The Yang Slinger: Vol. XXXI

You're a college student. You want to be a professional journalist. There are ideal ways to go about it. There are also awful ways to go about it. Plus, five questions with Deadspin's Carron Phillips.

In the summer of 1992, I returned home after my sophomore year at the University of Delaware, spent a few days in my ol’ Mahopac, N.Y. bedroom, then packed my stuff and drove the 890 miles to Champaign, Illinois, where I was slated to spend the next eight weeks as a sports intern at the Champaign-Urbana News-Gazette.

I was 20-years old, and this was the one summer offer I’d received after applying for, oh, 200 gigs.

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Which suggests, if you believe in general logic, that I would have entered the offices at 2101 Fox Drive with humility and trepidation. That I would have been an eager listener, an enthusiastic gopher, a guy itching to learn from the veteran scribes situated throughout the newsroom.

Instead, I arrived without socks.

It’s true. I came to the News-Gazette in shoes but no socks. Which was ignored for a day … two days … three days … until the newspaper’s managing editor pulled me aside and gave me a talk about professionalism. “You have to wear socks,” he said. “That doesn’t seem like a complicated issue.”

It shouldn’t have been—but I was (for reasons I don’t fully understand) a fantastical asshole. Coming off of a year during which I served as The (UD) Review’s assistant sports editor, I somehow believed myself to be The Absolute Shit of Shits. So socks—who needed them? Advice—who needed that? Sit-downs with older sports scribes—no thank you. Detailed editing—God, no. As far as I was concerned, I was already the best writer at the newspaper; a punk-ass dickhole who read the work of others and knew (absolutely knew) I could do a 200,000-times better job. I was rude and stubborn and indifferent to suggestions because—frankly—I didn’t need suggestions.

Alas, a month or so after the internship ended, I received a letter from the sports editor. Her message (paraphrased): You have some talent—but you’re a monumental fucking dickwad of a child.

She was correct.

Today’s Substack is directed toward college journalists who aspire to enter the profession. I don’t believe it’s limited to that audience, but I am thinking of the up-and-comers as I write this. Because, truly, I want you to travel the righteous path.

I want you to not behave as I did.

As I noted above, I was a cocky fuck. I was a cocky fuck at Delaware, a cocky fuck at Champaign, a cocky fuck at my first job at The Tennessean, and a little bit of a cocky fuck in my early time at Sports Illustrated. I was somehow under the illusion what I wrote was both brilliant and important, and that no one should dare stand in my path. Then, one day, you age a bit, look around and realize no one had a good thing to say about you. You also look around and realize that Pulitzer-worthy profile you wrote of University of Illinois gymnast Dominic Minicucci two days ago is now being used to separate the wet side of a plunger and a 7-Eleven bathroom floor.

Wait.

I digress.

Let’s back up.

A story: A little more than eight years ago, when I was new to Southern California, I received a Twitter DM from a writer I’d never heard of. Her name was Mary Slater. No, Mary Fader. No, Mirin Fader. Right—Fader. Mirin Fader. She was a preps cub in the sports department of the Orange County Register, and somehow I’d followed her on Twitter.

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She wrote this …

I replied. We exchanged a few pleasantries. She hit me up with …

More pleasantries were exchanged. Then …

I wound up meeting with Mirin outside a Starbucks. She drove to my town. She arrived armed with a pen and notepad. She called me (ridiculously, but also wisely) “Mr. Pearlman” until I insisted, “Seriously, Jeff is cool.”

In short, Mirin was polite, inquisitive, respectful, complimentary, deferential, eager, humble. She knew my resume, cited my work, literally had a marked-up version of “Showtime,” my latest book. She went out of her way to make clear I was doing her the favor, and desperately did not want to inconvenience me.

