Archive for the ‘Sports’ Category

New Video On – 24 Hours Of Moab

October 7, 2008 1 comment

Went to Moab last week and had a day to film the 24 Hours of Moab race course for My talent, colleague and good friend Mark Harrison, took a beating and rode well over 25-miles, but nailed the shots and was even willing to endo a few times for the credits.

Overall the video took roughly 40 hours from pre to post production, with enough problems to make me age a few more months than I should have.

But as I kept saying while editing, “Holy crap I can’t believe I am lucky enough to get paid for this stuff.” 

So follow the link and check it out. The more views the better, and if I get enough, they might even let me do another one.


Tiger Woods Goes to Heaven — The Media Goes to Hell

January 22, 2008 1 comment

“Lynch him in a back alley,” Tilghman said, laughing.

The quote runs roughly halfway through ESPN’s latest headline story on Tiger Woods, and Golf Channel anchor Kelly Tilghman’s recent slipup.

The story broke a few weeks back on a Sunday. Tilghman, while broadcasting on air for the Golf Channel, discussed how players might be able to beat Tiger Woods.

Nick Faldo, Tilghman’s partner, joked that the young players should all “Gang up (on Tiger) for a while.” Tilghman responded jokingly “Lynch him in a back alley.”

They both laughed and went on.


The story broke as it always does in full nappy-headed-hoes fashion. First a few prominent blogs spoke out. Soon had a story posted.

“Anchor says racist comment,” one of the taglines read. “What did she say?” was the next line.

Of course I clicked.

Then I read the story and rolled my eyes. It didn’t go away however. First ESPN jumped all over it. Then Sportscenter replayed the audio. A few national papers picked up the story, and even though it didn’t reach Imus proportions the headlines were still there.

“This is Woods time to step up and prove himself a man,” one commentator wrote. “By laughing this off, Woods will damage the African American community.”

Then the call for Tilghman’s head started.

“She must be fired!” One angry commenter noted. Soon, 1,400 similar comments were linked to the story.

Woods spokesman released a statement saying Woods and Tilghman had spoken and made amends. He admitted it was a poor use of judgment, but that was it. End of story.

The media however, refused to die. Tiger finally made a statement.

“It was unfortunate,” Woods said. “”Kelly and I did speak. There was no ill intent. She regrets saying it. In my eyes, it’s all said and done.”

Tiger goes on to say, “I’ve been in that situation before. We all say things we do regret, and that’s certainly a moment she does regret.”

Then he sums it up. “It was more media-driven than anything else.”

Exactly. Media-driven.

For a man who keeps his private life at bay. Cried in his father’s arms. Made it public that he would not play in the Open if his baby were to be born. And spends millions on helping children learn. The story gets old.

I am a part of the media myself, though; sometimes I wish I were anything but.

Categories: Journalism, Personal, Sports

Walker Ranch Loop – Late Night hiking with video

December 4, 2007 1 comment

Went hiking last night for a few hours in El Dorado Canyon. Shot some video and experimenting a bit with Youtube. Sorry the quality is poor, but for a free site, can’t complain too much.

PS: This is why I love living in Colorado.

Frustrated beyond belief…Cubs Playoff Tickets

October 3, 2007 1 comment

I’ve come to a realization that like it or not, unless you are willing to sell your soul, your girlfriend (assuming she is hot enough), your firstborn, or just be FILTHY RICH, you are NOT going to be able to get tickets to a Cubs playoff game.


For instance.  I’ve been doing my thing to figure out how to get inside the stadium and have been confronted with the following solicitations.


Bleacher seats for Sunday’s Game 4. ($500 each)


Section 216 seat 46 for Sunday’s Game ($950 each)


Two tickets for Sunday’s Game ($2,500)


To make matters worse, I slept in the parking lot of a Wal-Mart last night and am typing this in the Apple Store since my plush hotel didn’t have wireless Internet.  Add in the fact that $2,500 is equal to my entire trip and my frustration is building.  


Now don’t get me wrong, I understand the history of the Cubs.  The fact that there are people in Chicago that would gladly not eat food for a month to get inside, but seriously folks, it’s just another slap in the face that maybe I should have kept my job so I could afford tickets.


Alright, enough bitching, sorry, I’ll just find a nice sports bar in the heart of the city.   

Categories: Road trip, Sports, Travel

The Erik Way – One Man’s Everest

September 27, 2007 1 comment

Bonsai (ing) v. 1. The art of running down a forested hill as fast as one can possibly go without killing themselves. 2. To come extremely close to breaking bones. 3. To participate in an activity that mothers would rather not hear about. 4. A sport where participates can throw-up in the case of him/her being grotesquely out of shape.

I was number four. My body, soft and dangerously out of shape, was deciding to betray me in the middle of an epic bonsai session. My buddies, Erik, Tim and Adam, were patiently waiting for me as I threw-up the Pepsi and other crap I had for lunch. It was humiliating.

