The Yang Slinger: Vol. XLIX

It's not a car—it's a green Tempo. It's not a doll—it's Ninja Cat. It's not a dog—it's Bailey. And it's not a banquet—it's a banquet with green and yellow mints. In this biz, details mean everything.

In the spring of 1931, Martin Luther King, Sr. took over for his late father as pastor of the Ebenezer Baptist Church in Atlanta. He was initially reluctant to do so, because he had built up a solid following at another church, and didn’t want to disappoint his parishioners. But King’s wife Alberta was insistent Martin make the move, so he rolled with the new.

After hiring their young pastor, the powers that be at Ebenezer welcomed him with a banquet.

But not just any banquet.

The banquet featured a four-course meal served by uniformed waiters.

It featured tables arranged with spring flowers.

It featured green and yellow candles.

And … it featured green and yellow mints.

I learned all of this because the information appears on page 26 of Jonathan Eig’s magnificent new Martin Luther King, Jr. biography, “King: A Life.” And as soon as the word “mint” crossed my visual path, I set aside the book and texted Jonathan—a good friend and colleague …

Eig is correct. I probably will be the only person who reads, “King: A Life” and walks away marveling over the mints detail. But I fucking love it, the way I love Blind Melon’s “Change” and this photo of Tony Scott and Garry Templeton. I love how specific it is. I love how tight it is. Mostly, I love what it says. There are banquets that have four-course meals. There are banquets that have flowers. But mints take it to the next level. Mints at a banquet suggest something. They’re small and classy and refreshing. They say, “This is a special event.” You don’t get mints at a Denny’s or In-N-Out. You get them when someone’s trying to zest you up. The well-dressed bathroom attendant at Javier’s. The front desk at the High Ridge Country Club.

And, thanks to the green and yellow mints, I’m devoting this week’s Substack to the majestic power of the microscopic detail. Which, journalistically, may well be the most underrated element when it comes to separating good stories/books from epic stories/books. Or, put differently, it’s not just a soda. It’s a Coca-Cola. And it’s not just a Cola-Cola, it’s a can of Coca-Cola. And it’s not just a can of Coca-Cola, it’s a silver can of Coca-Cola. With a thumb-sized dent on the side. And a bit of the red scripted writing faded around the first A. The silver can of Coca-Cola with the thumb-sized dent and the faded writing is warm. Because it’s been sitting out in the sun. There are a bunch of pin-sized gnats flying around the opened tab, seeking out a dab of sweetness. As a unit, they make the faintest of sound—a slight buzz.

And now, instead of mere soda, you have a scene.

You have a moment.

You have an aura.

Before I dive into this topic—a warning: Not all details are necessary. Sometimes the brand of cigarettes is irrelevant. Sometimes the car model makes no difference. Sometimes nobody cares whether a dude was eating a Whopper or a Big Mac.

Or, as the New York Times’ Eli Saslow rightly DMed me: “I think sometimes reporters use details to show how much they know, when the details don’t necessarily serve the story. Putting the name of the dog into a story isn’t important (and is in fact distracting) if the dog isn’t important to the story.”

I had reached out to Eli in a strangely roundabout way. Konrad Marshall, the exceptional Australian long-form writer for “Good Weekend,” was offering me his thoughts on the power of hyper-specific details when he cited a piece Eli wrote for the Washington Post back in 2013. Headlined AFTER NEWTOWN SHOOTING, MOURNING PARENTS ENTER INTO THE LONELY QUIET, the story delves into the lives of mothers and fathers who lost their children in the school massacre one year earlier. And while the story runs nearly 7,000 words, and was published a decade ago, one passage is forever branded in Marshall’s brain. “The most devastating detail I ever read,” Marshall noted.

Namely, this …

“I talk about the brand of the beer, name of the dog, title of the song,” Konrad said. “How about the fucking name of the stuffed animal. [That] sentence wrecks me every time.”

Indeed, it’s unambiguously wrecking. Eli easily could have gone with, “his arms wrapped around a stuffed animal” or “hugging a toy he loved.” But he included the name “Ninja Cat”; included—”had traveled with him everywhere, including into the hearse and underground.” And now, as I sit here writing this substack inside an Hanover, Md. cafe, a poppy seed bagel to my left, I am picturing a dead boy, in a coffin, arms wrapped around Ninja Cat.