When we were done, I believed—with 100 percent certainty—two things:

A. This was a kid I wanted to help.

B. This kid was going places.

And, damn, Mirin Fader has gone places. She’s a staffer for The Ringer, author of an outstanding Giannis book, a fantastic journalist with a stellar reputation and a good friend. And while Mirin is certainly talented, there are tons of talented people. Tons and tons and tons and tons of talented people. People more talented than me, than Mirin, than Sally Jenkins and Bomani Jones and Wright Thompson and Gary Smith and Candace Buckner. One thing I’ve learned is there’s always someone better out there. Always someone with skills you lack.

The ones who make it, however, don’t do so merely powered by ability.

They do so via ability combined with wisdom of approach.

There are a million different methods to broach the subject of aspiring journalists going about this the correct way. For convenience purposes, I’m going to break it down into two sections:

1. The introduction.

2. The application/interview.

First, the introduction …

Throughout my three decades as a journalist, I’ve had an endless string of young writers reach out. It comes with the turf (experienced, accessible), and I genuinely dig it. Looking back, I was helped by many a working scribe who willingly went through my clips, offered suggestions, guided me left or right. So, in the spirit of paying it forward, I try and do my part.

Nowadays, it’s super easy to contact a writer, an editor, a reporter. Which is killer—if your dream is to write for, say, the Miami Herald, a solid 100 Herald employees are reachable via Twitter, Facebook and Instagram. Access is half the battle, and in 2023 access is at your fingertips. But with that comes … responsibility. The best thing an up-and-comer can do—from jump—is (a la Mirin, circa 2014) show respect, appreciation, knowledge, decency. I hate, hate, hate being called “Mister,” but if you’re 22 and cold contacting someone in their 40s, 50s, 60s, 70s, 80s—do NOT refer to them off the bat by a first name. It’s way too casual/disrespectful, and sorta screams, Here comes a cocky asshole! “Don't treat professionals like they are your bud,” Kathy Kudravi, my former editor at The Tennessean, told me.

“I have earned a degree of respect in my career,” Andrea Kremer, the Emmy Award-winning broadcaster and Real Sports correspondent, added. “I expect them to know who I am, what I’ve done, how I got there … read my bio!”

Andrea is 100-percent correct, and her point was one repeated by nearly every journalist I spoke to this week. Namely: If you’re contacting someone, know your shit about them. When I Google “Andrea Kremer,” I find a detailed Wikipedia page, a Twitter feed, a Philadelphia Jewish Sports Hall of Fame bio. If I check her out on YouTube I see a staggering number of interviews she’s conducted. So to seek her out, then ask, “What have you been on?” or “What do you do exactly?” is the (rightful) kiss of death. You’re gunning to be a journalist. Journalists, by nature, research.

Also, never, ever, ever, ever track someone down and ask, off the bat, for a favor. I can’t overstate this, because it happens all the time. For example, you DM Joe Schad, the Miami Dolphins beat writer for the Palm Beach Post. And let’s say Joe responds to your, “Can I ask you a question?” with, “Sure—what do you want to know?” Well, the dumbest thing you (young writer) can do in this circumstance is write, “So, I was wondering if you know of any open jobs?” or “Could you read some of my articles and tell me if they’re any good?” Why would Joe Schad respond to that? He doesn’t know you, he’s never even heard of you—and your first outreach is a request? No, no, no, no. “Don’t ask someone you’ve never met or spoken with for a job or a lead on a job,” Joe DMed me. “Instead, ask for specific advice about a specific topic or situation.”

If I’m 21 and DMing Joe, the first thing I’m doing is (with sincerity) complimenting him: “Mr. Schad, I wanted to say I just read your profile of Robert Hunt, and it was fantastic.” The second thing I’m doing is telling him that I’m a University of Florida junior journalism major, and his work is, for me, must-read. Then, if we have a dialogue and he’s open and friendly, the third thing I’m doing is asking—with all the politeness I can muster—whether he’d ever consider reading one of my stories. Not “a bunch of my stories.” Not, “Can I send you my column when it comes out every week in the Alligator.” A story.

