Usually, when I work with clients, I look kind of like this. Competent. Energetic but relaxed. Someone for whom nerves are not a problem.
In my coaching practice, I help professional speakers refine their skills at a very high level, teach people with serious glossophobia to handle their fear and work with all kinds of people that fall somewhere in between.
At least once a month, however, I do something completely terrifying: I announce roller derby.
Never having been a true sports fan, I was pretty skeptical when my dear friend, skater name “Hellcat Lucy,” suggested I audition for an announcer vacancy in our local league. Oh sure, I loved attending the bouts: the pageantry, the costumes-er-uniforms, the crazy names! I even sort of understood how the game was played. Sort of.
I mean, I’ve been involved with theatre and public speaking for a very, very long time. But to stand in front of THAT huge, noisy crowd and do play by play commentary? My chest clenched at the very thought.
And then Hellcat Lucy talked me into going for it.
Even introducing myself to the head announcer, Reverend Al Mighty, scared me. I needed to approach him in person at halftime at the championship bout. He’d be busy and I’d need to be quick, no more than 10 seconds. There was only one thing to do: take my own advice. I thought through what to say and practiced–yes, practiced, “Hi, I’m Amy, Hellcat suggested I talk to you about trying out for the announcer opening. Here’s my contact info.”
I chose an intention. No, not “pick me,” that came later. The new announcer would need to banter with Rev in front of 1,500 people, so for this first introduction I decided to make him feel comfortable with me.
The moment arrived. Personal appearance? Together. Visual aids? Card with email and phone number in my hand, ready to hand off. I took a breath and walked on over. Long story short, it all worked out.
See how my shoulders are tensed up around my ears? That was my 3rd bout. Like I said: terrifying.
Photo: George Ross
To this day, I get incredibly nervous about announcing bouts. Without decades of sports commentary listening to draw on, there’s the worry of not getting it right. Rev Al, one of the top announcers in the sport, has called hundreds of bouts and I just hit thirty. Questions rattle through my brain as fast as Craisy Dukes slices through the pack and they threaten to paralyze me. Am I talking as fast as the action? Did I give the correct skater credit for the last hit? Which referee hand signal was that? Did I see it right? Four points on that lap or five?
Watching other people call bouts helps me prepare. There are great resources online, especially wftda.tv.
The costume also helps. Dressing appropriately and WELL for any speaking situation supports you and establishes an air of confidence before you even open your mouth. The power suit of bout day usually comprises vintage sequins and wigs. You might not recognize me in costume.
Bringing the focus back to the objective, however, truly saves me. When we call play by play, Rev and I connect the crowd to the skaters. I genuinely believe in what these awesome amateur athletes are doing in making their sport a public event. My deep respect for the league trumps my worries about making mistakes. I do my job to the best of my ability–just like all the skaters, refereees, and officials. Connecting the crowd to the bout requires educating them about the sport, whipping up the energy at exciting moments, and entertaining them during time outs. Staying totally in the moment and on the right tactic squeezes out fear. That’s when the process becomes fun. Each month, facing the fear AGAIN gives me a huge sense of accomplishment.
Pssst, if you’re curious, you can see more bout photos at Digital Photoconcept.
Iris Incites 