The Yang Slinger: Vol. XXX

As journalists, we always ask subjects about their memories. But are we doing ourselves (and our readers) a disservice? Also, five questions with Jessica Terry and J. Cole kicking ass.

“We print lies all the time. Because we print what people tell us.”

— Ben Bradlee

On Oct. 20, 2022, Bo Jackson phoned in to The Rich Eisen Show to discuss a wide range of matters, including whether he’d ever played Tecmo Bowl, how he and Deion Sanders compared as two-sport stars and what could have been had he not injured his hip. Eisen is one of the best in the business, and this interview was no exception. Bo was relaxed, gregarious, open, funny.

He also told a story an absolutely fantastic story.

It came when Rich asked Bo to name the most impressive thing he’d ever done on a field. There are, obviously, endless options to choose from—climbing the wall in Baltimore, running over the Boz on Monday Night Football, leading off the 1989 All-Star Game with a home run, throwing out Harold Reynolds in Seattle.

Here’s what Jackson said …

So, in case you didn’t opt to invest one minute and 53 seconds of your time, Jackson recalled a very specific date (July 21, 1990) and a very specific game (the Brewers visiting the Royals). He spoke of intentionally taking strike three in his first at-bat, then berating the umpire so that he would be tossed from the game. According to Bo, that’s precisely how it went. He then left Royals Stadium to be with his wife and newborn daughter. Tremendous story.

The interview between Eisen and Jackson took place five days before the release of my Bo biography, “The Last Folk Hero: The Life and Myth of Bo Jackson,” and … um … eh … it didn’t sound familiar. I mean, you’d think—having interviewed 720 people for the project—somebody would have told me about the time Bo deliberately got himself thrown out. But … no. Not one word. Not a single peep.

Why?

Because it never happened.

On July 21, 1990, the Royals hosted not the Brewers, but the Red Sox. Jackson, as you can see from the below box, wasn’t even in the lineup.

And initially, after listening to the Eisen interview, I thought, well, maybe Bo had the date mixed up. But then, upon further review, I noticed three things:

A. Morgan Jackson, Bo’s daughter, was indeed born on July 21, 1990.

B. According to retrosheet, Jackson was ejected from exactly zero contests in 1990.

C. On July 17, 1990, in a famous game at Yankee Stadium, Bo homered three times off pitcher Andy Hawkins, then dislocated his right shoulder diving for a sinking liner hit by (of all the people) Sanders. The injury was gruesome, and landed Bo on the disabled list—for the next four weeks.

Cough.

Do the math.

Initially, I couldn’t wrap my head around this. Why, when a man enjoyed so many amazing accomplishments, would he list as his greatest one that never took place? I thought maybe he had the wrong year—was he thrown out against the Brewers in 1989? No. In 1991? No. Was he thrown out when his other two children were born? No. Was he lying? I mean … I guess it’s possible. But what would be the point? Bo Jackson certainly doesn’t need to exaggerate his exploits.

In the end, after thinking long and hard, I came to the conclusion that Bo Jackson simply mangled the story.

He wasn’t lying.

He was relying on memory.

This week’s Substack is not for the faint of heart.

It might make your job as a journalist harder. If nothing else, it’ll perhaps force you to reconsider the way we approach the one thing we (try, at least, to do) well.

It might make you rethink storytelling.

We are, at our cores, storytellers. We take people and places and things and bundle them into stories. George Santos is a story. Tom Brady is a story. Chance the Rapper is a story. The garbage collector who loves stray cats. The Army general who collects pens. The world’s wars. The world’s peaceful gatherings. An ice cream store that feeds the homeless. We chronicle all types of things, because we believe there’s something valuable about passing along narratives of the human existence via stories.

And stories depend on memory.