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And it’s gonna be my best story. And, if I send the link to him on a Tuesday, I’m not returning Wednesday to ask if he read it. Or Thursday. Or Friday. Or Saturday. Or Sunday. I’m waiting a week. Maybe a bit more. Joe Schad has a life away from work. Family. Mortgages. Vacations. TV shows to watch, meals to eat. Your clips are not his priority. And, when I’m following up, the first words I’m writing are, “Mr. Schad, I know you’re busy and I hate being a pain …”

“I feel like sometimes younger journalists are so laser focused on getting a job they forget to just reach out to people for advice,” said Alex Coffey, the Philadelphia Inquirer’s Phillies beat writer. “I’ve built meaningful relationships that way, showing a willingness to learn.”

If you are an aspiring journalist, and you want to do this as a job, the worst thing you can do (like, the absolute, 100-percent worst thing you can do) is make a shitty first impression. And in an industry like media/journalism, where we all carry egos to varying degrees, nothing plays worse than arrogance/presumption. I can’t emphasize this strongly enough, so I’ll type the sentence twice: Nothing plays worse than arrogance/presumption. “Don’t act entitled,” Bailey Johnson of the Columbus Dispatch told me. “You’re asking someone for a favor and to take time out of their day.”

Indeed, nobody over the age of 30 wants to hear a college kid explain how great they are. Nobody wants to hear a college kid brag about skill, rave about word choices, boast about how they’re ready to cover the Yankees for the New York Times ASAP. Hell, if I’m being honest, nobody over the age of 30 really wants to hear a college kid say a whole lot. “I’ll have lunch with someone ‘seeking advice’ and I sit silent while they monologue about where the media is headed and whether streaming will overtake movies,” said Jon Wertheim of Sports Illustrated and 60 Minutes. “Curiosity trumps commentary.”

Added Rebecca Schuman, the Slate contributor: “I would say that anytime you're looking to network … it's a great idea to ask what *they* might need from someone, rather than tell them what *you* want/need/feel ready to do.”

Furthermore, don’t shit talk. Ever. About anyone. I don’t need your opinion on America’s working journalists. Your belief that Michael Lewis is a hack does you no good. The editor of Sports Illustrated doesn’t want to hear why you think Clay Travis sucks. Fuck, for all you know the editor of Sports Illustrated is Clay Travis’ golf buddy.

Last thought on this: If you’re younger than, oh, 25, you’ve been raised typing shorthand on your iPhone. It’s understandable. We adapt to our eras. But when you’re contacting a journalist, DO NOT use shorthand, do not fail to capitalize, do not break out bullshit abbreviations (LOL, TTYL, IMO) and—sweet Jesus—no fucking emojis. You’re presenting yourself as a ready-for-the-world adult. An eggplant alongside an exploding brain ain’t cutting it.

Second, the application/interview …

You’re about to graduate college. Your dream is to write for mlb.com. There’s a job opening for an entry-level scribe. You have the name of the editor.

Your cover letters means everything.

I’m actually dumbfounded how many people don’t get this, or view the cover letter as a mere formality. Huge mistake. The cover letter is your introduction. It’s the first thing someone important will read and—if you fuck it up—the last thing.

Back when I was a writer at The Tennessean, my dream was to join the staff of Sports Illustrated. I’d been reading the magazine for decades, and all I wanted to do with my existence was see my name listed on the masthead. So, after much thought, I crafted the best cover letter of my lifetime. Back in the day, SI ran these things called “Letter from the Editor”—a note from Bill Colson, the magazine’s managing editor, to readers. So I designed a page to look exactly like a “Letter from the Editor,” dated it 15 years in the future and began with, “When we received a letter from Jeff Pearlman back in 1996, we’d never heard of the kid. He was a nobody food and fashion writer for a newspaper in Nashville; the exact type of applicant we rarely hired …”

I went on to explain that Jeff Pearlman loved Sports Illustrated, was willing to do anything, believed in hard work and dedication and research and …

I was hired a few months later.

So, again, your letter means everything. It’s your sales pitch. Your, “This is who I am, and this is what I’ll bring to your publication.” Write it creatively. With flair. Just as a college sports writer should never, ever, ever, ever lead a game story with, “Syracuse downed Georgetown 12-6 in men’s lacrosse action Tuesday afternoon,” a cover letter should never, ever, ever begin with, “I am very interested in your open University of Toledo football beat writer position.” Bring the funk. Bring the oomph. Show your wares.

