The Thunder Sports Network

Let's fast forward or own virtual DVR of literature to minutes before the end of the preseason game. We had spent a good amount of time trying to ascertain which players from either of these teams we could speak to about their Christianity--Big Time Players in Big Time Sports, was our slogan. As friendly, professional, and accommodating that Dolphins P.R. was, when it came to this issue, they left us on an island. It was weird. The rep who gave us our own press suite told us that we had to figure out that part of it ourselves.

So of course we prayed and did our homework, and came up with a name. A spunky ex-Charger receiver who returned kicks and decided odds.

I told Zach, down on the field getting B-Roll all game (B-Roll is additional footage in news reports used as filler when narration is happening), to get some specific shots of Wes Welker. He was our man. I also told Zach to find a spot where we could set up and shoot not only this interview, but the entire show.

I accompanied Rich down the elevator as the game ended, the press lift which spills the corps out towards the field, and felt the excitement growing in my chest as we headed through the concrete arteries underneath the stadium. It was preseason, so the roar of the crowd was unimpressive (I hardly recall the Dolphins mounting a 20-point victory), but walking out onto field level with the players, the coaches, the peripheral people that make it all work scurrying about with their individual and collective missions; this was always impressive. As the clock expired, I tried to dial up Zach to see what he had arranged as far as our ‘set’ spot for the interviews and the show footage.

No answer.

I positioned Rich on the edge of the tunnel and headed back towards the visitors’ locker room, with hopes of catching a Ram or two to talk about Faith.

My cell buzzed with a call. It was Rich.

“Chris! It’s a no-go for the power!”

Rich had found Zach and found out that Zach was unable to secure a place for us to set up all of our equipment and power up for the interview/preview show footage. Keep in mind that Zach was barely two years out of high school, and was doing a job that entire careers are built towards. So there’s a ton of grace for his not being able to pull this part off.

I turned, right outside of the locker room which was now slowly being populated by players making their way off the field, and hustled back towards the tunnel.

There Rich and Zach were, less than enthusiastic looks on their faces. I was the guy the buck stopped with, so it was up to me. I quickly scanned the now-scarce-with-teams gridiron and took off running towards the workers on the field who looked the most knowledgeable. I asked one man who turned out to be very helpful, and he directed me to how we could hook up. Now, I had to help Rich and Zach get to the spot, which was across the field. We split ranks, Zach rounding up the equipment and me pushing Rich across the turf to the designated spot. Ever tried pushing a manned wheelchair across a dual baseball/football field, just after a game of the latter?

It ain’t easy!

After getting Rich there, I had to sprint to the home locker room, sport coat and all. Yes, in the recesses of my mind, I hoped a lingering coach would notice that explosion of speed propelling across the field, in dress shoes no less, and pick up the hotline to pro personnel.

“I've discovered a secret weapon!”

Yeah, right.

One can dream.

I awoke to a surprisingly sparse locker room for the Dolphins. These men were clearly trying to get out of Dodge for the night. Frantic, I scanned for Welker the best I could. He was nowhere to be seen. I approached the friendly-but-disavowed Dolphins P.R. man (“You're on your own!”) to ask for this one morsel of help.

Here's where the Divine intervention ‘began.’

The man looked around, and called out for Welker. “He was just here, you might want to look over there by his locker.”

I darted, uninspired but determined, in the general direction mentioned. Uncaring at this point about protocol or proper professional appearance, I blurted out to a group of players: “Anyone seen Wes Welker?!”

That might not sound like a big deal, but if you've ever been in an NFL locker room, without the backing of a huge national Network or publication but where no one really knows you, you'll understand the degree of difficulty for this verbal gymnastic.

Fortunately, and I like to think, inspired-ly, a number of players began to shout his name.

Shout.

In that gregarious, NFL sideline kind of way. And then, one player pointed to a door in the back and said, “He just went out that door. You might be able to catch--”

Like you reading this right now, the last part of that phrase was already understood. I dashed to the door, yes, again hoping for the moment of athletic discovery. (Look, it's just how some dudes are wired.) I pushed open the exit to see a fully grey, cement, dimly lit hallway which was empty.

Now, the guys who pointed me here so emphatically could have been truly trying to help me. Or, they could have been having a little laugh at my cost. I tend to believe the former, but I’m also reminded of a line from a story in the Bible, said by a man with a multi-colored coat: “What man meant for evil, God meant for good.” Again, though, it might have been a legitimate attempt to help me.

Because I saw one foot rounding the corner on the opposite end of Grey Tunnel. Going away from me, disappearing past the fold.

Partially inspired by the ballers in the next room, partially fueled by my own passion, I yelled out this time: “Welker!!”

Dramatic pause, and then a 5’9” man carrying a duffel bag, and wearing an Army green t-shirt which read, “Rednecks need love too!” came walking measuredly back around the corner.

It was him. It was Wes Welker.