I’ve been doing this for nearly 30 years¹, and I can say—unambiguously—that without relying on the memories of my subjects I'd be one crummy-ass storyteller. I ask about memories all the time. That's no exaggeration—all the time. I'm at my best when I'm inquiring, "What's the worst smell you remember passing through your nostrils?" "What's your memory of the biggest asshole you've ever met?" "Do you remember your first pet?" "Do you remember your first great love?" "What do you remember about riding a bike down your hill?" "What do you remember about throwing your first fastball?" And, truth be told, oftentimes I take these memories as gospel. Instead of writing, “Alice Smith remembers the first time she flew a kite,” I’ll write, “The first time Alice Smith flew a kite, she scraped her left knee so badly the blood splattered across Emerald Lane.” I don’t always (or even often) qualify the sentences with words suggesting this might/might not be true, because … well, Alice Smith vividly recalls flying her kite on Emerald Lane. Who am I to doubt her?

Well, according to a pair of memory experts who helped with this week’s Substack, I’d be pretty naive not to have some doubt. Chantel Stern is a Boston University professor at the Center for Memory and Brain, as well as the director of the Cognitive Neuroimaging Laboratory. Jennifer Coane is as associate professor of psychology at Colby College with focuses on semantic memory, false memory and cognitive aging. Both gurus agree that:

A. Relying on memory to precisely relay a story is a horribly flawed (if not understandable) ideal.

B. We often curve memory to place us in a good light.

C. Memories fade and fade and fade.

D. We tend to tell a story about an event, then tell the story again and again and again until we’re likely remembering the recollection of the story better than the event itself.

“The way we tend to remember things is complicated,” Coane said. “We remember the general gist of what happened quite well. But a lot of times the peripheral details might get messed up.” Coane cited Ulric (Dick) Neisser, often referred to as the “father of cognitive psychology.” Back in the day Neisser would share a very vivid memory he had from boyhood—he was watching a baseball game on television when an announcer interrupted to alert Americans of the attack on Pearl Harbor by Japan. This was—Bo Jackson-like—precisely how the event existed in Neisser’s mind for years. And years. And years.

Then, as an adult, he realized something: He couldn’t have been watching baseball. Pearl Harbor took place in December.

“One interesting thing about memory is that when we remember something we’re rebuilding it,” Coane said. “What that means is while you’re in the process of retrieving the memory, new bits and pieces can be added. You learn something, then you learn something else.”

Added Stern: “In the Bo Jackson instance, it’s possible he was weaving different memories together. You can have specific details in your mind but still lose aspects of the story.”

With the coverage of pro athletes, Stern said, repetition of task is a problematic memory factor. For example, let’s say your only dog died when you were 16. Well, it was a traumatic one-time event that burned itself into your brain. Ten years later you won’t remember everything. But it’s certainly possible you’ll remember a lot. Scruffy in your arms as the vet puts him to sleep. The whimpering. The feel of Scruffy’s hair against your wrists. The smell of Scruffy’s breath. It’s jarring enough to stick with you.

Bo Jackson, on the other hand, appeared in 694 Major League games. That’s 694 times he walked into a clubhouse, changed out of his street clothes, changed into a uniform, picked up a bat, took BP, jogged in the outfield, chatted up teammates, ate a light pre-game meal, played nine innings, had four or five at-bats, showered, talked with the media … on and on. “In a non-sports example, I use Thanksgiving,” Stern said. “It’s always the third Thursday, everyone is always eating Turkey, you have all the same elements. Yet each year is slightly different. So how do you tell those years apart and maintain separate memories of something that happens over and over again? It’s very hard, and that’s the overlap with sports.”

So what the fuck are we supposed to do?

If you’re a regular reader of this Substack, you know I like picking the brains of my journalism peers. Usually, it’s fairly predictable which way people will lean. This field isn’t all that complicated—we have right ways, we have wrong ways. They’re pretty black and white.

But an exception can be made with trusting memories.

I, for example, often trust memories. Now, I always try to verify and—when possible—add details from other sources. But if someone tells me his coach said, “Go fuck those guys up!” in a pre-game speech from 1997, I’m open to believing him. Again, I’ll seek out second, third, fourth sources. And I’ll measure the conviction of the memory. But if there’s only one guy who vividly recalled the pep talk, and he’s historically rock solid, I’m willing to believe him and even quote the coach saying, “Go fuck those guys up!”

