Walking away from a dream gig for all the right reasons

While it never has been (and never could be) my primary source of income, I have been working as a sports public address (PA) announcer for the last 12 years.

It started in 2014 at Wickliffe High School, my alma mater, as the announcer for the wonderful Wickliffe Swing Band. From there I moved into announcing for various Blue Devil sports, including football, soccer, volleyball, and basketball, all of which I still do.

I also picked up work at other nearby high schools and colleges, and I even had a stint as the PA guy for a now-defunct minor league hockey team in Mentor, Ohio.

The pinnacle came in April 2025, when I began announcing for minor league baseball's Lake County Captains, the High A affiliate of the Cleveland Guardians. It was a dream assignment, largely because I saw it as the highest level of PA work I'm likely to achieve. It was also a job previously held by the great Ray Milavec, my 10th-grade English teacher and someone whose PA style I admire.

Over the last two seasons, I have been the announcer for 73 Captains games, all of which have been fun and a true privilege.

However, a week ago Saturday marked the last Captains game I will announce, as I've decided not to return for a third season with the team.

This was entirely my call, and it had nothing at all to do with the Captains. Everyone with whom I've dealt in the organization has been great, notably my game day bosses Jason and Jack, on-field host Liv, and PA announcing partner Thom. The Captains' front office is comprised of hard-working people who do their best to create an enjoyable fan experience despite significant obstacles.

My decision was very much a personal one. I have loved being the Captains' primary PA announcer this season, but the time commitment is simply too much at this stage (and perhaps any stage) of my life.

On game days, I'm at the ballpark for 5 to 7 hours, arriving 2 to 3 hours before first pitch to do everything I need to do to prepare.

Multiply that by four games – sometimes five – out of every six-game homestand over a period of 5+ months, and the time adds up.

It's time that's precious for me as a husband, father, relatively new grandfather, and corporate communications professional. I ended up missing several family functions this past season as a result of my Captains commitments. I also had to take PTO/vacation time from work to be able to get to the stadium for some afternoon games and early doubleheaders.

Every game was fun, but none of it was nearly as important as spending time with Terry, the kids, and our little grandson Cal. The only sensible decision was to vacate the PA chair in favor of somebody else and regain that lost time for the things that truly matter.

The Captains have treated me so well, and I'll forever be grateful for the opportunity, but it's best for me to step aside after two short seasons. The next time I'm at Classic Auto Group Park, it will be as a fan.

I'll continue announcing sports at Wickliffe until I'm so old I can't remember who I am, or until they tell me not to come back – whichever comes first.

In the meantime, I'll continue working to keep my priorities straight.

Thanks to the Captains for the opportunity, and thanks to God for giving me enough sense to figure out what I needed to do.

Onward and upward!

Why does everyone around me suddenly seem so young?

I feel a lot like this white-haired guy each time I announce a baseball game.

Recently I was chatting with some of my Lake County Captains co-workers. (I say "co-workers," though it should be noted I'm not a full-time employee of the team. I'm just there on most game days to serve as the public address announcer.)

Jack, who directs game operations and is my boss, was celebrating his 25th birthday. He was born in 2001, about five months before September 11th. One of two young women in our conversation mentioned that Jack was "a pre-9/11 baby," while they were both born in the months after 9/11.

I casually noted that I was nearly 32 years old on September 11th, 2001, had been married for nine years at that point, and already had four kids and a mortgage. Which they all thought was pretty funny.

I did, too, though my laugh was a somewhat half-hearted one as I realized how often this sort of thing happens.

As you enter the later stages of your career, you find yourself with increasing frequency to be the oldest person in the room. You look around and think, "I literally have a pair of jeans older than him."

Which is somewhat jarring, though I still manage to find the humor in it. Even the absurdity.

Those three kids on the Captains staff have lived in parts of three decades. Me? I've touched seven decades, having been born in late 1969.

The great thing is, they don't treat me like the old guy. I get the same in-game feedback they get whether I do something well or I screw it up.

That is, of course, how it should be.

I will also say this: The young people working for this minor-league baseball team are impressive. They're smart, driven, and focused on delivering the best experience possible for the fans in attendance. I learn something from them every game.

I also like to think they learn something from me, though often that "something" is only the name of a random 80s song playing through the ballpark sound system.

Hey, if I have to be the most chronologically gifted person on the game day staff, so be it. I'll crank up the hearing aids, polish my cane, and do my best not to worry about the fact that almost none of my co-workers were around when Ronald Reagan was president.

Or George H.W. Bush.

Or Bill Clinton, for that matter.

Sigh.

A little self-doubt can actually be the greatest motivator

I try not to write too often about my sports public address (PA) announcing side hustle, as it's a pretty niche little world and not all that relevant to most people.

