“The wound is the place where the light enters you.” – Rumi
One of my earliest broadcasting memories is calling the 1982 World Series. It was game one in St. Louis between the Cardinals and the Milwaukee Brewers. My play-by-play was both glorious and terrible. It was all captured on a small, black portable tape recorder my father had given me that year.
But I wasn’t in the press box in St. Louis. I was in my parent’s bedroom in Yonkers, New York, watching the game on television with the sound turned down. I was 12 years old. I was the only one who ever heard the broadcast.
About twenty years later I was calling the NBA Finals, only this time I was courtside at Staples Center in Los Angeles. Legendary Lakers coach Phil Jackson was seated about twenty feet to my right. Kobe Bryant and Shaquille O’Neal passed in front of me as they took the floor in search of their third straight NBA championship. Jason Kidd and the upstart New Jersey Nets were on the court in front of me as well, a wonderfully fun team and I was their voice.
My potential audience this time was everyone with a radio within range of the powerful, far reaching signal of AM 710, WOR in New York City. My performance was much better and I was getting paid this time. I was just shy of my 32nd birthday.
About halfway between the ’82 World Series and the ’02 NBA Finals, I received a life-changing health diagnosis. A doctor told me I had a progressive, muscle wasting disease for which there is no treatment and no cure. The name is facioscapularhumeral dystrophy, a type of muscular dystrophy known as FSHD for short.
At 23 years old, just out of college, filled with all the normal anxieties that any new college graduate feels, I now had to deal with the weight of a life-altering disease.
The fraternity of full time professional play-by-play announcers is relatively small. The jobs don’t open up very often. The odds of making a career out of it are incredibly long. Factor in making it while also dealing with a degenerative muscle disorder that will slowly impair some of your most basic human functions, and the odds are even longer.
But I was determined to continue on the path I set for myself. I had dreams of being a sports play-by-play announcer. I had dreams of falling in love, having a family, living an abundant life. This disease was going to rob me of many things, but I was not going to let it steal my dreams.
Now I’m 50 years old. I’ve built a solid career doing what I did for fun when I was 12. I know how fortunate I am.
Just as the signs of me being a sports broadcaster were there as a kid, the signals of my disease were also present, but undetected. They became more and more apparent as the years went on. For a while I could ignore them. For a period of time, I could keep them hidden. But ultimately I would have to face my disease head on. My career, my relationships, my life would face a crossroads.
In 2011, at the urging of my wife, Laura, I made the very public revelation of my disability with the launch of the Chris Carrino Foundation for FSHD. Through this charity, we have raised over a million dollars for FSHD research and have vowed to be a voice for those with the disease.
Through RELENTLESS VOICE, I’ll share my story and the story of others.
Stories about persevering through adversity and finding a way to overcome obstacles that block the path to your dreams.
Stories of what living with difficult challenges teaches you about what’s important in life. The journey to fulfillment requires mental toughness, humility, courage, and gratitude, just to start.
Great play-by-play has many layers – description, clarity, emotion, information, connection, teaching, motivation, and entertainment. Great play-by-play puts you in the game, while offering insight and meaning.
RELENTLESS VOICE is the play-by-play of my journey, and the journey of those I’ve encountered along the way.
– Chris Carrino
