Post by Jet on May 20, 2020 9:55:56 GMT -6
There's a FB group for alums of the Auburn sports information office (I was a student worker in parts of '82 and '83). One of the members of the group shared a post from former AU assistant SID Dan Froehlich, who penned a memory about Rod Bramblett (whose anniversary of his death is this weekend). It's about the travels more than the games, and there's a couple of neat anecdotes in there. It's long. Read, if you like.
---
To borrow a phrase from my former boss and friend Kirk Sampson, I am currently in the jar mentally, and it’s all thanks to Michael Jordan and #TheLastDance.
No, it’s not because I was reminded that Jordan is the G.O.A.T. and that his Bulls dominated my Knicks in the 90s, or the disturbing fact that showed up in the last episode. All Knicks fans saw it. The one where it said that MJ had eliminated a bunch of Hall of Famers in the playoffs, but none more than my favorite Knick, Patrick Ewing (4 if you missed it at home.)
As a matter of fact, I really enjoyed the 10-part series. In my lifetime, Jordan will forever be the greatest basketball player to ever play. No disrespect to LeBron, but if the game, series, whatever is on the line, I want the ball in MJ’s hands.
But there was a cutaway in the last episode that has really tugged on my heartstrings, and most people probably didn’t even notice it.
As you know, I worked in college sports for the better part of the last two decades. I have been a part of countless teams - and by proximity, athlete’s lives - and I really enjoyed my role.
The wins.
The losses.
The exhilarating wins.
The gut-wrenching losses.
The had-to-be-there moments.
The wish-I-hadn’t-seen-that moments.
All of them are etched in my memory forever, along with the people that made them.
But the scene that brought it all back to me during The Last Dance was a clip of the Bulls traveling party pulling out of the Delta Center following the last championship, police in front and a strand of buses behind, headed to the hotel.
Ninety-five percent of my time in college sports was spent in the SEC, traveling across the southeast by bus, charter plane, car or van. And those memories are sometimes stronger than any win or loss could be.
Sadly, we are coming up on the one-year anniversary of the death of my friend, Rod Bramblett, and his wife, Paula.
I first met Rod back in 2002 when I started at Auburn. In the spring of 2003, I was fortunate enough to sub in as the baseball media relations contact while the guy who actually held the job (Kirk) stayed at home to help his wife with the birth of their first child.
Being the baseball SID brings with it long hours, and even longer car rides. Me, Rod and Andy Burcham traversed the highways of the SEC in a beige Toyota Sienna. The two radio guys and LIB (that’s Long Island Boy for those that don’t know). They were great times.
After a year away from baseball in 2004, I went back to it in 2005 and held it through 2013. Essentially a decade-run with the program.
And all the while, Rod, Andy and me were road-trip buddies.
The three of us ate almost every meal together on the road. Sometimes members of the coaching staff would join us. Or maybe it was Scott Duval, the baseball Director of Operations.
Heck, sometimes it was the opposing radio crew or even the opposing AD (looking at you, Scott Stricklin!)
Sometimes they brought their wives on trips, and when it happened simultaneously, I was the ultimate third wheel.
But every time it was fun.
Rod and Andy always teased me that I never once bought an appetizer for the table. This can only be categorized as 100 percent accurate.
Long trips also always included a little SiriusXM Name That Tune and/or Artist. Me and Andy were evenly matched for the most part, but I don’t think either of us ever beat Rod.
As Rod became the Voice of the Tigers, he never changed.
We always knew when Paula was calling because he would get quiet on the phone. He’d always ask about their kids, Shelby and Joshua. And his mother. A true family man.
As is the case with people that spend that much time together, we had our fights and debates amongst the three of us. (I don’t think I ever came out on the winning side.)
But we also had more than enough jokes and laughs, some appropriate to tell, some not.
After I left baseball, I moved over to men’s basketball where I still got to travel with Rod and now Sonny Smith. While no one could ever fill Andy’s shoes in our clique, Sonny sure had his own way of adding to the road trip enjoyment.
This one time we were playing at Mississippi State. The team stayed in Columbus the night before, not too far from one of our favorite eating spots, Old Hickory, a favorite among SEC folks.
It couldn’t have been more than .75 miles from hotel to store front, but the roads were icy and it was dark out. So we had the hotel call us a cab.
The cab that was actually a van took 30 minutes to get there, drove us the .75 miles and told us he’d wait for us to take us back.
All for the low-low, bargain-basement price of $50.
I’ve never seen Sonny laugh so hard in my life.
