Mister Faded Glory | The critique of everything

On Thursday, Tony and Mike opened PTI wondering why the NBA even attempts to cast its Hall of Fame inductions during the opening weekend of football season. Tony counted it as stupidity, Mike simply deflected, probably thrilled to land ESPN’s interview with Michael Jordan, reprinted and re-aired nearly a billion times Thursday.

Then Friday night’s induction speech happened.

Didn’t like that link? Try this one.

And, with that, I’m sure the NBA is actually relieved its benchmark delivered a speech only slightly classier than a Sean Hannity diatribe.

I’m not going to offer much more than a snide comment. I have hated Michael Jordan for years, as a figurehead, as an egomaniac, as the foil to my Blazers, as simple Goliath. And now, that hate is legitimized.

Though it’s sad.

Michael Jordan has accomplished nearly everything he set out to do in his basketball career. He loves the game. And in return, as steward for that game, he chose to spend several minutes lambasting anyone and everyone who even thought to prove him wrong, decry him, or suggest they might like to compete against him.

He bullied former employers, teammates, and even threw his own children under the bus; yet another attempt to remind us of his own greatness. He invited the high school coach who would not let him onto the varsity team as a sophomore; never mind that the coach simply followed school policy – no sophs on the team. He eviscerated Bryon Russell, a foul as cheap and offensive as the push-off that fills his legend. He made fun, and made sure to tell us all what was so carefully guarded by Nike and a sycophantic media – He’s a jerk.

Sure, Jordan’s legions of defenders will characterize his petty tirade as refreshing, or honest (See: Wilbon, Mike. Whitlock, Jason. Kornheiser, Tony). Please. In no other profession or discipline are people allowed petty diatribes and a sheer lack of class; for someone who has his own brand, the lack of professionalism is hopeless. For Jordan to repeatedly characterize his petty bullying as his competitive legend does not cut it. He is a prick, he is a douchebag, he is petty, he is perhaps the best basketball player we’ve ever seen, and he insecurely cannot bear the thought of you not remembering him just as such.

And tonight, he’s in the Hall of Fame. But fear not, he’s more bitter and jaded than any of you. He’s alone, with trophies, women, sometimes both, millions and billions of dollars, legions of admirers, and several grizzled old guys who laud this “honest” speech (Read: PTI).

But he’s a shell. He’s not professional. He’s obsessed with his end in the limelight, and his end of relevance. He’s bitter, he’s jaded, he doesn’t know how to get old, and he’s stuck in his own life. He’s a bully and a pretentious jerk. And he knows it.

Now we know it too.

Each year our enthusiasm for the return of football season is tempered by reality once the games start. And we realize we didn’t miss NFL announcers, college announcers, nor few football announcers at all.

The games start, and our ears bleed. So before we descend into petty diatribes against forgettable football announcers – let’s take a quick moment to recognize two profound, perfect passages – penned by two blogger, no less. Passages so great, I wish I would have written them myself. So succinct, I know that I could absolutely not have written them myself.

First, Mike Tanier points out exactly why we have so many horrific announcers. In his Walkthrough, he describes the evolution of football fandom – but no corresponding evolution among football broadcasting.

You get the idea. You watch more football, read more about football, ingest more data and opinion about football than it was possible to absorb just 25 years ago. High level experts and analysts of that era could easily gain an edge over the common fan: they could get their hands on out-of-town papers or game tape, interview a player or telephone a colleague, go to the basement to search the stacks.

Those advantages barely exist anymore. You can watch a press conference or download the transcript. You can read the out-of-town blogs. The marginal knowledge that separates the extremely passionate fan — and that’s what you are if you are still reading at this point — from the professional football analyst has grown very small, and it’s shrinking constantly.

That’s why you find your local columnist frustrating, the television color commentator unlistenable: you know too much, and they probably haven’t changed with the times.

Amen, brother. We’ve all outgrown John Madden’s explanation of a forward pass, and Joe Theismann making up some leadership intangible just doesn’t cut it anymore. With football analysis, networks and writers need to focus on the high-road, the professional, the minute. We’ve said before, schedule upward, and the masses will follow. Will Cris Collinsworth and Jon Gruden let us down?