And, like, Konrad, I feel wrecked.

“Daniel, freaking loved Ninja Cat so much so that it was the one thing that was buried with him, and to me that fact — that Ninja cat traveled with him in the hearse and underground — is actually the meaningful detail that makes that sentence work,” Eli told me. “It takes this very relatable artifact of childhood and delivers us to a totally brutal place.”

When done right, that’s what tiny details do. They add texture. Depth. Emotion. They make you relate with the place and time you’re reading about. They take you inside a scene you’re physically unavailable to witness. They land you within the confines of a coffin alongside a child and his stuffed animal—forcing you to momentarily feel something beyond words.

In his 1990 Sports Illustrated piece, “Pure Heart,” the late William Nack wrote of Secretariat: “Just before noon the horse was led haltingly into a van next to the stallion bam, and there a concentrated barbiturate was injected into his jugular. Forty-five seconds later there was a crash as the stallion collapsed.” Injected into his jugular. You grip that. You see that. Had Nack not been Nack, he could have lamely written of the horse “receiving an injection, then falling.” But where’s the passion in that? Where’s the precision? Where’s the sense of place?

And if you think of the stories you’ve loved through the years, almost all of them will include details that make you go, “Damn.”

When, in 2004, Wayne Coffey of New York’s Daily News wrote about the 25th anniversary of Thurman Munson’s death, he offered up this little ditty …

“Somehow, the image of Thurman pulling up to the airport, listening to ‘Take Me Home, Country Roads’ or something in the final minutes of his life was deeply moving to me,” Wayne told me. “Minutiae is massive. It’s everything.”

In 1999, Sports Illustrated’s Phil Taylor was assigned to profile Utah Jazz guard John Stockton—perceived by many to be the most boring man walking the earth¹. Instead of running from that reputation, Taylor found ways to double down on it. “Stockton was a completely no-frills player, as you know, and he strove to be just as plain vanilla as a person,” Phil told me. “I discovered that in his wedding announcement that ran in his hometown paper, the Spokane Spokesman-Review, he insisted on no mention of the Jazz or NBA, and that it say only that the groom was ‘employed in Salt Lake City.’ It was just a tiny thing, but I thought it perfectly illustrated just how private and buttoned-up he was, and how much he wanted just to blend in to the crowd.”

Here’s what Phil wrote …

Said Phil: “When you think about the people you know really, really well, there’s probably some little thing they did or said or happened to them that only you and maybe a few other people are aware of — something that either perfectly captures who they are, or maybe something totally surprising that shows a different side of them. When you can give the reader that kind of little nugget, you’ve done your job.”

One of the all-time great details comes via Teddy Greenstein, who in 2011 wrote this article, headlined ESPN’S LOWBALL OFFER TRIGGERED BIG TEN EXPANSION, for the Chicago Tribune. The piece details the battle between ESPN’s Mark Shapiro and the Big Ten’s Jim Delany, and ends thusly …

I mean—wow. Wow! Wow! Wow! It’s one thing to feel a way about someone you hate. It’s another thing altogether to tell a reporter that the bottle of bubbly you sent your rival was a re-gift. Like Eig’s mints, it says so much. It speaks in ways the writer—using his own voice, his own adjectives—never can.

“In an age where everyone has access, either direct or through a phone or TV or whatever, those little details really make a story,” said Teren Kowatsch of the Lewiston Tribune. “Those extra details help bring a story together, but they also give readers an experience that they wouldn’t otherwise get.”

So here’s a solid question, especially for younger journalists coming up through the ranks: How does one land details? Like, how does an Eli Saslow find out the name of the stuffed animal? How does Teddy Greenstein find out the bubbly was a re-gift? How does Jonathan Eig pick up on the mints?

Answer: A bunch of ways.

First, and most obvious, is research. And more research. And more research. Eig’s mints details didn’t come from an interview, but via an ancient article he found on either Newspapers.com or Proquest. And while it’s hardly sexy work, the best reporters out there are unafraid to roll up their sleeves and devote hours upon hours to reading every possible article on a subject. Eig, for example, has certainly read more than, oh, 5,000 MLK-related pieces in researching the man.

