“BRIAN O’KEEEEEEEEFE….THERE HE IS………”…..like an electric bolt across a hushed gymnasium sized newsroom. “MY HERO…..”, the anchorman boomed which caused every single person to stop what they were doing….and look at me. Oh…how I haaaaaate being the center of attention. There I was blushing in Nagano. Japan. 1998. You remember. The Winter Olympics. For me: one long dreary dark windowless vegetationless architectureless funless fortnight of only work and (very little) sleep.

The boom was actually smooth as silk. And just as warm, kind and friendly as his voice…it was Jim Nantz the longtime CBS sports anchor. He was ecstatic, evidently, with the two “48 Hours” pieces that I had produced of his that aired back home in America the night before. I had been there for at least a week and was also helping research at the Olympics sports coverage desk. NOW..people knew who I was. All the jocks. For the first time in my life the jocks (some of them quite dashing) all in Oxfords and khakis and boat shoes with fancy Connecticut last names like, oh, say, Bristol ..and Hartford. Those kinds of boys. They knew who I was…and I was important.

Surreal, since I was never really into sports; I barely knew what luge and bobsled were. Aren’t they the same thing? Or as I said to Tim Tebow when I met him last year, “I don’t follow football…and I don’t know how many home runs you got.” Took him a bit to get the joke and then he couldn’t stop laughing. All day.

But Jim Nantz gave me a feeling of coolness, importance and amid the dank zonked out work trip…that at long last….I was one of the boys.

A far cry from my youth….Two decades earlier, just the SOUND of a dodgeball…or even basketball put me through a terrible inner eggshell dance. I hated gym class and playing sports. I did however, have a love of Grand Slam tennis and big league baseball though (more about that later.)

I always thought Olympics was spelled wrong. It should be spelled “O’Leary’’s”. My closest cousins, The O’Leary’s were serious athletes in training. Football, basketball and summer baseball was one long year for me to just want to kill myself. Kevin, Dennis and Michael (and Theresa) excelled all year….as did my Irish Twin Katie. But I had no athletic skills…and I didn’t really care.

I was an outfielder for one very painful Floral Park Little League season…on the “Stella’s” team named after a legendary Italian restaurant. I felt safe out there, though. The two outfielders plus the shortstop could get the ball if it came anywhere near me. I literally prayed… out loud….to God …for the ball not to.

I was even worse at home plate. The only way I got on base was being walked or getting hit by the ball, which I occasionally made happen by leaning in on purpose! Yeah, it hurt to get hit by a baseball. But nothing worse than my angst about even being there. What a relief when the game was over…or even better, rained out.

One of my childhood lifeguards, my Aunt Ronnie would often come to my games despite my fear of the game and weak performance. She did this despite her four aforementioned Olympian children’s games, her job….and her busy mommyhood. I’ll never forget that kindness, since my mother was always working and my father Billy didn’t ever bother to come..probably fearing embarrassment.

Its a bit sad actually because later in life I would begin to understand the role of sports and sportsmanship in developing life and people skills. I see it in all of my nephews and their fathers being coaches. Sure I may have missed out. But, I made up for it in other areas. And I still enjoyed sports, differently.

Billy made up for his bad attendance by taking me to Mets games. In a very big way. You see, right before I was born, he helped BUILD Shea stadium….literally as a budding electrician. So Billy O in his own way had a very special built in All Access Pass. From his incredible other career —- drinking—and social life, my dad knew someone who knew someone who knew someone who had awesome box seats, free (or stolen) Mets stuff, and access to every crevice of the stadium including the dugout. He was even friends with the organist who we would often visit and who once let me hit a key on her keyboard for the thousands of people in the stadium to hear. Yes, that was me launching that famous Seventh Inning Stretch song.

I collected baseball cards obsessively, followed the seasons very closely and my allegiance to the Mets only wavered when the The Yankees were Champs….naturally.

I became fascinated by the big New York players and their celebrity. I was devastated and can remember the very moment when and where I learned of Thurman Munson’s plane crash (which that and Lynyrd Skynyrd…and Patsy Cline cemented my obsession with plane crash history). Meshed with my early life news junkiness, I devoured the New York papers and Channel 7 Eyewitness News coverage of that moment in time…and obsessed over sports coverage, most memorably checking the newspaper every single summer day for how many Games Behind the Mets or Yankees were….on a daily basis I needed to know.

I had forgotten about Games Behind and how the teams W (ins) and L (osses) number were scored and logged by Major League Baseball. But it all came roaring back just a few weeks ago when my friend Kristi rattled off the stats of my man-crush Los Angeles Angels (really Anaheim…who are you kidding?!) … and how they were faring against other teams as the season was winding down.

My personal return to baseball started out as a work assignment a month earlier, producing a piece about Mike Trout and giving local kids an afternoon on the field, honoring a two time leukemia survivor and his little league pals. The boy, Jaylon Fong, offered Mike a courage bracelet that he still wears after completing treatment. Without missing a beat, Mike put it on and said he’d wear it for good luck for the remainder of the season (and he did as I have photos as evidence). Being there brought the happy childhood sports memories all back in a heart-song kind of way, if I may quote Mattie Stepanek.

Like a kid transported through time I was gobsmacked in awe of Mike hitting THREE home runs in a row during batting practice that day. Too bad they didn’t count!

But the human connection that sports brings was so loud and clear right in front of me, in the flesh. His dedication to the kids is a sight to behold. As I noticed at another game I attended, Trout is one of the few players who spends at least a half hour signing balls, shirts and joining selfies….along the fields perimeter. Like Jeter who has done much for at least one generation of kids, this feels like societal heroism. Role models in this rapidly changing, buzzfeeding and exploding world are incredibly important.

Tebow is the same way. On the shoot last winter in Yonkers, NY I was struck by his effect on kids. I was also struck by the fact that he refused an apple I offered him because he was starving during my meal-less 12 hour shoot. “Brian, I cant but thank you.” I thought he was being polite, though he was. But he couldn’t have the sugar, his attachee whispered to me. (Seriously?! yes— seriously.) Instead someone went out and got him two burgers wrapped in lettuce. My world exclusive that he was in training for the comeback (that sadly, later, came and went) never left my lips.

But I digress. During an outside interview that Tim was doing with really polite smart kids who were participants in the after school program we were profiling, a group of other kids playing basketball were not polite and refused to stop bouncing the ball. They also kept making loud noises, including a couple who cursed at me, refusing to be quiet which tortured me and my soundman.

When the interview ended…what did Tim do? He got up..walked towards the kids who literally froze in shock. “Gentlemen, I am so sorry if i interrupted or delayed your game. I realize its getting late and you all need to get home to dinner..so I apologize.” Even the F bomb brat leader stood in stunned silence. He then walked to each and introduced himself “I’m Tim.” to each of them. MY mouth was agape too. They all politely shook his hand and of course took selfies. Great to see role models act like role models.

My mid life journey to Anaheim and my long ago Shea Stadium …was a nice wake up call.  Boy, that Roone Arledge was on to something…or indeed created something. The power of sports. Victory, defeat and the incredible human condition. Awesome.