The Sweetest Assignment: A Dad Covering His Son

TAMPA, Fla. -- Perched at a table in the sun, surrounded by swarms of reporters and cameras poised for The Moment, Larry Fitzgerald scanned the scene with a puzzled gaze.

"I'm looking for him. I don't know where he's at yet,'' he said, his braided hair flopping behind him, his eyes darting through the 2,100-body pileup known as Super Bowl Media Day.

"I know he'll be around somewhere.''

He was referring to his father, of course. Dynamic as Fitzgerald has been in the postseason of his mass football awakening, it's Larry Sr. who has elevated this breakthrough to a tender place in the creative realm of roman-numeral storytelling. He's the Minnesota sportswriter and syndicated radio broadcaster who is covering his 29th Super Bowl, a weathered journeyman who will take a seat in the Raymond James Stadium press box like the rest of us Sunday. What makes him different than every other media guy, now and before, is that his son will be the best player in America's biggest sports event. He never pushed Little Larry to excel in sports, but one perk of his profession was to take him to games and practices in the Twin Cities, where he experienced the presence of Kirby Puckett, Kevin Garnett, Randy Moss, even Michael Jordan.

To think the kid would grow up and become the most explosive receiver in NFL postseason history, more prolific this month than Jerry Rice, is staggering enough for a father and his son to comprehend. So to commemorate that this tale actually is real and not a crazy dream, they agreed to meet at Fitzgerald's podium during the Arizona Cardinals' portion of Media Day. There, a journalist would ask questions to an athlete, and both would try very hard not to cry.


The only problem: The journalist was running very late.

"And I was angry about it,'' Big Larry was saying Tuesday afternoon.

Seems he wasn't placed at the downtown Marriott and Embassy Suites like many Super Bowl media. He's staying out by the stadium. And because his baggage was lost the previous day by an airline, he couldn't check in for his credentials Monday night, forcing him to get up early Tuesday, hoof it about five miles downtown to the media center and try to finish the accreditation process in time to catch a bus to the stadium for a 10 AM ET interview session. His son, who signed a $30 million extension last offseason and generously offered Tuesday to restructure his contract so fellow Arizona receiver Anquan Boldin can cash in, surely would have arranged for a limo. Big Larry, who says his world hasn't changed just because his son's has, would have no part of such frills. All he wanted to know, as he sat on a bus to the stadium, was why the ride was taking so long.

"I was trying to hustle over, but I thought the bus driver was too slow,'' he said. "You can't pass up seeing your son on the podium at the Super Bowl. I didn't know when I was getting there.''

Finally, with 27 minutes left in the session, the old man arrived with his tape recorder. He weaved through the security check-in area, took an escalator up one flight, walked through a portal and made his way downstairs through the stands until at last, after being intercepted by media asking about his son, he held a microphone against a speaker near the podium. That's how crowded it was around the superstar receiver; his father couldn't get close enough to record him directly. Eventually, though, like any intrepid reporter, Big Larry was able to wedge in -- just in time to hear a man in a red dress ask his son what he thought of his/her clothing selection.

"I wore it just for you,'' said the dude, a TV reporter looking for attention.

"Thank you,'' said Fitzgerald, schooled well by his dad to avoid elaboration when necessary.

When the frivolity ended, a journalist from Minnesota was able to lob in a question. "What's this experience all about?'' he asked.

His son smiled. The dream was authentic.

"You can't put it into words what this means as a father,'' Big Larry said a little later. "It's so unbelievable. When he's growing up and playing sports, you don't doubt it can happen, and then when you see it happen, and you're here to cover it as a reporter and live the dream with him, it's beyond words. I can't stop pinching myself.''

Little Larry isn't quite as emotional about the journalism part. "It would be nice if he could come down in the stands and sit there and support me like a father, instead of sitting up in the press box where he can't cheer for me,'' he said. "But that's my dad's job,''

It isn't a job the son always has embraced. At times growing up, he thought the media were too hard on athletes. His father, writing in the Minneapolis Spokesman-Recorder with its weekly 55,000 circulation, never has come down on Larry in print, a fact that has been ridiculed this week by literary Web sites. My response would be, what's there to criticize? Fitzgerald has emerged as the most explosive weapon in football, smashing the all-time postseason yardage record with three sensational games and keeping the Pittsburgh Steelers' braintrust up at night. Yes, off the field, the mother of his one-year-old son, ex-Raiders cheerleader Angela Nazario, has accused him of domestic violence and won a restraining order against him. But let's be realistic: Should we expect Fitzgerald's father to rip him publicly when, my guess is, no columnist in the country has ripped him for it because of the legal uncertainties?

"On the personal, face-to-face, he definitely gets on me,'' Fitzgerald said.

But the job in general? "Whatever makes him happy,'' he said. "Whatever he wants to do, I love him regardless. In terms of him being tough on me, he definitely is. When I'm down, he's definitely the one to lift me. When I'm up, he's definitely the one to keep me grounded. He's a regular dad when he's around, but when he's in the media, I know he's stoic.''

The superstar does remember the advantages of it all. "It gave me a lot of opportunities to be around athletes as a youth,'' he said. "I remember going into the locker room and meeting Ken Griffey, Jr., Mark McGwire, Jose Canseco. I got a lot of baseballs signed. I met Michael Jordan and Kevin Garnett and remember having conversations with Mike Modano after North Stars games. I lived the dream as a child being around my heroes. It gave me a greater appreciation, being able to see what you wanted to do. I remember being at Vikings' training camp and watching Cris Carter and Randy Moss and saying this would be a dream come true to be an NFL player.

"I think everything I did in terms of my preparation as a youth to get here has paid off for me. I mean, I didn't go out and I didn't drink or smoke. I didn't do a lot of the things other kids in my neighborhood were doing just because my dad gave me the opportunity to see what NFL players were doing and the sacrifices they had to make.''

Go ahead and say Big Larry, as a working journalist, shouldn't have let his son get so close to the teams he was covering. Professionally speaking, you'd be right. I'll focus on the no-drinking, no-drugs part, thank you.

A son's favorite story?

"I was probably 15 or 16. I remember Kevin Garnett had just played a game, scored like 30 points but they lost,'' he said. "After the game, he talked to me for an hour by his car. You've got a superstar, Hall of Fame player who just lost a game and he takes the time out to talk to you, just a regular 16-year-old kid. That meant a lot to me, and I'll never forget about that. You see the good, you see the bad, and you definitely develop your own personality. Kirby Puckett never turned down an interview. I remember my dad taking me in the locker room one day, and Albert Belle -- he didn't do any media and he was still able to go out and play well. It's different strokes for different folks. You've got to do what works for you. My dad just told me to go out there and be myself, let my personality show.''


To this day, they are bonded in sadness as well as joy. If there's one void in this special week in their lives, it's not having Big Larry's wife and Little Larry's mother to see it. Six years ago, Carol Fitzgerald died of breast cancer. To this day, her son carries her driver's license in his wallet and remains haunted that they were estranged at the time of her passing.

"That's what is so difficult,'' Larry Sr. said. "She's not here with us.''

But the men of the family have each other, even as one carries a tape machine and makes a salary about three zeroes and one comma short of his son's guaranteed haul. Big Larry promises to obey his creed and not cheer in the press box if the Cardinals shock the world Sunday.

If that happened, I think we'd grant him a pass.