Mel didn’t even like sports. She didn’t like the uproar or the fanfare or the crowds. It was all a nuisance to her, and she hated that her work had her on the field directing cameramen or in the booth directing interns and all of it done with the pomp and circumstance of a much lauded ceremony.

Everyone acted like it was god’s will and desire to have these sweaty men thrumping around and pushing a ball around but Mel knew better. She was on the ground where it happened and it was loud. Loud and noisy and oh so violent.

Of course you could hear the roar of the crowd, but on the field you could hear the gasps, the hoarse plays called out and the crunch of bone forcefully separating that the cameras could never pick up on. On the ground, no matter what the sport, be it basketball, football, soccer or whatever, there were two planes: one of the audience and one of the crowd and they seldom ever meshed together.

The crowd maintained their spectator status, waving their banners and chanting for their favorite team or member with cult like zeal. They would most likely never set foot on a field or be close enough to see their heroes bleed.

The players were pieces in the game, performing for the cheers and a paycheck and maybe out of pride, banging on their chests and lumbering about like the animals they were expected to be. The new gladiators in a modern-day coliseum. Well compensated but forced into perilous situations for the approval of god figures that were never satisfied.

Mel hated it. Every second of it, but boy was she good at her job. Her managerial director knew her distaste of the job, but kept her at it because she had the eye and attention to detail to capture the best sequence of shots. She had the uncanny ability to position her cameramen right where the action was going to happen before it happened and she kept them at it even when a more forgiving technical director would have them lower their cameras and take a break.

In Mel’s eyes, every moment was an energy charged chance to capture something real and raw. And she was always ready to capture it.

Be it a shattered kneecap or a full body block or a swipe at the referee. Her cameramen were good, but they were better because of her.

She hated that. But she liked the pay. And it was then that she thought she wasn’t much different from the players playing with a ball, grinding for a paycheck and standing on that field. They really were just pawns to entertain the masses.

She yelled into her mic and walked down the length of the field, watching the players maul each other and then separate to pat someone on the back or lean their heads together. Not much difference between us, she thought bitterly. But at least they enjoyed their job. At least they got recognition and money and fame.

She got one line at the end of credits maybe. A dim acknowledgement of a job anyone could have done but that she just did slightly better. A job where she was just qualified for but didn’t make amazing, a position she was handed and expected to make something of herself but not really wanting to make something of herself.

The opposing teams drew back and clashed yet again and the ball was lost in the skirmish and Mel howled for her skycam to find that ball in a wide shot and zoom in until the ground cameras could find a good angle.

Maybe this was all she was good for. And maybe that was just playing to the cameras and capturing someone else’s glory. Maybe that was her story.