Not everyone 100-percent shares that position.

Chris Herring of Sports Illustrated is one of the best scribes out there, and if you haven’t read “Blood in the Garden,” well, read it. When I asked him about trusting memories, he was fairly dogmatic. “Early life stuff is obviously really difficult,” he texted me. “Obviously always try to talk with folks who they were around at that age. It will sound like a weird comparison, but one of the first questions reporters ask when they’re speaking with alleged victims of abuse is: ‘Who all have you shared your story with? Is there someone who corroborate that you thought this person was dangerous/assaulted you?’ The more people who can recall things from the same time period helps. I’ve also found myself to be far more trusting when they can recall a string of hyper-specific details that happen to be spot-on: the name of a restaurant where a dinner happened, what else was going on at the time (a Sade concert across the street), what other ppl’s reactions were at the time, etc.”

Chris directed me to a Reddit AMA he did when his book was released. I found it fascinating—and persuasive …

Jonathan Eig, the New York Times best-selling author whose highly anticipated Martin Luther King, Jr. biography drops in May, shares Herring’s restrained skepticism. Namely, stories are great. But you better make sure they’re right. “People are unreliable, even people with the best intentions,” Eig said. “Memory fades. We inflate our roles. We simplify. It’s human nature. Also, the people who live longest get the best shot at shaping the story, which isn’t fair. Of course they’re prone to put themselves at the center of every story...and who’s going to argue? I remember the time I walked into the barbershop and Martin Luther King Jr. was sitting in the chair next to me... Well, how do you know it didn’t happen? And as a writer, how am I going to pass up telling that story. So I include it in my book and then another writer sees it and now it’s in two books, and generations later it’s in a dozen books. Maybe it happened and maybe it didn’t. So what’s a writer to do? Trust but verify, as they say in the world of diplomacy.”

I’ve been thinking a lot about this. And I believe, ultimately, the reliance on memory in journalism involves levels.

Here’s my breakdown:

Level 1—The No Biggie Old Story: Dennis Gargano telling you about the time he dropped his ice cream cone. He was 10. He remembers it was chocolate peppermint. It fell on the pavement outside Lakeview Elementary School. Billy Curow and Gary Miller made fun of him and stepped on the cone. They were wearing Nike tennis shoes. You tried finding Curow and Miller, but failed. Dennis has no reason to lie or embellish.

This is a story/memory/detail you can present without feeling much guilt. It’s not all that important, it provides color, the person sharing the information is reasoned. As an example, I did a quick check to see how many stories I could find on newspapers.com that detail someone’s first bike/motorcycle ride (warning: don’t try this at home).

Did the writers of the stories know, for a fact, those were the actual first bike rides? Could they say with 100-percent certainty that Bobby Cabrera really, truly, genuinely knew Cole had a gift the first time he rode a motorcycle? Could Stewart have perhaps been not two, but three days old when he initially hopped on the bike? Answer: Sure. But sometimes it’s kosher to accept the narrative.

“For something inconsequential like that, yes—it’s OK to use,” said B.J. Schecter, a longtime journalist and Seton Hall professor. “It’s not verifiable and doesn’t really matter in the end. But as we learned from Manti Te’o, if someone tells you his girlfriend—or grandmother—died, you have to check it.”

Level 2—Moods: People remember moods. People remember mojos. People remember when someone is behaving coldly, when someone is acting rudely. They might not always remember the details, but they generally can recall (with precision) the feeling. The sense of … whatever. “In my experience, people's memories are most accurate when they're recalling how they felt at a certain moment, or describing someone else's personality or the vibe in the air during a specific moment in time,” said Andrew Maraniss, author of “Inaugural Ballers.” “They are less trustworthy when it comes to recalling particular facts (‘so and so scored 40 points and made a jumper from the left elbow’ — when actually she scored 34 and all her shots were from the right side of the court) or exactly how a decision was made (because they don't know all sides of a story, typically just their own) or about aspects to a story that they weren't directly involved in at the time. In some cases the way someone tells a story or recalls an incident is clouded by a point of view or an agenda, mixed up with other similar events, or shaped to make either the interviewee or someone else look good.”