And while I’m not saying I’m one of the best reporters out there (I’m not), I spent much of yesterday inside Baltimore’s Enoch Pratt Free Library, combing through yellowed folders in pursuit of any/all articles about Tupac Shakur’s time at Baltimore School for the Arts. I’d say 99 percent of the uncovered pieces were useless. But then I’d find something. A tiny gem. A small ruby. Even if it’s the name of a teacher, or the classroom number where Pac, say, took math—well, for me it makes the whole endeavor worthwhile. I’ve called my wife on many occasions to squeal, teenage-like, “I found a nugget! I found a nugget! I found a nugget!”²

Second is the raw power of observation. In this day and age, too many of us stare down at our phones, wondering who’s texting what, who’s tweeting who. Meanwhile, the world is unleashing all sorts of colors. Ted Spiker, author and chair of the University of Florida’s journalism program, gloriously recalls a talk Michael Connelly gave when he discussed the time he spotted gnaw marks on the end of a detective’s glasses. “[Connelly] noticed it and realized that the detective at crime scenes always put that end of his glasses in his mouth and clenched,” Spiker said. “Connelly talked about how the detail just worked as such a powerful symbol for how much emotion that the detective had working these tough cases.”

Matthew Rudy, the wonderful Golf Digest writer, watched Henrik Stenson enough times to fully break down what he was doing wrong—and right. When, in HOW HENRIK STENSON LEARNED TO WIN BIG AFTER CONQUERING THE YIPS, Rudy wrote, “The ball came off high and straight and kicked slightly right when it landed. It bounded hard toward Norman's bunker, but Stenson had already picked up his tee and retreated to the back of the tee box to wait for Mickelson to play.” … it wasn’t guesswork. Rudy watched Stenson. Watched him again. Took in his swing. Understood. Absorbed. “Anybody can watch him swing the club on the telecast,” Matt told me. “The details contribute to the how and why. Immerse you in the story. Subconsciously bringing you inside the moment as it’s happening.”

Once upon a time, when the Nashville Banner was still a thing, the writer Dean Graber traveled from one end of Highway 70 to the other in Tennessee. “He stopped at a house along the way and interviewed a woman,” recalled Beverly Keel, the dean of Middle Tennessee State’s College of Media and Entertainment. “He wrote that she pushed herself with her calloused feet back and forth in a rocking chair and said she was just waiting to die. I will never forget those calloused feet.”

Third is perhaps the hardest part—asking. Sometimes it means interrupting a story to say, “Wait, can I just …” Sometimes it means writing down a bunch of need-to-put-forth questions in your notepad for a bit later. It can be weird, awkward, offputting, uncomfortable. I’ve asked subjects what they recall of a loved one’s death. Of hearing an awful health diagnosis. I’ve literally chronicled a mother who accidentally ran over her daughter—and had to ask, “What did you see? What did you hear?”

One of my all-time favorite (personal) detail acquisitions dates back to my 2011 Walter Payton biography, “Sweetness.” I had found out that, while coaching a JV high school basketball team post-NFL retirement, Payton gave his pimply players a long pep talk about trust, then handed the team captain his Super Bowl ring accompanied by the words, “I trust you.”

Well, over the weekend the captain lost the ring. Turns out, during a party, it fell between a couch’s cushions and through a fabric tear before embedding itself near the base. The ring vanished, and Payton was devastated. Years and years later, long after Payton’s death, that couch—re-gifted to a family friend—was inside a Purdue University residence. One day the Purdue student’s dog started pawing at the bottom of the couch. Pawing and pawing and pawing. When the owner looked, he found the dog reaching for Payton’s long-lost Super Bowl ring.

The mutt’s name: Bailey.

I love that detail. It’s an all-time favorite. And I uncovered it by interrupting an interview with the former Boilermaker to say, “I know this might sound dumb, but what was your dog’s name?”