Also (much like when you first reach out to a professional journalist via social media), the one thing you don’t want to be in a cover letter is cocky/arrogant. You can list your accomplishments without bragging about your accomplishments. Trust me—it doesn’t fly. Ever.

What you do want to be is hungry. Hunger sells. It moves people. One can never go wrong with explaining that this is your dream, and you will do whatever it takes, and you’re itching to learn. When I was coming up, my No. 1 point went along the lines of, “I can’t promise I’m the most naturally talented writer applying for this job. I can’t promise I attended the best journalism program. I almost certainly haven’t had the most prestigious internships. But I assure you, I will work harder than anyone. I want this.”

Now, if you wind up landing an interview, there are a bunch of obvious-yet-important things to remember:

• Overdress: Wear a suit. Wear a tie. Ooze professionalism. Even if it’s a job where you’ll be covering high school games in sneakers and jeans. Your first-impression wardrobe says much about you as a future employee

• Be early: If your interview is at 11, be there at 10:45. If you show up late, you’ve lost the gig. No excuses—it’s over. You blew it.

• Be well-versed: You’re interviewing for a position at the Los Angeles Times with Iliana Limón Romero, the sports editor. For the love of God, don’t arrive knowing nothing about Iliana’s history. Don’t arrive knowing the names of zero Times reporters. Don’t arrive having never read the Times.

Do arrive knowing everything about Iliana. Do arrive having spent the past week studying the Times’ sports section. Do arrive being able to discuss the paper’s history; being able to rave about the legacy of Jim Murray; being able to ask specific questions about the staff, the makeup.

• Have questions: Few moments kill an applicant’s hopes and dreams like responding to, “Do you have any questions for me?” with, “Um, no.”

“Sitting like a lump if an interviewer asks if they have any questions,” Melissa Isaacson, the author and former ESPN.com columnist, told me, “is a huge mistake.”

You’re an aspiring journalist—you damn fucking well better have some questions. And those questions can’t be:

* How much will I make?

* Where will my desk be located?

* So how long until I’m covering the Reds?

* Is there an office Christmas party?

Ask about your interviewer. What’s your favorite part about working here? Ask about the audience. What sort of feedback do readers supply the staff? Ask about your (potential) future colleagues. I’ve always wondered—is Jason Gay as funny as he seems? Even if you don’t particularly care—ask good questions.

• Keep your phone far, far, far away: Set aside your need to check Twitter. Shut the ringer off. Be present. Look the person in the eyes. Cell phone addiction has lost many quality candidates gigs.

• Emphasize how awesome it is to be here: You want this job. Not another job. This job. Make that clear—even if (cough) it’s not 100-percent true. Amy Bass, the terrific author, made this point when I asked about blunders to avoid. Wrote Amy: “I really want to write for SI/Rolling Stone/the Atlantic but I guess I have to start somewhere”

No bueno.

• Your greatest weakness isn’t that you’re too talented: It’s the inevitable interview question that gets mangled and butchered all the time— “What would you say is your greatest weakness?” So, to be clear, your greatest weakness isn’t that you’re too talented. Or that you’re too passionate. Or that you struggle working with people who aren’t as skilled. Nope—your greatest weakness should be something deceptively banal, relatively harmless and a bit self-deprecating.

Greatest weaknesses that fly:

• I tend to use too many adjectives, but I’m working on it.

• I can definitely be too wordy, where sometimes I write 700 words when 500 would work just fine.

• I definitely drop too many pop culture references in stories. It’s a little overkill.

• I think sometimes I depend on coaches a bit too much. I need to work on focussing more on players.

You get the idea.

• Lastly, follow up with two things. First, an e-mail thanking the person for their time. But then—a letter. A real letter. Sent via (gasp) the mail. With a stamp. Reemphasize that you really enjoyed the conversation, and that the job is important to you. Throw in, “Whether this works out or not, I appreciate that I’ve been considered. It’s an honor.”