However, I sometimes learn life lessons from announcing that are worth sharing. One such instance occurred last month.

By way of background, I am the PA guy (i.e., the person whose voice you hear over the loudspeakers in the gym, arena or outdoor stadium during sporting events) for just about everything that gets announced at the Wickliffe (Ohio) Upper School, formerly Wickliffe High School.

That means I get to be the voice of the band, football, volleyball, boys and girls soccer, and boys and girls basketball. I also step in during the winter and spring months to do Senior Nights for "non-announced" sports like swimming, tennis, baseball and softball.

In addition, I do quite a bit of work at Perry High School (basketball, soccer, track) and University School (soccer, hockey), along with regular substitute PA announcing work at Cleveland State University (soccer, basketball, volleyball, lacrosse) and other local schools.

Altogether, I announce more than 100 events every year, and I enjoy all of it. It's a fun hobby.

I worked for several years to secure my ongoing announcing gigs, but there has always been this expectation that I would keep trying to move up to the next level, whatever that might be.

I've never presumed I have the chops to announce for any of the big three sports teams in Cleveland: the Browns, Guardians or Cavaliers. But our region's minor league teams have always seemed obtainable, as has a permanent gig for one of Cleveland State's higher-profile programs like men's basketball at the Wolstein Center.

In the past couple of years, I've had three opportunities to audition for minor-league PA spots.

The first was for the NBA G League Cleveland Charge in early 2023. I had a tryout for that job and didn't make the cut. The guy who got the gig, David Kammerman, absolutely deserved it. He's good!

The second was for the Class AA baseball Akron RubberDucks earlier this year. I sent in an audition video, but I wasn't even selected as a finalist. Guess who got that job? Dave again, and again, he deserved it. The man has pipes.

When Dave took the Akron job, I messaged him a note of congratulations, and he mentioned how his previous baseball employer, the Lake County Captains (the high Class A affiliate of the Cleveland Guardians), would now be looking for a PA replacement. At his encouragement, I reached out to them.

The Captains ended up having an open public tryout for their PA announcing position, as well as for the roles of on-field host, mascot and drummer. They were expecting 40 people to come in that day, and from what I could tell, most were trying out for PA announcer.

My voice wasn't in peak shape, as I was still recovering from a cold, but I went anyway and gave it my best shot.

I came in assuming I didn't stand much of a chance. Two reasons for that:

(1) What many professional teams are looking for when it comes to a PA guy is someone with that naturally deep, bass/baritone voice. You know what I mean. It's the voice you hear advertising monster truck rallies on the radio ("SUNDAY, SUNDAY, SUNDAY!") I simply don't have that. My voice is an octave higher, more in the tenor-to-baritone range. I describe my style only half-jokingly as "congenial white guy TV host."

(2) I had already fallen short in my two previous professional auditions. I was thus somewhat resigned to the idea that I was not of the caliber to work for a pro team.

The Captains audition was on a Tuesday. The following Friday afternoon I received an email from the team offering me a position as one of their PA announcers.

Imagine my surprise.

There are three of us sharing PA duties for the Captains this season. One is an established veteran named Wayne, while the other is an up-and-coming younger guy named Mitch. Both are fantastic PA pros.

To date I've only done a few games, but the fact is, against my own expectations, I got the gig.

In retrospect, I think the self-doubt worked to my advantage. I went into that audition vowing I would just be myself, come what may, and that's exactly what I did. I read in my normal announcing voice without trying to be SUNDAY! SUNDAY! SUNDAY! guy. That's not me, and I'm not going to pretend it is.

You're better off just being yourself in almost every situation, personal and professional.

I also came in with a bit of a chip on my shoulder. Subconsciously, I thought, "I'll show these people." That put a bit of an edge and some energy into my tryout reads.

In the end, I achieved my goal because a large part of me didn't think I could.

Does that make sense? I'm not sure it does.

All I know is, mission accomplished. Long-hoped-for PA announcing milestone achieved.

And I couldn't be happier.

I am simply no good at being sick

I don't know what the AI Blog Post Image Generator
did to this guy's right eye...

Last month I was sidelined for close to a week with some sort of bug. Not sure if it was bacterial or viral or what, but I generally felt crummy, spent a few days with heavy congestion, coughed a lot near the end of it, and passed my days sitting around gaining weight and being bored.

And that, you see, was the problem. Whereas many people I know would welcome the excuse to take it easy and watch TV, I can't stand it. I am the world's worst relaxer. I much prefer to be on the go, getting stuff done and being active.

My patience wears thin very quickly on those occasions when I come down with something. After a day or two I end up annoyed that I'm still sick. Which I realize is unrealistic, BUT I HAVE NO TIME TO BE SICK.