Today at Deadspin, culture editor Big Daddy Drew offered spot-on insight into national differences.S topping midway through his scathing Jamboroo, Drew encapsulates the difference between Midwesterners and the East Coast. The stereotypical East Coast anger really isn’t anger at all – but a manifested inferiority complex assumed by Midwesterners. He says Minnesota for example, but it could be Iowa, Kansas, Missouri, Illinois, Wisconsin, and especially Nebraska. Those fuckers.

If you want more reasons why Minnesota sucks, take it from someone who lived there for seven years. Minnesotans are reputed to be the nicest people in America. They are not. They are only pretending to be nice. Underneath all those smiles and “you betchas” are the most passive aggressive race of people mankind has ever known. On the East Coast, people are far more upfront about their assholishness, which is far better. Minnesotans coat every gesture in a fake, cloying glaze of insincere pleasantness. You just want to shake the shit out of them and give it to you straight.

My Midwestern audience recoils in horror, and my East Coast transplants nod silently. So true. Now that’s a culture editor.

That’s it. Two shout-outs. Now, back to ESPN’s NFL Live, just in time to catch Mark Schlereth not abbreviating “NFL” for the seventy thousandth appearance in a row. JFC.

Three competing – but tired – stories still plague our airwaves, hurting our ears and frustrating sensibilities. Not so for sports media, however, which demonstrates irrelevance with each character study. Let’s deliver our backhanded compliments and be gone from these topics forever:

I. Vick.

So Michael Vick signed with Philadelphia, probably because of a Donovan McNabb connection. This occurred late last week, after rampant speculation swirled around the Bills, Packers and Panthers, and really no one else. No one mentioned the Eagles, not even as a remote possibility. Previously, I wondered how precisely zero of the hundreds of columnists and reporters assigned to the Vick circuit could even speculate on an Eagles connection? None. Nice reporting.

Still, it’s tough for me to see the relevance. Sure, Vick may fit the prototype of the Wildcat or whatever cockamamie scheme the Eagles might uncork, but does anyone really believe he’ll return to his ultra-athletic ceiling? Jamal Lewis hasn’t been the same runner since he served time in the house – he was particularly abysmal immediately after his return to the field – and he only did four months! Vick may be an NFL player, but alas, he’s 29, and now probably just a marginal one.

And, of course, how he merits only a quick 6-game suspension for a cruel, knowing, and complicit crime is beyond me, especially while Donte Stallworth earns a full year for an accidental crime, replete with contrite, no-contest settlements. I’m fine with the NFL issuing strict deterrents. I’m not fine with its capricious and arbitrary rendering of justice.

II. Favre

And a nation is not surprised. I’ll spare you any lecture wondering if Brett is diva or douchebag. (He’s both.) Once again, however, Favre and Childress‘ earlier denial – issued three weeks prior, fully deterred Brett’s media lapdogs. Once again, the NFL’s cadre of meathead reporters bolted at the first denial, and didn’t even sniff this until today, when, hello, they were contacted. This after two years of speculation! Even Chris Mortenson’s stupid bus didn’t stop in Bumfuck, Mississippi or wherever King Hayseed lived.

But here Favre is, finally showing up in St. Paul basically alongside a press release, with the Vikings stroking Brett’s ego and lauding the opportunity. Some opportunity – Minneapolis pays $12 million for a paltry QB Rating upgrade of 1.5 over Sage Rosenfels.

Congratulations, Minnesota, you’ve purchased the NFL’s version of Toronto Raptor Hakeem Olajuwon. I cannot be the only person on Earth who thinks Brett Favre circa 2009 is a downgrade from Sage Rosenfels. Can I?

III. Strasburg

Each story I read about Steven Strasburg, new Washington National wunderkind, I cannot help but feel pangs of memory, evoking Mark Prior. Sigh.

Maybe Strasburg’s a bust, maybe he’s not – but throughout the media today, you could practically sense sportswriters chortling at Scott Boras “failing” to earn his initial $50 million contract demand. Which just goes to show – sportswriters toil outside the business world for a reason.

All Boras does is represent a client to the best of his ability – throwing out a pipe dream number, and negotiating downward to a workable solution that, oh by the way, turns out to be the best rookie contract in history and allows Strasburg to escape after a scant 4 years – well before he even sniffs his prime. Wow, what a failure!

