The Yang Slinger: Vol IX

There are many ways to conduct a terrific interview, and many ways to completely blow it. Let's break it all down. Plus, five questions with the great Michael J. Lewis and shame on the New York Post.

Back in my early journalism days, I was a shit interviewer.

I don’t mean to imply I interviewed logs of poop. No—I was simply a guy who sucked terribly at speaking with subjects. My weaknesses were plentiful:

• 1. I thought the world revolved around me.

• 2. I knew the people I was interviewing wanted to hear my thoughts.

• 3. I didn’t enjoy listening.

• 4. I never researched.

Combine those four ingredients and you wind up with Jeff Pearlman 1994–arguably the worst journalist in the continental United States. I was 22 at the time, a Nashville Tennessean rookie who reeked of misplaced self-confidence and bumbling incompetence. My stories were flimsy and vapid—the equivalent of an ice cream sundae that’s 85 percent whipped cream.¹

Why? In large part because I didn’t know how to interview folks.

It’s an art. Truly, it is. Or, more accurately, a dance. I didn’t realize at the time. I figured you show up, you whip out a pen and a notepad and you ask questions. Which, technically, is correct. I mean, you do show up, whip out a pen and a notepad and ask questions. But there’s a Grand Canyon-sized gulf between meh interview and great interview.

So let’s break this shit down …

Step 1: Research

I’d say, looking back, my No. 1 weakness as a youngster was research. Or, put different: I didn’t research. Anything. Ever.

For example: My first job (weirdly) was as a food writer—a subject I knew nothing about. Which means, in a sane world, I’d have spent my free time digging through cookbooks, reading culinary magazines, grasping the language and lingo of grub. But, eh, no. I’d be assigned pieces on, oh, the 10 best ways to make an omelette, or the local chef who cooks exotic meats. And here’s how I’d prepare for the interview:

I’d.

Do.

Nothing.

Literally nothing. I’d arrive and ask questions. And, sincerely, that’s rat poison. Through the years, I’ve learned and learned and learned that 95 percent of an interview’s success hinges upon the pre-meetup research. And not solely because it’s base-level good to know whereof you speak.

No. One of the absolute keys to kicking interview ass is showing the subject that you’ve done the legwork. This is a hugely important (and overlooked) point, so I’m gonna make it twice: One of the absolute keys to kicking interview ass is showing the subject that you’ve done the legwork.

Personal example: Back in 2013, I was sent to Citi Field to write a piece on LaTroy Hawkins, the Mets’ veteran relief pitcher. The righthander was 40-going-on-41, and I’m sure tons of people were shuffling into the clubhouse to pen the cliched old-man-river saga. Which makes sense—I love those stories.

Well, I did my digging on Hawkins. Nothing amazing, but enough. And one thing I knew is he grew up in Gary, Indiana, one of the poorest, most-dilapidated cities in America. A couple of years earlier, I’d actually visited Gary to write a profile on the murder of Lyman Bostock, the former Angels outfielder who was shot to death on the corner of Fifth and Jackson. I spent considerable time there. Saw the rundown buildings, the empty streets, the shuttered factories.

So when I approached LaTroy, my opening wasn’t, “I’d like to speak with you about being a veteran” or “Man, you’re old.”² I said something like, “Hey, so I’m Jeff Pearlman. I’m working on a piece for Bleacher Report. Just wanna say—Gary, Indiana. I spent a lot of time there.”

LaTroy: “Really?”

Me: “Yup. I did a story about Lyman Bostock.”

LaTroy: “Whoa. Man, I know all about that. What’d you think?”

And we were off …

Another great benefit of pre-interview research is it eliminates a ton of wasted time. What I mean is, if I know Baltimore outfielder Ryan McKenna was born in Grants Pass, Oregon, I don’t have to bother asking where he’s from. If I know his first minor league season was limited because of an ankle injury, I don’t have to ask why he played so few games. Also (to emphasize an earlier point) it screams to Ryan McKenna, “I take this shit seriously! I’m not just another media goober!”

In fact, here’s how it usually goes for me …

A. I do some deep diving into Ryan McKenna. I learn where he’s from, what his background is, etc. But I don’t stop there.

B. I start researching Grants Pass, Oregon—a place I’ve neither visited nor heard of. I’m not a believer in Wikipedia as final-say research, but in this case a quick Wikipedia scan is invaluable. Well, it turns out Grants Pass is the birthplace of six former NFL players. It’s also the birthplace of Ty Burrell (from “Modern Family”) and Brandon Drury of the New York Mets. There’s a pornographic actor named Scott O’Hara from Grants Pass, as well as Shalley Shannon, the attempted murderer.