I don't become sterotypically pathetic and whiny like a lot of men do when they get sick. I become angry and whiny. Why is this happening to me? Why?? Why now?? This cold or flu or whatever it is needs to go away RIGHT NOW.

But of course it never goes away until it chooses to go away. Which is usually days later than I would have preferred.

Last month's sickness (again, whatever it was) spanned a weekend, and I spent that Saturday on the couch with Cheddar the cat on my lap watching "Forrest Gump," "Apollo 13," a few episodes of "Law and Order: SVU," and portions of the Army-Navy football game.

Sounds like a nice day, right?

I hated it. Hated almost every minute of it. I was antsy the whole time, but I couldn't deny that I felt much better staying on the couch than I would have if I had gotten up and tried to do household chores or whatever.

The previous evening I had served as the PA announcer at our local high school for a girls basketball game, which in retrospect was not smart. My voice was cracking from the start, and by the end of the game it had devolved into a barely discernable rasp.

I should have called off.

But calling off would have meant acknowledging that I was sick, and I didn't want to be sick, so I simply ignored reality and risked passing my nasty germs on to others in attendance.

Which was selfish and dumb.

Here's the thing: One day I will die, and so will you. As Sally Field says in "Forrest Gump," death is just a part of life. When it happens, I pray it will be quick and easy, because I lack the mental fortitude to lay in a hospital bed declining for weeks or months on end.

It's more likely I will die in our bathroom, having just cleaned the sink and toilet.

But at least I'll die happy.

Be grateful for the ability and opportunity to do the things you love

It was a Friday evening about a month ago and I was dragging.

It was the end of a busy week and I was getting ready to head out for what would be my eighth sports PA announcing gig in as many nights.

I love announcing, just love it. But I was struggling to find the energy and enthusiasm I like to bring to the mic.

For one thing, my beloved Wickliffe Blue Devils boys basketball team was playing a powerful opponent in Crestwood that evening. Wickliffe had lost the first match-up of the two teams a few weeks earlier by 27 points, and there was no reason to think that night's result was going to be any different.

I try to be lively and professional in my announcing whether my teams are winning or losing, but going in knowing a loss was likely made it that much more difficult to get up for the game.

There are also the simple logistics of announcing. It's not hard work by any definition, but it does inevitably involve a certain level of time and effort if you're going to do it right.

Even when the gig is just down the hill at the Campus of Wickliffe, as it was that evening, I have to pack everything up, drive to the school, unload and bring it all into the building, set up, test everything, get my hands on rosters and officials' names, confirm pronunciations of all visiting players' names as well as the referees, and confer with the athletic director about any special events or announcements.

Then I sit at my assigned table near courtside practicing introductions and announcements to minimize flubs and, more importantly, make sure I'm adding to (and not detracting from) the experience for everyone in attendance.

Like I said, it's not ditch digging or roofing or anything, but it takes work, both physical and mental. And I had been doing it over and over again every night for more than a week. I was ready for a break.

It wasn't until I walked into the gym in the middle of the junior varsity game, with my announcing backpack over my shoulder and my rolling equipment case in tow behind me, that my attitude changed.

You couldn't help but notice people clapping and cheering. Kids were sitting with their friends in the stands having a good time. The cheerleaders and pep band were eagerly getting ready to perform. It was exactly the type of positive, wholesome atmosphere that has always attracted me to PA announcing in the first place.

It was at that moment I remembered this is something I get to do and not something I have to do.

I always say announcing – particularly at my alma mater – is a true privilege, but sometimes I don't treat it that way.

The instant I started seeing this assignment through eyes of gratitude, everything became that much more enjoyable, and I found myself with more energy than I knew what to do with.

All of which is to say that even in the midst of busy and stressful times, if you're blessed to do things you love doing, whatever they may be, never forget to be thankful.

Be thankful you're given the opportunity to do them and that you have the ability to do them.

Often when I'm out walking and running in the morning, I will say a prayer of thanks for the most basic elements of that 30-minute exercise period: the breaths I draw, the steps I take, and the moments I experience.

None of those things is guaranteed, and I'm entitled to exactly zero of them. Yet God gives them to me anyway.

Even when I'm tired, bored, or for whatever reason generally disengaged while doing something, that realization alone is enough to refocus my attention and heighten the experience.

By the way, Wickliffe lost the game that night by 36 points, but I still loved every minute of the gig. It was another chance to do what I enjoy doing and to realize there's no absolutely no guarantee I'll ever get to do it again.

By the end, it didn't feel like the eighth night of announcing in a row at all. I was actually kind of sad there wasn't another announcing date on the calendar the next evening.