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Nobody does it better than Bruce

A handful of members of the Butte Sports Hall of Fame 2024 induction class took to the podium to talk about their recent election into the Mining City shrine.
Family members of some of those who will be inducted posthumously also spoke during the press conference at the Butte Civic Center.
Steve Schulte gave the longest speech, while Betty Merrifield gave the shortest. Betty just said she was honored, and she said thank you.
Matt Buckley was the funniest speaker, and Bruce Sayler was the quietest. We knew going in that both of those would be true.
In his quiet comments, Bruce said that he was going into the Hall of Fame simply for watching sports. He said he was just a lucky guy who never had to work for a living.
We know both of those are not really true. But I believe wholeheartedly that Bruce truly feels that way. You just cannot fake the kind of humility Bruce demonstrates every single day.
For more than half a century, Bruce was the first draft of history when it came to local sports and local sports heroes. Since 1978, he has written about athletes from Butte.
Bruce was never just “watching sports,” like he says. He wasn’t just documenting it, either.
Through the years, Bruce has always had a special way to eloquently capture the action at the games and describe it in a fashion that burned it into our minds.
He somehow made the biggest games feel even bigger. He turned superstars like Meg Haran, Don Douglas, Brian Morris, Josh Paffhausen and so many more into legends.
Here is how Bruce opened his story about Morris leading Butte Central to a win in Deer Lodge in the Sept. 19, 1981 edition of the Standard:
“Churn, churn. Smack. Grind, Grind. Smack. Crash. Thump.
“That’s Morris Code.
“And, it signaled a 16-14 Western A high school football victory for the Butte Central Maroons over the Deer Lodge Wardens Friday night at Ted Rule Field.”
The poetic brilliance of that opening is only topped by the image of Bruce writing it, clanking away on an old typewriter in the smoky newsroom of the Standard, with a cigarette dangling from his lips.
Years later, coaches told young players about how Morris, who went on to play at Stanford University, always kept his “legs churning.” Bruce’s description of Morris cement that legacy of the great runner.
Like the running, the writing was pure art.
Bruce did not create Morris, but he certainly elevated his lore in a town full of sports heroes.
Here’s one more sentence about Morris in that same story:
“Brian Morris, a 6-5, 201-pound senior tailback, carried the Maroons to Friday night’s win and also packed quite a few Deer Lodge defenders while gaining 189 yards in 30 carries.”
I dream of writing a sentence like that. Bruce has been doing it over and over his entire professional life, which is in its 51st school year covering high school and college sports.
Bruce, who will turn 72 before the Butte Sports Hall of Fame Class of 2024 is inducted in July, could have retired years ago. He still writes for ButteSports.com because he loves what he does.
Maybe that is why he says he never worked a day in his life.
I grew up reading Bruce — along with Hudson Willse and Jim Edgar — in the newspaper. I call that the “golden age of sports writing” in the Mining City, and it was. For years, we had three of the best sportswriters around covering our teams.
Bruce could have easily moved up and taken his game to a major newspaper. The only reason he didn’t was that he met a girl and fell in love. He also fell in love with his adopted hometown.
Sports fans in Southwest Montana are lucky on both accounts.
As far as not working goes, well, that is certainly not the case with Bruce.
I was with him at the Standard for 14 years, and I knew exactly what Bruce did to make sure that we got every game in the paper every night. That included all of the boys and all of the girls.
Bruce was a true pioneer when it came to making sure girls got equal coverage.
Getting the scores and boxscores in the paper each night was no easy task. We had to take calls over the phone, and we had to read horrible copies off the fax machine, too.
Bruce made sure we were persistent and correct. He demanded excellence in his sports section, and he got it. It seemed like organized chaos on many nights, but Bruce was there to make sure it all came together in the end.
For a large portion of his career, Bruce’s days off were Tuesday and Wednesday. Those are far from ideal days off for a family man.
But he knew that when you are a sportswriter, you miss weddings, birthday, anniversaries and so many other great occasions with family and friends. Bruce never complained about what he was missing out on, though.
Unless it was the shortsighted corporation that owned the paper making cutbacks that directly affected the sports page, Bruce rarely complained about anything.
Rather, he sees the best in every situation and every person.
For whatever reason, Bruce always saw the best in me, too. I cannot count the number of times he was in the publisher’s office defending Matt Vincent and me when people were offended by what we wrote in our “Rat Chat” column.
Bruce inspired me to become a sportswriter when I was in high school. Then he worked harder than anyone to make sure I kept that job.
No other sports editor in the world would have signed off on “Rat Chat.” But Bruce let us be ourselves, and I think the readers had fun because of that.
Vinny and I jokingly referred to Bruce as the “Big Boss.” It is something that we stole from the old television show “News Radio.”
Of course, we were being a bit ironic. While Bruce was clearly in charge, he never felt like a boss. He was always so much more of a mentor and a friend.
To work with Bruce was to love Bruce. Everybody who ever worked with him will tell you that.