Boras aside, I’ll never understand the tendency of fans and media to side with big labor. In Strasburg’s case, and in the case of Michael Crabtree, we watch two youngsters with virtually no leverage simply asking for the best deal they can get, respective of their market value. Yet the zeitgeist scolds each for not rushing into camp, or inking a bad deal quickly – when each has little leverage to do the opposite.

Basically, Crabtree is in a pickle – he needs to get to camp in a hurry to validate his expectations and ease his transition. This is a huge bargaining chip for every behemoth corporation football team – Crabtree needs camp to play and to develop his image. The team has no such obstacle.

It’s similar with Strasburg - each writer practically scolds the kid, assuming his agent coerced him into making a demand simply to avoid signing with the Nats. But what’s the incentive for Strasburg to return to school or go play in the Independent League? He doesn’t want to do that – it could at least harm his market value and at worst decimate that value. So once again, the team has additional bargaining chips – there’s certainly more incentive for Strasburg to sign than to hold out. No matter the portrayal, it ain’t the other way around.

But nope – we scoff and snort and castigate these kids; sitting on the precipice of the only thing they know how to do, and perhaps the only chance they’ll have to make a living doing so. We hope they’ll rush to the aid of these behemoth corporations – sports teams with no real care for the player nor the audience, and scold the players for worrying about their own bottom line. And we can’t scold the corporations for the one-sided negotiatiing, strong-arming, and worrying about the same?

And we assume we’d be different how?

Normally I refrain from poking fun at ESPN Radio’s Colin Cowherd because, really, what’s the point?

Like hundreds of other sports radio denizens, Cowherd is a master at cherry-picking the most banal of callers, then eviscerating the poor soul on air, to a chorus of cheers, I guess.

Many times, Cowherd uses these opportunities to deliver sanctimonious morality lectures, praising the best in corporate America. Growing agitated with anyone who dares to criticize a media conglomerate or big business behemoth, Cowherd’s whiny chipmunk voice delivers a sermon so predictable you’d swear he read directly from the ESPN Corporate Handbook.

Today, in fact, Cowherd again propped up ESPN – blatant debasement to his bosses; no wonder he has a show. In a usual dime-store free-market rant, he detailed the company’s mission and vision and what it does best. In fact, the mission statement is emblazoned on ESPN business cards and ESPN ID badges. Cowherd explained that ESPN is great, a fantastic product, because it is a sports network, focused on delivering sports, and a few flagship shows sprinkled within. They do it better than anyone else, he admonishes.

Where ESPN gets itself in trouble, Cowherd cautions, is in any deviation from the mission – ventures such as the ill-fated ESPN The Phone and ESPN Hollywood. When it comes to sports, however, ESPN is the best(!), and how dare you criticize.

This is all sort of fine, I suppose. Personally, though I can’t wait until July 6 – for the premiere of ESPN’s Sportsnation! A scintillating blend of sports, news and entertainment – ’sportsfotainment’ – the Sportsnation TV show takes the pulse of you, the viewers, to blend what you’re talking (or tweeting) about. Best of all, it’s hosted by none other than …

You guessed it.

Colin Cowherd.

Maybe it’s just me.

We’re all sports fans, right? We watch largely for the drama. If we don’t have a vested, home-team interest.
(In that case, we watch in hopes we can take part in success irrespective of our own failed lives. Sorry for the upper!)

Sometimes that drama manifests itself as an underdog surviving a challenge; sometimes it’s a favorite pursuing excellence or greatness. Neither is mutually exclusive, nor mutually inclusive.

So why do stories like these puzzle me so much?

What, exactly, did NBC get that it did not want? Sure, Tiger could have contended a little bit later into the day – but those four hours he inched closer were fascinating.

Sure, the rain sucked. But quite honestly, the Peacock got to televise one of the most frenetic, dramatic final rounds in history. We all would have watched (had it not been a Monday).

So who cares who wins at the end? It’s irrelevant! They don’t measure ratings solely at the final punctuation of a tournament. Tiger and Phil contended till Lucas Glover closed out his last hole.

