Sportswriting is an exciting, thrill-a-minute business. We hobnob with the stars. We get the best seats in the house. We eat wonderfully prepared pregame meals (“Hey, pal, you want relish on that dog, or what?”).
On occasion, we also get to call our sports heroes at home for comment on assorted stories. It’s lots of fun, especially when you wake up somebody from a deep sleep.
Sometimes, though, athletes, coaches and sports management types screen their calls. That’s when we get their message machines.
To serve you, the Tribune reader, here are actual answering-machine greetings of Chicagoland’s best-known sports personalities. Next week: Tips on how to rummage through a celebrity’s garbage.
But first . . . Rrrrrrring.
“Hi, this is Ahmad Rashad. Michael can’t come to the phone right now, but if you leave your name, number and how your message might further allow me to suck up to His Airness, I’ll make sure he knows you called.”
“You have reached the McCaskey residence. Mr. McCaskey is extremely busy. He has to pick out shirt monograms on Monday and Tuesday, determine how best to part his hair on Wednesday and Thursday, visit the yacht club on Friday and Saturday and be sedated on Sunday. He will be unavailable until the Bears win a game. Thank you.”
“Yeah, it’s Terry Bevington. What the hell do you want?”
“Yo, you’re in D-Rod’s world now. Press 1 if you want to hear me complain about being disrespected. Press 2 if you want to hear me make meaningless retirement threats. Press 3 if you want to order back copies of my two books. Press 4 if you want to buy Converses–cheap. Press 5 if you want to hear a Jerry Krause joke. Press 6 if you want to hear about my gambling, my sex life, my body piercings, my suspensions, my legal problems, Madonna, my cross-dressing, my holdouts, more Madonna, my fines, my act worn thin. Press 7 if you want to hear me laughing all the way to the bank.”
“Welcome to the DePaul basketball ticket office. Good sections are still available.”
“Yes, this is Jaime Navarro. And no, I won’t be returning your call. I only talk after I win, which means nine times a year. This isn’t one of those nine times.”
“Hello, everybody. I’m Harry Caray. Before you leave your message, I just wanted to say a very happy 87th birthday to Agnes Henderson in Pottstown, Pa. And some hearty Cubs congratulations to the Puwalski family in Davenport, Iowa–they just won their local 4-H competition. And . . . what’s that, Arne? Arne says I’m running out of tape. So you know what that means: Let me hear you . . . good and loud.”
“Bill Wirtz here. Please deposit $75 when you hear the beep.”
“This is, aargh, Dave Wannstedt. I, aargh, can’t make it to the phone at, aargh, the moment. I’ve got, aargh, a knee. Can’t walk fast. So, aargh, leave your name and, aargh, if you don’t mind, the name of a new quarterback.”
“Hello. I’m Albert Belle and I can’t tell you how pleased I am that you called. Unfortunately, I’m unable to attend to your kind inquiry. But do me a favor: Leave all the pertinent information and I’ll return your call . . . when hell freezes over! Now get the hell out of my face, you low-life loser, or I’ll have this call traced and me and Mr. Louisville Slugger will have to stop by for a visit, if you know what I mean!”
“The number for Richard Duchossois at Arlington International has been disconnected. It will be reconnected when he gets slots. Have a nice day.”
“You’ve reached the private line of Ed Lynch. I can’t take your call right now unless, of course, you’re affiliated with the New York Mets.”
“Thanks for contacting the Jim Delany residence. If you’re calling about the Big Ten’s preliminary plans for expansion, please reach me at our conference offices. Notre Dame, Texas, Syracuse, Kentucky and Colorado can call collect.”
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“Hi. I’m Rick Mirer and I’m sorry I wasn’t here to talk. Your call is important, so feel free to contact me on my cellular phone. The best time to reach me is on Sunday afternoon, between noon and 4. I’m usually just standing around, doing nothing. If you still can’t reach me, please call my dad in Goshen, Ind. He knows what to say.”
“This is Jerry Reinsdorf, owner of the Chicago Bulls and the Chicago White Sox. If you thought you were going to catch me at home, you’re crazy.”