Joe Buck - LUCKY BASTARD: my life, my dad, and the things im not allowed to say on tv

I f you bought this book just to confirm that I am an idiot, I have bad news for you:

You will have to wait a few pages.

Hang in there. You can do it.

In 1994, I started broadcasting NFL games on FOX. I had never broadcast a football game in my life, yet FOX liked me enough to give me a chance.

With live broadcasting, you can prepare as much as you want, and that can make it a little easier, but at some point you just have to do it. You never know what situations might arise, and you dont even really know what skills you have. I quickly learned that the good Lord blessed me with one of the most important physical gifts for any sportscaster: a good bladder.

You have probably never thought about this. You probably watch game after game, night after night, eating and drinking without any concern at all for when the guys doing the game get to pee. But were human. We pee. I dont think Bob Costas and Al Michaels will mind if I tell you this.

I suppose that, like with everything else, each announcer has his own style. Jim Nantz may unzip and say, Hello, friends! before firing at the urinal. I mean, I dont know. I havent asked Jim. But sometimes, finding a chance to pee is harder than you might think, especially in some of the older stadiums, where the bathrooms are not always conveniently located.

You have a limited amount of time during a commercial break to get to your destination and get back. You may have to fight your way through sportswriters, which doesnt make them happy, but they can miss a play and survive. I cant.

Veteran broadcasters understand that in many cases, it is wise to start unzipping before you even arrive. You have to be efficient, or you pay a price later. My father told me: Never run to a microphone. You dont want to be out of breath. So you have to be able to get to the bathroom fast, catch your breath while you pee, and then calmly walk back into the booth.

In December 1994, my otherwise trusty bladder betrayed me. What can I say? Even the great organs have a bad day at the office once in a while. I was doing a Packers-Falcons game in Milwaukees County Stadium. It was a memorable game for a number of reasons. The Packers used to play games in Milwaukee every year, but this was their last home game there. Packers star Sterling Sharpe got injured on what seemed like an innocuous hit, and it ended his career.

At some point during that game, unbeknownst to viewers but extremely beknownst to me, I had to pee so bad that I could barely talk. The problem was that, at County Stadium, the football press box was really far from the restroom. You had be Tom Cruise in Mission: Impossible to get there in time. There was a catwalk, some kind of pulley-and-ladder systemthere might have been a zip line. It was rough.

With a few minutes left in the first half, I was dying. I had to go so bad. But in football, we have a mix of longer and shorter commercial breaksand the way the game went, all of our commercial breaks at the end of the half were only thirty seconds long. There was no way I could get out of the booth, to the bathroom, and back in thirty seconds. I had a solid forty-second stream in me, plus that long commute. Forget it.

Every time we went to break, I asked, How long is this one?

Thirty seconds.

Jesus!

At some point I explained my problem to my spotter, Gary. A spotter is the person who helps me during an NFL telecast spot who made the catch, who made the tackle, or who blocked a field goal.

I said, Gary, Ive got to go, and Ive got to go now.

He was like, I dont know what to do. This was not a scenario they address in spotter school.

I said: Ive got to pee. I cant hold this any longer. This is not going to work.

Then I said: Give me something.

Gary handed me a water bottle. Nice thought, and I appreciate the ingenuity, but no. Not going to work. Its December in Wisconsin, Im wearing this big parka, and anyway, I cant hit that target. Its too small. Who am IWilliam Tell?

I knocked the bottle out of Garys hand. I was beside myself, but I was still calling the game. I said, All right, next break, Im going to open this parka. Give me the trash can.

He said, Really?

I said, Hand me the fucking trash can in the next break. If its not more than thirty seconds, Im peeing in the trash can.

All right, Joe!

Play stopped. We went to commercial.

I said, How long is this break?

Thirty seconds.

I demanded the trash can. There was a young woman in the booth, and I asked her to leave. I put the trash can in front of me, I unzipped, I was ready to go, and...

Oh no.

Not now.

Stage fright!

Youve got to be kidding me. I couldnt pee. I was in the booth, I had my parka open, I didnt know what cameras were on me, and I couldnt bring myself to pee.

I was standing there, unzipped, waiting for the floodgates to open, but they wouldnt. It was like the Heinz commercial when you have to wait for the ketchup to come out of the bottle.

Finally theyre counting down: Ten... nine...

And suddenly its Niagara Falls.

On the first play from scrimmage after the break, Brett Favre took a snap as I kept peeing. People thought broadcasters had their dicks in their hands when they called Favres gamesthis time I actually did. Favre looked to his right and threw to Sharpe down the sideline.