Jimmy Roberts’ Epic Blunder Reminds Us Why We Love Live Broadcasting—Flaws and All

After 35 years covering professional golf, I’ve learned that the best stories in sports aren’t always found in the scorecards. Sometimes they’re found in the moments when things go spectacularly, hilariously wrong—and Jimmy Roberts’ recent admission on the Subpar podcast is a perfect example of why live broadcasting remains one of the most compelling art forms in sports.

For those unfamiliar, Roberts—a 16-time Emmy winner and one of the most respected voices in sports journalism—recounted his biggest on-air blunder from the early 2000s during Deutsche Bank Championship coverage. The story is equal parts cringe-worthy and endearing, and it says something important about the nature of live sports broadcasting that I think gets overlooked in our age of polished, pre-recorded content.

The Setup: Sketchy Information and Seat-of-Your-Pants Broadcasting

Roberts explained the context with admirable honesty. During tournament broadcasts, he was tasked with weaving in highlights from across the sports world—a common practice that required improvisation when details were sparse. As he put it:

“The information was kind of sketchy sometimes. And you really had to ad-lib, and you kind of just fly by the seat of your pants. But that’s OK, because that’s kind of what we do, right?”

This is where I have to pause and appreciate Roberts’ candor. In my experience covering the tour, most broadcasters—even the great ones—won’t acknowledge the controlled chaos that defines live sports coverage. Having worked alongside some of the best in the business, I can tell you that this “sketchy information” scenario is far more common than the polished final product would suggest. The difference between a good broadcaster and a great one often comes down to how gracefully they navigate that uncertainty.

The Moment: When Magnitude Overwhelms Professionalism

Roberts was introducing a baseball highlight—a home run from Cleveland, underlined in his rundown but with minimal details beyond that. As he watched the footage roll, he encountered what he describes as “the most massive home run I have ever seen.” And that’s when professionalism met reality.

“So I’m watching the screen, I say, ‘And the pitch, it —’ and I go, the following: ‘Holy sh—’ And I only get as far as ‘sh.’ And I didn’t have the presence of mind at that point to kind of pivot and say something like, holy sugar! Holy shamole! Whatever, right? I was just so overwhelmed by the magnitude of this home run.”

Now here’s what strikes me about this moment: Roberts’ instinctive reaction reveals something genuine about broadcasting that we rarely see anymore. He wasn’t being cynical or irreverent—he was being authentically human. The home run was genuinely shocking, and his verbal stumble was the result of being caught between his professional filter and his immediate visceral response.

I’ve been in broadcast trucks and production meetings where the conversation afterward focuses entirely on preventing these moments. But I’ve always believed that’s the wrong approach. The moments that define broadcasting careers aren’t the seamless, scripted ones. They’re the moments when something real breaks through the carefully constructed presentation.

The Aftermath: Humiliation, Then Perspective

What makes Roberts’ story even better is the punchline. He initially consoled himself believing few people saw the gaffe. Then he ran into Steve Stricker leaving the booth.

“And he says, ‘Nikki just texted me that you just said holy sh— on the air! Is that true?'”

The image of that moment—a professional broadcaster caught red-handed by a Tour pro—is genuinely funny. But it also illustrates something important about our interconnected sports world. In the early 2000s, even a moment during a mid-tournament broadcast could ripple across the tour within minutes. Today, with social media, it would be a trending topic within seconds.

Yet here we are, two decades later, and Roberts is comfortable enough to share this story with a national audience. That suggests a certain confidence and perspective that comes with longevity. He knows his 16 Emmys and his reputation as one of sports’ finest broadcasters speak louder than a single unscripted expletive.

What This Means for Broadcast Golf Today

In my three decades covering professional golf, I’ve watched broadcasting evolve dramatically. We’ve gained incredible production value, multiple camera angles, and technology that would’ve seemed like science fiction when I started caddying in the late ’80s. But we’ve also lost some spontaneity in pursuit of perfection.

Roberts’ story reminds us that the best broadcasting—especially in sports—requires a delicate balance. You need the professionalism and preparation that comes from experience. But you also need the willingness to be occasionally caught off-guard, to let genuine emotion surface, and to recover gracefully when things don’t go according to plan.

The golf broadcasts I remember most aren’t always the most polished ones. They’re the ones where you felt like you were getting a genuine perspective from someone who knows the game and cares about getting the story right—even if they occasionally stumble in the process.

Roberts exemplifies that standard. And his willingness to laugh at himself, decades later, is exactly why he’s remained one of the most respected voices in sports broadcasting. That’s worth more than a perfect broadcast ever could be.