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McManaman: From copy boy to sports columnist, it’s been a dream ride since the start

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McManaman: From copy boy to sports columnist, it’s been a dream ride since the start

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I feel a little like Bruce Arians must have felt when the Arizona Cardinals hired him, at age 60, to become a full-time NFL head coach for the first time.

Like Arians, who had served as an interim head coach for the Indianapolis Colts when Chuck Pagano underwent treatment for leukemia, I filled in at one of the highest levels of the newspaper business when some years ago I was named a sports columnist for The Arizona Republic and azcentral.com.

I think it lasted about a year and a half or so until they told me, “Mac, we need you back on the Cardinals’ beat.” We had lost some sports writers at the time and others had changed positions, so I happily went back to my role as a beat writer covering Arizona’s NFL franchise, something I’ve done off and (mostly) on, since the Cardinals arrived here back in 1988.

And as the Cardinals report to yet another training camp this week at State Farm Stadium in Glendale, I’ll be there again, starting when they open the doors for the news media on Wednesday morning. But things will be a little bit different once we get rolling.

Like Arians, who finally reached the pinnacle when he was named an NFL head coach here in 2013, I’ve been blessed with the honor once again of being a sports columnist for azcentral and The Republic. And yes, I’m 60. I trust that’s not going to scare you off.

It shouldn’t. This job has been my entire life. And believe me when I tell you, it’s kept me young!

I’ve been covering sports in this town for five decades since I started working at The Republic back in 1981 during my senior year at Cortez High in north Phoenix. During that entire time, as I always tell friends and new acquaintances, I’ve never “worked” a day in my life. If you love your job, as I do, it’s never “work.”

It’s truly been a dream job — from working my way up from a “copy boy” to a “cub reporter,” to covering high school sports, college and Olympic sports, and to of course, professional sports, where I’ve spent most of my career and have been the beat reporter for the Cardinals, Diamondbacks and the Coyotes (yes, we will miss them). I’ve covered multiple All-Star Games, pro drafts, Super Bowls, a World Series, NBA Finals and countless playoff games.

Will things be different with my duties as a sports columnist? Perhaps, but hear me when I tell you I have no desire to put on the “black hat” and start tearing into our sports teams, athletes, coaches, and others just to get “clicks” or to stir the pot.

That’s not me. It never has been. Although I must admit I’ve ruffled my share of feathers in this town.

Back in 1993 on the Cardinals beat, for instance, something I once wrote about the late Joe Bugel, the head coach at the time, angered him so much that he briefly tried to strangle me in the breezeway of the team’s Tempe training facility. Television crews were there, but they pointed their cameras to the ground and didn’t film the exchange. That was pre-TMZ time, folks.

Keith Tkachuk of the Coyotes called me out with vulgar names multiple times in an open locker room when I wrote about his controversial contract demands. I loved working with Jeremy Roenick around the same time but something I wrote — which he openly shared with me — resulted in death threats against me while I was on the road covering the hockey team.

Not everyone is going to like what you write. Even when it’s true.

During my time on the Diamondbacks beat, Randy Johnson tore into me for detailing the sorry state of one of his aging knees. Luis Gonzalez berated me for pointing out he needed a caddie on cutoff throws because of his weakened throwing arm in left field. Even the affable Craig Counsell cussed me out — in private at least — when I questioned if the DBacks should re-sign him following the 2006 season.

Hey, it happens. And there have been a lot more dust-ups like those in my career. But it’s true that time heals all wounds. Working relationships with the people you cover usually get repaired rather quickly. If you’re a professional. Besides, there’s always another game, another season of optimism, another chance to document what’s really going on inside our sports teams and those for whom you cheer.

What this sports market needs, however, is not more cheerleaders. There’s enough of those among the fan-based podcasts that keep popping up everywhere, the local flagship radio station whose hosts don’t always feel comfortable telling the truth and many more examples.

I will, especially when it’s necessary. Even if it hurts.

In my small new role, I also hope to be a storyteller with empathy and enlightenment. We must recognize that as much as the Phoenix area is chock-full of bandwagoners from other cities across the country, we can’t ignore the challenge to lift the daily interest in Arizona sports to new heights.

We can do it together. And with the feedback and insight of you the readers, we can also have some fun along the way while doing it.

This profession has allowed me to go places and meet people and cover events that I never would have dreamed possible as a poor kid growing up in a small town north of Chicago whose mother had to line my worn-out shoes with cardboard pieces from empty cereal boxes to walk a mile to school — and home for lunch and back — in the snow.

And yeah, I had to deal with bullies like the Ralphie character did in the movie “A Christmas Story.”

But I wouldn’t have changed a thing, even if I could. I worked myself up from the bottom in this job, and the enjoyments have been plentiful and equally unexpectedly cool.

Like the time I happened to share lunch at an Indy Car event at Phoenix International Raceway with actor Ernest Borgnine and former Beatles legend George Harrison. Just us. George asked me to “pass the pepper, please.” I’m pretty sure I passed the audition.

There also was that glorious moment on the eve of the 1992 MLB All-Star Game in San Diego when, after filing a story on the Home Run Derby, I had beers with the four greatest living baseball legends at the time — Ted Williams, Joe DiMaggio, Mickey Mantle, and Ernie Banks. Again, just us — and the bartender. I didn’t talk, just listened to their stories, but they insisted on buying the rounds.

And I’ll never forget Joe Garagiola Jr. jokingly telling me they named the Diamondbacks’ stadium — Bank One Ballpark — also known as “The BOB” — after me for convincing Jerry Colangelo in the summer of 1993 that he needed to pick up the fight to bring Major League Baseball to the Valley. He did, and it was a pleasure to be there in Palm Beach, Florida, just two years later when Phoenix was officially awarded a franchise.

There have been all sorts of special moments like those and others over the years, too many to count or recite here. But I hope — and trust — there’s a lot more out there for all of us. Look at what happened to Bruce Arians. After getting his foot in the door with the Cardinals, he went on to win the Super Bowl as head coach of the Buccaneers.

Our professional sports trophy case looks more like Charlie Brown’s Christmas tree. It’s a depressing little stick that has a dangling tiny branch with just one ornament on it.

You cheer, I’ll write, and let’s see if we can’t witness another title or two together.

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