Perks

I spend a lot of breath complaining about my job. I won't get into all the reasons why, but being a sports writer seems to do that to people. I think you have to have done it to really understand, but it basically comes down to this:

1. The quality of your work is sometimes out of your own hands
2. The pay and hours are terrible
3. Nobody likes you

But I'm not writing to complain today. I'm going to get a little melodramatic.
One of the perks about covering professional sports is, on occasion, you're there when a guy's dream comes true.

Last fall, I was interviewing a lowly drafted receiver, Jeff Webb, at the moment he found out he had made the Chiefs' roster. It was after a preseason game in which Webb had performed well. General manager Carl Peterson had just told reporters that Webb was going to make the team, and the message was relayed to Webb.

His eyes moistened, and you could see he didn't know what to say. The first person he thought of was Ruby, his grandmother, who had raised him. He couldn't wait to call Ruby.

Jeff Webb had just learned that he was set. He had, for practical purposes, just become a millionaire. He had a new life. The dream he had dreamed since childhood had just become real.

Shirtless, and shoeless, he hustled to find Peterson. He shook his hand and asked, "Did you really say that?"

I've been there for more of these moments this weekend. About 10 minutes after a player is drafted, his team calls him for a conference call with local media. Often, he's on a cell phone in a crowded bar, friends and family still cheering. For some of these guys, football is their only chance in life.

And when they find out their dream comes true, I get to be there. I see lives change.
And that's pretty cool.

We're Gathering Information

Being a journalist by trade, I live in a news (speficifally sports news) saturated environment, meaning I deal with a lot of athletes, coaches and public relations professionals.

Among the irritants in my profession are PR people, a group of paranoid double talkers whose duties in "public relations" seem to mainly involve keeping things private and not relating to anybody but their superiors.

Anyway, PR people have a few standard go-to plays when they're in trouble. Among these are "it was a mutual agreement," "we are moving on," and "no, he is not talking today." But my favorite is "we're gathering information," a line usually tossed around when, for instance, an associate has been arrested for masterbating to porn on his in-car DVD and slamming his SUV into a parked car, and being caught on video (this actually happened in the NBA last year). "No comment" is sooo 1995. The new "no comment" is "we're gathering information," which really means, "we're sitting in our offices going about our normal work, hoping you won't call back."

Another of my favorites, which always comes courtesy of an athlete or coach, is "I know what the truth is, and that's all that matters." Actually, no, that's not all that matters. Just ask Barry Bonds. Whether he's taken steroids or not, everybody who has ever watched Major League Baseball thinks he took steriods. Whether he did or didn't at this point is irrelevant. Bonds is a steroid user because we think he's a steroid user. This is how it works with public figures. It is in their best interest most of the time to talk about things.

We in the media get a lot of criticism for running with stories without talking to the priciples involved. Things like trade rumors, Curt Schilling's bloody sock, whether players are transferring, etc. all tend to follow similar reporterial arcs -- rumor, reports with unnamed sources, denial/non-denial by the priciples, resolution. These criticisms are valid. I am against using unnamed sources unless the story is so big and the information is so sensitive that it's the only way. However, the reason reporters run with this stuff is that the athletes/coaches/managers won't ever say anything more insightful than "we're gathering information" or "when something happens, you'll know." Everything is a big secret.

I would say more, but I'm currently gathering information.

I'm a Crappy Writer

I cannot write academic papers.

This has occured to me recently as I've turned in a remarkable string of C and D papers which I, while writing them, thought would be B papers. It seems that all of the principles and elements of writing which I like, and writing which real people actually read and enjoy are useless in academia. No more narratives (too disputable), no more humor (too much irony makes the writer's attitude seem sour), no more original figures of speech (the instructor will almost always find them "trite"), but no cliches either.

I like to think of myself as a decent writer. Many people have told me that I am. I've won numerous writing awards, both as an amateur and a professional. At least I hope I'm a decent writer, because my inability to perform mathematics is reaching legendary status within my circle of friends and family.

Professors hate my writing. All of them. Going back to 2003, I have received an A on one paper, an essay in which I was to analyze and compare two advertisements. I'll concede that for much of this time period, I have not given an A effort on these papers. But I have not expected As. It has never been much of a priority for me to get As. A mixture of Bs and Cs will suffice, and I've given a mixture of B and C effort, only to receive Cs and Ds and Fs.

The most inexplicable instances have come this semester, in my English class, which is instructed by a woman named J. Karen Ray, who on the first day of class called herself "a bit of a bear." She also has made no secret of her far left political ideologies and has jokingly sprinkled anti-male commentary throughout the semester. I'm not saying these things have had an effect on my grades, but I'm not saying they haven't.

Now, most of the time, when I get a poor grade, I know what the problems are before the paper is even returned to me. The comments are usually no surprise. With Ray, I have no idea, even after having the paper returned, what the real problems were. So I talked to her about it, and came away with this:

1. She doesn't like the tone of my writing -- an ambiguous criticism that could literally be used every single time, no matter what the tone was. If you just felt like giving somebody an F because you didn't like the look on their face (or their reproductive organs), this is one you'd definitely use.
2. She thinks I use too many generalities -- this was a valid criticism, until I rewrote the paper to address all of the generalities she didn't like the first time around.