Flattery rarely disappoints.

Kindness, too.

The Quaz Five with … Carron Phillips

Carron Phillips is a senior writer and editor for Deadspin, and one of my go-to reads in 2023. You can follow him on Twitter here.

1. You've been pretty pointed in your recent criticisms of Deion Sanders leaving Jackson State for Colorado. What's your beef?: Well actually … there is no beef LOL (despite how it may seem, and how some may feel.) I don’t hate Deion Sanders. He’s one of my favorite athletes of all time. But, this is about holding people accountable and adding context, nuance, and FACTS to a conversation that way too many people who have no idea what they’re talking about, are following and believing somebody (Sanders) who has no idea what he’s talking about.

He still hasn’t answered questions about all the drama around Prime Prep and his time as an assistant high school coach in Texas — the positions he had before JSU. And the times he has, it’s been with a friend who is posing as a journalist or someone who hasn’t done the research or asked him questions we deserve answers to.

I look at this Deion situation like I do with my critiques of Jay-Z’s deal with the NFL. If Jay-Z says from the beginning, “this is a business deal and power move for me,” then I probably don’t write anything longer than a tweet about him, instead of countless columns. But, that infamous “we’ve moved past kneeling” quote and that picture with Roger Goodell will never be forgotten. Deion and Jay-Z are two men who both said and/or acted like they were about something when they weren’t. All they had to do was be honest. All Deion had to say was, “I’m using JSU because they’re the only school that would make a guy with almost no experience a D1 head coach, and then I'm outta here.” If he does that, then this situation isn’t as big as it’s gotten. But, he decided to act like a savior and people quickly turned into flawed disciplines. It’s why I find it funny when people get mad at me or others who have critiqued Sanders. Because like him, this is just a moment for them, when it’s a lifestyle/legacy for us.

When you’re Black, and you do stuff to the detriment of other Black people because you know Black folks will always look out/forgive/support other Black folks, then that’s something I can’t respect. And so since I have this platform, I’m going to use it to inform the masses.

2. You're a Morehouse College grad, and I wonder whether you at all see the points being made by guys like Deion and Ed Reed as valid. That, perhaps, HBCUs aren't up to snuff. That the facilities suck, that the campuses are underwhelming, that enrollees aren't being given what they deserve/need?: Well, HBCUs are beyond up to snuff. Look around, we literally change, and save the world. Look at Kamala Harris (Howard), Stacey Abrams (Spelman), and Raphael Warnock (Morehouse). We just celebrated MLK Day (Morehouse), and the world’s busiest airport (Atlanta) is named after Maynard Jackson who went to Morehouse and North Carolina Central. We’ve been up to snuff — people’s willing ignorance about us, our culture, our alums, and our campuses is what isn’t up to snuff.

Now, what people need to know is that athletics have never and will never be a huge priority at HBCUs. HBCU and PWI campuses are nothing alike — NOTHING. Trust me, I graduated from both, and it was like living on two different solar systems.

Is everything on our campuses always top-notch? No. Do we have real challenges and struggles? Yes. But…it’s always fascinating that the people who think that our facilities suck, our campuses are underwhelming, and that students aren't being given what they deserve/need — never ask why. Because if they did, they’d learn about all the obstacles that private and public HBCUs deal with when it comes to funding, money that was never received from states, and the positions we’re put in by folks who don't want us to succeed.

HBCUs started because of racism. HBCUs have thrived and lived on despite racism. And if you still haven’t figured out why an educational system that’s over 100 years old still has issues….well, racism is the answer.

Fix racism, and HBCUs will be “fixed.”

We shouldn’t be jeered for what we don’t have. We should be celebrated for surviving despite it.

