Thanks, Stu
Earlier this month, a tweet from ESPN reminded me that, five years ago, Stuart Scott died. I stopped short — FIVE years? That couldn’t be right. So I did what any reasonable person in 2020 would do: I Googled it. It was true.
About a week later, I came across this oral history by Bryan Curtis of The Ringer about Stuart’s life, death, and legacy. I was at work, so I bookmarked it to read later. It took about a half hour and a good number of tears to get through. And it reminded me of that one time I met Stuart Scott in a bar.
It was late summer 2006, and I was three days into my life as a University of North Carolina Tar Heel. My roommate — a classmate in my master’s program — invited me to join her and one of her friends at a bar in Raleigh (I forget its name, if it even still exists). Her friend was a member of the Carolina Hurricanes Storm Squad cheerleaders, and the team — which won the Stanley Cup earlier that summer — was supposedly having a preseason party at this bar. When we arrived at around 10 p.m., the bouncer told us the event happened earlier in the evening, but if we wanted to stick around, Charles Barkley had rented out half the club for another party.
We stuck around.
The club was square-shaped and a velvet rope split the entire place, including the bar, into the haves and the have-nots. My roommate, her friend, and I stood with the have-nots, sipping our drinks, dancing a bit, and watching the celebrities roll in. A mass of people on our side crowded the rope trying to get the attention of someone, anyone, who would invite them onto the other side.
I stood a good distance away with our little group — until I realized my drink was empty. I looked for the clearest route between my location and the bar, but it was hard to find in the swarm. The path of least resistance seemed to be right along the velvet rope, so I made a go for it.
I “excuse me”d and “sorry”d and “just trying to get to the bar”d my way through the crowd. Grabbing a sliver of open bar space, I held my wallet at an angle I hoped would catch the bartender’s attention quickly. As I waited, I looked to my right, then to my left. And I realized I was standing next to Stuart Scott.
Aside: I’ve been in love with sports since my dad took me to a Redskins game when I was around 9 years old. After deciding I wasn’t going to grow up to be an NFL quarterback — being a woman and only five feet tall put a bit of a damper on that dream — I decided I wanted to be an ESPN broadcaster. Stuart Scott was a huge reason for that. He was without question my favorite SportsCenter anchor. You can ask my mother how often his face graced our TV and how many of his catchphrases peppered my speech. But I realized during an internship before my senior year of college that I didn’t like being on camera, so another career dream died. My love for sports, though, remained strong.
This is why, upon recognizing my barside neighbor that night, I clammed up. I didn’t know what to say. I’m not even sure I did say anything — I can’t remember who spoke first. But we started talking.
I told him I was a new Tar Heel, and he asked me how I liked Chapel Hill. I mentioned I once wanted to work with him on SportsCenter and he asked me why I didn’t want to anymore. We spoke for 10 or 15 minutes. I don’t recall everything we talked about, but I know at one point we talked about his daughters. I remember he reached into his wallet and pulled out a picture and the sweetness in his voice when he talked about them. I remember being incredulous that I was standing in a bar, talking to Stuart Scott about his family.
He told me he was impressed with my sports knowledge and that he had a friend with him he wanted me to meet. Did I want to come to the other side of the velvet rope? I accepted the invitation, as long as my friends could come, too. He obliged without hesitating, and into the VIP we went.
Although I didn’t spend much more of the evening speaking with Stuart, he left me with an incredible gift. The friend he introduced me to was Howie Schwab, a longtime ESPN research analyst who’d recently become a household name thanks to his trivia show, Stump the Schwab. I spent hours that evening going back and forth with Howie about this sport and that, this statistic and that. More than a decade later, Howie has become a dear friend; he even came to my wedding.Fourteen years ago, I spent a fraction of an hour with Stuart Scott. But it was long enough to ever-so-briefly fulfill a once-held dream and seed a lifelong friendship. Wherever you may be today, Stu — thank you.