It’s not all that dissimilar from Mirin Fader profiling Patrick Beverly for B/R Mag in 2019 (headline: WHAT MAKES PATRICK BEVERLY TICK?) and learning that, as a boy, Beverly and his mother slept in a green Ford Tempo. Not just a car—a green Ford Tempo (Said Mirin: “That detail was extraordinarily important for me. Pat didn’t remember—mom of course did. You have to put the reader there, to have them understand Pat’s fear as a child in that moment. In the car just doesn’t feel as precise as green Ford Tempo”). It’s not all that dissimilar from Spiker calling a criminal defense lawyer and asking, “What kind of underwear were you wearing when the bee sting you?” [black Calvin Klein boxer briefs]. It’s not all that dissimilar from Tim Hayes of the Bristol Herald Courier having a man who—last-minute—didn’t board a plane that crashed recall he ate McDonald’s just before the tragedy.

“The importance of details, as I see it, is that they keep your story from devolving into cliches and make your story memorable,” said Jenn Hatfield, managing editor of The Next and author of this outstanding profile of Kathy Delaney-Smith. “People will probably remember a white Ford Fiesta with an orange interior, but they won't necessarily remember ‘a beat-up old car.’ In a story about hardships an athlete suffered through before making it big, people won't remember any of that if it's vague because they've heard that narrative a thousand times. But if you can write, ‘Every night, she and her brother ate black beans out of a dented old can in their basement for dinner as big white rats scurried around them’ … now you're getting something distinctive and memorable. Also, and related, that kind of detailed storytelling helps put the reader in the action. They can picture themselves in that basement and shudder, or they can picture Delaney-Smith's car and quickly understand that she was making sacrifices as a coach. That helps keep the reader interested and invested in the narrative you're sharing.”

So remember—this isn’t just a substack entry. It’s a mediocre substack entry. Written by a washed-up hack with four days of stubble and yellowed armpit stains peeking out from the sleeves of his tattered orange Tampa Bay Buccaneers T-shirt. Bagel crumbs cover his silver shorts. His sideburns are salt-and-peppered. He smells of oak and java. He looks like a dried prune.

And he loves details.

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The Quaz Five with … Jennifer Streeter

Jennifer Streeter, new recipient of a master’s degree in journalism from Columbia University, recently had her thesis on the perils of Tommy John surgery published in the Palm Beach Post. You can follow her on Twitter here and Instagram here.

1. OK, Jennifer—so I open my my folks' copy of the Palm Beach Post the other day and there's a huge story ... from you. And it says, "The author is receiving her Master's degree from the Columbia University Graduate School of Journalism on May 17. She wrote this Tommy John surgery and youth pitchers story for her thesis." OK, so how did your thesis wind up blowing up?: So first things first, a huge shoutout to the men and staff of the Columbia baseball program. In addition to being a master’s student, I’m in a student leadership position with our Ath Comm office. When I was hired, I pushed to be the student assigned to the baseball team because I wanted to cover (in my opinion) the most successful team Columbia had to offer — and they were coming off of a run in the Blacksburg Regional. It paid off and I got the sport, but when I got there I noticed that six guys on the team had already had Tommy John … that interested me. These are young college athletes in a conference with really strict and limited rules. Then one of the seniors, Nate Beimel, and I talked and he told me how he had TJ his freshman year, his sophomore and junior seasons taken away from due to COVID-19, and then retore his UCL and needed TJ again his senior year. He told me the story and as a reporter, I knew this was a problem, but as a baseball fan — I was devastated for him as a player. Then I googled “Tommy John death” to see if anything would come up — that’s when I saw Sang’s case. After talking with my investigative professor, Matthew Rocheleau, and he told me that this HAD to be my thesis. My mentor, Emily Palmer, with the NYT agreed. And it just snowballed from there. I worked from September until the beginning of this month. The Palm Beach Post interviewed me for a sports writer position, and in it they asked me about the story I was most proud of — this piece was my answer. I got the job, but sadly I have already accepted another offer in Texas. But, they wanted to publish my piece, so hear it is! I will say, huge credit to the Baek family. Especially Sunny Baek, Sang’s sister. Their willingness to share his story and what they’ve been through with me was the best motivation there ever was.

