TALKING TITLES
Jim Nantz called the Super Bowl and this week he’s a golf expert at the Pebble Beach Pro-Am Tournament
SAN DIEGO — An unsuspecting foursome hacking away at one of the most pristine and iconic golf courses in the world catches a glimpse of someone cruising through Pebble Beach on a cart.
When they recognize the face that fronts the iconic voice, a player inevitably will wave or yell. Jim Nantz redirects toward them. They strike up a conversation. Then it happens.
“The next thing you know, he’s calling their shots,” said Tom Spencer, Nantz’s editorial consultant, who has helped dig up broadcast gems for nearly a quarter century. “Imagine it. You’re a golf nut, having the voice of the Masters call your tee shot. People are blown away.”
That’s not ego. If Nantz owned an outsized and out of control sense of importance, he easily could smile, wave from a distance and keep motoring without tapping the brakes.
There’s a genuine tug and instinct to connect — with the stars, the fans, the random guy at the airport — despite being one of the busiest on-camera forces in sports television. That Nantz is on an unprecedented broadcasting run with the AFC Championship, Super Bowl, NCAA Tournament, Masters, PGA Championship and events including this week’s AT&T Pebble Beach Pro-Am, Big Ten basketball tournament and more jammed into 120 days, causes those in his orbit to marvel at the internal batteries.
How does Nantz make so many feel like he has all the time in the world when in reality, amid the professional tsunami of his blurred springs, it’s the opposite?
In addition to the growing television gymnastics, Nantz is launching a new golf apparel brand, operates a burgeoning wine business and continues to support the Nantz National Alzheimer Center in Houston that honours his late father, Jim Sr. Nantz also bangs out a column for Golf Digest. Why? Because he’s a yes guy, in spite of a withering schedule.
The unique wiring is why Nantz stayed the course to call the final two rounds of the Farmers Insurance Open in San Diego, despite being sandwiched between the AFC Championship and the grind of Super Bowl week. The last time CBS carried the Super Bowl, three years ago, he skipped the weather-tormented tournament Brandt Snedeker conquered in 2016 on the day Nantz and his wife, Courtney, welcomed their son, Jameson.
It took the Super Bowl and the birth of a child for him to say no to San Diego.
“Jim Nantz is never too busy for anybody,” said Lance Barrow, co-ordinating producer for golf at CBS, who spent 40 or more weeks a year with Nantz when the pair covered the NFL. “It’s amazing.”
Spencer randomly met Nantz as the blossoming broadcaster climbed out of the tower on the 15th hole at the old L.A. Open in 1988. The freshman at USC began a conversation that continued, unrushed for 20 minutes. Three months later, Spencer attended a golf tournament with a college friend in Westchester, N.Y., and stumbled across Nantz again. As he prepared to say hello, Nantz blurted, “Tommy Spencer. How’s school?”
Eventually, Nantz created a job for Spencer that continues.
“I was just some random guy and he remembered that conversation in detail,” Spencer said. “I’ve seen that hundreds and hundreds of times.”
When CBS hosted a dinner at a Kansas City barbecue restaurant before the AFC Championship, Spencer said Nantz ended the night by approaching a table full of Chiefs fans that led to 10 minutes of photos and conversation. “I’m lucky,” Nantz said. Networks aren’t in the business of investing millions in luck.
Nantz in special company
Ask CBS chair Sean McManus
to consider and explain the legacy of Nantz. The son of legendary broadcaster Jim McKay pauses briefly, then rattles off a list of indisputable larynx-manipulating royalty.
McKay, Curt Gowdy and late San Diego treasure Dick Enberg defined versatility in sports television. Nantz, McManus maintains, ranks among the absolute best.
“I think when it’s all said and done, he’s going to be looked at right at the top of annals of sports announcing history,” McManus said.
“He’s going to be right there with Vin Scully and Curt Gowdy and Dick Enberg and Jim McKay, Pat Summerall, Jack Whitaker. He’s going to be very much at home in that company.
“I think he’s in that company already.”
If you disassembled Nantz like a car engine to examine the parts, you’d find the soothing voice that washes over ears like a California coastal breeze.
You’d discover mental muscle that allows him to access a dizzying array of history and anecdotes, ranging from pin locations at Augusta National to slantroute tendencies of Tom Brady and the in-game tinkering of Gonzaga’s Mark Few.
The key to the polished delivery and metronome-like reliability, though, is the ability to pivot between all of it routinely and seamlessly.
“I start to sound like Bill Belichick more than myself and it’s a terrible cliché, so forgive me,” Nantz said. “But I can’t get ahead of it. I have to take on what’s in front of me. I focus on the most immediate event.”
That’s simple to say, but at times must feel like tap-dancing barefoot across a floor covered in jacks. Blindfolded.
So much lurks to knock Nantz out of rhythm. Travel juggles. Events hijacked by weather. Appearances and obligations. The unexpected character in a sports play, rising from nowhere — beyond the reach of even the most exhaustive research.
Nantz is clear-eyed about the fact he’s paid a seven-figure salary to navigate it all. To pretend the money lessens the wonder of it all, however, ignores the beauty of the balancing act.
In the first 48 hours of the NCAA Tournament alone, Nantz calls six games covering at least 240 minutes of basketball, involving nearly 100 players who could insert themselves into his conversation at any time.
“I remember we did a preseason (NFL) game on a Friday night in 2009,” said Spencer, Nantz’s fact-finding partner.
“It ends around midnight, so there are no flights. CBS rented us a shuttle bus and we rode on the 95 (interstate) all night to New Jersey. At noon the next day, he’s calling golf.
“So you’ve switched sports overnight. Pre-season football is pretty hard, too, because half the players don’t even have roster spots.
“If you see him on the air, you have no idea what he’s gone through that week. That’s the gift he has.”
For Nantz, the gift is the grind.