August 3, 2025<\/a><\/p>\nOK, here goes.<\/p>\n
For the personal, it\u2019s much friendlier and collegial than it used to be. It\u2019s actually quite nice.<\/p>\n
Yes, there were the Pittsburgh media wars, and my \u201cfounding\u201d of PHN did nothing to quiet them. I did a few things and said a few things that invited criticism of me and others. So, too, did others. We slugged it out, cliques formed, backs turned, harsh or demeaning words were exchanged in hallways, and subtle digs were delivered on social media and in print.<\/p>\n
I don\u2019t need to rehash it all. You got to witness much of it in real time on social media, but it\u2019s all in the distant past.<\/p>\n
Also, knowing that my competitors would publish at least several articles after every game, I used to stay up all night writing several, too. They deployed a few people for those stories, but there was no way I was going to lose just because we were a small shop. No, and hell no.<\/p>\n
Thank you so much for keeping me around.<\/p>\n
Now, the daily grind is primarily handled by a talented handful of reporters with some great No. 2s on the beat, too. And I hate to break kayfabe, we\u2019ve all had dinner together on the road, and we share press box candy. DK\u2019s Taylor Haase has a savant-like memory for media meals and press box snacks, Josh Yohe has stories, Matt Vensel is a grounding presence, and I have some insights that my coaching buddies have shared. We all often share quotes from public media scrums and provide support where appropriate. Even some encouragement.<\/p>\n
Along the way, we usually gain weight from eating a media buffet at 5 p.m., but then grabbing more food on the walk back to the hotel at midnight. We get run down by the never-ending string of connecting flights, Uber rides, and solitary meals from the nearest joint that doesn\u2019t look like a health hazard or $20 sparkling water pretentious.<\/p>\n
In the afternoons, I love to walk the city I\u2019m in. I want to get a sense of the place and the people, the architecture, and the local culture. A few hidden treasures and conversations are the bonus pay. Last year, I found a three-foot-tall Darth Vader in a St. Paul pawnshop. It now belongs to my grandson.<\/p>\n
The Game Days<\/p>\n
At work, we ask difficult questions of famous athletes just trying to play a game they love. They could do without us, and some let us know that, too. Sometimes they appreciate the direct questions and give an honest effort to address them, but occasionally their eyes burn a hole in your forehead, especially after a bad game. It\u2019s not comfortable, but it\u2019s the job.<\/p>\n
Alex Nedeljkovic was great for being open. He told us that he understood we had a job to do, and his answers were fresh, sometimes raw, and always honest. I told him several times how much you appreciated him for that. Other veterans would talk forever off the record, but the minute a recorder came into view, the cliches began.<\/p>\n
Often, after a practice or a morning skate, we work the locker room. If there are no pressing stories, we talk to players to gather background information or simply have human conversations. Cody Glass and I enjoy collectible Nike shoes. P.O Joseph had some slick suits made in Montreal. Bryan Rust is always good for a few jokes and barstool-type conversations. Ryan Shea can be unassumingly straightforward on a variety of topics, and some of the new guys would ask me questions about stories of the past.<\/p>\n
That last part was weird. I guess it\u2019s the increasing amount of gray hair? I really like the new kids, by the way. One of the new guys jokingly wanted to know where I lived in case he ever needed to egg my house. Ha! They are a good crop of people.<\/p>\n
On game days, it can be a challenge to kill an afternoon waiting, but at 3 p.m., it\u2019s nap time. Like the players, I try to squeeze in a little siesta. Then at 4:45 p.m., it\u2019s off to the barn and the search for the always-changing media entrances. We walk the hallways in the basements of the massive arenas, away from the noise and joy of the arriving fans. In the morning, it\u2019s fascinating; the usually dull yellow or dingy white concrete walls denote nothing special, but at night, there is an energy with 18,000 people above you ready for their team to hit the ice as you prepare for work.<\/p>\n
I get to the arena at about 5 p.m. for 7 p.m. games. I eat. I write. I observe. I think. Also, I despise 8 p.m. games.<\/p>\n
Yet, as we head up the elevators to the highest levels of the arenas at eye level with steel support beams, we move about, always checked by security to make sure our media credentials are visible. That\u2019s when the \u201cit\u201d begins. If you\u2019re still, you can feel it. It\u2019s quite special. The collective of thousands of excited people adds some energy to write a little harder, focus a little more, and embrace the spectacle, even if it is the 82nd game in a row you\u2019ve covered and your body wants to dismiss it all as just another job and go home.<\/p>\n
