About Me

As a New Yorker, the passionate sports fandom was essentially passed down to me by blood. It was either root for my dad’s teams or sleep somewhere else. So when the New York Rangers made it to the Stanley Cup Final in 2014, 10-year-old Dylan was quite excited. I had been closely following the whole playoff run, from the 3-1 series comeback against the Penguins to watching Madison Square Garden explode after Martin St. Louis’ Game 4 overtime winning goal.

As the games got closer to the finals, they were all covered by the same broadcasting crew on NBC, which is how I discovered legendary broadcaster Doc Emrick. Doc was the voice of hockey. Some of the most legendary moments in recent hockey history were narrated by his infamous storytelling. I was fascinated on how he brought the game to life, and just like that, 10-year-old Dylan knew what he wanted to be when he grew up.

Luckily for me, I grew up just 20 minutes away from Hofstra University, a school well renowned in sports broadcasting. They offered summer programs for teenagers interested in learning the craft, so I begged my parents to sign me up, and soon enough I found myself in studio with other teens sharing my dream. I took nearly every class they offered, from on-scene reporting to play-by-play to radio hosting; you name it, I’ve at least dabbled in it.

The dream followed me to high school, where I unfortunately had less opportunities to get behind a microphone. There were, however, openings at Horizon, Lynbrook High School’s student newspaper. I signed myself up for the sports desk and my journey behind the pen began.

Flash forward three years and senior-year Dylan was now beginning his college applications. I was basing my school applications off two pieces of criteria: one, was it a big school. Growing up watching ESPN’s College Gameday every Saturday had me hooked on the idea of school spirit. Seeing the crew showcase how passionate the university students were made me set my sights big. The second was weather related. I hated the cold, so I looked south. Easy solution.

During this process, my father decided to break a piece of news to me. He told me his story of his senior year of high school; Big Dave commuting to the Upper West Side from Valley Stream every day in 1989. He told me that he too had aspirations of being a sportswriter. He wanted to work at Sports Illustrated, and before that, he wanted to study at the University of North Carolina.

So, I do my research on the school. I look at Niche ratings and the whole nine yards. Then I learned about the out-of-state acceptance rate.

Nine percent.

I threw any hope of going there out the window. I had good grades, but I knew I would get eaten up in the admission process. My dad insisted on me applying, so he made a compromise: we would visit the school one weekend, and from there I can make my decision. I figured why not, he had me sold at the free college football tickets.

Columbus Day Weekend 2021 we make our journey down to Chapel Hill. COVID hysteria was still very much in affect. The sky was packed with rain-filled clouds. The Tar Heels got their asses whooped by Florida State on their own turf. The school was in the midst of a mental health crisis. I left my retainer at home.

This place sucks.

Sunday morning, we had time to kill before our flight home. We did not sign up for an official tour of the campus, but we had reached out to Hussman regarding checking out the facilities. A man by the name of Dr. Tuggle got back to our emails, offering to meet us at Carrol Hall at two o’clock. We comply, I shake his hand on the steps of the building, and he guides me and my dad inside.

Seeing the awards and such scattered throughout the building was certainly enticing. We continue lapping around the floors until we stood under a banner and Dr. T told us to look up. Above us was the banner for Hearst National Championships. On the banner was damn near every year this century.

At that point my mind was changed. I knew this was where I needed to be.

I sent in my application to the university in the airport before our flight home. Three months later I receive an update to my application portal telling me I had been accepted into the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill. It was a no brainer; I told my parents I was committed.