In December of 2002, Bruce suffered a heart attack — which was likely brought on by the stress from his job. He went into work late on a Monday night, which was supposed to be his night off, to do some scheduling work.
On his way home, the heart attack hit, and Bruce crashed his truck into a pole on the corner of Park and Wyoming streets, smashing his legs and breaking many other bones, including multiple ribs.
Bruce could have easily gone on disability and never worked gain. But he was loyal to the company, coworkers and readers. Plus, he loved that job.
So, Bruce battled his way back to his seat in the newsroom — this time without the cigarette.
A dozen years after he left the paper, Bruce is showing no signs that he is ready to stop. If he isn’t writing about a local game, you can usually find him there watching.
In July, Bruce will be inducted into the Butte Sports Hall of Fame. He will officially join the sports immortals he helped immortalize.
Bruce will tell you that he doesn’t know why he was picked for his plaque to join the prestigious wall at the Butte Civic Center.
But we all know why.
We know that nobody does it better than that quiet man we call the Big Boss.
— Bill Foley, who owes his entire career to the quiet Bruce Sayler, can be reached at foles74@gmail.com. Follow him at twitter.com/Foles74. Listen to him on the ButteCast on Apple Podcasts, Spotify or wherever you find your favorite podcasts.
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Podcast No. 168: Pat Foley

On St. Patrick’s Day in 1984, Butte High’s boys’ basketball team beat Great Falls High 53-50 to capture the Class AA State championship.
It was Butte High’s first title since 1958.
The head coach of the Bulldogs that night, and for the next decade, was Pat Foley.
The win in the championship game came three months after Foley’s Bulldogs edged Butte Central in an overtime thriller at the Butte Civic Center. The Maroons won the Class A crown a week earlier in Butte.
Five years later, Foley’s Bulldogs entered the championship game with a 21-0 record. This time, Butte High fell to Kalispell in the title tilt in Billings. The score was the same as in 1984, 53-50.
Coach Foley will get to be a part of two reunions this year. The 1984 team will be in town to celebrate the 40thanniversary of their victory. They will appear in the St. Paddy’s Day Parade.
Then, the 1988-89 Bulldogs will be inducted into the Butte Sports Hall of Fame this July 19-20.
Coach Foley led the Bulldog boys for 12 years, compiling a 161-109 record. Only the great Swede Dahlberg has won more games at Butte High School. Before that, Coach Foley led the Butte High girls’ team. His Bulldogs placed third at State in 1981.
Listen in as Coach Foley talks about coaching the Bulldogs and Maroons. Listen in as he talks about his playing days at Butte Central and how Tom O’Neill saved his life.
Listen to how he got into coaching and how happy he is to see longtime assistant coach and friend Dan Lean join the Hall of Fame with his 1989 Bulldogs this summer.
Listen to how he tries to kill the chances of me ever landing a sponsorship from McDonalds. Listen to hear how a guy who says he doesn’t like to talk can talk with the best of them.
Today’s podcast is presented by Leskovar Honda, home of the 20-year, 200,000-mile warrantee.
Watch the 1984 Class AA State championship game below. It starts with the final minutes of the third-place game.
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Podcast No. 167: Betty Merrifield

When it comes to being humble, nobody takes a back seat to Betty Merrifield.
When the selection committee called to tell her she was elected into the Butte Sports Hall of Fame last week, Betty didn’t know why.
Betty was elected to the Hall of Fame as a contributor, and no word can better describe Betty. She contributes so the athletes can compete. Whether it has been at speedskating meets, cross country races, road races or track meets, Betty is there to lend a hand.
She says she is just one of many volunteers, but we know better. She is the one who is always there. She has been for decades. It’s just what she does.
In July, Betty will become the third Merrifield inducted into the Butte shrine. She will join her daughter, Liza Dennehy, and her late husband, Charlie. She will also join her brother, the late Jack Whelan, as a Hall of Famer.
All this comes even though girls had no organized sports when Betty was growing up near Clark Park in Butte.
That, though, did not stop Betty’s love for sports. She is at almost every Butte sporting event, including watching her four children and seven grandchildren compete.
Betty also likely announced your name or the name of your children and grandchildren, nieces or nephews while they competed in track meets. Like her husband, Betty is a Butte institution. It is hard to imagine this place without her.
Today’s podcast is presented by Thriftway Super Stops. Sign up for the TLC app and start saving today. Everybody deserves some TLC.
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Refereeing hurt just part of the game

The second I heard Paul McCarthy’s Achilles tendon snap in two, I decided it was time to retire from playing softball.
I was coaching third base, and Paul was playing the hot corner. One of my teammates smashed a ball that went between Paul’s legs. From the sound of it, I thought the ball hit him in the shin, but it continued on a straight light to left field.
Paul crumbled to the ground, clearly agonizing in pain.
“Did the ball hit your leg?” I asked.
“No. I snapped my Achilles,” Paul said.
