I’ve been around sports my whole life. Balls, Strikes, Outs, Runs, Hits and Errors — that was my normal. But in the fall of 1969, one story stuck to me tighter than any other. To this day, I still get blamed for it. We call it the Great Scoreboard Mystery.
Growing Up in Baseball
My dad, Jim Burris, had one of the richest baseball resumes you’ll ever hear. He rode trains with Babe Ruth, Dizzy Dean, and Rogers Hornsby. He went to mass with Joe DiMaggio. He spent hours talking hitting with Ted Williams. He served as assistant to the commissioner of baseball, ran two minor leagues, was named Executive of the Year several times, and for 20 years was general manager of the Denver Bears and part owner of the Denver Broncos.
But to me, he was also the guy who put his kids to work when he needed an extra hand. So when the scoreboard operator quit in 1969, I became the new one — at 16 years old.
Life in the Scoreboard
Running that old manual board was no small job. My day started early sweeping Mile High Stadium after concerts or games, grabbing a McDonald’s lunch for under a dollar, then heading back to the park.
By game time, I climbed 150 feet to the control room and managed hundreds of buttons for balls, strikes, and outs. Higher up, I swapped out letters and numbers by hand, posting team names and promotions. And at the very top, where the speakers and fireworks sat, I loaded charges for every Denver Bears home run.
It was dangerous work, but for a teenager, it felt like heaven.
A Fraternity Shortcut
When I started college at Colorado State that fall, my fraternity brothers quickly figured out who my dad was. Naturally, they wanted me to get them into Broncos games. The Jets came to town in September, led by Joe Namath, and tickets were sold out. We were out of luck — until I remembered I had a key to the scoreboard.
So up we went, sneaking into the highest point in Mile High. Nobody stopped us. We watched Denver upset the Jets 21-19 from the best seat in the house.
We should have left it at that. But a few weeks later, we went back for the Chiefs game. This time, my dad spotted us. The tongue-lashing I got from him that day is still one of the best (or worst) I’ve ever received.
Denver vs. San Diego — and “Hot Dogs”
The real legend came in November when the Broncos hosted the Chargers. I wasn’t even there. But someone — to this day, I don’t know who — climbed the scoreboard and swapped “San Diego” for “Hot Dogs.”
When the final score flashed, it read: Denver 13, Hot Dogs 0.
The Chargers’ owner, Baron Hilton, was livid. My dad was furious. And everyone pointed the finger at me. Even on her deathbed, my mother asked if I had done it. I didn’t. But if the real culprit is out there, I’d like to shake their hand. That prank remains the greatest caper ever pulled on me.
Lessons From the Scoreboard
Working the board taught me more than how to post runs and strikes. After calling pitches for over 700 games, I had a sharp sense of the strike zone. One day, umpire Emmett Ashford — the first Black major league umpire and a true showman — even called me out for jumping ahead of him with my scoreboard calls.
I learned discipline, responsibility, and maybe a little mischief. And I’ll never forget the thrill of being part of the game in a way few people ever get to see.
Frequently Asked Questions
What was the Great Scoreboard Mystery?
In 1969, during a Broncos-Chargers game, someone climbed the Mile High Stadium scoreboard and changed “San Diego” to “Hot Dogs.” The scoreboard showed the final score as Denver 13, Hot Dogs 0.
Were you responsible?
No. I was blamed, but I wasn’t there that day. To this day, the true prankster has never come forward.
Why did people think it was you?
I had access to the scoreboard and had been caught sneaking up there before. That made me the prime suspect.
Why was it such a big deal?
The prank embarrassed both my father, Jim Burris, and Chargers owner Baron Hilton. It also fueled an already heated rivalry between Denver and San Diego.
What did working the scoreboard teach you?
Beyond technical skills, it gave me a deep understanding of baseball, a front-row seat to the game, and stories I’ll never forget.
