Sunday Morning Sidewalk: The Weight and Wonder of Return

 

The Oregon media day is set for tomorrow, and with it comes a quiet shift inside me—a sense of transition, reflection, and, unexpectedly, renewal.

A year ago, as I prepped to head down for media day, it was with a clear sense of purpose and excitement. I felt like I was picking up a mantle that had been gently set down. When AJ retired, there was a noticeable void in the texture of our coverage. Not just in the volume or consistency, but in the spirit of it—his ability to find meaning in the margins, to bring light to things others skipped over. I wasn’t trying to replace AJ, because no one can. But I was trying to restore that depth, that sense of craftsmanship, that made our coverage feel like more than just content.

After the spring game was over, I felt a charge in the air. There were signs that people were noticing again—not just clicking but reading. March and April brought traction, comments, real engagement. I started to think, maybe, just maybe, the grind was paying off.

Then came the bombshell: the On3-Rivals merger. “Caught off guard” doesn’t begin to capture the feeling. I was stunned. Floored. It wasn’t just the suddenness of it—it was the uncertainty it injected into everything I had been building. I’ve never liked roller coasters, and that’s exactly what the next few weeks felt like. Up and down. Whiplash-inducing speed. I considered every option. And yes, for a time, I wrestled seriously with whether I’d end up writing for On3, even after all that had happened.

In the end, though, I chose something else. Something quieter, but more powerful. I chose independence. I chose ownership of my voice. I chose connection over platform.

That’s where we are today—and I’m grateful. More grateful than I can put into words. The freedom to shape my own stories, to control how and when I engage, to speak directly with those who have followed me over the years without worrying about algorithms or editorial mandates—that freedom is priceless.

But as media day approaches again—and with practice kicking off two days later—I found myself in a strange emotional space. Not apprehensive. Not reluctant. But not fully sure either. A kind of limbo. My mind and heart seemed to be having two very different conversations.

After AJ stepped away, I made a conscious decision to step down from the press box myself. I returned to the stands, sat in the same section we’ve been in since 1999, and let myself just be a fan again. I reconnected with old friends. I shared the rhythm of the game with my family. I was reminded what it felt like to cheer and groan and laugh without taking notes. It was... nice. More than nice, actually—it was healing.

But I also missed the other part of me. The part that sees the game differently. The part that’s trained to scan the sidelines, track rotations, watch adjustments in real time. The part that feels at home on the second floor of Autzen, peering out from behind a laptop under those bright halogen lights. Last year, returning to that space worked better than I imagined. The RV setup made things easier for my family. My wife and I found a rhythm. The job didn’t have to be a disruption—it could fit into our life more cleanly than it once did.

So for much of the last three months, I assumed this year would mark another step back. Fewer games, less coverage. Maybe no press box at all. Maybe I’d sit in the stands for good and let that be my new normal.

But the closer we got to this week, the more I felt the itch again. Not the pressure, not the grind—but the pull. The tug of purpose. The call to observe, to document, to share.

I talked it over with my wife last weekend—really talked—and we decided together: as long as I’m still doing this, I should do it from the press box. That’s where I belong. That’s where the work, when it’s done right, still matters.

That doesn’t mean I’m jumping back into the deep end. The days of 30 articles a week are behind me. There will still be a game recap each Saturday. Fifth Quarter will still return. But there won’t be daily roundtables, endless quote-based breakdowns, or practice-by-practice report cards. I’ll write what feels right. I’ll focus on what adds value, not what fills space.

In a way, this new season isn’t just about the Ducks. It’s about me rediscovering balance—between work and rest, between reporting and reflection, between being a writer and being a fan.

And that balance feels like the right place to be, at least for now.

So here’s to the season ahead—not one dictated by expectations or metrics, but one guided by passion, craft, and the joy of being part of something bigger.

I’ll see you in the press box.