3. You're on the staff of what some refer to as "ghost" Deadspin—Deadspin after the exodus of several years ago. And I'm wondering: Did you have any conflict about working at the site? And how do you feel about people who criticize the writers who work there now?: I don’t know anybody or ever met anybody from that time. The old version of that site wasn’t for me — which is fine. But, it’s also why I didn’t read it. However, I knew that it served a purpose and was important. We’re never going to be the old version of Deadspin, nor do we want to. We are more diverse and tackle different issues in different ways. They were them, and we are us. Folks who want us to be them, or are mad that we aren’t them are just wasting energy by staying mad.

In terms of conflicts about taking the job, it never crossed my mind. A very important and popular site was rebranding with people I knew and had a history with, and I was recruited. Look around, Black journalists don’t have the privilege of turning opportunities down like that just because some might be mad. We didn’t commit a crime. We didn’t cross a picket line. In fact, we joined a union. What happened before we showed up had nothing to do with us.

I can’t focus on or be mad about people who are upset because I took a job in an industry in which personal loyalty between companies and employees is few and far between. I have a job to do.

If the people who are upset with us are still mad — they should wear capes. That way they can be Super Mad.

4. You were the Sports, Race & Social Issues columnist for the New York Daily News. How did you approach what you'd write about? Like, what were you seeking?: Back in 2016, I was covering education, politics, local government, and race. Kaepernick, Hillary Clinton, and Trump happened. The DNC and the Sweet 16/Elite 8 both took place in the same building that year in Philly and I covered both of them. That year taught me a lot, and I saw that the intersection of sports, race and social issues were going to be forever joined at the hip.

When I got to the NY Daily News, I created that title/beat for myself because I wanted people to know that I was a national columnist that was focused on the sh*t that mattered. And my approach was to do the stuff that people were afraid to do, and if they did, to be better than them. I have an honors African-American Studies degree and a Masters in journalism. I’m not just a Black dude who writes about this because of my skin color and love for sports. I do this because I studied this stuff from the two best places on Earth you could learn about it from.

I’m proud to carry on the legacy of the ones that came before that wrote on these subjects, and I'm even prouder of the work that I’ve done. Look around, more and more publications have positions that cover this stuff. And I’m happy to play a small part in that because we need more diverse voices to tackle diverse issues.

5. You attended grad school at the S.I. Newhouse School of Public Communications at Syracuse University. A lot of aspiring journalists debate whether grad school is worth it, especially with the shitty starting salaries in our field. What say you?: First off, if people are worried about the salaries when they start it means that they aren’t playing the long game, don’t believe in themselves, or both. I went to Newhouse because it was what I needed. I scrapped for any and every media internship I could get in undergrad. I joined organizations that helped me (NABJ & AABJ), and I took three journalism courses at Clark Atlanta University (another HBCU.) Newhouse gave me all the stuff I didn’t get in undergrad because we didn’t have a J-School. So grad school filled in the holes that being a stringer and freelancer couldn’t. I wanted to challenge myself to see how good I was, and I got my answer. You get out of grad school what you put into it. Some of my classmates didn’t take that seriously, myself and others did. Life is all about choices, so make the best decision FOR YOU. But me? I’d pick the same route all over again if I had to — it got me on Jeff Pearlman’s SubStack LMAO!

A random old article worth revisiting …

On Nov. 26, 1982, Larry Holmes—the world heavyweight champion—beat the living shit out of a game-yet-overmatched brawler named Randy (Tex) Cobb. The fight was one of the most lopsided in modern times, and resulted in many opening wondering whether this sport was, simply, barbaric. Answer: Yes, it is. That said, Thom Greer did a helluva job documenting the carnage.

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

Alyssa Cruz, Ohio University

Alyssa is the assistant culture editor for Ohio U’s student newspaper, @thepostathens, and she can straight up write. For me, one of the giveaways is when someone takes a fairly ordinary topic and applies shine to it. That’s what Alyssa does here with her piece, Winnie the Pooh and gang spread lots of joy, a little 'hunny.'

