Sports Fan
Who is secretly dying because it’s only four months until fantasy football kicks off again--that was so much fun. I’m lonely.
“Just wait until it’s all said and done,” Crystal told me during playoffs, “All the guys get really depressed.”
Crystal, who works at Tony’s as a front waiter and occasionally she’ll greet you as hostess, had coached the team Back That Pass Up and was ranked #1 in our Tony’s league for literally the whole season until the third round of playoffs. She did her homework, made smart trades, and was unbeatable. It was awesome. She was also attuned to the fact that in fantasy, anything can happen.
For me, I love sports because it means I get to ask endless questions to the people I care about most. There is a lot of information, a lot of stats, names, and I only retain just a small bit, but I’m convinced it’s as drama packed as The Real Housewives or the nightly news—and there is a channel dedicated to sports. It is called ESPN.
I like asking my brother David questions because he quietly giggles as he answers them, and then we reach a point where there are too many questions and we have to get off the phone or change subjects.
So, when dear David Gow of GOW Media approached us with an advertising campaign through ESPN 97.5 The Bench with hosts John Granato and Lance Zierlein—I was floored. If you haven’t listened to them—people, this is the longest running sports talk show in Houston—download the 97.5 ESPN app and start your day with John, Lance, and Dell because not only are they better than an espresso shot- but you are guaranteed a few hahahas before clocking in.
There is something about sports radio—it’s the hosts--- their voices, so soothing yet hilarious, as if an anesthesiologist and the people who make weighted blankets did a collab. I mean, remember Jim Rome? That voice. The way he used words. Ladies, I’m telling you, sports radio.
One of our captains, Kevin, was the commissioner for the Tony’s fantasy football league this year. I was, frankly, honored they asked me to join. $250 buy in, winner takes all. As I knew nothing, I hired brother David as my general manager as well as coach for our team, Hot SOS. But I kept that real low key--David ran the team, and I, obviously, was owner of the team. Right off the bat we won three straight games in a row.
“Slow down, we can’t win this.” I told him. I wanted Hot SOS to land second or third place. Respect, but without taking everyone’s money. David was good. I am surprised David didn’t go the sports radio path—he knows everything—there is not one question I ask that he can’t answer. On top of that, he is one of the most hilarious people I know. He is so funny—he gets home from the hospital—a baby—mom and I are checking his diaper and what does he do? He pees on us.
“What’s going on, are you focused?” I would ask him after we lost two games in a row. We talked every week as our players got hurt, etc.
“Do you think we should have benched him?” I barrel down. Or--
“Why did we bench him he scored 23 points?!
“Kate.” He laughs, exhausted. At the time his wife Taylor was pregnant, he was a student at Rice getting his MBA, and they have a two-year-old. But isn’t that the best time to mess with your baby bro?
“It’s just hard to know with these guys, they get hurt.” He would tell me. I reminded him he was on a one-year contract and I hadn’t renewed for the next year.
The Tony’s employees involved in our fantasy league would walk around each Tuesday actively reflecting on the wins and losses of the week before. Wednesday is crickets. And then Thursday the new week has begun and we start all over again. Each other’s choices under a microscope, we chatter and trash talk while prepping vegetables or polishing silverware and it fills our lives with an extra dose of joy.
Crafty trades are pitched—colleagues thinking I don’t know what I’m doing. They are right to try and grab my QB, my running back, my tight end—but David rejects them all one by one as he monitors our trade requests from a study hall.
“David, we might need to play ball a little and accept some of these trades. I think Joey was genuinely trying to help us.”
“Okay, well, do you want to win?”
In September, John Granato invited me to bring our Tony’s Burger to The Bench and at 9 a.m. because at that hour the hosts and production team are starving, the show begins at 7 a.m. I showed up with eight double cheeseburgers, onion rings, and fries. Coming off a 90 second break John and team attack their burgers two bites at a time as if coming off a deserted island just to hop back on seconds later. He then invited me to sit and talk for a few minutes. Man, I’m going to get so much street cred with the men in my life. Yessss.
Before going on air, Joey, our sous chef, as well as David had coached me on a few bits—Deion Sanders was exciting at that time, and as the University of Colorado was my alma mater—I tried to insert takes on his star status in leading the Golden Buffaloes to a few swift victories in the beginning of the season. We talked about kitchen life, the hit TV show The Bear, but really, I loved gabbing about anything with Dell, The Bench’s producer and contributor, and John—Lance was on vacation that day. John did us a major solid in highlighting all the things we are doing at Tony’s to attract new guests.
Being a radio host is a highly intelligent gig. They listen—and then create entertainment on the fly and my goodness the amount they have to know about ALL sports is incredible.
My good friend Brandon, who also knows a lot about sports, places bets professionally—it is how he makes a living and he does well. I asked him recently at dinner, “hey, should I make some bets through you.” I felt like he could turn my $100 into more—this was my ticket.
“That’s the thing about sports,” he said, palms up, “you just never know.” While last year was a good one for him--his spring picks hadn’t performed like he’d hoped.
Last month I visited with Wendy, the General Manager for ABC 13, and husband John Granato as they sat in the bar watching highlights of The Masters. Wendy remarked that facial beards on PGA golfers were all of a sudden---everywhere—like wildflowers poppin’ up on the side of the road. Now that’s a hot take nobody was talking about, we nudged John.
“Look, another guy with a beard.”
“Look, he has one too.”
“Aw, that guy kind of has one.”
John nodded, agreeing, but letting us really run with the idea--until I mentioned our new chicken sandwich and he immediately thought of Dell’s obsession with chicken sandwiches—and from the sound of it, Dell had high standards. He invited me back to The Bench and my cup runneth over! I was so excited.
Our new chicken sandwich is a buttermilk-soaked fried chicken thigh with French onion dip, rosé pickled tomato, bibb lettuce, and black garlic pureé between a Luloo’s sesame seed bun. We source our three-pound birds from Bell & Evans, a life without antibiotics, air-chilled—terrifying for the chickens—can you imagine when they get a cold or God forbid, the flu, and they can’t get access to antibiotics? They have to just tough it out. Those sleepless nights. The sniffles. But as a chef and consumer it’s great for my conscience.
Joey, David, and Kevin shot me talking points— would the Oiler’s baby blue make it on the new Texans jersey. The Astros. I still felt like I was winging it having forgotten the name of the exciting new Texans trade-- Stefan Diggs. And I could only think of the names of two golfers with beards—Scottie Scheffler and Tiger Woods.
Again, 9 a.m. they grab for the sandwiches two bites at a time coupled with our homemade potato chips dusted in secret spice. The air time between John and Lance was exhilarating—they made me laugh hard and I left the studio heading into a busy Friday with glee.
This being a slow-ish time for sports, at Tony’s we anticipate the NFL draft with fantasy dreams to follow. Last season, Kevin, our commissioner, came from behind and ended up winning it all-- he was not shy about the victory. I was shocked Crystal didn’t nab it, but she was unshaken, classy even in her resolve, “You just never know what’s going to happen.” And the what if, I guess, is how sports fans are made.