Grants Pass is also the birthplace of Dutch Bros. Coffee. Which is quirky cool.

The point is, when I approach Ryan McKenna, I’m not just saying, “Hey, Ryan, can I have a few minutes?” No way. “I’m saying, “You’re from Grants Pass, right?”

He’ll probably reply, “Yes.”

And I’ll follow with, “Home of Dutch Bros!”

And he’ll look at me with a tilted grin.

“Love that place,” he’ll say.

“Hell, yeah,” I’ll say.

And away we go.

I’ve told this story before, but years ago Sports Illustrated ordered me to profile J.D. Drew, at the time an Atlanta Braves outfielder. There are few humans on the planet I have less in common with than J.D. Drew—a devout Christian who never cursed and (I’m guessing) digs him some MAGA. But … at the time a new movie, “The Passion of the Christ” was hitting theaters. So the day before I’d see J.D., I paid my $10 (expensed, of course) and watched the film.

Did I like it? No.³

But when I arrived at the Braves’ spring training facility, I sat down and said to J.D., “Saw ‘Passion’ last night.”

“Oh, man,” he replied. “What’d you think?”

I was in.

Step 2: The Approach

I alluded to The Approach earlier, but I’ll get a bit more detailed here.

There are good ways to approach subjects, there are awful ways to approach subjects.

The good ways:

• Come armed with knowledge and information.

• If possible, arrange the interview beforehand so you’re not sneaking up on someone.

• Introduce yourself, and extend your hand for a shake.

• If you’re nervous (it happens), wipe the palm sweat on your pants before the handshake.⁴

• Be polite. Smile, but not like an idiot. More like a kind neighbor dropping off brownies.

• If you’re in a clubhouse/locker room setting, wait for an opening. Read the scene. It’s never great approaching when someone is naked. Or on his cell phone. Or naked on his cell phone. I remember, years back, waiting for my moment to introduce myself to Allen Iverson. He was on his phone in the Sixers locker room, I was tiptoeing forward, when suddenly he screamed (not at me, into the phone), “BITCH, I TOLD YOU I’M NOT KIDDING!” I backed off.

The bad ways (These are more fun):

• Whatever you do, don’t ramble. What I mean is, there’s no bigger turnoff than, “Hey, LaTroy, so my name is Jeff Pearlman. I’m a writer for Bleacher Report, been there about three years. Used to cover the Majors for Sports Illustrated. Think I interviewed you once or twice when I was writing about Todd Walker. You probably read my stuff. Maybe. I dunno. Anyhow, they want me to talk to you about aging. And we’re actually the same age. I bet your back hurts. Because mine sure does. So I wanted to see if …”

Zzzzzzzz

• The person doesn’t care about you. Maybe if you’re Stephen A. Smith or Royce Clayton⁵ But otherwise, your life story is generally insignificant. So don’t get trapped talking about yourself. Time is precious.

• There is no greater interview killer in the world (seriously—In. The. World.) than leading off with a question that’s gotcha (or even slightly gotcha) in nature. Let’s say you need to interview Rep. Lauren Boebert about the time her husband went to jail for lewd exposure. You know you’re gonna ask about this. Fuck, you know you have to ask about this. The worst thing you can do is make it your opener. First, because she’ll be furious. Second, because she’ll likely end the session. And instead of walking away with 30 minutes of material before pissing her off, you’ll walk away with no material before pissing her off.

In other words …

Me: “Hey, Rep. Boebert. My name is Jeff Pearlman. I’m a writer for Bleacher Report.”

Boebert: “Me like guns and Trump. Er.”

Me: “Right. So thanks for your time. I appreciate it. I know your husband went to jail for exposing himself to some women in a bowling alley. What happened?”

Boebert removes the assault rifle from her desk …

• Don’t pull up a chair without being invited to pull up a chair. Don’t press RECORD without saying, “You OK if I record?” Presumptuous is the body odor of journalism.

Step 3: The Interview

There’s a point I want to make. It’s ridiculousy important, so I’m going to lead off with it.

Here I go …

The No. 1 key to any interview is listening.

That sounds stupid and simple. I know. But it’s so friggin’ important and simultaneously so friggin’ ignored. Far too often, reporters arrive with either a literal list of questions or a bunch of questions in mind. And they’ll start by asking question No. 1.

Then getting an answer.

Then asking question No. 2.