Then there was the time when we flew to Ames, Iowa, following the Kick Six. Rod was the same old Rod, even as he was lining up interview after interview with the Today Show, ESPN, CBS and every other radio and TV network available.
But my favorite part was him telling us that when he got home, after a career-defining moment, that Paula told him he needed to take out the trash.
After my two year stay with hoops it was on to football, where again I was able to eat with Rod and the rest of the radio crew from time to time. The number of people at the table was greater (and Andy was back!) but the conversations were the same. Laughs upon laughs upon laughs.
We were at Disney World the day of the car accident. Standing in the bus line at Fort Wilderness, I got a text from Kirk that said, ‘call me ASAP.’
I thought this was odd since I was on vacation, so I knew it had to be important.
That’s when he told me about the accident.
It was probably around 11pm ET at night, so there is a good chance both Rod and Paula had already passed by then, but we didn’t know that and there was still the slimmest chance of hope.
I cried that night as I fell asleep and then woke up to the text to say that neither had made it.
So much for being in the Happiest Place on Earth.
I tried my best to shield my emotions from my kids, but Stephanie knew I was hurting.
I watched some of the memorial service on my phone while circling Tom Sawyer’s Island on the Liberty Square Riverboat, but couldn’t keep going.
Instead I watched it that night, by myself, heartbroken the entire time.
You see those bus rides, or van rides, or whatever form of transportation rides, are really where you get to see the other side of people. There is no hiding who you are and what you believe in when you spend that much time together in a very small space or at the same lunch and dinner table.
As an SID, it’s rare that you tell ‘stories of the road’ to those not in the sports as a job fraternity, but here is one of my favorites.
We were playing baseball at LSU in 2007 at the old Alex Box Stadium. We were not a particularly good team, but neither was LSU that year.
It was Easter weekend and it was cold. The stands were seemingly empty, a rarity for LSU.
We managed to take the first two games of the series and were going for the sweep.
As it was somewhat of a ritual, our head coach, Tom Slater, would never tell me who was pitching on Sunday until after Saturday’s game was over. With two wins under our belt, Slates was more than happy to ride back to the hotel with us in the van following his post-game duties, allowing the team to get back ahead of us.
Rod and Andy finished packing up their equipment slightly before I was finished, so they went ahead and pulled the van around while I finished up and walked outside with Slater.
There we were, standing on the curb when I asked him who was pitching the next day.
“Bristow”
Never in my life have I ever second-guessed a coach to his face. Not before this day and certainly not after this day.
But on this day, my mouth acted faster than my mind.
“Bristow? Really?”
NOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!! I could see the words coming out of my mouth but I couldn’t believe them!
What was I saying?
What was I DOING???
“What’s a matter, Dan? What’s wrong with Bristow?”
“Nothing.”
“No c’mon. What’s wrong with Bristow?”
Silence.
“F**k it, tell ‘em we’re starting Hurst.”
“No, Slates…”
“Hurst.”
“Come-on Slates.”
Now the van (FINALLY) pulls up and we jump in, me with a face redder than an Alabama football helmet, to the way back (where there isn’t a seat) and Slater in the middle row where there was only one seat.
There wasn’t a peep from the back and Rod and Andy could tell something wasn’t sitting right, even though we were 2-0 on the weekend, about to sweep the mighty Fightin’ Tigers of LSU!
As soon as we (mercifully) got back to the hotel and all piled out, they asked what was wrong. I told them I’d tell them at dinner.
We all laugh about it now - it’s honestly one of my favorite SID stories ever - but I was scared sh*tless of Tom Slater that day - and maybe for the next few weekends.
Thankfully we got past that.
And that brings it all back to the buses from The Last Dance. Though I hated it most times in the moment, riding the bus as a part of a team can take on an out-of-body experience sometimes.
The first time I rode in the football bus caravan (Bus 5 for life!) was up to the Georgia Dome for the Auburn-Louisville Chick-fil-A Kickoff Game.
An accident on I-85 had stopped traffic, but there we were, weaving from lane-to-lane, sirens blaring ahead and behind us, while countless cars stood at a standstill but still rolled down their windows as fans shook their pom-poms and yelled ‘War Eagle’ as we drove by. It seemed almost surreal to me.
The post-game rides rarely had the same feeling to them, though I for some reason always loved when we got back to the athletic complex, seemingly always at 2 a.m., and players and staff sleepily got off the bus, grabbed their bags and raced to their cars to get home, only to return to the same building just a few hours later to begin the cycle all over.
