I didn't even want to be there. I hate humidity, despise afternoon rains, and hate regions where there's never a chance of snow. Tampa was my last choice for travel, but one city I was told to make reservations for.
Making the most out of the situation, I discovered a neat place to stay - the Mainsail Suites on Eisenhower (right next to the airport) - which resembled a gated condominium comunity instead of a hotel. Complete with a full kitchen, I made a fresh romaine salad with blue cheese dressing and cooked pasta with italian sausage and vodka cream sauce. Check out tripadvisor.com; I wrote a full review with 12 photos!
Rob suggested that I move to his end zone if ever the Ravens threatened to score, but my favorite position is staying in back of the end zone. I figure, the team's goal is scoring, so why not move to a position where the players will head straight for me?
As the Ravens threatened to score, I was concerned since they drove for the far end zone. With this being perhaps the Ravens' first score, the prudent thing was to cover the opposite side from wherever Rob was. I tried calling him during a break in the action, as Baltimore's ball was on the 20 yard line. Rob didn't answer, so I left a message and scanned the shooters for him. Everyone wore an orange security vest, so I couldn't locate him. So I set up tent at the goal line, figuring that he'd be on the opposite side, where the Bucs' team was.
Two plays later, Jamal Lewis barrels past the Bucs defenders, running right past me for the team's first score. As I headed back to the far end zone, I realized that Rob was just 10 feet away, and shot the same play. "What are you doing on my side?" he asked. Well, I had forgotten that I was told to shoot from the Bucs' side! "That's my picture," he said, "and you have to stay on your side." I couldn't tell whether he was joking or not.
I asked another photographer about it, who said that I should send my best stuff and let the editor decide. We're supposed to send our best images for the readers, forsaking our personal feelings.
By halftime, I had shot every big play that the Ravens were involved in. I sweated like a pig (even forgetting my sunblock), but at least my camera was hotter than I was. I could only liken my luck to the 5.8 earthquake that hit the bottom of the Gulf of Mexico, right before game time. Rob and I met inside the photographer's room where he downloaded his pictures from the first half. I told him that I wouldn't try sending until after the game, so he could send his Jamal score first.
By the middle of the third quarter, I couldn't believe it. Interceptions, runbacks, scores, sacks... I nailed everything. By that point, Tampa was threatening to score, so I stayed against the back of the end zone, waiting for a pass in front of me. A quick pass from Chris Simms to Michael Pittman, and I squeezed the trigger. Barely a frame shot, when **SMACK!!** The crowd groaned as Pittman got hammered backwards and airborne, flattened by Ray Lewis at the 1-yard line. Ray flexed his guns as the bowl of 60,000 buzzed in awe, reacting to The Hit as some guy asked me, "Did you get that?" I didn't know. I knew I flinched as Ray-Ray speared Pittman, and I felt my focus ring move as The Hit was landed.
For a minute, I didn't even want to look. But I had to. Looking at the preview screen, it seemed sharp, but that's on a 2-inch LCD screen. I found shade and zoomed in the detail. The elbow, the ball, the feet: they all looked sharp enough. So I showed the guy beside me. We couldn't help ourselves, busting our guts about the play. I haven't shot something that spontaneous in football in a long time. The Hit capped a good afternoon.
People have been posting comments in websites about The Hit all day, and it's been rerun in 3 different angles at full speed on ESPN. The Hit even made top honors in "Monday Night Countdown." But when I got home, I saw that the shot didn't even run. An editor told me when I returned that The Hit would run Tuesday, so perhaps it'll see the light of day, after all. It gets rough when you have a really good shoot, yet your stuff doesn't run, or run well. When you do well, don't you want people to see what you've created? A shooter's work is about image. It's displaying your vision, your creation, your talent, your pride.
When it can't be seen, part of you isn't seen as well, and it hurts. Perhaps that's why we aren't ever fully satisfied. If you don't care when your best stuff doesn't get shown, what does that say about your drive? Your passion? Your desire? Someone told me that I shouldn't complain. That the layout of the photos looked well. But I didn't argue with him, because he is waiting for his chance to retire. Maybe the day when I don't care is when I'll look for my way to hang 'em up, too.