>My First Year in TV News, Part VI

>There are a lot of blowhards in television news, but there couldn’t have been a bigger one than Biff Sparkles.

Biff was hired on as the weatherman for the debut of the new morning show that I would be anchoring. The fact that he had no experience in weather forecasting nor, for that matter, any television experience at all, didn’t keep him from getting hired. Biff was the most popular radio DJ in town and my boss figured that was enough to guarantee our show’s success.

Accordingly, promotional pictures of Biff and I were taken and plastered on billboards and in magazines and newspapers across town. We made an unlikely pair- Biff was a rotund and frankly ugly man in his mid-40s. I was a 23-year-old kid with the matronly wardrobe and coiffure of Laura Bush. In our pictures, Biff and I clink ABC coffee mugs, or lean back-to-back and smile for the camera. The photos were truly horrible, but it was the first (and, most likely, last) time my face had ever been splashed across a billboard and I was thrilled to be getting so much attention at such a young age.

Everyone was excited when Biff was hired on, and hopeful that he would help bring up our station’s paltry ratings. But attitudes toward him quickly soured once he came on board.

Biff, you see, had an ego as big as his waistband. He came in with no knowledge of how television newscasts worked, and he left the same way. Biff figured all he needed to do was ham it up on the air, like he had in his radio booth, and to hell with anyone who disagreed with him. As you can imagine, that mindset didn’t work out so well for the people behind the scenes, who were trying to get us on and off the air at precisely the right time.

Biff made a halfhearted attempt to learn to operate the weather computers, enough to switch through the graphics that our meteorologist made up for him the night before. As often as not, though, he couldn’t get the computer to work. And to Biff, no graphics meant no weathercast.

“And now, let’s head over toe Biff Sparkles in the weather center,” I’d say. “Biff, how’s it looking for the kids about to head out to the bus stop?”

The camera would cut to a frowning Biff, the green wall blank behind him.

“I can’t get the computer to work again,” he’d announce. “There is no weather. Back to you.”

The camera would cut back to me and I’d quickly invent something to talk about long enough for the director to prepare for an impromptu commercial break. That didn’t go over so well in the control room.

Biff also refused to wear an IFB, the device reporters and anchors all wear in their ears to keep in contact with the producer and director in the control room. The IFB is absolutely vital to a newscast; segments are tightly timed out so that there’s room for both the show’s content and all of the commercials that need to air.

Biff tried on an IFB once or twice and proclaimed it uncomfortable. From then on, we were all at his mercy. Weathercasts went on as long as he felt like making them, or ended so quickly that no one was ready to move to the next segment. As a result, we were often forced to drop important stories at a moment’s notice, or scramble to find something to talk about to kill time at the end of the newscast. Once the show ended, the director and producer would come out and argue with Biff about why he had to wear an IFB.

And then the screaming would begin.

You know those secretly recorded news outtakes you see from time to time, of news anchors losing it on set and cursing out everyone in the vicinity? They had nothing on Biff. At first, the crew was shocked and silent in the face of his tirades. After a few weeks, though, everyone ignored him. Biff would rage and scream and stomp like a fat little Rumplestiltskin and everyone would simply leave the studio, one by one, until he was all alone.

I did two or three interviews per show and Biff wanted to be part of those, too. The problem was that he didn’t believe he needed to do anything to prepare for them.

“Who is this?” he’d mutter from his seat beside me as we prepared to go on the air.

“It’s State Senator Lehigh,” I’d whisper. “He’s talking about the new education bill they’re trying to push through.”

“The wha?” Biff would ask.

You can probably guess that those interviews didn’t exactly show Biff at his best. Within a few weeks, he was banned from participating in anything except cooking segments and our weekly adopt-a-pet feature.

Despite his attitude and incompetence, Biff was always pushing for more airtime. He was convinced our crappy little newscast was his first step on the fast track to stardom. Biff began arguing with the news director about how much time he was getting on air. He argued about being taken off interviews. He argued about whether he needed to learn more about forecasting the weather. The crew didn’t like him. The news director didn’t like him. I actually didn’t mind him, but only because he made me seem like an angel. Despite that, it was pretty clear that Biff Sparkles was doomed.

One morning, we had finished our newscast and were preparing to do our news cut-ins in between segments of Good Morning America. Something ridiculous had happened on our show that morning, involving him. I don’t even remember what it was, but it was bad enough that the news director, a soft-spoken, unassuming kind of guy, came in early to talk to him. He came in the studio, where Biff and I were preparing to go on air in about two minutes, and asked Biff to come to his office as soon as we were done.

“I won’t come to your office,” Biff said defiantly. “Whatever you want to say, do it right here, right now.”

The news director paused and looked at me. I shrugged.

“Look,” the news director said. “What happened this morning on the air can’t happen again and—“

That was all it took. Biff cut him off with one of his classic screaming, cursing tirades. The news director listened for about 30 seconds, then said, “Biff, get out.”

“One minute to air!” the director said frantically into the studio loudspeaker. She could hear every word of what was going on through Biff’s microphone.

“I won’t get out!” Biff retorted. “I’ve got a motherf$!#ing cut-in to do!” He continued cursing at the news director. I sat at the anchor desk, openmouthed.

“I mean it,” the news director said. “You are not going on the air. You need to leave the studio immediately.”

“F$#( you,” Biff said. “I’m doing my cut-in.”

“Thirty seconds!” the director called. The news director looked at me, uncertain of what to do. If it came down to a physical fight, Biff was definitely big enough to win. I turned on my microphone and cleared my throat. The news director turned and left the studio. Biff continued cursing.

“Ten! Nine! Eight!” the camera operator counted down, terror in his voice. The camera light came on and I began reading my copy, wondering what Biff was going to say and do when I cut to him and what the director would do and what I would do. It was undoubtedly Biff’s last hurrah on camera. Anything could happen.

“And now, let’s check in with Biff Sparkles for a look at today’s forecast,” I said brightly. The camera cut to Biff.

“Currently, it’s 45 degrees outside,” he said in his smooth radio host voice. He got through his 30 second forecast, the cut-in ended, and then he turned and walked out through the studio’s back door and into the parking lot.

I never saw Biff Sparkles again.

This post originally appeared on Parents.com.