The Yang Slinger: Vol. XXXII
Jason Whitlock was once one of the nation's most influential sports columnists. Then he lost his mind and turned into racist conservative America's proof that they can't possibly be racist.
Once upon a time, back when newspapers were the stuff of print and ink, and the echo of one plopping at driveway’s edge was pure bliss, Jason Whitlock ranked among America’s most influential daily sports columnists.
I know …
I know …
That sounds preposterous. Jason Whitlock? The side-of-the-road lamp shade who makes Tucker Carlson’s nipples twitch? The sad sack who presented Donald Trump with the journalistic equivalent of a blowjob/anal cleanse in this 2020 non-interview at the White House? The dumped-by-everyone perpetual free agent who recently pointed his finger toward single Black women for Memphis police officers murdering Tyre Nichols? Journalism’s merging of a watery stool and Aubrey Huff?
That Jason Whitlock?
It’s true.
The man we see before us in 2023 is not the man we once knew. Or at least he’s not the man we thought we once knew.
Today, Jason Whitlock is this …
And this …
And this …
And this (which he posted just yesterday) …
The last one is actually my personal favorite—written by a middle-aged man who probably hasn’t held a woman’s hand since the Clinton Administration and blushes at the word, “boobies.”
But I digress.
Whitlock works for a vomit-soaked gas station urinal cloth called The Blaze, and specializes in allowing racist whites to justify their racism with the ol’ “I can’t be racist. That big Black feller says everything I’m thinking …” He’s on Tucker Carlson’s speed-dial whenever Fox News’ Goebbels needs verification that minorities (save for Whitlock, of course) are violent and destructive. He is a personification of the sell-out. Not in the racial sense of the word (that’s not my judgement to make), but of one who abandons principle and dignity for clicks and likes and pats on the head. “He’s burned every bridge he ever walked on,” one former colleague told me. “He’s got nothing left.”
“It’s painful as hell to see how he talks about Black people,” added an African-American sports journalist. “Especially how he talks about Black people in spaces that don’t give a shit about Black people to begin with. But this is his lane now. It’s the only one he has left. And I’m not saying you can’t be critical because that is absolutely necessary. But there’s a stark difference between being critical and being performative on some modern day minstrel show shit. I saw what he said about the single Black mothers and Tyre Nichols murder and I’m not gonna lie, Jeff. I almost threw my phone through the wall.”
It’s a saga that brings me no joy. Jason Whitlock is the once-exceptional athlete who blows out a knee, bats .210 at Double A Midland, turns to the bottle and winds up shaking hands in the lobby of the West Siloam Springs Cherokee Casino. Day after day, week after week, year after year. He’s what you get when notoriety trumps contentment; when a fading spotlight scares the shit out of you.
In short, he’s a warning sign to all media members.
Don’t follow this path.1
An Indianapolis native raised by a single mother in a small apartment off East 38th Street on Temple Avenue, Jason Whitlock was a sports media kid from the very beginning. According to a 2015 Indy Star profile, back in the day he kept old Sports Illustrateds stacked around his bed, and regularly called into local sports radio shows to slam/praise his beloved Pacers. He made the jump into writing as a fifth-year college student at Ball State University, when he went from playing offensive line for the Cardinals football team to joining the student newspaper (the Ball State Daily) and covering the Cardinals football team. He recalled the experience in a fascinating Povich Center interview …
Whitlock entered the newspaper business in 1989, earning roughly $5-per-hour to cover preps for the Bloomington Herald-Times before spending 1 1/2 years at the Charlotte Observer. He quickly jumped to the Ann Arbor News, where for two years he covered the University of Michigan’s men’s basketball team and dabbled in column writing. He was a fast, dependable wordsmith with an unmatched knowledge of sports and a PhD in locker-room dynamics. In 1994, the Kansas City Star made him a lead sports columnist.
This, from the Sept. 27, 1994 sports section …
Whitlock’s hiring was no small thing. First, at 27 he was one of the nation’s youngest newspaper columnists. Second, in an industry plagued by its strict adherence toward whiteness, he was a Black man with a pen and opinions. The Star didn’t bring in Whitlock to double as a shrinking violet. No, its editors wanted him to be bold and controversial and provocative. A midwestern Mike Lupica.
