There’s a natural tendency after you’re in any business for a while to just think, I can skate a little bit, I don’t need to do all this work. But in the end, it’s the humility to prepare and the confidence to pull it off that’s the formula for success.

I sat in the booth with Harry Caray one time, and he says, “Look at that guy’s swing. Isn’t that something?” I’m thinking, Here’s a guy who’s seen 10 million ball games, and it’s like he’s seeing his first one.

Colonel Parker said about Elvis in the beginning: “I don’t have to sell Elvis to the public. I just have to sell Elvis to the people who sell to the public.” I started hanging out at Riccardo’s, and it was a thrill to get to know Mike Royko and Rick Kogan and Paul Galloway and Roger Ebert and Gene Siskel and Bernie Sahlins and Rick Telander and Steve Neal. Those inside people started to listen to me and would talk about me, and it spread. I got what Colonel Parker was saying.

One of the reasons nobody ever had problems with me, a disc jockey, going into the TV news business is because Bill Kurtis and Walter Jacobson anointed me and gave me their blessing. It worked out, but it wasn’t because I was smart. You’d always hear, “TV adds 20 pounds to your weight.” I’d say, “Yes, and it adds 100 points to your IQ.”

My wife [Marianne Murciano, his former Fox 32 coanchor] hated me at first. She is the friendliest, most sociable person in the world, and she would try to talk to me in the makeup room. “Hey, how are you?” “Save it.” “What’d you do this weekend?” “Save it.” She thought I was an asshole. But I was thinking about the broadcast. TV was too formal and clichéd, and I wanted us to be able to chat like real people.

If you can only communicate well talking into a piece of iron, there’s something wrong with you. I’m a great example of that. I’m not great at a party. I’m uncomfortable. I don’t know how to end conversations. I forget who people are. Marianne will say, “You know how to end an interview, you know how to listen. What’s the matter with you when you’re not in the studio?” I’m going to remember that question for my next therapy session.

Health and fitness were drilled into me at an early age. I don’t feel like my mind is right if I don’t do something: fast-walk, run, lift weights, play tennis. I’m still playing 12- and 16-inch softball up in the north suburbs. Except for three high school buddies, I would have no friends if I didn’t play softball.

You want to talk about cocktails and fine wines? I don’t know anything. If you want to know about root beer floats or chocolate phosphates, I’m your man.

I knew Harry Chapin pretty well, and Harry used to say to me, “If only you could keep the same feeling you had when you saw your first album in the record store.” After a while, it’s your job. It’s just not the same. Sometimes I’ll go outside the studio and look in and try to remember the dreams I had. It’s harder and harder to hang on to that feeling.