Salzberg always a regular Russ
Charity visited Russ Salzberg Tuesday night. On most evenings they would chat, talk about family and stuff, before she started cleaning his office in the Fox-5 compound. Tuesday, Charity just tapped him on the shoulder.
“Here, this is for you,” she said. “I want you to remember me.” In the box were cufflinks inscribed with the letter R.
“When she handed me that gift it was like I hit Powerball,” Salzberg said over the phone.
Truth be told, Salzberg has hit the “number” every night for the last 28 years, making a singular connection with a wide variety of New York eyeballs. Friday night he will do it again for the last time.
Salzberg will exit the 10 p.m. sportscast as he entered the business — a regular guy. An everyman who related to everyone. When he looked in the camera he saw you staring back, whether you were working behind the counter at Wendy’s or on Wall Street.
“You strive to be a real person, not be affected,” he said. “You’re good at television, that doesn’t make you better than somebody sweeping the floor.”
He arrived on the scene nearly three decades ago yakking for Ch. 9 at a time when local sportscasts and sportscasters had a lot more juice, and more airtime, than they do today.
So along came Salzberg, invading the turf of high profile, suit-wearing voices like Warner Wolf (Ch. 2), Scott Clark (Ch. 7), Len Berman (Ch. 4), and Sal Marchiano (Ch. 11). Salzy was straight out of a Toronto TV station, packing a Brooklyn accent, packaged in closets full of psychedelic sweaters.
This guy was always running. Hyped and hyper, he didn’t park his tuchis in the studio. Salzberg stayed on the street, mixing and mingling in locker rooms and clubhouses.
The memories are still there. He doesn’t dwell on them. “As much as I’ve been a workaholic, my family always came first,” he said. “....I was very fortunate to be a sportscaster, including a period of time when there were only six of these jobs in the major market in the world. But none of that defines me. My family, who I am, where I come from, that’s what defines me.”
In the world of non-stop sports media, those now working local ‘casts are compared to dinosaurs roaming the airwaves. Yet throughout his career adjustments always had to be made. Under orders, sweaters were sent packing in exchange for suits. A solo act became a duet when he was paired with Monica Pellegrini to create “Sports Team 9.”
“I never felt like a dinosaur,” he said. “The business had many twists and turns. I tried keeping up.”
His world did not always rock steady. The longevity Salzberg enjoyed was dotted with contentious contract negotiations and other behind-the-scenes machinations. One minute they are kissing your butt, the next they are trying to cut your salary.
“The only issue I had in any negotiation was I just wanted to know that I’m treated fairly,” Salzberg said. “I never worried about what the other guy was making. I never worried about any of that stuff.”
His philosophical take on the Money Game was born from a realization that — fortunately — did not take years to arrive. And it probably led to his longevity and relatively low agita quotient.
“You have to be smartt enough to know perfect doesn’t exist,” he said. “You want perfect? Go try finding nding ShangriLa. When you get there, give me a call.”
And while endings (the “official” reason for his departuree is “to explore other opportunities”) in his business are never sweet, this one is far ar from bitter. Or as Ch. 5 news director Byron Harmon said: “....It’s not quite te an end of an era, more likee an extension.”
Salzberg will continueue doing the Giants Sunnday pregame, and oth- er projects, on Ch. 5 ass well as the Giants postgame on Ch. 9, the other Fox-owned station in town. And no doubt he’s already working the phones in search of other r opportunities. Salzberg admits he never saw Friday night coming, never envisioned the final curtain. Tunnel vision kept him locked in the moment “and I don’t like change.” At the age of 64 it has now arrived. He will leave the Manhattan studio Friday night feeling the kind of emotions you do when you’ve just done something you loved, something you’ve done so long, for the last time. Maybe his mind will rewind all the way back to when his hair was still black, microphone in hand, interviewing a young Phil Simms and Lawrence Taylor. Or being on the blunt en end of a Bill Parcells answer. Or c christening another home run highlight with “bye-bye, so long,lon farewell.” It’s more like likely outside that studio, on a fina final Friday night, he will have M Monday on his mind. “On MondayMon it will be, ‘what the f---, I I’m not going to work to today,’ ” he said. “I “I’m not on TV to tonight. My family is not watchin ing me.” T hen Russ S Sa lzberg la laughed. After all, regu ular guys will alw ways find someth thing else to do.