Monday, July 02, 2007
Sports writers
are the most cynical bunch of fucks you're ever going to encounter;
They hate their job, the athletes they cover and the people they're writing for.
However, this remains a career they chose because at one time,
they cared.
After all,
these were the dorks getting their asses beat
for knowing more about baseball
than how to get in a girl's pants.
The reason they became writers and not fans
is an innate ability to be objective,
to separate the personal experience from the game.
And it takes a special moment
to realize this is even possible.
Mine came in 1993.
--
I was 10
and the Mets
were terrible.
I'm talking spectacular disappointments.
The team had broken the bank,
bringing Bobby Bonilla back to his hometown -
which is what you can do
when you make him the highest-paid player
in the history of the sport.
And joining "Bobby Bo"
were Bret Saberhagen,
a two-time Cy Young Award winner
and one-time phenom,
and Eddie Murray,
who's now a Hall of Famer
and one of four players
to ever amass 500 home runs
AND 3,000 hits.
And these three players
are now known as the core
of "The Worst Team Money Could Buy,"
because those Mets
lost 103 games.
One day, relatively early in the year -
with losing already threatening to euthanize
this abortion of a baseball experience -
I looked up from the sports section
and remarked to my father
that I sure hoped manager Jeff Torborg
got fired sometime soon.
My dad replied almost immediately,
"Well, jeez, honey -
we never like to see anyone lose their job ..."
And right then, athletes stopped being heroes
and started being people.
I had already
become a journalist.
--
So you have your "Eureka!" moment,
and you take a job barely making a living wage,
all while writing about adults earning millions to play a kid's game
You commit to working nights and weekends,
traveling all the got damn time,
and you learn the art of getting information
involves working the room like a politician,
and that you go to Derek Jeter for the facts,
but Gary Sheffield
for the truth.
And though Jose Reyes still doesn't speak English so good
after three years in the big leagues,
you know he's always smiling because he really is just happy to be there.
You learn to phrase your questions
so Willie Randolph doesn't get defensive
like he had to be growing up in Brownsville
and that if Tom Glavine trusts you,
so will everyone else.
And you pick up all this
just so you can become
the coolest dude the hot girl at the bar has EVER
introduced to her guy friends so she doesn't have to give out her number.
But then one day,
you'll meet a kid like Jack,
who survived a Stage-III terminal cancer,
and knows something about what it really means
to live and die with a team.
And he'll tell you how cool it was
the first time a real-life YANKEE
visited him in the hospital,
and how he knew then he'd be okay,
because he had to get better to see one more game at the Stadium
before it closes after next season.
And for a moment,
the filters come off,
and you remember that you've been doing this for a reason.
Because a kid like Jack -
even though he's a Yankee fan -
know that sometimes
all ya gotta do
is believe.
are the most cynical bunch of fucks you're ever going to encounter;
They hate their job, the athletes they cover and the people they're writing for.
However, this remains a career they chose because at one time,
they cared.
After all,
these were the dorks getting their asses beat
for knowing more about baseball
than how to get in a girl's pants.
The reason they became writers and not fans
is an innate ability to be objective,
to separate the personal experience from the game.
And it takes a special moment
to realize this is even possible.
Mine came in 1993.
--
I was 10
and the Mets
were terrible.
I'm talking spectacular disappointments.
The team had broken the bank,
bringing Bobby Bonilla back to his hometown -
which is what you can do
when you make him the highest-paid player
in the history of the sport.
And joining "Bobby Bo"
were Bret Saberhagen,
a two-time Cy Young Award winner
and one-time phenom,
and Eddie Murray,
who's now a Hall of Famer
and one of four players
to ever amass 500 home runs
AND 3,000 hits.
And these three players
are now known as the core
of "The Worst Team Money Could Buy,"
because those Mets
lost 103 games.
One day, relatively early in the year -
with losing already threatening to euthanize
this abortion of a baseball experience -
I looked up from the sports section
and remarked to my father
that I sure hoped manager Jeff Torborg
got fired sometime soon.
My dad replied almost immediately,
"Well, jeez, honey -
we never like to see anyone lose their job ..."
And right then, athletes stopped being heroes
and started being people.
I had already
become a journalist.
--
So you have your "Eureka!" moment,
and you take a job barely making a living wage,
all while writing about adults earning millions to play a kid's game
You commit to working nights and weekends,
traveling all the got damn time,
and you learn the art of getting information
involves working the room like a politician,
and that you go to Derek Jeter for the facts,
but Gary Sheffield
for the truth.
And though Jose Reyes still doesn't speak English so good
after three years in the big leagues,
you know he's always smiling because he really is just happy to be there.
You learn to phrase your questions
so Willie Randolph doesn't get defensive
like he had to be growing up in Brownsville
and that if Tom Glavine trusts you,
so will everyone else.
And you pick up all this
just so you can become
the coolest dude the hot girl at the bar has EVER
introduced to her guy friends so she doesn't have to give out her number.
But then one day,
you'll meet a kid like Jack,
who survived a Stage-III terminal cancer,
and knows something about what it really means
to live and die with a team.
And he'll tell you how cool it was
the first time a real-life YANKEE
visited him in the hospital,
and how he knew then he'd be okay,
because he had to get better to see one more game at the Stadium
before it closes after next season.
And for a moment,
the filters come off,
and you remember that you've been doing this for a reason.
Because a kid like Jack -
even though he's a Yankee fan -
know that sometimes
all ya gotta do
is believe.
Labels: poetry