Last season, I ditched the suits. I gained too much weight to buy a bunch of new ones, but I still dress up for the occasion. You\u2019ll never see me in jeans at the game. I appreciate reporters who bring some fashion game\u2013it\u2019s a dying breed.<\/p>\n
Travel<\/p>\n
No, there is no service to book travel for us. We sit down and plan as best we can with the budgets that we\u2019ve got. Sometimes that means the long and lifeless drive to Montreal and Ottawa because flights are $600, or take the same eight hours. Sometimes that means treating yourself to a $100 upgrade to first class just to get some sleep without worry of an annoying middle-seat mate who wants to claim ALL of the space as a matter of birthright.<\/p>\n
It\u2019s often wildly inconvenient and uncomfortable.<\/p>\n
Late last season, I earned an extra 3000 frequent flyer miles because the generously sized person beside me needed half of my seat, too, but had refused to buy it. My seatbelt was inaccessible as the flight attendant and I had a telepathic conversation through our eyes. I begged for help and she flashed back, \u201cOh hell no,\u201d and scampered off, never to return. As we deplaned a couple of horribly uncomfortable hours later, I saw an empty row behind us. Argh!<\/p>\n
And people who sniffle and sniffle and snort drive me bonkers. Two. Maybe three. That\u2019s all you get. Damnit, blow your nose. Are manners obsolete?!<\/p>\n
There are airport stories, from my luggage being swiped in Denver last January to the 2023-24 season, when Haase and I ran an eight-minute mile. Actually, 1.1 miles. She impressively did so in heeled boots, as we shared a connecting flight through Vancouver. The plane was without a gate, so they dumped us off on the tarmac, and we had just minutes to race across the length of the airport, get through customs, and board the connector to Seattle or San Jose or wherever it was next. With luggage in tow, we jumped barriers, ducked ropes, sprinted past meandering travelers, until we were both nearly having an asthma attack and made the flight. They closed the door behind us, but they were not going to wait.<\/p>\n
We surely don\u2019t fly private or with the team. Over the months of the season, it seems I especially invite mishaps and craziness as I try to save a few dollars, like the weird boutique Denver hotel room with a glass shower in the middle of the room and two more beds on the other side. Uhh, I\u2019m not sure I want to be present for what that room was designed for. But it had a lovely coffee maker.<\/p>\n
The Life<\/p>\n
Some think it is a somewhat glamorous or exciting lifestyle, and I often get questions from college students or aspiring writers about how to get into the business because it\u2019s a dream. My advice is to start small and work up, but I can assure you, it\u2019s just like everyone else\u2019s salt mine, except we get to witness up close heroes doing things that 99.9999% of the population cannot, and how hard they work to be elite.<\/p>\n
Often, that part is humbling and inspirational. It\u2019s the reason many want to get into the business, but long gone are the days of close fraternization between media and players. Social media killed that.<\/p>\n
It is not an easy life, nor is it one meant for social interaction. Many of us are indeed single, and my last couple of relationships used the word \u201cintimidating\u201d to describe my lifestyle as they ran far, far away.<\/p>\n
Hello! And Press Box Food<\/p>\n
Life can be stressful and sometimes embarrassing. Our Live Chat and postgame videos have become a staple of our coverage that goes beyond PHN\u2019s website reach. As well as my work on TV, more fans recognize my face, which means I have more personal encounters. That\u2019s pretty cool \u2026 usually.<\/p>\n
Yeah, I enjoy it when fans yell up to the press box at away games. I see you!<\/p>\n
However, not every encounter is a good moment. Such as spending more than a few minutes in the airport bathroom doing unpleasant things that everybody does, only to wash your hands and hear from the custodial engineer, \u201cHey man, I like your videos.\u201d<\/p>\n
Uh, thanks. Avoid the first stall for a while, OK?<\/p>\n
But, if I\u2019m being honest, I absolutely love this gig. I should, because I\u2019ve essentially married it. There are little perks that make me drop my head and smirk, such as walking past a crowd of Penguins fans lined up at the front doors of PPG Paints Arena on a cold night, while I quietly walk past slipping into a side door. Security X-rays my bag, I shake hands and exchange one-liners with my usher buddy David, who is now over 90 years old, and head off to the bowels of the arena for a $15 buffet dinner of mystery, salad, and an ice cream sandwich, all while being regaled by boring stories from PA Announcer Ryan Mill.<\/p>\n
I kid, I kid. Ryan\u2019s stories aren\u2019t always boring (Sitting with PA announcers Ryan and Mary Ann Ritchey of Audacy Media makes the home meals quite enjoyable, but don\u2019t tell them I wrote that).<\/p>\n
Among the rafters of the arenas are the press boxes. Some are nice\u2013such as PPG\u2013 and some are sketchy sardine cans not meant for more than a few people, or have no place to put your briefcase or even your feet.<\/p>\n
