By Ed Piper
I was reminded yesterday (April 29) at the Vikings' baseball game at Mira Mesa of times I've been kicked out of sports events due to my camera.
Many years ago, back in the years my granddaughter Alexis attended La Jolla High (2004-2008), George, the father of one of her fellow cheerleaders, hired me to take photos of his son Anthony, a running back/linebacker in youth football.
On a bright Saturday, carrying all my gear--a Nikon D3 body, a 200mm zoom, and so forth--I was positioned in the end zone at the game that week. A pretty full crowd was on hand.
Booming out of the loudspeakers, the P.A. announcer's voice (who happened to be the team's president) stated, "Will the photographer in the end zone please remove himself from the field?"
In my memory, the entire stadium of fans turned to look in the end zone--at me! I did as the announcer demanded, and slunk to the side of the field. Then, really wanting to get the heck out of there, I went down to the other end of the football field and out the gate. There, sheepishly, I recovered enough to take up a spot just outside the fence around the facility. I positioned myself with my zoom lens and continued taking photos of George's son the rest of the game, on offense and defense.
They were cruddy shots, from such a distance, and with mega shadows. But George was good to me, and paid me for shooting photos of his son that game.
What I learned, having had my laundry hung out to dry in public, as it were, was youth football is not a democracy. It is a private fiefdom. And at the head of the fiefdom is the team's president, who holds total sway over whatever happens on the field, in the organization, and certainly on game day.
Having been totally taken aback by this public-announcing dressing-down of my photographic presence on the field, I worked for ways to ensure that it didn't happen again--thus ensuring that I would take quality photos worthy of earning my employer's pay for the assignment.
On a subsequent occasion, I called the club president of that youth team on a weekday. I had never met him in person. He didn't know my voice, of course, having never talked to me. I politely asked him for permission to take photos of the next game (which George's son was going to be playing in against his club). He was ever so gracious in granting me permission, going on to say, "And if anyone asks you, tell them that I gave you permission."
I love good ol' youth football.