Then getting an answer.

Then asking question No. 3.

And, on the surface, this makes sense. You’re a reporter and there are things you want to know. So you break out a list and fire away.

It’s interview cancer.

The best interviews aren’t actually interviews. They’re conversations. And the only way two people have a quality conversation is if they listen to one another and feed off of the received information. So let’s say, as an example, I’m interviewing Sandi Miller, who represented the state of Texas in the 1979 Miss America pageant.⁶ And my first question is, “So, Sandi, how did you feel at the moment you won Miss Texas?” And Sandi replies, “I was happy, but then I knew I’d have to return home and wax my dog’s legs while listening Conway Twitty albums ...”

My next question cannot be—UNDER ANY FUCKING CIRCUMSTANCES EVER EVER EVER EVER—”So, were you excited for Miss America?”

Sandi Miller just told me she waxed her dog’s legs. While listening to Conway Twitty. Which leads to the inevitable follow-up, “Wait. What?”

Literally, that’s what I’d say: “Wait. What?”

And the same principle applies when a shooting guard tells you he’s struggling because his mom has cancer, or a state senator says he voted no because Burger King donated $50,000 toward his campaign, or the witness to a crime says, “I didn’t see anything, but probably because I was hiding my cocaine.” You have to have to have to listen to what the person says, and feed off of it. And maybe, just maybe, your list of questions turns to dust.

That’s fine.

It should.

Other points:

• I’m a big fan of letting the interview subject peek behind the curtain. For example, if I have a hard question that needs to be thrown out there, I’ll often begin with, “Look, I know this isn’t a fun question, but I have to ask or my editor will kill me.” Or, “Look, I wouldn’t be a journalist if I don’t ask you this.” It’s surprising how often this doesn’t merely work, but is actually appreciated. It makes the subject feel as if he’s on the inside. It also lessens any potential friction.

• If possible, you wanna be on the same physical level as the interviewee. If they’re sitting, it’s best if you’re sitting. If they’re standing, make sure and stand, too. It’s all about power dynamics, and you want it to be as 50/50 as humanly possible. Few things are worse than having a famous person stand over you as questions are asked. It gives the celebrity extra power, when they don’t need it.

• Let. The. Person. Talk. This is huge and—like avoiding a list of questions—fairly make or break. It doesn’t matter if you’re in a rush, or bored out of your mind, or desperately need to use the bathroom—let the person go on and on and on. There are nuggets galore within those words. Trust me.

Also, avoid the all-too-human need to interject. If you’re interviewing someone about, say, stamp collecting, and your Uncle Marty used to collect stamps, don’t break up the person’s flow to share said information. At the right time, a little Uncle Marty story is great. But you’re here to land information, not offer up your own. “I try not to speak unless absolutely necessary,” said Pete Croatto, the excellent author. “Interviewing is not a competition to score cool points or to show off my knowledge, a trap that many people fall into, I'm afraid. I'm there to make the person feel so comfortable that they're prone to say anything.”

• Silence can be golden. This is from Nick Davis, the documentary filmmaker and a guy I very much respect: “The all-time best thing to do in a documentary interview is let the person finish their answer and then say absolutely nothing, continue to look expectantly at them ... sometimes a wildly uncomfortable silence will come next (which can be useful in its own way for a documentary), but even better, the subject, having ‘finished’ their answer, then actually thinks some more about what they've said, and adds a gem, a loose random thought, a joke, or takes the topic in a whole new, deeper direction.”

• Don’t be afraid to ask for details, details, details. A scuba diver tells the gripping story of the time he was attacked by an enormous flounder. Before moving on, fill in the gaps. “This might sound weird, but do you recall the flounder’s color?” Of course. It was pink. “Did it have a facial expression?” Um, he seemed constipated. I swear, these slivers make a story. “I could tell a reporter didn’t interview well when basic information was missing or incorrect,” said Patrick Connolly, my former Tennessean editor. “I’d always ask myself, ‘What else do I want to know? And it shouldn’t be basic.’”

• One of the all-time most-underrated questions is, “What was that like?” For example, you’re interviewing Kyler Murray. You want to know what he remembers about his first NFL start. Instead of asking, “What do you remember about your first NFL start?” try this—“Kyler, this might sound weird, but 99.99999% of my readers will never start an NFL game. If you could try and be really detailed, what was your first start like? What do you remember, emotionally, about walking into the huddle that first time?”

I swear, it works.

