Swing and a Miss

By all logic, this story should be A LOT better. But despite repetitive scenarios, friendly civilians and a dynamic palette, my mojo was nowhere on scene. So I slogged my way through what could have been a masterpiece, cracking my hairy knuckles as I tried to muster some semblance of Lenslinger's Zen. It was not to be. Thus, I dug deeper, clawing past my diminished abilities until I lay hands on that I know by rote. 'This ain't rocket surgery', I mumbled under my breath, as I strained (in vain) to keep the pigskin center-screen. I failed. The shoulder-loaded footage I left with was not that of a skilled photojournamalist, but that of a high school kid hopped up on half-flat cola and orange Tic-Tacs. Worse yet, my editing acumen ebbed early, my writing skills tripped the kill-switch and I visibly winced as I sent the ninety seconds of filleted electrons hurtling toward the super-secret, hyper-redundant news server down the hall. Perhaps the only thing that saved me from being banished to the world of midnight wrecker chess were a few decent soundbites, semi-correct white-balancing and the charity of a region still high on pumpkin pie. Still, it did beat running the Photog Holiday Decathlon. Again.