NBC got what it wanted. Right?

But to hear and read the knee-jerk analysis, you’d think that just because Tiger didn’t run out to a commanding lead, and allow Miller and Hicks to wax poetic and trot out cliches, that no one on earth watched. And that logic is just ridiculous. It’s wrong. I can understand lazy newspaper writers frustrated that their autotext “Tiger is Great” stories didn’t come to pass; but not the network reaping drama and eyeballs.

But it’s the same governing notion in the NFL. And in all sports, to a lesser extent. We’re force-fed NFL stories like baby food – Favre, Vick, Pats, Colts – so much so that the games become secondary to the story lines. Leagues live in such fear of being marginalized, like the NHL, that they deliver canned stories, tired graphics, and monotonous overtones to each and every telecast, hoping only to reflect the status quo; “The Lead” on the ESPN crawl.

And that’s wrong. It’s that type of thinking that leads toward including Tony Kornheiser on Monday Night Football, solely to bring up the dead horse each and every week. It’s that type of thinking that keeps Joe Theismann, Matt Millen, and countless others employed. It’s that type of thinking that promulgates our hatred of Mike Tirico, Mike Greenberg, Hicks, and other blatant storyline-pushers.

I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again. None of us are novices anymore. This is 2009. We don’t need a double-bogey explained, nor do we need a fourth-and-20. If you’re going to explain something, it better be a new fucking stat; not how great it was when you played, or how gritty some white guy is.

No need to cater to casual fans – they are just that, casual. They tune in depending solely on personal circumstance, or allegiance to a die-hard spouse, or invitation to group party. The logic is quite simply backward.

Casual fans will still tune in if a telecast is highbrow, seamless, and precise – not simply hackneyed, predictable, and catering to the lowest common denominator. It’s the reason for any baseball renaissance – not the stupid homerfest of 1998, but the embrace of outsider thinking. It’s the reason Sports Illustrated now gravitates toward features and context and investigation – real sports fans are sick of hearing “Who’s Now,” and the casual fans don’t care.

Schedule up, aim high, and the masses will follow. Schedule down, and the core is compromised. I believe this.

I’m right about this, aren’t I? (Says the blogger with a readership of 20.) Well?

The dreaded manic Monday doesn’t swallow up just your friends (prompting hundreds of similar, contrived facebook status updates, no doubt.)

Apparently the shotgun blues swallow up the best of us on the occasional Monday, leaving zero time for anything but work, work, logistical nightmares, and work.

• Regardless, we barely had time tonight to update our lame Twitter account ponder all of life’s mysteries on the elliptical.
• Instead, we applaud Pro Football Talk’s Mike Florio, now of NBC, whom the Peacock no doubt hired because of his adherence to clear journalistic standards espoused by Ken Rosenthal last week. Ahem, on PFT’s RUMOR MILL.
• Don’t get me wrong, PFT is cool.  And Deadspin nicely sums up the latest, but not last, blogger to go high-profile. And our last follow-up to Bloggers vs. Old Media ‘09 is a folo itself, a column by the Philly Inquirer’s sage John Gonzalez, answering questions from readers. (Like bloggers do in comments, I guess.):
  

… Everyone links to everyone’s stuff. Even if I hadn’t written about the Midwest Sports Fans post, there were other Web sites/blogs that wrote about it. Hugging Harold Reynolds linked to it and put it on Twitter. The MSF post was already out there, and people were talking about it long before I came along.

… The lines have blurred between old school media and bloggers. That’s why I wrote that all of us – from the biggest traditional media outlets to the smallest blogs – need to be really careful what we say or write because the spotlight shines on everyone now …

… I’ll cop to joining the conversation and even making it bigger, but I didn’t create the controversy. I don’t have that much power. Someone said I “spread the blog virus.” Truth is, we were already infected.