Anyway, now I'm here trying to craft a 10-page paper about a topic on which she completely disagrees with me. This should go well.

Green Cars

Do they have to make hybrid cars so dumb looking?

I recently attended a rally against global warming.

Now, it should be noted that global warming was not on hand to address the accusations against it, which were many. And I should mention that I was there because the Topeka Capital-Journal was paying me to write about it.

Moving on, the rally included some hybrid vehicles on display. You could look at them. You could sit inside. You could read the sticker price. You could not, however, drive one of the hybrids. See, the actual mechanical abilities of a car are more or less moot, as long as it has a sunroof and puts out low levels of CO2.

Nonetheless, I scoped 'em out. There was a Honda Element, a Mercury Mariner and a Toyota Prius. The Prius advertized 55 miles per gallon city/highway, which is borderline orgasmic. Except that the price of this particular model was north of $25,000. You can buy a Corola for about $14,000 and get 40 miles per gallon, meaning if you drive 12,000 miles per year, you'd have to drive your Prius for 55 years before it paid for the difference in cost.

Of course, if you happen to be well off and environmentally conscious, and all you want to do is reduce your own emissions, by all means, buy a Prius.

I suspect someday in the not-so-distant future, the market will adjust to the point that buying a conventional, internal combustion-only vehicle just won't make sense at all. But we ain't there yet. Not even close.

Jason Whitlock for President

In case anybody missed it, from out of the Don Imus storm has emerged America's newest media star.

Jason Whitlock.

Now, in the interest of full disclosure, I should point out that I know Jason personally, and like him. Also, though I don't think he's even the best writer at his own newspaper (the Kansas City Star), his takes on sports and society are almost always original, fearless and best of all, not politically correct. Criticisms that he seeks out opportunities to play the race card are made of ignorance. He talks about race a lot, but he doesn't play the race card. He analyzes racial issues honestly. In fact, the more I write about this, the more I realize that Jason Whitlock and Charles Barkley are probably the same person.

Anyway, Jason is about to become a mega star. He's been on Oprah. He's interviewed to replace Imus on the radio. He has blasted Jesse Jackson and Al Sharpton publicly, something every other black voice has been afraid to do.

I don't know what plans Jason has for his career. He could have left The Star long ago and, indeed, he has worked for ESPN.com and, now, AOL.com, where he has more freedom. He has said that he's a sports writer at heart, and doesn't feel the need to live on a coast to have a voice, which is why he's still in Kansas City.

But if he wants it, I think he can be about as big as he wants to be. He'd need to spend a few years in a more politicized arena (perhaps as a radio show) to build some cred. But from my perch in the middle of white America, I get the sense that black America is ready to follow someone other than Jackson and Sharpton who, as Whitlock said, are living in 1965, trying to scare black people with the idea of an imaginary white guy in the sky who's trying to squash them.

Perhaps black America has been reluctant to give that up, which is understandable, because giving it up means taking on more personal responsibility.

Whatever. I don't expect Whitlock to make a run for public office. In fact, I sort of expect him to stay where he is and maybe just write some more non-sports columns and do a few extra interviews.

I just hope people will listen.

Why Old People Like Bad Movies

I went to the theater the other day hoping to see "Blades of Glory." I would have settled for seing generic blades of glory, which would have been pretty impressive, although I don't know exactly what they would be (knives? skates? vampire movies?).

Anyway, while in line, a 60ish woman starts chatting up my girlfriend and me. She recommends "Wild Hogs," which if you don't know, is a movie about middle-aged men who start riding Harleys, but aren't very good at it. It stars Travolta (yeah, he gets the single-name treatment), Lawrence (Martin, doesn't get the treatment), Allen (Tim, ditto) and H. Macy (William). This movie, the woman assured us, was funny.

You should know, Blades of Glory was sold out

"Wild Hogs" is not funny. Not intentionally, anyway. The plot is basically this: The Wild Hogs gang gets into some trouble at a biker bar with real bikers. Travolta sabotages their bikes, causing a battle that ends with a ludicrous standoff in some quiet town. Travolta, Allen, H. Macy and Lawrence hold off about 60 bikers. Along the way, we get a series of gags about how middle aged men have to pee a lot, aren't exciting, and are whipped by their wives. I think I laughed audibly one time during the movie, although the scene was so good, I cannot recall what I laughed at.

I should have known. Old people, especially old women, have terrible taste in movies. For some reason, movie cliches don't bother them*. They actually embrace them.

For old people, cliches are a symbol that nothing is changing, that the world isn't passing them by, after all. Old people hate it when things change. They've resisted computers and cell phones for decades now, insisting that things were better in their day, before all the technology, despite the obvious truth that these things have made life exponentially easier, particularly for people who are disinclined to physically exert themselves.

But beyond that, I think this shows a fundamental difference in the way our generations use media. Someone in their 60s grew up in a world with three television channels, the local newspaper and movies in theaters only. When it came to media, they just took what they could get, and because there was not much competition, what they got was minimal and not necessarily good. But is was there, and that was enough.

