Ask anybody who’s spent a decent amount of time in the mid-Atlantic region during the summer, and they’ll tell you the chance of a thunderstorm on any given day is a very good one. Even with those sure-fire odds, the Washington Bayhawks have to be feeling a bit unlucky. Their last two home games have either been interrupted-by or cut short due to lightning in the nation’s capital. 

 

As we know all too well now, once the action in the sky heats up, the action on the field has to stop. And that leaves this announcer plenty of downtime to wait it out in the booth.

 

Ah yes, the booth. Please let me explain that the tiny broadcast perch at George Mason University Stadium is the closest thing to a dry sauna that I can imagine. The sun literally beats into the booth all day, creating a lovely, almost-greenhouse effect for all those assigned to work inside it. Once Mr. Sun gives way to the impending thunderstorm clouds, the booth turns into a muggy mess. Honestly, I’d say the temperatures range from 95 to 115 degrees inside those walls. All that moisture doesn’t seem to agree with my TV make-up…I need to work on that!!

 

After lightning strikes, the field must be cleared of players and all team personnel for 30 minutes from the last bolt. At George Mason, both teams seek shelter inside the huge field-house that sits adjacent to the lacrosse / soccer field. A few weeks back, the Rochester Rattlers were caught in a storm and decided to huddle up near the green and gold GMU Patriots practice basketball court. Thankfully I can report that none of the “snakes” tried to put any moves on the basketball hoop wearing their lax cleats!!

 

But it was fascinating to watch the Rattlers during the stoppage. They were trailing in the game 14-11 at the time play was halted with just a couple minutes left in the 3^rd quarter. To a man, all of them were miffed at the way they were performing before the lightning hit. They were sporting a 3-0 record at the time, but they were not playing anywhere near like their then-perfect selves. Some guys were listening to music, in their own little world closed out by the ever-present earbuds. A few of them kept pacing, doing mini-sprints, anything to keep from getting stale inside this cavernous sports facility. Each player who I spoke with during the delay kept saying the same thing….”I hope they don’t call this game over, we can better, WE WILL BE BETTER in the 4^th quarter!!”

 

Right around that time I went over to visit with the game officials to see if there was going to be a 4^th quarter. It was kind of the refs to let me and TV analyst Quint Kessenich eavesdrop on their conversations with league officials, all the while scanning a radar that was tracking the storms. That’s right, storms, plural. That was the deciding factor for the refs. As lightning continued to crackle all around DC, the radar forecast another violent cell not far in the distance-- and that ultimately meant the game was over.

 

Fresh with the news, I ran to the TV truck and discussed with our producer / director Tim Walbert how we were going to inform the TV audience.

 

He did me a big favor. He said “Joe, you’re not going back into that booth! Those metal bleachers are pretty inviting for lightning, which could blow the booth to kingdom-come. We’ll close the show from right here in the truck, here’s your headset.”

 

I never went back to see the Rattlers, I knew what their reaction would be. But better yet, I didn’t go back into that furnace of a broadcast booth. Save that for another rainy day.