So, I think it’s OK to—without attribution—describe how a room felt, how the atmosphere in a meeting was dark or light or bleak. “There was a funeral-like mood to the hallway.” We are not robots. This is a stab worth taking. 

Level 3—The Stuff That Was Uttered: This is a complicated one. You’re profiling, say, Miami Marlins catcher Nick Fortes. He tells you all about that morning practice when he was a freshman at Ole Miss. The assistant coach gathered all the players in a room, had them sit in a circle and said, “You motherfuckers have no heart and have never had any heart! You either change your ways—and you leave!” Fortes tells you the story. Literally quotes the coach. Twice. You run it by a former teammate, and he says, “Yeah, that sounds right.” The coach says he probably said something like that.

What to do?

“I go on the ol’ trust but verify,” said Chris Dolmetsch, the veteran Bloomberg reporter. “You know better than anyone the look, the tone of voice when they know what they’re talking about. Details become clearer as you talk to them. It’s the ones where the details are crystal clear to begin with that I am most skeptical of.”

I agree. There’s no way Fortes can remember the exact words from a four- … five- … six- … 10-year-old speech. To have the coach saying those words, without specifically noting (“Fortes recalled”) they’re remembered that way via Fortes, is certainly journalistically flawed. But, I must admit, I have crossed this line before. I’m not proud of it. But if I’m writing about, oh, Bo Jackson’s college baseball coach, and 10 people give me nearly exact memories of a pre-game speech, I’m sometimes (mood dependent) willing to trust it and write out the speech. But I’m probably wrong in doing so. Hey, no one’s perfect.

Level 4—The Conflicting Memories: When Mirin Fader was working on her fabulous, “Giannis: The Improbable Rise of an NBA MVP,” she came across a handful of people who claimed they were the first to spot a young Antetokounmpo’s basketball talents. A whole bunch of people remembered it differently. Which means, were Fader lazy or just sorta willing to roll the dice, she could have picked the most believable anecdote and ran with it. But how can we pick one memory over another memory over another memory, when they all sound plausible? Answer: We cannot. “I included that it was up for discussion but this person remembers it this way and that person that way,” Fader texted me. “And I was transparent about the faulty memories but showed I interviewed them.”

Added Tommy Tomlinson, another all-star sports scribe (if you’re not subscribing to his weekly Substack—The Writing Shed with Tommy Tomlinson—you’re making a big mistake): “Writing narrative, we hate having to attribute every sentence with a ‘she said’ or ‘he remembered.’ Fine. But if you’re gonna leave that stuff out, you have better nailed the facts down to the best of your ability. If all you’ve got is somebody’s 50-year-old memory, make that clear. And if other people remember the same thing differently, make that clear, too. Hell, I didn’t even trust my OWN memory when I wrote my memoir. I fact-checked everything I could with my friends and family and whatever documents I could find. And yep, there were a few things I remembered wrong.”

In short, if two people have polar opposite memories of the same event … report harder.

Level 5—We Were Playing the Saints. It was Third and Seven. I thought …: Asking someone what they remember from a specific game is almost always bullshit. Sure, if the game were just played, that’s fine. Hell, maybe if it took place yesterday. But there’s no way Ozzie Smith remembers what he was thinking during his third at-bat in Game 2 of the 1985 World Series. No possible way. Yet we pull this shit all … the … time. I used to, too, until I came to the realization that 99.7 percent of answers were nonsense.

Instead of relying on specific memories of long-ago athletic contests, fork over the $100 for a newspapers.com subscription and travel back in time.

Level 6—Shit That Can 100-Percent Be Verified By a Bunch of People: If someone says they dominated their first high school game—well, there were nine other players on the court and probably 10 more on the benches. If someone tells you her speech to the teacher’s union resulted in a standing ovation—well, speeches don’t exist without listeners. You can never, ever, ever, ever, ever rely on a single memory when scores of other people can tell you precisely what occurred. Not only is it wrong, it’s a ticket to a lifetime of second guesses and a painfully short career. “I’m in my 60s, and I’m nowadays less and less likely to blindly accept what subjects say,” said Alexander Wolff, the author and former Sports Illustrated big gun. “I am surprised that people in our business aren’t intentionally deceived or gaslit more than we are. Because it would be very easy to do.”