• Believe it or not, presentation is important. Don’t show up looking like a wrinkled napkin. People respect a crisp shirt, ironed pants, a sweater without spaghetti sauce. I remember being a 20-year-old summer intern at the Champaign-Urbana News Gazette, going about my day, when the managing editor called me into the office.

“You wear shoes without socks,” he said.

“Yeah,” I replied.

“Not if you’re writing for this newspaper.”

• I hate transcribing my interviews like I hate vomit-and-cucumber stew. But recording your interviews (if they’re longer than, oh, 10 minutes) is fairly important, because the notepad-pen hand motion is often a major distraction. How one records is vital.

First, ask in the most casual way possible, “You cool if I record?” (The reply is almost always, ‘Sure.’). Then pull out your device (generally a phone these days), press record and hide the damn thing ASAP. I don’t mean deceive—I mean hide. Beneath your notepad. Sticking out of your pocket. Whatever works. You’ve asked if recording is kosher. They’ve said yes. Now the entire goal is to have the person forget it’s there. Why? Because a recording device screams, “WATCH WHAT YOU SAY!” And that’s no bueno.

• Never surrender a question for, “Talk about …” As in, “Talk about your childhood.” No, no, no. It’s lazy, it’s bullshit and it accomplishes nothing. Ask a probing question, get a probing answer. Oh, and no Yes or No questions. Total waste of time.

• Almost forgot one biggie: If a person (the subject, or a publicist, or … whoever) asks beforehand how much time you need, always undershoot. It’s not lying, it’s … undershooting in the name of access. So if you think you need 30 minutes, say 20. If you need 10, say five. If you conduct the interview well, your subject won’t notice. They’ll just be happy to gab.

Step 4: The End

A few things to think about when an interview wraps:

• It’s always good (if possible) to grab a number or e-mail via the ol’ “Just in case I need to check a fact, is there a good way to reach you?” line. First, because odds are pretty good you might actually have something you forgot. Second, because there’s a value in having source phone numbers for future stories.

• If the interview was arranged by a publicist or PR bobo, make sure and thank the person. Even if you hate them. Even if they suck. You’ll likely need their assistance in the future. Kindness rarely hurts. Also, make sure and send them a copy of the article (unless it’s particularly negative—in that case it’s a survival call).

• I usually don’t so this, but several folks on Twitter insisted they wrap interviews by asking, “Is there anything you want to say that perhaps I forgot to ask?” Again, I never do it. But not for any good reason. Apparently it works quite well. James Schapiro, a freelance writer, swears on it. “I don’t think you can emphasize enough how important it is to never end an interview without asking some variation of ‘What did I miss?’ or ‘Anything else?’,” he told me. “So often I’ll do an interview, then once I think we’re done, I’ll ask if there’s something I missed and I’ll get my best quote or anecdote of the day, something completely unexpected and organic that I was looking for the entire time.”

The Quaz Five with … Michael J. Lewis

Michael J. Lewis (not Moneyball Michael Lewis) is a longtime journalist who has worked as a staff writer for myriad newspapers and spent a weird year at Slam Magazine (he blames me). These days, he freelances for 1,000,000 different places, and blogs regularly at the wildly entertaining Wide World of Stuff. You can follow him on Twitter here.

1. What are the keys to loading up on freelance work in 2021?: The biggest thing is to have no shame about absolutely being a pest, a pain in the butt, an annoyance in terms of constantly being in touch with those sites or newspapers you want to work for. I'm not saying call or email them three times a day, no one wants that. I'm just saying, staying in regular contact is very important. There are so many writers out there that editors can't keep track of them all, so once you've established a relationship with an editor, you need to stay in constant contact. And as far as getting new work for yourself, cast as wide a net as possible. Any subject matter you have experience or knowledge about, find sites that cover that and go after them. The only way to scratch out a living in freelance is to constantly push, push, push.

2. What's the most obscure place you've ever freelanced for?: Wow, that's a tough one. I've written for some very tiny outlets before. There was one newspaper in, I think it was Indiana or maybe Missouri, that told me they couldn't pay me but could give me a free subscription to their paper as payment. I said no, and I think we eventually settled on $25. One of my big freelance jobs every year is the U.S. Open tennis tournament, and there are always some small hometown weekly outlets I write for during that tournament. For me, I don't care about how big or small a newspaper or website is, it's all about if I've found a great story and want to share it.
I laughed and laughed when I read that quote from Taffy Brodesser-Akner of the New York Times Magazine saying she "doesn't get out of bed for less than $4 a word."⁷ That is so far from reality for 99 percent of us freelancers.