New Jersey is always an adventure because you\u2019re in downtown Newark, so the walk to the arena, even from the parking lot, is, ummm, interesting. NJ\u2019s press box sometimes has ice cream, but also plastic cafeteria chairs that are far too short for the high ledge upon which we write. Shorter reporters have to strain to see, and that\u2019s pretty funny.<\/p>\n
Detroit has an amazing buffet of carved steak, chicken, but also all you can eat Little Caesars pizza and Crazy Bread. Yeah, that\u2019s my guilty pleasure, and I eat far too much. Carolina usually has a nice spread, and I always seem to sit with the scouts gleaning more hockey knowledge while gnoshing on an amazing BBQ buffet priced for the road-weary traveler.<\/p>\n
I may have helped with a trade last year. Or squashed one. Shhh.<\/p>\n
Carolina is great, except that you often can\u2019t get an Uber from the arena to the bank of hotels, about 15 miles away. No, Carolina is not a good roadie for fans. Great people. Awfully inconvenient.<\/p>\n
Colorado usually has chocolate cake. Montreal has a little tub of beer for the postgame, and the famous pregame hot dogs.<\/p>\n
Long Island is another nice arena. Great media food. Last time, they had actual steak?! And they always have ice cream in between periods. It\u2019s just a nightmare getting to and from the arena. There isn\u2019t a hotel within walking distance, and NY has some crazy Uber regulations with exhorbitant taxes and fees; a 10-mile trip can cost $75 with some poor driver who is working his or her butt off to pay the $4000 monthly rental charge on the company owned cars they are legally required to drive (The taxi lobbyists won that battle. Jerks).<\/p>\n
Or you can put on a helmet, say three Rosaries, and try to drive the Long Island Expressway. May God and a few other deities be with you if you do.<\/p>\n
I\u2019ve written about my favorite road trips<\/a>, and Edmonton still ranks high. It\u2019s just good-natured, blue-collar, hockey-loving people who treat you like you matter. A slice of Donair pizza is $3 on the street, a beer at a local spot is about $4 US, and there are wonderful food choices from every Asian sect to straight-up North American homecooking.<\/p>\nBut getting there isn\u2019t fun. In the spring of 2024, I had to drive all night from Edmonton to Calgary to catch a flight, but a snowstorm led me to put the rental car in a ditch somewhere just outside the middle of nowhere in minus-10-degree weather.<\/p>\n
Also last year, on a flight home from Vancouver, the Delta Airlines desk clerk in Calgary was needed to clean the airplane, so he or she left the counter not to return, which meant I couldn\u2019t get my connecting ticket to Minneapolis, stranding me in Calgary for about 10 hours (The transfer from WestJet to Delta and across the border meant I needed a paper ticket issued in Calgary and couldn\u2019t check in online. No one at either airline seemed to realize they had an American on board who needed that ticket until after the WestJet clerk and I watched my connecting plane take off, and she realized I was now her responsibility).<\/p>\n
WestJet stepped up and eventually ended my Tom-Hanks-like airport adventure, and at close to midnight, flew me to Edmonton, and from Edmonton, I flew to Atlanta, and then to Pittsburgh. That was a 36-hour happy, happy, fun time.<\/p>\n
I usually carry dry shampoo and Dude Wipes for just such occasions, lest I smell like a garbage can.<\/p>\n
There are also some amazing touristy things I get to do on the job. The nighttime monument walk in Washington is breathtaking and humbling. In Philly, a Pat\u2019s cheesesteak wit whiz is something I live for. The same goes for Luke\u2019s Italian Beef in Chicago.<\/p>\n
Manhattan and Las Vegas. Thank God for those visits. The food. The energy. They make up for dealing with humidity, screaming tourists, and a lack of relaxing chill to be found in Nashville, and the depressing urban squalor under beautiful sunshine on the West Coast. It\u2019s tough to see so much wreckage in our cities. The hows, whys, and solutions are a discussion for a different place.<\/p>\n
This job is not 9-to-5 stressful. No, it\u2019s all-consuming, soul-lifting, soul-crushing, everyday competition with wins, losses, exhilaration when you nail a story, and disgust when you know you missed it. I tend to treat myself like a chef in Gordon Ramsay\u2019s Hell\u2019s Kitchen. No one is harder on me than me, and I will pace my floors some nights reviewing my mistakes.<\/p>\n
In my leather Samsonite shoulder bag now with a busted buckle and worn-out zippers (it\u2019s not a purse, Mill!), I carry at least one laptop, a tripod for postgame vids, chargers for every possible electronic device, legal pads, Cold-EEZE Zync cough drops, an array of pens purchased and stolen, and my podcast mic. It gets heavier throughout the season as various game notes stick with me and junk accumulates like a mother\u2019s purse.<\/p>\n
There are many good people inside the room and out. And that\u2019s what it\u2019s like to be a Penguins beat reporter.<\/p>\n
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