I spent Wednesday nights in the newsroom producing pages and editing stories, not writing my Shakespeare essay due in seven hours. I spent Friday nights sitting alone in the WUNH studio watching the sound board for the men’s hockey broadcast, not celebrating the end of another week with my friends. I spent Saturday afternoons in the press box of Wildcat Stadium, not at the tailgate in Boulder Field. I spent Sunday mornings in Lundholm Gymnasium making sure I knew every name, number and average on the Binghamton men’s basketball team, not recovering from the weekend festivities (well, sometimes there was some overlap here). 

This is where I chose to allocate my time and energy. For some, they were kept up studying for an exam, but for me it was trying to think of the perfect word to describe the emotion of Bill Herrion who’s crouched down to a knee and red in the face while barking direction to his team. Some had PowerPoints to prepare, but I spent three hours trying to figure out if Stony Brook forward Mohammed Diallo was related to NBA journeyman Hamidou Diallo (I don’t think they are) just to have one more tidbit ready to go if I needed it. 

A question I’ve asked myself a lot is, “what would you be doing if you couldn’t just talk about sports for a career?” I’ve never had an answer to this one. 

People often say the best way to combat uncertainty is to attack it head on. In my case, however, I’ve made the decision to avoid it. From the moment I realized I could just talk about sports for a career, I’ve done everything in my power to make sure I’d never have to answer that other uncertain question. 

Sure, there were times when I wished I was at the tailgate, or my sister’s birthday party. But from when I nervously walked into the newsroom in 2018, to now trying to figure out exactly how to articulate how much this place has meant to me, there’s not a thing I’d change. 

Surviving a cold scowl from Sean McDonnell after questioning his decisions, my brief stint as a political correspondent, and one fateful January night in the Conte Forum at Boston College with Josh Shaw certainly qualify for the shortlist of my least favorite moments with TNH. None of these, however, have been as unsettling as saying goodbye to that hot, messy, windowless newsroom which I’ve been able to call home. 

I think I was the only person to vote in favor of keeping the print newspaper at the end of last year and I stand by that decision. Fine, maybe it wouldn’t have been the most financially responsible choice, but there are few Wednesdays that pass when I don’t wish I was overtired, listening to Josslyn while waiting for Josh to finish his editorial at 1 a.m. I insufferably complained each of those Wednesday nights, but some of my fondest memories spawned under the watchful eye of our Ron Burgundy carboard cutout. 

I’m so lucky to have been surrounded by a group so great that pushed me to be better every day, which in turn has helped me create separation from the hypothetical of what I’d be doing if not for this.  

Hannah Donahue, the queen of Paul by day but the queen of buffalo chicken dip by night.  

Josh Morrill, who helped keep this train on the tracks in the most unpredictable two-year stretch I’m sure this paper has ever seen. 

Brackett Lyons, whose Wikipedia page will inevitably be led with his creation of the “Swim and Thrive” headline and ability to never use the same adjective twice in a story. 

Josh Shaw, one of the weirdest minds I’ve had the pleasure of meeting and perhaps the most talented writer I’ve come to know.  

Anna Kate Munsey, undoubtedly the hardest working individual in my life who makes me unbelievably proud every day. 

Spencer, Andrew, Evan and Joey – I thank you all for the effort and passion you put forth this year to help grow TNH Sports, WUNH and UNH Athletics as a whole. You all make me feel a little less crazy for understanding how much I love this stuff. I want you to be proud of the work we did this year, and PLEASE remember to use “first-year” while I’m gone. 

I’ve chosen to be dedicated to what I do, but you don’t get to choose what you love and to love the people you do it with. Lou Gehrig may have had a (slightly) better argument than me, but my experience with TNH has made me feel like the luckiest man on the face of the earth.