Time for ‘Sergio’ aka ‘Pedro’ to hit the road
Readers call me Sergio, coworkers call me Pedro, my mom calls me Oscar.
Regardless of the name, make sure to call me grateful for the three years and 19 days I have spent as the sports editor for the Quincy Valley Post-Register. A tenure that will have reached its end by the time you read this column.
I will miss Quincy a lot. Freelancing for this paper will help some, but it will also serve as a reminder of all the great times I had here.
Like when I got stuck in a Jaycee Stadium bathroom during a football game, or when I thought a praying lady at church with her arms up was just waiting for a high-five, or when I called a Wenatchee-Quincy soccer game for a Wenatchee TV station at Wenatchee’s Apple Bowl, Quincy scored first and I went bananas.
‘GOOAALLLLLLLL!!!” Then I remembered where I was.
Later that year, Quincy played Chelan, and Quincy scored first. Once again, I lost it, just long enough to forget that the Chelan coach’s husband was next to me.
I will never forget last Halloween, when it was my job to distribute candy to trick-or-treaters at the office, dressed as a gorilla.
That gorilla mask was so warm that sweat started pouring off me, and with no place to go, it started dripping from the mask’s nostrils. Grossed out and all, the kids still took the candy.
Then, last year I decided to cook hotdogs outside. The briquettes refused to light up, so I had to find some paper and the only paper I had handy were copies of my own articles in the trunk. Oh well.
And speaking of food, I was a judge at last year’s FCAD cooking contest. After 21 dishes, I was in a food coma when I drove to the office. I collapsed into my chair and thought, “nap time,” since it was a Saturday. I closed my eyes and leaned back. Zzzzzzz. That’s when the boss walked in.
But the story I will treasure the most happened in a cold Quincy day of spring sports, when the weather had turned so unfriendly that I could not resist following the team into the locker room at halftime.
The players just stared at me, wondering what on earth I was doing in the most sacred of sporting spaces, where journalists are only welcome at the end of contests, not halfway through.
I had no business being there, so I fessed up: “I’m sorry,” I said. “It’s just that I’m really cold.”
On the way back out, I apologized again, this time to the head coach, Arturo Guerrero. “Sorry, coach, I was just really cold.”
Guerrero patted me on the back and said, “Don’t worry Sebastián, you’re a part of the family.”
And as with every family, sometimes we have to say our good-byes, and now it’s my turn. Until we cross paths again, my deepest gratitude to all of you for helping me feed my own family doing something I love in a community I will always love.
Thank you, Quincy, for letting me be part of your family.
By Sebastian Moraga, firstname.lastname@example.org