3. The weirdest marriage in modern journalism was Michael J. Lewis and Slam Magazine. How long were you there before you realized, "Um, no"?: Haha. I think the weirdest marriage in modern journalism is Sean Hannity and "NYT Bestseller List" but that's another story.

At Slam I knew within a week or two that I had made a big career mistake. One of my first jobs there was to edit the monthly letters to the editor section, called "Trash Talk." These letters were almost always written by 12-15 year old boys and were filled with spelling mistakes and grammar errors. The first time I got finished editing it I handed the proofed pages to another editor who frowned. "No no, we want you to leave most of the mistakes in the letters. Keeps it real."

I looked at him like he had three heads. Surely he was kidding. Um, no, he wasn't.
It was just a really bad fit. Me with my newspaper/journalism background and SLAM with its decidedly different vibe. By the way, we should tell your readers, Pearlman, that you encouraged me to take that job :)

4. You once got locked in a press box. What's the story?: I've actually been locked inside a stadium three times, but the one I think you're referring to since we've talked about it a bunch is the time I was covering a minor-league soccer game in Myrtle Beach, S.C., in 1998.

I don't have to tell you that the USL rivalry between the Wilmington Hammerheads and Myrtle Beach SeaDawgs was fierce, and the game was intense. In the press box that night I overheard a SeaDawgs announcer mention the team was going to hold its postgame party at the Hard Rock Cafe, information I never thought would come in handy. Anyway, the game ended, the SeaDawgs won, I went down to the field to do my interviews, and came back up and started writing. I definitely thought the maintenance guys knew I was still up there writing, but when I finished and tried to leave, all the gates were locked. There was no way to get out to my car, and the stadium was totally empty.

Thank God I had gotten a cell phone from my newspaper a few months earlier, a big phone that weighed like five pounds. I called 411 information (kids have no idea what that is today) and asked for the number of the Hard Rock Cafe. Some dude answered, it was Metallica-concert loud in the background, and I screamed "IS ANYONE THERE FROM THE MYRTLE BEACH SEADAWGS??? I'M LOCKED INSIDE THEIR STADIUM!" I think I had to yell it three-to-four times before the guy understood. Mercifully, someone from the team came by, laughed for a while as I stood inside the gate, and let me out. 
Good times.

5. Rank in order (favorite to least): George Michael, Carl Weathers, Sammy Davis, Jr., Galaga, Paul Stanley, the 1991 Jets, sunflower dresses, raisin cakes, Tubby Raymond, Olivia Rodrigo: The 1991 Jets (that was one of the good Bruce Coslet teams, I think?), Tubby Raymond (like you, I'm a Blue Hen and loved Tubby, though he was the most thin-skinned person I've ever interviewed), sunflower dresses (on women, not to wear myself); Carl Weathers, Sammy Davis, Jr. (even if I learned who he was from the old Billy Crystal impressions when I was a kid), George Michael, Olivia Rodrigo (I've recently become a fan, she's got an amazing voice), Paul Stanley, raisin cakes, Galaga (it was a terrible arcade game and I stunk at it). 

Yet another story of one of my myriad career fuckups …

OK, so this isn’t really a fuck-up. But it’s a pretty fantastic saga.

Back in the spring of 1994, when I was a University of Delaware senior, I wrote a column for the student newspaper headlined, THE SECRET LIFE OF A (GASP!) DELAWARE VIRGIN. And, indeed, I was a Delaware virgin—22 years of life, no sex.

I penned the piece for two reasons:

1. I was an attention whore.

2. I was about to lose my virginity, and needed to rush it out.

That’s the truth: I was dating a lovely young woman, and a few days after publication, I finally got laid. Soooo … that was that. Story ran, streak ended. Great, great, great, great.

Eh.

Three weeks later a Philadelphia TV station was piecing together a segment on virginity being cool and swell and hot, and someone had passed along my column to the producer. “We want to come to the newspaper office and interview you,” she said. “We loved your column.”

Again, I was an attention whore. Plus, I wasn’t gonna admit, “Actually, I got laid, breh!” So the cameras arrived, the interviewer showed up and I spoke at length about the highs of being pure and clean and virginal.

This is the byproduct …

Penis. Wild thing. Nameless face. Faceless name.

Hee-hee.

This week’s college writer you should follow on Twitter …

Stephen Thompson, senior sports editor of The Pitt News.

I started combing through Stephen’s archives, and I just really like the way the kid digs into stories. As I’ve said before in this space, too many college writers tend to put down words without thinking about the meaning and precision behind them.