In other words, don’t make it even easier.

The Quaz Five with … Jessica Terry

Jessica Terry is a novelist, ghost writer, editor, copywriter, merch peddler and all-around pen guru. You can visit her website here, and follow her on Twitter here.

1. Jessica, you do 500 different writing-related tasks. One is ghost writing. So, what are the keys to taking on another person's voice?: Maybe 500ish (lol). Spending time with the subject and getting comfortable with them is the key to capturing their voice, for me. Outside of me just asking them questions (which can be a snooze fest both ways), we go to dinner, shoot the breeze over the phone or chat about random stuff. I read any background stuff on them that I can, all that. It really helps me squelch my voice and take on theirs.

2. You are the author of many books, including "Some Like 'em Thick"—with this eye-catching cover. I'm fascinated: What's the back story of the cover? How was it created? Whose idea? Etc?: The "Some Like 'em Thick" cover is a stock photo and I literally looked through hundreds of pictures before deciding on that one. It was my first published novel and I wanted something eye-catching. I dug the idea of it being kinda sexy even though she's stuffing her face, which kinda hints to the story.

3. You majored in sport management at Georgia Southern and received certification in Neuromuscular Therapy from Rising Spirit Institute of Natural Health. So ... how/why are you a writer?: I wear a lot of hats but writing is what I've loved to do from the beginning. I'll admit that when I was younger, I didn't take the time to really think about my career and what it was I wanted to do; I didn't make a plan so I just jumped into a bunch of different things. (My original major was Business, which I chose after seeing it in a movie ... then I changed it to Sport Management not just because I love sports—which I do—but because a lot of cute guys were in those classes. SMH). I sincerely liked all of those different avenues, but writing is my love and what I'd make my living at if I had my way. Writing fiction is awesome; I get to make stuff up for people's entertainment.

4. You do writing consultation. What do you see as the biggest problems writers need consulting for? What are their greatest issues?: The main thing I hear from people is that they have a story they want to tell, but they don't know how to organize it to where it makes sense. It's just all a-jumble in their heads and they have no clue where to start. And oftentimes, the thought of writing a book is so daunting that it's paralyzing, so they also need assurance and confidence that they can do it.

5. You sell your own line of writing gear. Where'd what idea come from? And how do you decide what messages to go with?: I've wanted to offer merch for years but didn't know how to go about it. Thankfully, someone gave me the nudge I needed a couple years ago. I just wanted to expand beyond my books, plus I thought it would be fun; another creative outlet (and another cool source of income). Back in the day, I used to attempt to sew and make my own "inventions" (they were awful) and wanted to kinda go back to that, even though I'm not actually sewing anything myself. Still suck at that. It's fun coming up with different things I think people will dig. I brainstormed a bunch of different sayings that I've used or that I thought people could relate to, even if you're not an author or an avid reader. I do all the designs myself. It's so cool to see people wearing or using something I came up with.

A random old article worth revisiting …

I was 9-years-old when, on Jan. 23, 1982, an Air Florida jet took off from Ronald Reagan Washington National Airport, then plummeted into the icy Potomac River. I remember watching the news, being haunted by the images of men and women dog paddling for their lives. Hell, some 41 years later I remain haunted. So much so that I started thinking about it today, and came across this vivid piece from Frank Greve of Knight-Ridder News Service …

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

Mariyam Quaisar, Emerson College.

Mariyam is a junior journalism and BCE double major from Brookfield, Connecticut who serves as editor in chief of the Berekely Beacon. Her recent piece, PRIORITIZE AFTERCARE AS MUCH AS YOUR ORGASM, was not only wise and skillfully crafted, but it’s the sort of stuff college newspapers should be running.