2. There's an ongoing debate whether the journalism master's degree is worth it. Jennifer, you're receiving yours this week. Worth it? And why/why not?: Absolutely, a master’s degree is worth it. I can see the debate. Grad school is expensive, journalists don’t make a lot of money — I’m incredibly blessed and fortunate to have a family who supported me wanting to further my education. My time at Texas A&M in the undergrad program was great … definitely laid an amazing journalism foundation for me — Professors Dale Rice & Angelique Gammon and my mentor Hannah Underwood — everything I am as a reporter I definitely owe to them. But, I was also in a sorority. I had other things going on, and I knew I had more to learn. Undergrad was a great mix of the typical college experience and also learning, but I had more to do. When you get accepted to Columbia’s J School, you go. I learned and grew as a reporter so much. But master’s degree isn’t just a tick on my resume, it brought me connections, a skill set, new friends, new experiences but most of all — I’m a better journalist for it. And if I’m being honest, having the experience of covering another athletic conference aside from the SEC (where it truly does just mean more) is icing on the cake. I’m a more rounded sports reporter because of it. Sports reporting at A&M was amazing, but here, I had sports professors Sean Gregory with Time Magazine and a mentor/thesis advisor in Kelly Whiteside with CFP and USA Today.

3. You opened your piece with this heartbreaking vision of a 19-year-old pitcher in a casket. How did you approach his parents, family? How hard were the interviews? And why did you choose to open with him in the casket?: Sang’s family is amazing. I reached out to them via social media, and then when that didn’t work — I sent them a letter. I wanted them to know that I wanted to tell his story, but that I wanted to prevent more baseball players from passing away. We built a months long relationship over the phone, texting and social media. We scheduled a trip for me to go visit Salisbury in person to meet with them. I knew I had to see the town and do the interviews in person. The interviews were hard, especially the first one, but because we developed a good source relationship, they were easier. Sunny and I spent an entire day together. We went to Ocean City together, and she brought me to the beach where they spread Sang’s ashes. The relationship I built with her made the interviews so much easier. Part of the piece that had to be cut due to word count was a couple portions just on Sunny. She’s really doing her best to honor him, and as a young female I related to her. This is a girl who spends her free time looking at the pitching mound when she needs to find a place to think, who chose her college because one of their last conversations was him recommending she goes there when he played against them. She’s a student statistician for Davidson’s baseball team — but she’s doing all of this to keep her brother’s memory alive and to remember him. The casket came in because my story has a lot of different parts. Tommy John surgery is more than just Sang, but I knew the story had to start and end with him. I didn’t want people to forgot about Sang throughout the piece — I knew the lede about him had to be visceral. I wanted it to make people uncomfortable and show that this really is a problem. I felt the best way to do that was illustrating his service — I mean when the family told me they had the visitation with him dressed in his baseball jersey and with his glove on his hand, that really stuck with me. It showed that being a pitcher was almost everything he was. I knew that had to be in there.

4. You're a Texas kid who attended Columbia and wants to be a member of the fake news media. In other words, you've occupied different worlds. Do you feel like, considering the nation's political chaos, there's any understanding to be found? Texas? New York? America? Or are we fucked?: Yeah definitely very interesting being raised in the south and being in NYC. Anytime I say “ma’am” or “sir” or “Mr.” “Ms.” Or “Mrs” people look at me like I’m bat shit crazy. I would argue that sports reporting isn’t fake news media, but I’m definitely crazy to have occupied such different worlds. I hope one day, people can put politics aside to find some kind of understanding, but doubtful that it’s possible. I guess you could say I think we’re fucked politically, but I’m naive in that I hope there’s a better answer somewhere out there. Oh, and I’ll say “y’all” till the day I die and there is not a single person out there who could ever convince me that any other saying is superior. “You guys” ??? No.

5. Journalism isn't exactly going through the best of times. Why do you still wanna pursue this?: I grew up an athlete. I was a varsity soccer player, a competitive gymnast and tried volleyball and softball. I grew up around sports. My parents met attending LSU, and my mom was a collegiate volleyball player and grew up in Tuscaloosa, and my dad was a swimmer. Sports, especially SEC sports, were always on. I grew up around sports and as an athlete. Unfortunately for me, I wasn’t good enough to pursue soccer in college. But I knew I wanted sports around. I tried the sports management major but got bored very quickly with the business aspect. I’ve always been a good writer, and liked to get my thoughts on a page. I thought — why not try sports writing? I’d say it’s worked out pretty well. Growing up, I always really admired Maria Taylor, Erin Andrews, Laura Rutledge. I hope to be the next one of them.

