A Tribute to Sports Radio

One of our hobbies was listening to sports radio. We had it on all the time. After school we’d listen to KNBR “The Sports Leader” from San Francisco, and then in the evenings, when the ionosphere was thoroughly charged and AM reception came to life, we’d tune-in the magical KDWN Stardust Sports Report with Lee Pete and his co-host, Donny Bader.

It seems odd to me now that a couple of 12-year-olds would spend countless hours listening to two old, cigar-smoking gamblers discuss sports and betting lines, but there was absolutely nothing better. The Stardust Sport Report was broadcast live directly from a sports book on the Las Vegas strip—imagine! We were transported to our own Disneyland, a place where sports were the topic all day every day and placing a bet (aka using your superior knowledge and understanding of statistics to make money) was as simple as walking up to the counter.

Radio reception and station wattage had a direct impact on our fandom, as Dustin became a follower of the within-radio-range San Francisco Giants, and the Utah Jazz—whose games were broadcast on KDWN— became my unlikely favorite basketball team. Who could resist the colorful calls of “Hot Rod” Hundley, a former NBA star turned Utah Jazz radio announcer whose signature lingo included “belt-high dribble,” “frozen-rope jumper,” “leapin’ leaner,” and “with a gentle push and a mild arc the cowhide finds the net.” I remember many nights, lying in my bed with nothing but the glow of the AM radio for light, pumping my fist or holding my breath as the Jazz attempted to closeout an overtime thriller.

At first we were merely listeners, but eventually we became callers too. Our first few calls to KNBR’s SportsPhone 68 were relatively uneventful, as we asked mostly lame questions of the mostly second tier sports star guests. I think it was when they had a professional horse racing jockey on as the featured guest that we decided to try a prank call. I don’t remember exactly what we said—something about horse semen—but I know they cut us off quickly and moved on to another caller.

Coincidentally I’m sure, KNBR established a minimum age requirement (18) for show callers. Enforcement, however, wasn’t so simple. I’d call with my most adult voice and relate to the call screener the question I planned to ask, but he’d often pick up on some immaturity in my voice or delivery and pop a surprise question on me. “What year were you born?” I’d stutter and throw out some year that would make me old enough but then freeze up trying to do math when the screener asked my age. Eventually Dustin devised a written chart that showed ages, corresponding birthdates, and notable event years for things like high school graduations, and we were able to mostly satisfy the call screener.

Sometimes you could tell the screener was on to us, and even though he couldn’t rightfully keep us off the show, we’d end up on eternal hold and never make it to the airwaves. But with our handy age chart and Dustin’s voice, which was distinct but also two octaves lower than a 12-year-old’s ought to be—we still managed to wreak our share of havoc.

One night they had boxer Bobby Chacon on as a guest. I’d read recently—since no sports news got passed me—that Bobby had been in trouble for a domestic violence incident. If anyone deserved a prank call, we decided, it was Chacon. The call went something like this:

Host Dave Newhouse: Go ahead caller you’re on with Bobby Chacon.

Dustin: Hi Dave, thanks for having me.

Newhouse: OK, go ahead caller.

Dustin: Hey Bobby.

Chacon: Hey man, good to talk to you.

Dustin: I just wanted to say that I was at your last fight, and you were kind enough to sign an autograph for me.

Chacon: Right on.

Newhouse: That’s great.

Dustin: Yeah, and you want to know what I did with it?

At this point the tension was suddenly palpable. Dustin dragged the pause out and I could imagine the call screener choking on a sip of his soda as he raced to find the mute button.

Dustin: I burned it! You wife-beating sonofa—[cut off. ]

Newhouse: That was unfortunate. I’m sorry about that.

Chacon: No problem.

Newhouse: Ok, let’s take another call. Sausalito, you’re on with Bobby Chacon…

KDWN’s Lee Pete was so endearing—like a favorite grandfather telling you sports stories—that we mostly spared him our wrath. We’d call in, to be sure, but Lee’s show was already a circus, with regular nicknamed callers like Crazy Cav, Vegas Jay and Mr. Steeler. Dustin became “The Mad Rancher” and I called myself “The Joker.” I would talk in a sadistic, high-pitched voice and always speak in rhyme:

Hey Lee, how could it be

That the Raiders would lose

By three to K.C.?

“This guy kills me,” Pete would say.

So enamored were we with sports radio that we dreamed of starting our own station. Although we never managed that, we did create a virtual station for a few days. We told friend Ron Reynolds some story about how we had a HAM radio and had started our own show and asked him if he wanted to be a guest caller. We even had a big named guest, Dallas Cowboy’s running back Tony Dorsett.

I don’t remember Ron ever questioning how we, two middle-schoolers, managed to get Tony Dorsett to come on our fledgling (and illegal) radio show. Before long we had Ron over at Dustin’s house, sequestered in a back bedroom with Dustin, talking on a portable phone to me—doing my best Tony Dorsett impersonation—in another room, with some radio noise we’d previously recorded on Dustin’s tape recorder playing in the background.

I don’t know what we were hoping to accomplish with this whole charade. We’d tricked Ron, but to no obvious end. I guess we did it all for the vicarious thrill of running our own sports show—as a tribute to sports radio. —JC