So here we sit in our bubble, clinging to the principles of Journalism 101, warning readers about the sports sewer.
But there are days when I wonder: Exactly whom do we attempt to protect from what?
I suspect that if we were to turn over these pages to the masses for the week, or let fans choreograph sports segments for the 10 o’clock news, stories would be presented a lot differently.
I suspect point spreads would become more important than investigations about Olympic bribery scandals. This is not to say the media are right and the public wrong. It is only to suggest that the landscape has changed and that we aren’t always on the same frequency.
Check out those grainy films from bygone games at Ebbets Field and note the dress code. So many jackets and ties. In Brooklyn! Meanwhile, in the ’90s, the Philadelphia Eagles combat unruly crowds with a remedy unthinkable years ago: a courtroom and a presiding judge in the bowels of the stadium.
We can sit here and insist it was better then than now, but we are challenged by the first commandment of Journalism 101: Check the facts. Sports are bigger than ever. Perhaps not better, probably not cleaner, but absolutely bigger.
So who are we to express outrage about the bogus result of that recent heavyweight bout between Lennox Lewis and Evander Holyfield? Even politicians, eager to supply sound bites, join our chorus. We simply must get to the bottom of this mess and fix this sport. It is our civic duty!
Well, now, isn’t that holy of us. Thing is, Howard Cosell, who forgot more boxing than most reporters or senators ever knew, was calling for a federal czar 20 years ago. And before that there were blue-ribbon panels to probe boxing, or it would die.
Such folly. Boxing isn’t going to die. We pundits write and speak about our indignation. However, in the other world, fans flock to sports in record numbers to be entertained, albeit with lower, more pragmatic, expectations.
Or to put it another way, the games we often treat as lofty endeavors long ago were removed from the pedestal by fans who pay to be amused, by role models and parole models.
We occasionally get annoyed with the annual futility of the Cubs. But fans dash to Wrigley Field for bucolic afternoons in the sun, and if the Cubs lose, so what? We pound our fists at the corrupt fiefdom of Olympic chief Juan Antonio Samaranch. But TV viewers ask, when is figure skating on?
During the impeachment process, President Clinton was harpooned by professional critics. But much of America yawned. The stock market booms, and by the way, instead of Congress dwelling on Monica Lewinsky or a boxing judge’s scorecard, how about feeding the hungry?
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On a much more trivial matter, a St. Paul newspaper nobly nails the Minnesota Gophers’ basketball team for academic fraud. But Gov. Jesse Ventura blasts the report’s timing. Why on the eve of a really big game? Not surprisingly, his approval ratings are up and subscriptions down. Ventura came from wrestling. Speaking of altered priorities, what athletic diversion is hotter?
The Blackhawks can’t wait to trade Chris “It’s Not About Money” Chelios but fear the media will stir fans to destroy the United Center. But the building still stands. Tiger Woods slams his club and is scolded in print. But spectators around him don’t blink.
We preach sports ethics and etiquette, but fans are well ahead of the curve. They buy more tickets than ever to be amused by more games played by more athletes who want to make it in the worst way, and often do. But we sigh: Where have you gone, Joe DiMaggio?
We do try to get it right. But sometimes maybe we just don’t get it, period.