to the stadium. The temperatures were supposed to hit the low eighties during the game, warm in Philly for mid-September, but not uncomfortable.
They picked Andi up at her house and pulled into the media parking lot shortly before ten fifteen. The guard didn’t even look at Mr. Michaels’s parking pass, just waved him in with a “Good morning, Tom,” and a friendly salute.
NBC Sports–Philly was actually located inside the Wells Fargo Center, where the 76ers and Flyers played.
“Just cross the street right there,” Jeff’s dad said, pointing at the road that separated the arena from the football stadium. “If you have any problem with security, just ask for Mr. Moore. He’s the boss, and I gave him a heads-up you were coming.”
They were supposed to meet Didinger and Barkann at ten thirty. Jeff’s dad’s philosophy was always to be a few minutes early when possible.
“Especially,” he said, “when the people you’re meeting are doing you a favor by being there.”
There were no issues with security. Their credentials clearly read, PREGAME ONLY, so if the guards had any doubts about letting a couple of eleven-year-olds into the press box, they were assuaged.
They went through security and took the elevator up to the press level on the sixth floor. Then they walked through the double doors leading to the press area and were struck by how crowded the room was even at 10:25 in the morning for a 1:00 p.m. kickoff.
Jeff stood and looked around the room. He was relieved when he saw Didinger walking in their direction with a cup of coffee in his hands.
“Jeff, good to see you again, buddy,” he said, shaking hands. He turned to Andi and said, “I’m guessing you are the soon-to-be-famous-we-hope Andrea Carillo?”
“Andi,” she said, accepting his hand.
“Come on, Andi,” Didinger said. “Let’s get you and your sidekick something to eat before Michael gets here. If we’re lucky he’ll only be a few minutes late.”
Led by Didinger, they went through the buffet line—Jeff grabbing some French toast, Andi scrambled eggs. Didinger simply refilled his coffee.
“I eat at home in the morning on game days,” he said. “Food’s a lot better there. I stick to coffee here.”
Jeff didn’t see much wrong with the food but figured Didinger had eaten in about a million press rooms in his career.
They found an empty table near the back, and Didinger said, “Let me apologize in advance for Michael. He’s the only guy I know who can show up late for a live TV show and get away with it.”
“Not fair,” a voice said behind them. Michael Barkann, also with coffee in hand, had walked up while Didinger was talking about him. “I’m never late for a live shot. Only taped ones.”
He had a friendly smile on his face. Introductions were made. Everyone sat.
Barkann looked at Andi and said, “So, young lady, Jeff’s dad tells me you’re quite the soccer player.”