BROCK PAPKE
Special to The Leader
It’s 2:55 a.m. I just dropped the penultimate episode of my show, “A Sitdown With Brock,” and I’m lying here on one of the old couches at the TV station’s green room, phone in hand, completely wiped — but still typing.
That weird mix of pride and emptiness is creeping in.
It’s like I can feel the weight of it ending. Slowly. Heavily.
I’ve written and rewritten this thing more times than I care to admit, which is ironic coming from the guy known for winging it.
I like improv, okay? Sue me.
I could watch Dracula Flow for the umpteenth time and still laugh my butt off or finally figure out I’m way too old for these Italian brainrots on my Instagram feed.
But, I decided to continue typing, and typing I go.
Four years of this shit. Wild.
Four years of endless BJ’s shows where I’ve lost my hearing.
Four years of dealing with the exposure on cameras.
And four years of homework.
It really does feel like yesterday that I first stepped onto this weird little campus called SUNY Fredonia, where the air smelled faintly of dog food and ambition. If you know, you know.
You also know you’ve hit Unc status when you vividly remember being told by a biology professor — while walking outside — to pull your mask up. Freshman year was a weird time.
I’m 22 years old, saying “Unc status”…ptff.
I didn’t even officially join a media club until sophomore year. I spent that first year drifting, figuring out where the hell I fit in, trying to chart a path to whatever “creative potential” was supposed to mean.
I spent some time on the Ultimate Frisbee team, basically Chris Farley with some hops and speed.
But sophomore year, after joining the communications department, I decided to roll the dice.
Was I going to make a TV show on WNYF-TV? Host a radio show on WDVL 89.5? Channel my inner Hunter S. Thompson for The Leader? Or freelance it?
Turns out, I wanted to do all of it. And somehow, I did — except for freelance, I’m still figuring that out.
“Sitdown” didn’t start as a grand vision. Originally, I had ideas out the wazoo. A film major who also loves television, that’s a recipe for creativity, right?
It was more like, “What if I just… made a talk show?” No script, not a single fuck, no real clue what I was doing — just vibes, a camera, and a lot of stubbornness.
The first season was unleashed back in March 2023 — holy fish paste, it’s actually been two years?
It was literally my second semester at the WNYF station, and I was producing my own talk show. The world was my canvas — so what then?
That first season was very foundational. Experimental. Messy.
The lighting was trash.
The audio was so bad, it could’ve made an audio major drop their concentration and rethink their entire degree. (It’s still rough sometimes — my friends in that major never let me forget it.)
I think I said “um” over a thousand times alone.
But people watched. Friends, peers, family members.
And people got it.
That was enough to keep going.
I had side projects here and there: a 3 a.m. radio show on WDVL 89.5 that played techno, a brief stint as a sports writer and a current stint causing havoc in the Scallion. But “Sitdown” was all I could think about.
Somewhere along the way, it stopped being just a fun side project. It became a kind of solace for me. Something to pour energy into when classes sucked or life got too overwhelming.
It became a place to have real conversations, to spotlight creative people on this campus doing weird things and bits, or to give time to anything worth sitting down and talking about, crafting storylines with simple improv conversations.
Seasons and semesters came and went, but I kept growing as a creative.
The media clubs were the ecosystem that made it possible. I met people who pushed me creatively, people who showed up when I didn’t ask, people who made the whole thing better.
WNYF gave me the platform to be the craziest yet creative version of myself, Fredonia Radio Systems helped me build connections with people outside of the communications department, and The Leader helped transform me as a writer.
I’ve built an environment on set where anyone can come in, help write a segment or two, work on cameras or the control room, delve into the unpredictable recording session and be able to go to Willy C’s before it closes for the night.
I learned how to plan a production schedule, pitch a segment, and yes, finally — actually communicate to the guests on the absurdity of being on a talk show hosted by a fictionalized, more psychotic version of oneself.
If that’s not growth, I don’t know what is.
There were setbacks. Corrupted hard drives (RIP to half of the second season’s Christmas special). Canceled shoots. Late-night caffeine-fueled editing tangents. Equipment failures. Guests ghosting. Episodes I wish I could unpublish. Pies were thrown. Two show strikes, the closest any show got to near-cancellation.
But I wouldn’t trade any of it.
All of it — the chaos, the effort, the absurdity — shaped the version of me that’s sitting here now.
Am I exhausted? Fuck yeah!
But far more confident, and far more me, than the kid who stepped onto this campus breathing in that gourmet Nestlé Purina breeze.
Now, with just one episode left, I’m realizing this thing I built is going to outlive me here.
“Sitdown” wasn’t just a show. It was a playground, a therapy session, a creative lab and overall just a dumb, good time.
I don’t know exactly what comes next.
My five-year plan is not all set.
Maybe I’ll head to grad school in the blazing concrete wasteland of Orlando, Florida. Maybe I’ll end up at NYU Tisch, trying to build more connections, and definitely building more debt.
Both are options. Both are terrifying.
Maybe I’ll keep making shows. Maybe I’ll dive deeper into writing. Maybe I’ll do both.
Or maybe I’ll take some totally unexpected left turn and surprise everyone by headlining Rockin’ the Commons next semester, finally turning it into Brockin’ the Commons. (And yes, I can already hear someone at FRS rolling their eyes to the back of their head so hard they saw their brain.)
That’s kind of the beauty of it, right? The fact that I don’t know.
But I know this: the kid who started this show wouldn’t have known how to finish it. He didn’t even know it could last this long.
And now, as it wraps up, I’m walking away with more than footage and episodes. I’m walking away with purpose. With a voice I didn’t know I had. With people I’ll never forget.
So yeah — one more episode to go. Then a walk-off set.
But the story doesn’t stop there. Not for me. Not for the people this show reached and those who worked on it.
The curtain’s coming down at Fredonia. But I’m not done talking.
Not even close.
P.S. I took a shit at the doorway on the way out. It’s your problem now.