Chris Fowler reflects on the most powerful and emotional game he's ever called:
"It was a game between Purdue and Ohio State. There was a young cancer patient named Tyler Trent, a superfan who had essentially been adopted by the team.
He battled cancer courageously and was in very bad shape. His dying wish was to see them win that game. They were massive underdogs.
Somehow, they got him out of bed and into the car to make it to the game. He was just hanging on, man. It was one of those magical nights.
It would have been a corny movie if it had been on film. They blast Ohio State, and it's a party. They wheel Tyler through the end zone to the locker room to wait for the team after the victory.
It was just an incredibly powerful emotion, and I was barely keeping it together. I said, 'Every Boilermaker would say, "Tyler, this one's for you."'
It's my favorite game I've ever called because it went way beyond sports."
Christian Pulisic singing 'Take Me Home, Country Roads' with the USMNT fans after the win vs. Australia had me emotional, man. 🥹
There's nothing like the World Cup ❤️🇺🇸
USA. A breakfast counter. The waitress recommended the biscuits and gravy, and when the plate arrived, I thought something had gone wrong in the kitchen.
I say this with shame. The dish looked like a construction site after rain. Pale mounds. Gray ladle-fall. Speckles I could not identify.
In my land, the eye eats first. A meal is arranged like a garden. This meal was arranged like weather.
"Is it… finished?" I asked, carefully.
"Honey, that's what it looks like."
The man beside me was already eating his. He did not look up. "Just try it."
I am a man who has charged hillsides at dawn. I raised the fork. I tried it.
I must now formally apologize to the biscuits, the gravy, the waitress, the kitchen, and the entire breakfast tradition of the American South.
It was magnificent. Warm. Peppered. The biscuit drank the gravy the way a field drinks rain — THAT is why it is shaped like that, you fool — and every mound I had insulted was a soft fold of comfort that my homeland, in eight hundred years, never once thought to invent.
"Well?" the waitress asked.
"I judged it," I confessed. "By its appearance. I am ashamed."
"Everybody does, hon."
Everybody does. A national dish that forgives you for doubting it. It expects the doubt. It waits for you on the other side of it.
Do not judge the gravy by its face. Judge yourself, for hesitating.
I order it every Saturday now. I no longer see the construction site. I see only the garden.
It was a garden the whole time. The eye must be trained.