Wrote Alyssa …

One can follow Cruz on Twitter here. Bravo …

Random journalism musings for the week …

Musing 1: The sports journalism world lost a superstar last week with the passing of Gwen Knapp, the former San Francisco Chronicle columnist who was working as an editor at the New York Times. Gwen was particularly fierce in her work decrying to cheating of Lance Armstrong and Barry Bonds. As she wrote in her final Chronicle column a decade ago: “Without the belief that sports have some higher value than entertainment, they forfeit their special place in our culture. For all the flaws of the sports, they represent the purest meritocracy we have.”

Musing 2: I could not be more proud of my wife, Catherine Pearlman, who has transitioned from social worker to journalist with the grace of Anett Pötzsch. This week, she wrote and took (the breathtaking) photos for an LA Times piece on SoCal’s best sea caves. [Hey, this is my Substack. I’m allowed to be a doting husband.]

Musing 3: This is sorta random, but a few days ago I was walking through Laguna Beach while listening to a new podcast from Lance Bass, the former *NSYNC member. And his guest was Jonathan Knight of the New Kids on the Block. Both men were closeted gay boy boy superstars, and the conversation about living beneath the shadows is riveting stuff.

Musing 4: I really dug this piece from Tom Wood, my former Tennessean colleague from way back when, explaining the crazy price of eggs these days. Writes Tom: “The entire nation is feeling the pinch of rising prices, what internet memes are calling ‘eggflation.’ But it’s no laughing matter.”

Musing 5: Tony Jones of The Athletic wrote an absolutely riveting piece about the lines that separate a model rebuilding franchise (Utah) from an embarrassingly rebuilding franchise (Charlotte). Lots of outstanding detail. Writes Tony: “The Jazz have a plan. The Jazz have a structure in place. The Jazz have stability. The Jazz have developed, with rookies Walker Kessler and Ochai Agbaji both playing key roles in Utah’s 25th win of the season, and having emerged as pieces for the Jazz heading into the future. Charlotte has none of that.”

Musing 6: A little bit of a reach here, but just saw that UCLA is hiring as assistant director of media relations. Having moved to SoCal back in 2014, I wanna say—there are worse places to live. Like … everywhere else.

Musing 7: Andrew Callahan and Karen Guregian of the Boston Herald with a pretty jaw-dropping piece chronicling the New England Patriots’ 2022 dysfunction. This really soared from the page …

Musing 9: If you want a good laugh, Cameron Joseph of Vice with a chilling piece, “The MyPillow Guy’s Fake Campaign For RNC Chair Is a Real Disaster.” Money line: “This race could not be worse-designed for a fringe, bomb-throwing conspiracy theorist like Lindell whose power lies in his appeal to the hardline anti-establishment activists in the party’s base, and who has few allies among the actual group that picks the RNC chair.”

Musing 10: Rich Eisen welcomed Charley Steiner, his former ESPN colleague and current Dodgers announcer, to the studio to celebrate the 30th anniversary of both Carl Lewis singing the national anthem before a Nets game and Steiner’s all-time fantastic response to said anthem. The chat was a joy from beginning to end. Trust me, take a listen.

Musing 11: The inevitable George Santos movie will certainly be jaw-dropping, but it’ll never match the real-life zaniness. Which, truly, keeps growing. The newest revelation comes in this piece from Patch’s Jacqueline Sweet, headlined, “George Santos Posted 'Deeply Offensive' Comment About Hitler, Jews.” Gonna be honest—I’m really starting to think this guy isn’t Jewish. Or Jew-ish.

Musing 12: The new Two Writers Slinging Yang podcast stars Melissa Isaacson, Former Chicago Tribune Jordan-era Bulls beat writer, ESPN columnist and (current) Northwestern prof. Really fun chat.

Quote of the week …

“I don't know why sportswriters always have to write bad things about Joaquin Andujar.”

— Joaquin Andujar, former Major League pitcher

1. A note to you kiddies: This was pre-Internet, so you’d literally print out 200 cover letters, 200 resumes, 200 packets of clips, then walk to this place called … the post office, and mail them. It wasn’t cheap.

2. Soooo … I guess I’d heard of her. But I also follow a shitload of people on Twitter.

3. Ed Markey says he would phrase it thusly: “Would it be ridiculous to ask you to read some of my work?”