BONUS—Rank in order, favorite to least: Dan Patrick (Texas. lieutenant gov), Dan Patrick (broadcaster), Haynes King, Don King, Taylor Swift, Stromile Swift, guinea pigs, New Guinea, soccer (football), soccer (soccer), Tom Brady: Soccer (soccer) — women’s soccer specifically, soccer (football), Haynes King (really fun guy to cover, which him the best at Georgia Tech), Guinea pigs, Tom Brady, New Guinea, Dan Patrick (broadcaster), Taylor Swift (not that big a fan — sorry, I prefer her older music and not her new stuff), Don King (ranked below T-Swift due to his manslaughter conviction), and finally — Dan Patrick (Texas lieutenant governor, I may have some southern ideals and political views compared to other people here in the city, but after all of the recent shootings in Texas, you bet your ass I voted for Beto on my absentee ballot. Definitely not a Greg Abbott supporter.) Because of my parents and our loyalty to LSU, I abstain from ranking Stromile Swift. The answer depends on if we’re talking about him strictly as a player, or as a combined player and human being. Geaux Tigers, Go Lions and GIG ‘EM AGGIES.

A random old article worth revisiting …

On Jan. 22, 1987, R. Budd Dwyer, the Pennsylvania state treasurer who was facing corruption charges, pulled a gun out of a paper bag, then shot himself in the head during a press conference. An Associated Press photographer named Paul Vathis recalled the scene in this next-day piece from the Lancaster Intelligencer-Journal (If you’re of a certain age, this shit still haunts you) …

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

Jake Ellis, Utah State graduating senior.

A member of the sports staff for The Statesman, Jake’s stylistic writing far exceeds his experience. Read his stuff, and you’ll see a kid who grasps tone, pacing texture. Just really excellent work—highlighted by this piece, headlined, BEING AN AGGIE IS A ‘FAMILY THING’ FOR CHANDLER DOLPHIN.

Writes Jake …

One can follow Jake on Twitter here.

Congrats on entering the real world, kid. You’re gonna do great things.

Jim Murray speaks with …

A new feature to the Pearlman Journalism Substack—thanks to the warped geniuses at Chat GPT, we can sorta kinda see what would happen if Jim Murray, the late/legendary Los Angeles Times columnist, sat down with three random celebrities. This week, here’s what GPT offers from Jim’s meeting with Isaac Washington (the Love Boat bartender), New York Rangers right winger Kaapo Kakko and Harriet Tubman …

Jim Murray: Good evening everyone, and welcome to our show. Tonight, we have three very special guests joining us. Isaac Washington, the bartender from the famous TV show "The Love Boat," Kaapo Kakko, the right wing for the New York Rangers, and Harriet Tubman, the renowned abolitionist and political activist. Welcome, all of you.

Isaac Washington: Thank you, Jim. It's great to be here. I'm excited to talk about drinks and mixology.

Kaapo Kakko: Thanks, Jim. Happy to be here and represent the Rangers.

Harriet Tubman: Thank you, Jim. It's an honor to be here and share my story.

Jim Murray: Isaac, let's start with you. You're known for your love of cocktails. Can you tell us a bit about your favorite drink?

Isaac Washington: Absolutely, Jim. My favorite drink is the classic Mai Tai. It's made with rum, orange curaçao, lime juice, and orgeat syrup. It's the perfect balance of sweet, sour, and boozy flavors.

Kaapo Kakko: That sounds delicious. I'm more of a beer guy myself, but I might have to try that.

Harriet Tubman: I've never had a Mai Tai before, but it sounds like something to try. As for me, I'm not much of a drinker.

Jim Murray: Fair enough, Harriet. Let's switch gears and talk to Kaapo. You're a rising star in the NHL. How does it feel to be playing for the New York Rangers?

Kaapo Kakko: It's a dream come true, Jim. I grew up playing hockey in Finland, and it's always been my goal to play in the NHL. Being part of the Rangers organization is an honor, and I'm excited to see what the future holds.

