Cover-up by John Feinstein Read Free Book Online

was a closed-circuit picture of the playing field. He could see hundreds—maybe thousands—of media people milling around awaiting the Ravens’ arrival. McManus offered him a chair and sat behind the desk.
    â€œI think your dad and I have reached an agreement,” he said. “He’s understandably leery of you jumping right back into TV. So I suggested that you do some work for us on Wednesday and Thursday and, if it goes okay, maybe do a piece for the pregame show. If it’s too much, I’ll back off. I told your dad I’d pay you the same if you’re on one piece or on three—so there’s no pressure and you can still primarily focus on working for the
Herald.
”
    Stevie thought that was fair, especially since it meant he had today to get acclimated before he had to do anything for CBS.
    â€œWhat do you want me to do exactly?” he asked.
    â€œI’m not a hundred percent sure,” McManus said. “I’d like to have a crew with you during the time players and coaches are available. See what you find. If nothing else, we could have Dick interview you about what it’s like to be a fourteen-year-old reporter at the Super Bowl.”
    He knew Dick was Dick Enberg, the longtime play-by-play man who would be hosting the late-night show for CBS this week.
    â€œWell,” Stevie said, “if my dad’s okay with it, I’m willing to give it a try. I’d rather find the stories than be the story, but I hope you aren’t expecting too much. There’s a lot of media out there.”
    â€œI have no expectations,” McManus said. “But I know your work pretty well. I have very high hopes.” He reached into his desk, pulled out a credential, and slid it across to him. Stevie picked it up and did a double take. It had his name and picture on it, but instead of having the word MEDIA across the top in black letters, it had CBS in the network’s trademark blue and gold.
    â€œI wanted to be prepared if things worked out,” he said. “The NFL PR office had your photo already, so it was pretty easy to get it done quickly.”
    He pointed at the credential around Stevie’s neck. “That will get you a lot of places,” he said. “Ours will get you almost anyplace—including being able to come and go back here without checking in at reception or anything like that.”
    Stevie was putting the new credential around his neck when McManus stood up and put his hand out. “I’m looking forward to this, Steve,” he said. “I have two goals: one, for people to say I’m a genius for signing you up for the week, and two—more important—for you to tell me when the week’s over that you’re glad you did it.”
    Stevie stood and shook his hand. “I’ll try to make you happy you did it too, Mr. McManus,” he said.
    â€œEveryone who works for me calls me Sean,” McManus said. “Go on and get out there. You are about to witness the greatest media circus of your young life.”

    As soon as he walked through the revolving doors that led to the field area, Stevie knew McManus wasn’t exaggerating. He had been in the Superdome in New Orleans, but the new Hoosier Dome—negotiations to stick a corporate name on the building were apparently still ongoing—made the Superdome look like a high school gym.
    Stevie had read that it seated 82,000 people, but there were so many corporate boxes about a third of the way up in the stands that the upper deck appeared to be above several clouds. There was a wide expanse of turf between the first row of seats and the field. They were cleverly raised high enough so that spectators could see over the heads of the players on the sidelines. But even in the front row, fans were pretty far from the action. And in the upper deck? Stevie wasn’t sure if they could even see one of the JumboTron screens. The place