• Oh, snap, he had to save us! The blog post was linked on Twitter! SOMEBODY STOP THESE STRAW MEN ON TWITTER! THEY WILL DESTROY US ALL AND TAKE MY EXPENSE ACCOUNT!
• If acting superior to a legion of imitators, doesn’t some sort of conventional wisdom about not dragging yourself into the muck apply? Quite honestly, if Rosenthal and Gonzalez are so freaking professional, isn’t this slummy engagement with us bloggers akin to a heart surgeon arguing with, say, me, during a mortality conference? I mean, I’ve seen Scrubs.
• And finally (h/t to The Big Lead), with Monday’s hectic activity leading up to our imminent relocation, sometimes we wonder if we’re going to the right place. Thankfully, US News & World Report has suggestions, (Uh, Auburn? No.). Luckily they also offer the chance to pick my own top place to live. Presented right here, no less:

Hmmm.

As they would say (Er, tweet) on Twitter: Whatevs.

These are always so fun!

Let’s recap, in case you’ve been away from ESPN’s Mike and Mike, the ESPN ticker, and even ESPN Outside the Lines today.

• First, a blogger on Midwest Sports Fans explores the reason Phillies’ left fielder Raul Ibanez is enjoying a banner season at an advanced age. Read the piece; it’s exactly what you would expect from a thoughtful sports blog. The author evenhandedly examines the stats and postulates theories.
• Second, a Philadelphia Inquirer columnist publishes a column excoriating “Jrod” for daring to mention any possible substance use for Ibanez.
• Third, a new story is published, by a different Philly sportswriter named Jim Salisbury. Apparently Ibanez lashes out after reading the column, professing innocence, and opining that the court of public media is unfair – especially the actions of this “42-year-old blogger living in his parents’ basement.”
• Fourthly, Jerod Morris, the blogger, posts an evenhanded response to the unforeseen media swirl. He doesn’t even rip on Inquirer columnist John Gonzalez. Not surprisingly, with mass-media readers on the case, he’s suffering a deluge of knee-jerk hatred.
  
• Finally, the national media picks it up. Mike and Mike wrap this into an ill-fated discussion of libel law.  ESPN runs Ibanez’ story on its crawl. Did I mention Outside the Lines?

Before you take any sides at all, read the original piece. Especially take note of Morris’ use of terms like “acknowledging the elephant in the room,” or endeavoring to call his steroid speculation exactly that – speculation. Hint: It’s in the title. Did we mention this post was originally about his fantasy team?

But now we’ve reached ground zero, again, in the tiresome sports reporting vs. sports blogging debate. And lucky for us, a story that shouldn’t have been snowballed into a question of journalistic ethics. (Yay?)

Read more

… or me.

Though trite to complain about reckless activity and frantic change occurring in Mr. Faded Glory’s personal life (No, mom, we’re not having a kid.), it’s still totally the reason for the dearth of posts.

But a few nagging talking points bothered us after a long sports weekend.

First, LeBron James not shaking hands (no big deal) and blowing off the media (no big deal) after the deciding game of the Cavaliers’ doomed season (taken together – yes, a big deal) was the talk of the NBA world the last few days. Some gave him a pass, lambasting an entitled AAU culture. Some shook their head at a kid’s mistake. Some bemoaned his poor sportsmanship. All are sort of correct.

Here’s what I think: Sure, it was a bush league move, and LeBron deserves all the criticism he receives. Like most of us at age 24, we all suffered through bouts of petulance and immaturity – memories we shudder to remember. But we grow up and learn to be a professional, no matter the profession. James is the same. Time to stop front-running, and start growing up a little.

Worse, we can scarcely imagine the outcry if Kobe pulled this stunt. He’d be crucified. Honestly, read LeBron’s failed mea culpa:

“It’s hard for me to congratulate somebody after you just lose to them. I mean, I’m a winner. That’s not being a poor sport or anything like that. Somebody beat you up, you’re not going to congratulate them on beating you up. I’m a competitor. That’s what I do. It don’t make sense to me to go up and shake somebody’s hand.”

Seriously? This is the kind of garbage every meathead at your rec league says after losing a half-wit pickup game, before storming back into the weight room.

Still, if Michael Jordan uttered this, every sportswriter in America would fall all over themselves, touting it as sentiment of Jordan’s legendary competitive edge. (Rolls eyes; punches self in face).

Lebron may be a jerk. He may also be hopelessly immature. Regardless, chalk this up to a childish mistake en route to becoming a professional. Nothing more.

