A beat writer that yearns for the beat

Oh, for the routines of pre-pandemic life

What does your typical day look like? It’s a question we’ve all been asked dozens of times in this business, the same as whether we go to the games for free and get to talk to the players.

Yes and (begrudgingly sometimes) yes.

I also will save the sermon on why those things might be different on this side of the fence because nobody wants to hear a sportswriter complain. But seeing one out of his or her comfort zone? That’s hilarious.

For me, one of the biggest challenges while functioning at home during the coronavirus pandemic has been the literal accounting of hours, trying to somehow make everything fit.

During typical baseball or hockey seasons, our household routine has become a well-oiled machine, one involving coordination — like texting an estimated arrival time upon leaving Penguins practice — or with baseball, my wife knowing I’d be someone else’s problem by 2:15 p.m.

Now, our family’s carefully calibrated vessel looks more like something you might see during an Anything That Floats race, trying like hell simply to stay above water.

Baseball news comes at all hours of the day. So do return phone calls. There’s no real being “off” because, at this point, we have only an arbitrary idea of being “on.”

I’ve realized during this time how much I appreciate the structure of baseball and what your typical day looks like while covering it.

Usually an hour or 90 minutes of reading/researching before that 2:15 departure. A 20-minute drive, then a little more prep/planning for pregame clubhouse before doors open at 3:15 p.m. Player and manager access until about 4:15 p.m., after which you might go out on the field for batting practice to watch and talk to people, depending on how much writing you have to do.

There’s always pregame copy to file, so figure an hour to 90 minutes for transcribing, writing and editing, then whatever time you’re able to spend on advance work — perhaps longer features, analyses, an off-day story, etc.

I’ll usually go downstairs for dinner around 6:30 p.m., taking game notes and a highlighter if I’m eating alone, then back upstairs for first pitch around 7.

Postgame, it’s a similar routine: File a story a couple of minutes after the final out; head downstairs for the manager and open clubhouse; return to file again — either adding quotes to what you already wrote or re-racking the entire thing (which I prefer) — and leaving around 11:45 p.m. or midnight.

They’re long days, but they’re also fun. Two of my favorite things about baseball are its structure and the constant churn, the grind of having a game — and new story lines — every day. One of my least favorite things about this current time is the inherent lack of structure, which I’ve realized over the years I really need.

Even in hockey, I liked my routine. Morning skate an hour early for research. Skates at 10:30 (home team) and 11:30 a.m. (visitors), access and writing until around 2 p.m. or so. Home for a nap, shower and to see the family. Back around 5 for pregame radio/TV and dinner. Game, postgame, you get the picture.

Here, it’s this weird amalgamation of things.

It’s been making sure that we have enough day-today stories, as well as deeper, (hopefully) interesting features. It’s been helping out with news, something I’ve enjoyed, as well as this column. It’s been chats, podcasts and maintaining sources on a beat. All with this weird, amoeba-like shape to my day.

On the road, it’s easy. Immersion cures all. Here, that’s impossible. I want to be present — physically and mentally — as a husband and a father, and that isn’t always easy with the conflicting schedules presented by home and work.

That idea actually took me back to a conversation I had with former Penguins center Matt Cullen a few years back, when I visited him in Moorhead, Minn.

Cullen’s boys were all early risers, often waking up around 5 or 6 a.m. Our 6year-old is the same way — and probably a little worse. Like Cullen and I discussed, our only defense is simply putting them to bed crazy early, often around 6:30 or 7 p.m., ensuring proper rest.

But that bedtime also means dinner must happen earlier, usually around 4 or 4:30 p.m., which is often right in the middle of a workday — if you’re not at the ballpark. It also puts prime callback time, when others are done with work, around bedtime.

It’s one of the reasons why I actually prefer being a beat writer. Odd as it sounds, the schedule is actually easier for our family.

With baseball, I can see my kids during the early part of the day. Hockey, too, although its advantages are more practice/off days and significantly less “stuff” to worry about with baseball.

But if this time period has taught me anything about crafting a daily schedule, it’s that I’m a little different from the rest of the world. And I’m OK with that.