I mean, yes, I get covering meetings, basketball games, student center dart tournaments. But not only is writing about sex fun and age appropriate, it’s also filled with color, vividness, action. Writes Quaisar …

Awesome.

One can follow Mariyam on Twitter here. Great work …

Random journalism musings for the week …

Musing 1: I’m big on Deadspin’s Carron Phillips, who really has been covering the whole Deion Sanders-HBCU nonsense on a very high level. His latest piece—BETHUNE-COOKMAN SHOULD FIRE ED REED—NO MORE CELEBRITY FOOTBALL COACHES AT HBCUS—is worth a read.

Musing 2: I’m a hair late to this, but if you wanna be blown away by a life, check out this New York Times’ obituary of Adolfo Kaminsky, who saved thousands of Jews during the Nazi reign. Fabulous writing from Joseph Berger on a riveting path.

Musing 3: What a friggin’ outstanding job here from Katie Hyson of wuft.org, whose article, ‘IT’S WAKANDA’: INSIDE A GAINESVILLE PUBLIC CHARTER SCHOOL DEFYING THE ACHIEVEMENT GAP,’ is perfection.

Example …

Musing 4: So I was scrolling Sports Illustrated’s website when I clicked on a story headlined BUCS FIRE COACH BYRON LEFTWICH; COULD COMMANDERS HIRE? And I was brought to a piece penned by Jeremy Brener, whose bio lists him as “an editor, writer and social media manager for several Fan Nation websites. His work has also been featured in 247 Sports and SB Nation as a writer and podcaster.” Jeremy grew up in Houston, moved to Orlando and graduated from Central Florida in 2020. And in the piece he writes: “The Washington Commanders fired offensive coordinator Scott Turner shortly after the season following a three-year stint with the team. Now, the team is looking for his replacement and Leftwich could be a top candidate. As a Washington D.C. native, Leftwich could welcome a return home if Ron Rivera is open to adding him on the staff. While he hasn't worked with Rivera before, he has experience in the Super Bowl, and very few candidates in the search have the accomplishments Leftwich has.” With no true disrespect to Brener’s writing (which is certainly strong) … what the fuck? Is this what we do now in sports media—we say, “Oh, the Commanders need an offensive coordinator, Leftwich needs a job and is from D.C.—sooooo, I bet they might wind up together. I’m gonna write that!” No sourcing, no actual reporting. Just guesswork. No bueno.

Musing 5: Literally one day after quoting Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. on MLK Day, Florida’s Ron DeSantis cancelled an AP African American Studies program, saying, “it lacks educational value.” This piece, from Rolling Stone’s Nikki McCann Ramirez, will have you punching a wall.

Musing 6: There’s little The Athletic’s Marcus Thompson can’t do—and if you need some proof here’s the longtime NBA guru/Kevin Durant biographer writing wonderfully about the 49ers enjoying the fruits of Christian McCaffrey.

Musing 7: I love small-town newspapers, and I especially love small-town newspapers writing about sports. This, from the Scarsdale (N.Y.) Inquirer’s Todd Sliss, was just lovely—the saga of a dad and his three sons and their love of fencing.

Musing 8: One of the coolest things to happen this week involves J. Cole, the phenomenal rapper who—mid-slog—had recently sought out inspiration by Googling “J. Cole type beat.” He came across some music created by someone named “Bvtman,” then used it to record lyrics to a song he calls, “procrastination (broke)” He sent this text to Bvtman …

… which is basically handing the man a suitcase full of money and some Hollywood-level fame. Bvtman posted the song (which, by the way, is dope) on his YouTube channel, and within two days it was approaching 2 million views.

Musing 9: The new episode of Two Writers Slinging Yang (podcast of champions) features Danny Penza, former sports writer for the recently defunct Medford Mail Tribune. Last Wednesday, Penza and his colleagues were told the paper would be closing. Two days later, it shut down for good.

Quote of the week …

“Never become so involved with something that it blinds you/Never forget where you from/Someone will remind you.”

— DMX, “It’s On”

1. Oy, my back.