I sincerely miss those days, and getting a glimpse of what that was like for one of the greatest dynasties of my lifetime while simultaneously thinking about Rod has got me reflecting at intermittent moments about how much fun I had in my previous life, and how much I miss it, the people, the games, all of it. But I know there are great things ahead for me and my family. But it’s never a bad thing to remember ‘the good ol’ days.’
---
To borrow a phrase from my former boss and friend Kirk Sampson, I am currently in the jar mentally, and it’s all thanks to Michael Jordan and #TheLastDance.
No, it’s not because I was reminded that Jordan is the G.O.A.T. and that his Bulls dominated my Knicks in the 90s, or the disturbing fact that showed up in the last episode. All Knicks fans saw it. The one where it said that MJ had eliminated a bunch of Hall of Famers in the playoffs, but none more than my favorite Knick, Patrick Ewing (4 if you missed it at home.)
As a matter of fact, I really enjoyed the 10-part series. In my lifetime, Jordan will forever be the greatest basketball player to ever play. No disrespect to LeBron, but if the game, series, whatever is on the line, I want the ball in MJ’s hands.
But there was a cutaway in the last episode that has really tugged on my heartstrings, and most people probably didn’t even notice it.
As you know, I worked in college sports for the better part of the last two decades. I have been a part of countless teams - and by proximity, athlete’s lives - and I really enjoyed my role.
The wins.
The losses.
The exhilarating wins.
The gut-wrenching losses.
The had-to-be-there moments.
The wish-I-hadn’t-seen-that moments.
All of them are etched in my memory forever, along with the people that made them.
But the scene that brought it all back to me during The Last Dance was a clip of the Bulls traveling party pulling out of the Delta Center following the last championship, police in front and a strand of buses behind, headed to the hotel.
Ninety-five percent of my time in college sports was spent in the SEC, traveling across the southeast by bus, charter plane, car or van. And those memories are sometimes stronger than any win or loss could be.
Sadly, we are coming up on the one-year anniversary of the death of my friend, Rod Bramblett, and his wife, Paula.
I first met Rod back in 2002 when I started at Auburn. In the spring of 2003, I was fortunate enough to sub in as the baseball media relations contact while the guy who actually held the job (Kirk) stayed at home to help his wife with the birth of their first child.
Being the baseball SID brings with it long hours, and even longer car rides. Me, Rod and Andy Burcham traversed the highways of the SEC in a beige Toyota Sienna. The two radio guys and LIB (that’s Long Island Boy for those that don’t know). They were great times.
After a year away from baseball in 2004, I went back to it in 2005 and held it through 2013. Essentially a decade-run with the program.
And all the while, Rod, Andy and me were road-trip buddies.
The three of us ate almost every meal together on the road. Sometimes members of the coaching staff would join us. Or maybe it was Scott Duval, the baseball Director of Operations.
Heck, sometimes it was the opposing radio crew or even the opposing AD (looking at you, Scott Stricklin!)
Sometimes they brought their wives on trips, and when it happened simultaneously, I was the ultimate third wheel.
But every time it was fun.
Rod and Andy always teased me that I never once bought an appetizer for the table. This can only be categorized as 100 percent accurate.
Long trips also always included a little SiriusXM Name That Tune and/or Artist. Me and Andy were evenly matched for the most part, but I don’t think either of us ever beat Rod.
As Rod became the Voice of the Tigers, he never changed.
We always knew when Paula was calling because he would get quiet on the phone. He’d always ask about their kids, Shelby and Joshua. And his mother. A true family man.
As is the case with people that spend that much time together, we had our fights and debates amongst the three of us. (I don’t think I ever came out on the winning side.)
But we also had more than enough jokes and laughs, some appropriate to tell, some not.
After I left baseball, I moved over to men’s basketball where I still got to travel with Rod and now Sonny Smith. While no one could ever fill Andy’s shoes in our clique, Sonny sure had his own way of adding to the road trip enjoyment.
This one time we were playing at Mississippi State. The team stayed in Columbus the night before, not too far from one of our favorite eating spots, Old Hickory, a favorite among SEC folks.
It couldn’t have been more than .75 miles from hotel to store front, but the roads were icy and it was dark out. So we had the hotel call us a cab.
The cab that was actually a van took 30 minutes to get there, drove us the .75 miles and told us he’d wait for us to take us back.
All for the low-low, bargain-basement price of $50.
I’ve never seen Sonny laugh so hard in my life.
Then there was the time when we flew to Ames, Iowa, following the Kick Six. Rod was the same old Rod, even as he was lining up interview after interview with the Today Show, ESPN, CBS and every other radio and TV network available.
But my favorite part was him telling us that when he got home, after a career-defining moment, that Paula told him he needed to take out the trash.
