Just two weeks into my freshman year, I landed the best-paying work study on campus.

I ran to my room and called my parents. I bragged that I’d make $6.50 an hour, work with people and provide an important community service.

On my first day of work at Brockway Dining Hall, I spent five hours alone in a back room cutting vegetables.

My hand blistered from the wooden knife handle. My neck cramped from staring down at a cutting board. My legs ached because I wasn’t allowed to sit down. I made barely $30.

Recognizing my discouragement, a fellow, more seasoned employee came up to me and said in complete earnest: “Don’t worry. In a few weeks, you’ll earn your stripes, and they’ll move you up to cutting meat.”

That’s when I decided to be a sports writer.

Two and a half years later, The Daily Orange has convinced me that I made a good choice. The day I was assigned my first sports story, I put my cutting knife down for good.

Sure, there have been times when I’ve been so sick of working 50 hours a week and sleeping 30 that I’ve longed for a bathtub-sized vat of vegetables, a mindless, meaningless, solitary chore.

But this place — and the people who work here — helped me find my passion: sports writing. And it made me good at it.

In a lot of ways, I grew up here; from a sports fan to a sports writer, from a nervous, driven freshman to a confident, accomplished (and yes, still driven) junior.

My first story was about a women’s tennis walk-on named Alexa Konstand. I’m sure you remember it. I met her for lunch (sorry Sports Info) and churned out a story I thought worthy of a Pulitzer. The editors here, though, didn’t think it was worthy of running in The Daily Orange without a little extra work. Devastated, I walked back to Brewster.

In the next week, I made a few more phone calls and did a little polishing. I came back with a story I hoped was worthy of publication. The editors deemed it was and, as I walked out of the sports office, I heard one of them say, “That was pretty good for a freshman.”

I sprinted home pumping my fists.

Next, I wrote about football fullback Chris Davis. I was so excited to talk to a Syracuse football player I could barely sleep the night before. After I spoke with him, I played the tape of the interview for a group of enthralled friends. OK, so I forced them to listen to it.

I loved seeing my name in the paper. I worshiped the editors. When, at the end of my freshman year, they told me I’d been hired as an assistant sports editor (meaning I’d essentially trade my life for the right to cover football and men’s basketball), I sprinted around the dorm for a half hour.

In my first semester as assistant sports editor, I made my share of mistakes. I was still too much sports fan, too little journalist. In an act of fanatical faith, I wrote that DeShaun Williams had cleaned up his act prior to his junior season. He responded by allegedly punching a girl in a bar fight, earning an academic suspension and transferring to Iona. Thanks.

Before the 2001 season, I said Troy Nunes should start over R.J. Anderson. Two games into the year, Anderson took over as starter. Syracuse only lost one game (to Miami) the rest of the year.

Oftentimes, my mistakes were kindly pointed out to me. Anderson, Director of Athletics Jake Crouthamel and head coaches Jim Boeheim and Paul Pasqualoni have all offered me criticism (or should I say advice). I listened to all of it, learning some things and disregarding others.

I traveled around the country to cover games and talked to hundreds of athletes. I found some players I didn’t like or even respect. I grew sick of cliches and positive thinking. The sports fan disappeared and the sports journalist took over.

Another semester and an application later, I took over as sports editor, the position I’m leaving now. Suddenly, I was the editor who sat in the chair and read stories and whispered words that could make a freshman run home and pump his fists. Suddenly, I knew what I was doing and what I wanted to do — all because I got tired of a vegetable tub and stopped caring about $6.50 an hour.

This place has taught me more about journalism than any school — including Newhouse — ever could. It’s taught me how to get a story, get an internship and get a job. It’s left me with a bevy of close friends and memories — all of which I plan to hold on to. I landed the best job on campus.

Still, working here takes its toll. A little more than a month ago, I stood outside The Daily Orange and watched the sun come up for the second night in a row. We’d just put out a football game guide and had a basketball guide to put out in the next few days.

Recognizing my frustration, a fellow editor came up to me and said in complete earnest: “No worries. We’ve only got about 100 all-nighters to go and then the year is over.”

That’s when I decided I would retire as sports editor.

Just like the last time I left a job, I’m sure I’m making the right decision. This time, though, I’m leaving with a lot more than $30 and a couple of blisters.

Eli Saslow was the sports editor at The Daily Orange, where his columns appeared regularly. E-mail him at eesaslow@syr.edu.

Published on December 5, 2002 at 12:00 pm