Since Paul was not and never has been a doctor, I wondered how he could diagnose his own injury so quickly. The reason, it turns out, is because Paul snapped the Achilles tendon on his other leg a couple years earlier.
So, not only did Paul know the severity of his injury, he knew the long road to recovery he was facing — right at the beginning of summer, too.
I was in my mid-30s, and Paul was a few years older. We were playing a game where you stand around and do nothing forever. Then, you go all out for a short burst. It is a muscle- and tendon-killing sport.
It is really a silly thing for someone older than 30 to do.
That is what I realized as Paul’s teammates helped him to the dugout. I decided right then that my days of playing softball were over. I finished out the season, and never played again.
I gave up playing pickup basketball games for the same reason. I don’t want to tear an ACL or snap a tendon trying to relive the glory days that weren’t so glorious in the first place.
It just isn’t worth it. There is no reward in it.
Refereeing basketball, however, is different. It is worth the injury risk. Or, more likely, it is worth the injury certainty.
At 48 ½, I was much too old to start running up and down the court with high school athletes. Yet, that is what I started doing last season.
After years of encouraging others to referee or take it easy on referees, Jon Kinzle called to encourage me to join the Butte pool. He knew that I was no longer covering the sports as a writer, so I had no reason to not do what I had long been telling others to do.
Living with labrum tears in both hips — as a lot of people my age deal with — was not an excuse as long as I could make it up and down the court.
Players play in pain quite a bit. Referees do it all the time.
That was one of the biggest eye openers when I joined the Montana Officials Association. Seeing what the men and women go through in the locker room to get ready for the games is a true testament to the dedication the officials give to their craft.
Some of those referee suitcases look like a medical closet. They bathe their legs with Bengay to try to ease their aching muscles. Others have to hit all those muscles with a massage gun for 20 minutes or more before they get dressed.
Getting dressed is another story. Putting on all the braces, compression pants and sleeves is very time consuming.
Physical therapy is also no stranger to a lot of referees. I know one official who went through weekly dry needling sessions just so he could get through one more season.
Grey and white hair is nothing out of the ordinary, either. I will be 50 in a couple of months, and I look around our weekly study club meetings to see that there are more officials older than me than there are younger.
I know that very few of them are feeling close to 100 percent. Most are dealing with at least one injury or soreness as we work our way into the crunch time portion of the schedule.
A few weeks ago, I suffered the dreaded calf strain that so many of my fellow officials have battled. Refereeing a freshman boys’ game in Butte High’s old gym, I took a step back as I watched the action from the “trail position” outside the 3-point line.
I had to look back to make sure there really wasn’t a guy behind me with a knife because it felt like I was stabbed. It wasn’t a snapped Achilles like Paul suffered, but it hurt.
While I was visibly limping the rest of the game, I was able to finish. Then I went to the study club and got some great advice from a handful of officials who knew exactly what I was talking about.
I iced and stretched for eight days before my next game, and I felt pretty good. So, I took two games each day on Tuesday and Thursday the next week.
That was a mistake.
By the end of the first half of the first game, I could hardly walk because the injury flared up. Butte High football coach Arie Grey lent me one of his calf sleeves, and that helped a ton when walking or laying around off of the court.
It didn’t help during those games, but I made it through. I had no idea how I was supposed to do it again two days later. But I had no choice.
Our pool leaders were practically begging people to try to fill some games. So, there was no way I could back out.
So, a tube of Bengay, my son’s massage gun and a ton of stretching got me through. The injury is feeling a lot better, and it probably won’t make me miss any games. But it takes a whole lot of extra time to get ready for each game.
For about an hour before I even leave my house, I am loading up on ibuprofen, Bengay, massaging and stretching.
When it comes to aches and pains, though, I take a back seat to so many other officials around the state. Some men and women have been doing this for decades. They know how to play hurt.
We have so few officials that they have no choice but to play through injuries. Otherwise, our young athletes would not be able to play games at all.
That is why we officiate. We don’t do it so we can pick which team will win. We do it so the boys and girls get the chance to play the games like we did.
When you tell an official that he or she is a cheater, or awful, or pathetic because you don’t like a call, you are only reducing those dwindling numbers. You might think you are helping your son or daughter, but you are doing the exact opposite.
Not only are you looking like a fool while setting a poor example for the future generations, you are pushing officials out the door. You are pushing us one step closer to the days of canceled games or even canceled seasons.
There is no doubt that officials get some calls wrong. But they have studied the rules, and they make a lot more correct calls than you probably care to notice.
Plus, those officials out there are playing through pain and the threat of a snapped Achilles tendon just so your son or daughter can play the game.
Hopefully, you will think about that the next time you yell at them.
— Bill Foley, who will never get the smell of Bengay out of his nose, can be reached at foles74@gmail.com. Follow him at twitter.com/Foles74. Listen to him on the ButteCast on Apple Podcasts, Spotify or wherever you find your favorite podcasts.

