Secondly, all weekend all we read or heard from the baseball world was consternation; media furrowing their brows over Manny Ramirez’ impending decision to play or not to play in the All-Star game. Some say this would be a black mark on baseball, some whine and complain and reveal frustration at voters’ idiocy.

But why waste time, energy, or our tolerance? Manny never plays in All-Star games. This flake always skips. Now we’re supposed to believe because he’s on a suspension, he’d relish the chance to show up? Huh?

Worse yet, he’s not even a factor in the voting – the motherfucker is fourth. FOURTH.

Behind a Cub (Soriano), Met (Beltran), and a deserving LF (Braun.), Manny has absolutely zero chance of cracking the top three. Cripes, the game is in St. Louis – he’ll probably finish behind Rick Ankiel. On the final weekend of May, either ESPN or MLB apparently extrapolates an outpouring of, uh, Dodger fans? How is this a story?

But finally, before the Red Wings sweep the Penguins out of the Stanley Cup Finals for the second straight year, is it worth it to comment the matchup might be aesthetically the greatest uniform clash for the title of all-time?

Detroit’s fantastic red jerseys, and Pittsburgh’s awesome skating Penguin logo, coupled with Old Gold and Black? Stunning. Had Pitt donned its baby-blue throwbacks for tonight’s home game, we’d be in sports heaven.

Which gets us thinking – what, exactly, are the best uniform clashes in all sports’ final games? Of all time? We’ll use 1980 as the beginning of our relevant era.

Best

• NBA – Celtics vs. Lakers, 1985, 1987, 2008. (Too bad the Sonics had changed from retro to contemporary vs. the 1996 Bulls.)
• MLB – Much as it pains me, it was St. Louis vs. Detroit, 2006. Would have been even better if Los Angeles won the NL pennant that season. (I don’t even know if the Dodgers were good. Like that mattered. St. Louis was terrible, and they won it all.)
• NFL – Tie between 1990 49ers-Broncos and 1996 Steelers-Cowboys, one of the last seasons before Pittsburgh converted to a stupid italic typeface for their numbers. The worst Super Bowl is no contest – in 2000, the Rams played the Titans. In a freaking dome. Cover your eyes.
• NCAA basketball – North Carolina vs. Michigan, 1993. I would also have mentioned 2003; Syracuse vs. Kansas, but I’m saving my homer pick…
• NCAA football – Iowa vs. Texas, 2007 Alamo Bowl. So it’s not a championship. sue me. See what happens when there’s no playoffs or clear-cut winner?

I’m not sure if this post, written Tuesday but pre-empted for Scrubs worship, is more appropriate or timely during Thursday’s hand-wringing over last night’s heated exchange between Kobe Bryant and Ron Artest.

While sports-talk nation furrows its brow over a possible Kobe suspension (doubtful), does anyone else remember Michael Jordan shoving a ref in playoffs years ago, with absolutely no repercussions? Anyone?

I’m certain it was just ongoing evidence of MJ’s extraordinary will to win. What a man! What a player!

Regardless, here’s my requisite Kobe/MJ flabbergast for the 2009 playoffs:

Sometimes our favorite sportswriter, Bill Simmons’ latest ESPN The Mag column laments the decline of reporters’ access to athletes and the resulting loss of mystique. Weaving in tales of Kobe Bryant, Michael Jordan and LeBron James, Bill accurately postulates that the days of a genuine glimpse into an athlete’s persona are gone; each new superstar is a media entity unto himself.

Which is a fair point, if not revolutionary in the least. However, Bill doesn’t quite connect the dots surrounding his favorite athlete, Mr. Jordan. Instead, he lambastes Jordan’s spawn, Mr. Bryant. This isn’t surprising – if he would, he’d simply be disappointed in everyone’s favorite legend. For example:

We learn nothing from today’s superstars beyond the spin. Take Spike Lee’s upcoming Kobe Doin’ Work, which could be headed for an Oscar next year — not for best documentary but for best actor. Blanketed by 30 cameras covering his every move during a 2008 game, Kobe tries to be funny, supportive, helpful, charming … really, there hasn’t been a performance so convincing since There Will Be Blood. … I had to take a postmovie shower.