To make matters worse, my buddies were all in shape, chiseled young men who didn’t know the difference between a cheeseburger and a salad. Their body, my jealousy, was no more than a brief thought in the morning. I however, agonized over what I ate, how much I exercised and when husky had turned from cool to fat.

Fast-forward 13 years.

It’s an early Saturday morning, and the dwindling fog is starting to burn off. Erik and I are on mile seven of an eleven-mile training run for the San Francisco Half Marathon. We aren’t running fast, but we’re not running slow either. It is the perfect pace and will keep us on track to finish in less than two hours. For Erik that is equal to heavenly bliss.

The first time I ran with Erik was in the pre-dawn darkness. I rolled up to his house at 6:15 in hopes of getting in a few miles before leaving for work. The car thermometer read 24 degrees, and I was cursing myself for forgetting gloves. The warm blanket of my heater begged me not to go, but once my door was open the blanket evaporated and I was set into forward motion.

Erik ran less than a mile that day. His lungs burned, his head pounded and his body screamed in pain. Leaving him walking towards his house, it was hard to imagine this was the same man that years before had waited so patiently for me to throw up. I called him later that morning to make sure he was still alive and up for trying again the next day. His answer surprised me.

“Dude, I wanted to die this morning, but sure I’m up for tomorrow!”

He was sold. The next two weeks went the same way. I woke up, drove to his house, braved the cold, ran a mile or two and then went to work. His enthusiasm was infectious, and he demanded results that only hard work could produce. Then in typical new years resolution fashion, I got busy and had to cancel our runs. I figured Erik would collapse into the ever so popular post-start syndrome and circum to his warm bed.

I was wrong.

Erik continued to push himself on his own. At first it was running in the morning. Then it was running after work. Then it was running on the weekends. Erik’s job, installing hardwood floors, did not send him home full of energy either. His knees were wrecked from hours of kneeling and his hands callused from the harsh reality of manual labor.

His daily ritual of drinking beer and watching CSI also started to change. Instead of plopping down on the couch, Erik would run first, then reward himself with three hours of CSI instead of four. His eating habits changed too. For lent, Erik gave up meat and alcohol. Six weeks may seem like a short time, but for an individual who likes beer as much as Paris Hilton likes partying, the commitment was mind blowing.

Instantly Erik started to lose weight. It wasn’t uncommon for people to see Erik and comment on his success. As Erik’s waistline shrunk his confidence grew. When I casually asked Erik if he would want to run a half marathon with my brother and me, he jumped at the chance.

Which brings me here, mile seven of our eleven-mile training run. Erik expressed anxiety before we stared about not being able to finish it. I told him not to worry, that the training program I had given him would help build him up, and that no matter what we would finish the run, even if we had to walk.

He didn’t like that last part. “No way am I walking,” he said. “Fair enough,” I quietly replied.

Less than 40 minutes later Erik and I stood at the end of our run. His face was flush with sweat, heat and exertion, but a smile only accomplishment could provide was on his face.

“I seriously didn’t think I could do this,” he said between breaths. “But I did.”

Three weeks later as the fog was burning off in Golden Gate Park, I stood on the sideline and cheered on Erik as he ran down the chute towards the finish line. His face was stoic, his feet shuffling along, his knees obviously in pain, though he continued. He could see his goal in sight and nothing was going to stop him.

Later that night as we attended a friends wedding, Erik wore his finisher’s medal. Even though I felt a twinge of embarrassment for him, it was obvious that his accomplishment was more than I could understand. Now as I’m traveling around and meeting new people, I see just how special that accomplishment must have been to Erik. He took himself out of his comfort zone, played against the odds and overcame the anxiety of the unknown. I only hope that when confronted with such a task I can remember the Erik way—Push, do and then rejoice.

There are no detours — Arizona Diamondback Game

September 19, 2007 3 comments

Roger say’s it’s just because I’m Shisler, but this is how it went down:

I’m sitting at my new friends house (Roger’s [a guide from my rafting years] girlfriend’s in Arizona) when I hear a knock at the door. Roger’s girlfriend (Traci) is at the doctors with her son. I decide to open the door and find a fragile, ten-year-old four-eyed (yes, I wear glasses so I can say that) girl, with an envelope in her hands.

“Do you want Diamondback tickets?”

“Um, for tonight?”

“Yea. They are free, I just can’t go.”

“Sure why not.” So then I call Traci and see if her son wants to go to the game. Turns out it’s a school night (damn forgot) and I’m flying solo. So in the middle of a playoff race I head out on the I-10 and find myself standing next to a Miller Beer rep while waiting to get to my seats. Turns out he is sitting two rows up from me and LOVES Barry Bonds. Enter three free Miller’s for being a Giants fan.

Why did I wait so long to take this trip?

(The Giants getting their asses kicked yet again.)