I miss Tim Russert.
In college, my roommate and I would get up on Sunday mornings to watch Meet the Press in the common room. (I know you’re shocked that we were the only ones there.) I was incredibly jealous when, as a reporter in North Carolina on a hot story, Chrissy was interviewed by Maureen Orth, Tim Russert’s wife — who then gave Chrissy their home phone number. Seriously — she had Tim Russert’s phone number!
And when I met B, I was thrilled to have found someone else whose idea of a perfect Sunday morning consisted of getting Dunkin Donuts, reading the paper, and watching Tim Russert (sometimes with a side of Big Russ). Even after we got Tivo, we still watched Meet the Press in real time. Calling the Storybook Life house between 10:30-11:30 on Sunday morning resulted in a direct line to the voice mail…though then we usually ended up on the phone talking with my dad or Wrighto about what happened on the show.
When I found out that Tim Russert had died, I burst into tears at my desk, and then cried for most of that night, watching a night of retrospectives. We watched Meet the Press, devoted to Tim Russert’s life, that Sunday.
We kept watching when Tom Brokaw took over Russert’s chair for the rest of the 2008 campaign season, but the magic was gone. And I don’t have anything against David Gregory, but…yeah, he just doesn’t do it for me. For some reason, without Tim Russert, we just don’t need the political junkie fix as much anymore.
We still Tivo Meet the Press every Sunday, and every once in a while, we even watch it. Some Sundays we don’t bother to get coffee, and the paper only takes about 20 minutes to read cover to cover now. Instead we watch sports, and catch up on reading that accumulated during the week, and I make soup for Monday’s dinner. It’s OK, but it’s not the same.
When Tim Russert died, he took part of my perfect Sunday with him.