Back in the day, an era with which yours truly is inexorably familiar, the adversarial relationship between athletes and media tended to fester in private. That is, when Dave Kingman promised to kill me, at least he did so within the unfriendly confines of the Cubs’ clubhouse.
He was loud, but he issued his threat before an audience of only a few players and manager Herman Franks, whom I sensed was rooting for Kingman to succeed. I did not write of the threat; I didn’t even tell my boss. Instead, I inquired about Kingman’s plans. He said he would take me and my evil Olivetti on his yacht and leave us in Lake Michigan. Obviously, I never took Kingman up on his kind invitation.
Now, with sports news a 24/7 industry and coverage of coverage part of the business, these taffy pulls have invaded the public domain, as witnessed by the blatant attempt by Ozzie Guillen and Jay Mariotti to knock World Cup soccer off the front page. You want scores, you get hyphens.
What is not surprising about this hissing match is that it involves the uninhibited manager of the White Sox and a lightning-rod columnist for the Sun-Times. They were destined to tangle, and the epicenter for the feud is also predictable–the ballpark, the last bastion of politically incorrect doggerel.
It always has been so, and probably always will be. Once, when Billy Martin directed the Detroit Tigers to first place, he cited as reasons timely hitting, a strong bullpen and a newspaper strike in the city. And that was decades ago, before Watergate and ESPN. Even then, coexistence between them and us was the optimum circumstance; mutual respect and geniality were an absolute bonus.
Games sell because they are unrehearsed, not because they are polite. There is no seven-second delay on opera broadcasts. If you wish to take your child to a sports event but don’t want him or her to hear the language, don’t sit too close to the action. It’s called trash-talking for a reason. While ensconced in sensitivity training, a term that probably fits Guillen’s definition of profanity, he will learn to refrain from slurs against homosexuals.
But in the modern world, perhaps we should chill out and resist the urge to regard Guillen as anything more, or less, than he is–a baseball manager. He is not an elected official, a religious leader or a moral compass. While he dumped on a sportswriter, bodies of two American soldiers were found in Iraq, brutally tortured beyond recognition.
But, in the cloistered sports bubble, we were told all that mattered was Guillen’s ramblings and Mariotti’s feelings. From what I heard, gays took the hit better than the media, which seemed to drive this story out of control. It was of the media, by the media, about the media
One wonders how Red Smith and Jim Murray ever became journalism legends without becoming a headline. They were about accountability, and their basic tenet was to be there, explore the trenches. When they went to the Masters, they covered the tournament, not the press tent.
Sportswriters are spread thinner than ever now, what with extracurricular opportunities on radio and TV networks hungry for programming. But having one’s picture in the paper, though it signals commentary and editorializing, does not excuse an author to abandon an obligation to report facts. On what other foundation does one base opinions?
If I were Mariotti, I would pass on any peace offering from Guillen to take a fishing trip.
