The Time I Almost Lost My Pants on Live Television

John Hobby
Jul 2
3 min read

One of the odd things about owning a small business is that every now and then you find yourself saying yes to something that would have sounded completely ridiculous a few years earlier.

In September of 2023, a producer from Fox 7 Austin called and asked if I could bring the course to the station.

They had an anchor returning to the show (Dave Froehlich) who happened to be a big golf fan, and they thought a portable miniature golf course would make a fun treat for him.

At first I assumed they meant another corporate event.

Then she said, "No... in the studio."

"Live."

I said yes.

Then I had an entire month to reconsider that decision.

If you've read my writing, you've probably figured out that I have an active imagination. Sometimes that's useful. Sometimes it spends thirty days rehearsing every possible way a three-minute television appearance could go horribly wrong.

What if I forget how to speak?

What if I forget the putters or the balls?

What if I completely freeze?

What if I look like an idiot?

By the time the morning finally arrived, Central Texas decided to make things a little more interesting by throwing in a thunderstorm.

I only needed three greens for the segment, so instead of bringing the trailer I loaded everything into the back of my pickup and covered it with a tarp. By the time I'd carried everything through the loading dock and into the studio, I was completely soaked.

Fortunately, I'd planned for that.

I had a complete change of clothes. Dry socks, check. Dry shoes, check. Dry shirt, check.

I thought of everything.

Except...

A belt.

My belt was just as soaked as everything else, and there was no way I was putting it back on under a dry shirt. It would have looked like I'd wrapped a wet towel around my waist.

So I did the only reasonable thing. I went on live television without one.

It turns out that when you're already nervous about being on television, adding, "Please don't let my pants migrate south in front of everyone watching Good Day Austin," occupies a surprising amount of mental bandwidth.

Television, by the way, is much less glamorous than I'd imagined. The studio floor was mostly empty. A couple of anchors and a busy weatherman. A stage manager with a headset talking to some hidden director. Several robotic cameras quietly gliding from place to place like they knew exactly what they were doing.

The studio floor. Katie Jackson is in the background and is even prettier in person than on tv

And me.

Trying to look calm while subtly testing whether my golf pants had any intention of honoring our gentleman's agreement.

The green room is through the door on the right.

Most of my waiting happened in the green room. Sharing it with me was a mariachi band warming up for the segment after mine. Somehow that made perfect sense. I don't know why. It just did.

While they tuned guitars and laughed with each other, I was wondering whether anyone from work watched Fox 7 before heading into the office. I was a little worried they'd see me, but I was mostly worried they'd discover exactly why I was going to be a little late to the office that morning.

The funny thing about live television is that all the anticipation disappears the moment someone points at you and says you're on.

Suddenly there isn't any time left to be nervous. You're just... doing it.

Three minutes later it was over.

The golf course was a hit.

I remembered to bring putters and balls.

I remembered how to speak.

And, perhaps most importantly, my pants remained exactly where they belonged.

Looking back, I don't remember much about what I actually said.

I remember the rain.

The loading dock.

The mariachi band.

The robot cameras.