The excitement of game day was palpable as I sat in the gray uncomfortable chairs surrounded by reporters who had known each other for years. As I listened to their banter, a voice inside me whispered that I didn’t know how football worked, that I might blunder in the post-game press conferences, and that I didn’t belong. Despite these doubts, I ensured that my appearance was perfect and took diligent notes.
When the game ended, reporters rushed to set up cameras and grab front-row seats at the press conference. Feeling a mix of anxiety and determination, I positioned myself and steadied my voice as I asked questions, trying to ignore the feeling of judgment around me. A male reporter even complimented me on asking a technical question, which made me wonder if he was surprised by my capabilities. After the presser, I reveled in crafting stories, focusing on finding the right words and balancing gameplay and metaphors.
As the deadline approached, my heart raced with anticipation as I rushed to finish the story. Seeing my name under the headline brought immense joy and a sense of accomplishment. The pride I felt from finishing a story that was better than my last one made all the panic worthwhile. Excitedly, I read the story to my family and basked in their praise for a few days before moving on to prepare for the next one.
The satisfaction that came from this process was what drove me forward despite the pressure and anxiety that came with being a journalist. Knowing that these moments of pride were why I had chosen this path gave me hope as I looked forward to finding new stories to tell and new challenges to overcome. And while nerves may have gotten in my way at times, there was no doubt in my mind that it wouldn’t have been any other way than living for gameday every week!