After my two year stay with hoops it was on to football, where again I was able to eat with Rod and the rest of the radio crew from time to time. The number of people at the table was greater (and Andy was back!) but the conversations were the same. Laughs upon laughs upon laughs.
We were at Disney World the day of the car accident. Standing in the bus line at Fort Wilderness, I got a text from Kirk that said, ‘call me ASAP.’
I thought this was odd since I was on vacation, so I knew it had to be important.
That’s when he told me about the accident.
It was probably around 11pm ET at night, so there is a good chance both Rod and Paula had already passed by then, but we didn’t know that and there was still the slimmest chance of hope.
I cried that night as I fell asleep and then woke up to the text to say that neither had made it.
So much for being in the Happiest Place on Earth.
I tried my best to shield my emotions from my kids, but Stephanie knew I was hurting.
I watched some of the memorial service on my phone while circling Tom Sawyer’s Island on the Liberty Square Riverboat, but couldn’t keep going.
Instead I watched it that night, by myself, heartbroken the entire time.
You see those bus rides, or van rides, or whatever form of transportation rides, are really where you get to see the other side of people. There is no hiding who you are and what you believe in when you spend that much time together in a very small space or at the same lunch and dinner table.
As an SID, it’s rare that you tell ‘stories of the road’ to those not in the sports as a job fraternity, but here is one of my favorites.
We were playing baseball at LSU in 2007 at the old Alex Box Stadium. We were not a particularly good team, but neither was LSU that year.
It was Easter weekend and it was cold. The stands were seemingly empty, a rarity for LSU.
We managed to take the first two games of the series and were going for the sweep.
As it was somewhat of a ritual, our head coach, Tom Slater, would never tell me who was pitching on Sunday until after Saturday’s game was over. With two wins under our belt, Slates was more than happy to ride back to the hotel with us in the van following his post-game duties, allowing the team to get back ahead of us.
Rod and Andy finished packing up their equipment slightly before I was finished, so they went ahead and pulled the van around while I finished up and walked outside with Slater.
There we were, standing on the curb when I asked him who was pitching the next day.
“Bristow”
Never in my life have I ever second-guessed a coach to his face. Not before this day and certainly not after this day.
But on this day, my mouth acted faster than my mind.
“Bristow? Really?”
NOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!! I could see the words coming out of my mouth but I couldn’t believe them!
What was I saying?
What was I DOING???
“What’s a matter, Dan? What’s wrong with Bristow?”
“Nothing.”
“No c’mon. What’s wrong with Bristow?”
Silence.
“F**k it, tell ‘em we’re starting Hurst.”
“No, Slates…”
“Hurst.”
“Come-on Slates.”
Now the van (FINALLY) pulls up and we jump in, me with a face redder than an Alabama football helmet, to the way back (where there isn’t a seat) and Slater in the middle row where there was only one seat.
There wasn’t a peep from the back and Rod and Andy could tell something wasn’t sitting right, even though we were 2-0 on the weekend, about to sweep the mighty Fightin’ Tigers of LSU!
As soon as we (mercifully) got back to the hotel and all piled out, they asked what was wrong. I told them I’d tell them at dinner.
We all laugh about it now - it’s honestly one of my favorite SID stories ever - but I was scared sh*tless of Tom Slater that day - and maybe for the next few weekends.
Thankfully we got past that.
And that brings it all back to the buses from The Last Dance. Though I hated it most times in the moment, riding the bus as a part of a team can take on an out-of-body experience sometimes.
The first time I rode in the football bus caravan (Bus 5 for life!) was up to the Georgia Dome for the Auburn-Louisville Chick-fil-A Kickoff Game.
An accident on I-85 had stopped traffic, but there we were, weaving from lane-to-lane, sirens blaring ahead and behind us, while countless cars stood at a standstill but still rolled down their windows as fans shook their pom-poms and yelled ‘War Eagle’ as we drove by. It seemed almost surreal to me.
The post-game rides rarely had the same feeling to them, though I for some reason always loved when we got back to the athletic complex, seemingly always at 2 a.m., and players and staff sleepily got off the bus, grabbed their bags and raced to their cars to get home, only to return to the same building just a few hours later to begin the cycle all over.
I sincerely miss those days, and getting a glimpse of what that was like for one of the greatest dynasties of my lifetime while simultaneously thinking about Rod has got me reflecting at intermittent moments about how much fun I had in my previous life, and how much I miss it, the people, the games, all of it. But I know there are great things ahead for me and my family. But it’s never a bad thing to remember ‘the good ol’ days.’
