Josh’s Note: For a while now I’ve been trying to get a few different individuals to write a few posts for the blog and Michael Trevino has been one of those people. He is the Public Address announcer for the Volcanoes as well as being the resident DJ for all games. He knows his music and his baseball. In fact don’t be surprised if Scott mentions Michael in more then a few stories coming up. Having a member of the Press Box Mafia team up with the 9 Inning Empire is always fun.
By Michael Trevino:
Chester said it best; It ain’t easy being cheesy. Such is true of life in the Press Box. It isn’t all silk ties and limousines like the talking pictures make it out to be. It’s a grind. It is like working for a judge. A judge who at the end of the night slams his gavel down and decides who among us are men and who are boys. I sit behind the microphone every night awaiting my judgment. I sit with little concern for anything else. I sit and I wait. And these are my memoirs.
Chapter 1: “Bad Moon Rising”
I begin on a cold Oregon summer night. The moon is beginning to rise across the still snowcapped mountains in right field. The batter steps into the box and takes his stance. There is something special about this evening. I couldn’t put my finger on what it was. There was a presence that seemed to engulf the fans in an almost zombie-like form. It was dollar beer night. Always a favorite of mine. Nothing says bring the kids out to a baseball game like drunk fathers yelling at professional umpires, about a strike zone they have a great view of from 200 feet away.
Despite the fans’ best efforts to deter the pitcher, he managed to strike out the batter and the inning was over. I looked up at the sky, and the moon had just cleared the power lines and was now in perfect view. I am the voice behind the microphone. But not only that, it is from my hands that musical ensemble, which occurs at the stadium every night, is chosen. I know what you are thinking. How does one get such power? Such control? My friends, I speak to you with years of wisdom, so I ask you to listen. One does not just acquire these privileges. They must be earned. Much like a black belt in karate, it is a journey – a journey on a path not often traveled.
Each song played is like dropping a rock into a pond. Only you don’t know how big the rock is, thus you do not know how big of a splash it will make. Sometimes you play a song and it is as if you dropped a grain of sand in the ocean. Other times, your choice causes massive waves reaching every corner of the world. What does this have to do with a new moon rising?
Let me tell you.
Only one song came to mind when I saw that moon. It was a classic by CCR called “Bad Moon Rising.” A perfect fit for the situation, one would think. One would be correct. I couldn’t think of a more fitting scenario to play this track.
As I hit play, an astronomical phenomenon occurred. A series of plumose clouds suddenly formed right in front of my moon. By the time fans recognized what song I had selected, the moon was nowhere to be found.
Suddenly, I go from being a competent and creative music selector to a guy playing a random CCR song during the ninth inning. I remember sitting in my chair, behind my mic, waiting to be judged, and thinking, “What the hell, man. That moon totally dropped the ball on me.”
The moral of this story is that I want credit for playing that song that summer night. Despite there not being a visible moon rising, it was, in fact, rising behind the clouds. Thus my playing of “Bad Moon Rising” is extremely appropriate and clever.
These are my memoirs from the mic.