My generation is a media-saturated one. We have hundreds of TV channels, movies on demand, videos on the internet and access to news media from all over the world. As a result, we don't give anything the benefit of the doubt because we know there is always something better at our findertips. Example: I rented "Saw," hated the first 20 minutes, shut it off and returned it. And that's a movie most people liked. When I got back from the video store, I watched a video of a lion attack on ebaumsworld.com. I knew, without the movie, I would still be able to entertain myself.

Now, if somebody could just figure out old people's obsession with pecan pie ...

I Like Extreme Makeover Home Edition

Extreme Makeover Home Edition is the show with Ty Pennington, a total wacko who goes around trying to inspire people with his enthusiasm.

Anyway, the premise of the show is this: A) Find family with crappy house, B) Rebuild this family's house, C) Have lots of quotes from friends and neighbors saying what a good and deserving family it was.

But that's not why I like the show.

I like the show because of the economic and political statement it makes, which I'm sure is purely accidental, but nonetheless cogent. That statement is this: The Welfare State is unnecessary.

On EMHE, the families in need first send in an embarrassing video of their living conditions. Then a TV crew comes in and films it for itself. The family then talks about how bad off they are and how they cannot make it on their own. The EMHE team picks up the story, and sets about rebuilding a house. The team solicits help from the community, and invariably gets more help than it asked for.
There are two main points here:

1. Neighbors, churches, local businesses all get in on it. And this is the important part. The help is coming from familiar faces, people they're going to see on a regular basis. It is much more difficult to blow something a friend gave you than something that fell from the cosmos and into your lap.
2. It's real help. Building someone a house and paying off their mortgage (which happened on the last episode) is a real fix to a real problem, rather than a $1200 check once a month. That's where community charity (and I'm using that term in the general sense) provides what government welfare never can on an individual basis -- the identification of a specific need, and the satisfaction of it.

After that, it's over. There is no milking the system, no having babies for extra money, no half-hearted job searches. Welfare subsidizes irresponsibility. Community charity does the opposite, and does it efficiently.

Now, if we could just do something about Pennington's hair.

P. Diddy is Underrated (Why Sean Combs is like Jimmy Johnson)

No, seriously.

I know is sounds ludicrous to call a relentless self-promoter like Sean Combs underrated. It's almost offensive to even suggest that to rational people, especially rational people who are music fans.

But I think Diddy has ironically created a career-obscuring backlash against himself by doing things like constantly changing his name, starring in outrageously contrived reality TV shows and pimping acne medication. His quest to become a worldwide business mogul has distracted the world from one of the best hip hop careers of all time.

Consider the following accomplishments:
-- Discovered and signed the Notorious B.I.G.
-- Produced Notorious B.I.G.'s "Ready to Die," which is almost universally regarded as one of the top 10-15 rap albums of all time. Many, myself included, say it is No. 1.
-- Produced Notorious B.I.G.'s Life After Death, which completed the creepiest progression of album titles ever, considering that Biggie was dead before Life After Death was released.
-- Jay-Z made one of his first appearances on Life After Death

Diddy has had a couple of major problems, 1) he kept trying to be a rapper. And he's a terrible rapper. "I'll be missin' you" is indisputably his best solo rap song and doubles as one of The Police's best songs, which brings up Puffy's other big problem, 2) virtually every song he ever produced was sampled from another popular song. Ostensibly, this looks cheap and lazy. But if you know anything about hip hop, you know that sampling music is the very root of the genre. The first MCs were just dudes at parties spinning funk records and rhyming over them. It is only within the last few years that sampling really took a nose dive in rap, with the proliferation of southern crunk rap, which relies mainly on a canned beat and clapping, and the productions of Pharrell, who uses music sparingly like Mrs. Dash. The best work of Dr. Dre, Tupac and Snoop Dogg is all sampled. The only difference was, for those guys, the sampling was mostly from semi-obscure funk or soul records, instead of top 40 songs from the 80s, so they didn't take as much crap for it.

P. Diddy hasn't done anything that every other producer didn't do. He just did it more openly. And it created much more radio-friendly music.

His career reminds me a lot of Jimmy Johnson's in this sense: When he had the talent (Biggie/Aikman, Irvin, Smith), he was a genius. He knows how to make a greatness out of really goodness, and he happened to strike gold early in his career (Landing Biggie at the beginning of his A&R career/Getting the perfect storm of the Big Three in the early 90s), but once that fell apart, he's really just been kind of OK ever since, and now is in related fields, but isn't completely ingrained in what made him famous (going from rap to clothing, etc./going from football to broadcasting). Plus, this all happened at about the same time for both men. Johnson won his first Super Bowl in 1992 and his last in 1996. Biggie released Ready to Die in 1993 died in 1997.

Puffy is virtually irrelevant to rap music now. His last few attempts at either releasing his own albums or signing new talent have flopped spectacularly. He's now more or less famous for being famous, which is why, before it's too late, he deserves some recognition for what he once was, and what he did for hip hop.