Isaac Washington: I bet you could use a good drink after a tough game, huh?

Kaapo Kakko: (laughs) Yeah, sometimes. But I try to stay hydrated and focus on recovery after games.

Harriet Tubman: Kaapo, I'm curious to know how you got into hockey. Was it a popular sport in Finland?

Kaapo Kakko: Yes, hockey is very popular in Finland. My dad played when he was younger, so I grew up watching him and wanting to play too. I started playing when I was four years old.

Jim Murray: Harriet, you've been a hero to many people for your work in helping slaves escape to freedom through the Underground Railroad. Can you tell us what motivated you to risk your own safety to help others?

Harriet Tubman: Well, Jim, I was born into slavery myself, and I knew how terrible it was. I escaped to freedom when I was young, but I couldn't forget about all the others who were still suffering. I felt called to help them and do whatever I could to fight against slavery and injustice.

Isaac Washington: Harriet, you're a true inspiration. I think we could all learn a thing or two from your courage and determination.

Kaapo Kakko: Absolutely. Your story is amazing, Harriet.

Harriet Tubman: Thank you, both of you. It means a lot.

Jim Murray: Well, unfortunately, that's all the time we have for tonight. I want to thank our guests, Isaac Washington, Kaapo Kakko, and Harriet Tubman, for joining us and sharing their insights. Until next time, this is Jim Murray signing off.

Journalism musings for the week …

Musing 1: If you want a really informative, smart, wide-eyed perspective on sports media, this week’s episode of The Press Box podcast features ESPN’s Marc J. Spears. It’s engrossing shit.

Musing 2: Because Sports Illustrated is catching creepy buzz for placing Martha Stewart on the cover of the Swimsuit Issue, it’s easy to forget that, in senior writer Michael Rosenberg, it has one of the biggest guns in the game. Rosenberg’s latest piece, ‘THE DRIVING FORCE’: HOW BRETT FAVRE’S DEMANDS FOR CASH FUELED A SCANDAL, is a brilliant merging of reporting and writing. It also may well contribute to Favre winding up in prison.

Musing 3: So there’s a woman named Makayla Perkins who works as the social media director for an outlet called PHNX Sports. And on Wednesday she Tweeted out this, in response to Chiefs quarterback Patrick Mahomes suggesting the Phoenix Coyotes should move to Kansas City …

And after she caught some (righteous) criticism, Perkins doubled down—refusing to cower and retweeting her backers. And … it’s a reminder how youth can truly be wasted on the young. I get that we live in 2023, when the buzz of a widely viewed Tweet tingles the fingertips and brings forth some solid endorphin rush. But Perkins’ Tweet was unambiguously cruel, for the raw sake of being cruel. I’m not saying she should be fired, but an elder at PHNX Sports might be wise to remind her careers in sports media are fleeting, and when the sugar rush of this sort of engagement fades, you’re left with the reputation of being a mean-spirited asshole.

Which, I’m guessing, Perkins isn’t.

Musing 4: A ridiculous story out of Knoxville, where Tabitha Bartoe, a news anchor at WATE, was allegedly fired for refusing to style her hair in ways that align with station policy. "It doesn't even sound real," Bartoe told Knox News. "The whole thing just sounds like a joke. And I wish it was."

Musing 5: I’m super late to this, but big props to Harold R. Kuntz of Fox 4 Kansas City for this five-part series on the longtime impact of HBCUs on the Chiefs. The whole Deion Sanders news-cycle silliness shed a lot of positive/negative light on HBCUs, but Kuntz gets serious—and it’s fabulous.

Musing 6: This is 100-percent self-serving, but I was psyched to see former Blue Hen Jasmine Dickey stick with the Dallas Wings for a second-straight season. Not that anyone’s keeping tabs, but Dickey and Washington’s Elena Delle Donne make two UD grads in the WNBA. And (cough) we have the presidency, too.

Musing 7: The new Two Writers Slinging Yang features Erik Sherman, author of the fabulous new Fernando Valenzuela biography, “Daybreak at Chavez Ravine.”

Quote of the week …

1. This perception was accurate.

2. Proper response: “That’s great, honey. But ‘Naked and Afraid’ is on.”