Well, not ol’ Stephen. He’s crisp and precise and structures sentences wisely. I particularly liked this men’s basketball gamer from Pitt’s loss to Minnesota. It really captures the mysery of the team, the players, the (already old) season. You won’t finish reading and thinking, “Wow, he blew my socks off!” Hell, it’s just a gamer. Instead, you’ll walk away filled with important details and knowledge galore. That, itself, is art.

Stephen is on Twitter here. Bravo, kid …

Random journalism musings for the week …

Musing 1: The latest Atlantic devotes itself fully to an America sitting on the edge of democracy being overtaken by autoritarianism. It’s horribly depressing, but also important to read and understand. Jeffrey Goldberg, the publication’s editor, leads off with this sobering piece on what’s at stake. But the money story is TRUMP’S NEXT COUP HAS ALREADY BEGUN, written by Barton Gellman. I wish I knew how this all ends. I’m terrified.

Musing 2: Fred Hiatt, the Washington Post’s editorial page editor, died earlier this week at the far-too-young age of 66. This, from his Post obituary: “Mr. Hiatt was one of Washington’s most authoritative and influential opinion-makers. For two decades, he either wrote or edited nearly every unsigned editorial published by The Post — more than 1,000 a year — and edited the opinion columns published on the paper’s op-ed page and website. He also wrote a column and was a three-time finalist for the Pulitzer Prize in editorial writing.”

Musing 3: Journalistically, it’s rarely hard to find reasons to dog ESPN. But when the network reported that Oregon football coach Mario Cristobal left to take the job at Miami, it failed to credit the man who first broke the news, Mike Ryan Ruiz of the Dan LeBatard Show. That is both lazy and pathetic.

Musing 4: An absolutely unspeakably poor headline/article from The Australian and reporter Adam Creighton. The title: I CAUGHT COVID. IT WAS UNPLEASANT BUT IT WAS NO BIG DEAL. As COVID continues to result in so much illness and death, I can’t imagine the thinking behind such irresponsible stupidity. But maybe there was none. Clicks, clicks, clicks, clicks are currency in 2021 …

Musing 5: This essay, A PRAYER FOR A HUMBLER MEDIA, from j. Siguru Wahutu, an assistant professor of media, culture, and communication at New York University, does it for me. Money offering …

Musing 6: One of the most disturbing things I’ve seen this week is Jon Levine of the New York Post pursuing Alec Baldwin. This is not journalism. This is not reporting. This is not seeking truth. It’s some weird merging of stalking and taunting. And for what? Clicks? Attention? You don’t have to like Baldwin (or even respect Baldwin) to have some human empathy for him. This is lower than low.

Musing 7: Wait! Just when you thought a lowest depth was reached! On Monday night Kyle Rittenhouse appeared on the podcast “You Are Here,” co-hosted by Sydney Watson. Roughly 24 minutes in, Watson told the 18-year old that it was “kind of impressive” that “of all the people that you shot at, you killed probably two of the worst on the planet.”

To his credit (sort of), Rittenhouse didn’t bite. He said the killings were nothing to be congratulated about, and expressed regret. “Like, if I could go back, I wish I would never have had to take somebody’s life,” he said.

Keep it classy, Watson.

Musing 8: Sometimes questions need to be asked in public settings. It can be awkward and uncomfortable and knock people off balance. Bravo to Scott Wong of The Hill for asking this one …

Acyn @Acyn

Reporter: I don’t remember you holding a press conference for the unusually cruel treatment of Capitol Police officers

Musing 9: This week’s Two Writers Slinging Yang stars Kelsie Snow, the former Minnesota Twins beat writer and current host of the amazing podcast, “Sorry, I’m Sad.” Kelsie’s husband, Calgary Flames exec Chris Snow, was diagnosed with ALS two years ago, and Kelsie has turned her grief into one of the most gripping pods out there.

Quote of the week …

“Journalism is literature in a hurry.”

— Matthew Arnold

1. Admittedly, this is sort of appealing to me.

2. This would not be received well.

3. Every Jew was depicted as a brown-toothed troll. I’m a 6-foot-2 Jew with solid teeth.

4. Not joking.

5. Random early-2000s infielder reference.

6. I randomly typed in “Miss America” and “Texas” to come up with a weird example. Success!

7. I remember when she said this. I vomited in my mouth. Too arrogant for my taste. Live how you live. Doesn’t mean you’ve gotta say it aloud.