The Kobe-Jordan parallel flummoxes Mr. Faded Glory routinely. How, exactly, does Kobe’s phony act for Spike differ from Jordan’s pulling the wool over every sportswriter’s eyes for 20 years? The two are the same, almost fittingly. Yet Jordan is lauded and Kobe is reviled. I realize I’m a broken record, but I will never understand this.

To his credit, Bill brings up Jordan directly, describing His Airness’ refusal to let writer David Halberstam chronicle Jordan’s second final season of 1998.

In 1980, the late Pulitzer winner David Halberstam followed the Trail Blazers all season for The Breaks of the Game . . .Virtually every member of Portland’s franchise gave him tons of time, and the access made the book special. Over the next two decades . .. Halberstam decided it was time for a sequel, this one centered around MJ’s ‘98 season. Although Jordan kept his distance throughout, he promised a sit-down after the playoffs. But when the time came, he changed his mind. He’d decided to write his own book.

Bill is accurate to an extent, but I don’t think these days are gone forever. Every once in a while sportswriters are granted unprecedented access to sports teams and/or players. Stefan Fatsis’ A Few Seconds of Panic, an insider’s account of Denver Broncos’ training camp, for example. A more relevant example, however- in particular for Bill’s column – is Michael Leahy’s When Nothing Else Matters, a 2002 chronicle of the Washington Wizards.

Leahy, a Washington Post investigative reporter embedded with the Wizards, details the team, the return, and the caricature of Jordan superbly. Leahy’s portrait of Jordan as egomaniacal, condescending, over-competitive, and a general asshole directly conflicts with the mass media’s lofty image of Jordan: the successful, macho, handsome, alpha male each sportswriter is decidedly not. A debonair, handsome, masterful guy’s guy off the court, with the heart of a lion on it. To penetrate this myth is to deeply insult thousands of fragile male psyches. Bill’s included.

Maybe, then, it’s not always access that’s the problem. Good writing, storytelling and fair judgment normally trumps any lack of hero-worshiping steak dinners Simmons describes. Kobe’s persona, really, is hardly different than one Jordan carefully crafted. For some reason, however, everyone believes Jordan, and no one believes Kobe. Somewhat improbably, it’s our lens that’s changed.

(cracks knuckles)

(begins snide letter)

Dear Cubs Fans:

Please raise your hand if any of you could possibly have foreseen Jason Marquis blowing back into the Windy City, surviving a catcall of boos, and routinely dominating his former team, on the bump and at the dish — even though they typically beat him like a drum when he was a Cardinal?

What?

Seriously? Everyone’s hand is raised!

(Phone rings, interrupting brilliant joke)

(John answers)

Hello?

Oh, yeah, this is he. That Mr. Faded Glory.

Oh, hi! Commissioner Goodell! How are you, great to hear from you.

I’m sorry?

Really? The whole day?

For 24 solid hours?

So let me get this straight. All sports talk, commentary, discussion, speculation, evaluation, interviews, reporting, graphics, rants, stand-ups, debates, posts, status updates, tweets, chatter, and calls – anything on the air or in print, it’s all gotta be about the NFL Schedule Release?

Wow, a law. New this year. Interesting, sir.

Everything? Even though they’re still playing MLB and NBA games today?

Yes, yes sir. Yes, they actually are playing those games.

No talk then, about anything but the NFL schedule for 24 solid hours. And that’s why all those flying graphics were on my TV? Last night, on ESPN’s NFL Tonight, for six straight hours?

Uh-huh. And that’s why Mark Schlereth kept yelling.

Uh-huh. And that’s why today, Colin Cowherd berated Merril Hoge for four whole minutes after a simple suggestion that the 49ers could possibly turn it around and eke out a division win over Arizona.

Got it. Juggernaut, I know.

Although, really, sir, we never know who is going to be good year to year, right? So what’s the point in evaluating a schedule and forecasting results?

Uh, huh. Well, I guess that could be true. I guess I could be an idiot.

Well, I mean, that’s fine. I’ll just wait, then, until the moratorium lifts. How will I know?

Oh, OK. ESPN or the NFL Network will let me know. When the coverage changes. Got it.

(Hangs up.)

(Waits.)

(Schlereth still shouting. Hey, the Patriots play the Colts this year! What news!)

(Waits.)