So that’s what he did. Whitlock has long listed his journalism hero as Mike Royko, the late Chicago newspaper columnist who specialized in rolling up his sleeves and punching assholes in the noses2. Royko was certainly a good writer, but his superpower was mojo and oomph and snarl. He was a Chicago guy repping his city. You fuck with Mike Royko, there's gonna be a problem.
Whitlock, too, chose this route. Not as a Kansas City defender, per se, but as a guy who wanted to leave an imprint on readers. He wrote to make you feel. To piss you off. To agitate. To enrage. Throwaway jabs weren’t, in truth, throwaway jabs, so much as intentionally placed irritants intent to burrow, tick-like, beneath your skin. This piece, from Oct. 6, 1994, exemplifies Whitlock: The Kansas City Years fairly well …
And even if this stuff isn’t your jam, Whitlock was (factually) good at his job. “He really changed the way that sports journalism is done in Kansas City,” Sam Mellinger, now the Royals vice president of communications, said in 2010. “He earned a reputation around town that he’s the big hitter. There was sort of a sleepy culture before he arrived, and I think that he woke everyone up.” When, in 1996, the Star added a new columnist named Joe Posnanski to its staff, the newspaper boasted (arguably) the most potent one-two sports opinion tandem in the country. They were 180s as writers and reporters—Whitlock the Jerry Quarry sledgehammer, Poz the Thomas Kinkade painter of light. But the yin-and-yang of it all worked. Plus, people at the Star (and I spoke with several) mostly recall Whitlock as a kind and considerate co-worker. If you sought advice, he gave it. If you needed someone to read over a draft, he was ready and willing. “Jason wasn’t a dick at all,” one told me. “Just the opposite, actually.”
That said … there were signs.
In his 16 years at the Star, Whitlock did some … eh … um … ah … well, pretty fucked-up shit. And, to be clear, as a former young journalist who majored in fucked-up shit, I’m usually not the guy to cite the green misdeeds of others. But this feels different.
First, while covering the Patriots’ 40-10 home blowout of the Chiefs on Oct. 11, 1998, Whitlock responded to fans trying to taunt the visiting media by standing in the Foxboro Stadium press box and holding up two homemade signs. The first, which read, IT’S WARM IN HERE — GOOD-LOOKING WOMEN, TOO, was merely stupid. The second—BLEDSOE GAY? PATS SUCK3—was grotesque. The newspaper wound up suspending Whitlock for two weeks, and when reached in the aftermath by Marc D. Allan of his hometown Indianapolis News, Whitlock appeared unbowed. “I’m going to clear up any perception,” he said, “that I’ll be a changed columnist after this.”
Second, in 2007 Whitlock gained a ton of national attention for his commentary in the aftermath of Don Imus, the CBS Radio shock jock, referring to members of the Rutgers women’s basketball team as “some nappy headed hos.” Unlike the vast majority of American writers, who used their spaces to slam Imus and call for his dismissal/banishment/beheading, Whitlock devoted much of his time toward digging deep into what he considered to be Black cultural rot. And, as strange as this might sound, a decent number of people found his work original, refreshing, intriguing. If nothing else, it was widely discussed.
After the dust cleared a bit, and the story faded, Whitlock made a case that he deserved the Pulitzer Prize. According to Star colleagues, he insisted the newspaper submit his work to the committee. Why, in an interview with the Big Lead he literally said, “I realize this is going to sound like a major contradiction, but I want to win a Pulitzer Prize for commentary. Royko won one and I’d like to win one. I’m hoping my stuff on Imus and The Jena Six will put me in contention.”
Which, if you don’t work in media and need some clarification—is ABSOLUTELY FUCKING INSANE. Even if you loved every word of Whitlock’s columns, the collective was as Pulitzer-worthy as my recent endoscopy X-Rays.4 Seriously, Pulitzers go to work like this. And this. And this. And this.5 The 2007 Pulitzer for editorial writing went to Arthur Browne, Beverly Weintraub and Heidi Evans of New York Daily News, who chronicled the hellish plights of Ground Zero workers whose health problems went ignored. Whitlock on Imus and Rutgers hoops and Black culpability? Um, no. No, no, no.
[And since we’re on the topic, five years later—while writing for Fox Sports’ website—Whitlock submitted 10 of his columns to be considered for the Pulitzer, then wrote a lengthy blog post for the Ball State student newspaper (yes, the Ball State student newspaper) explaining why he was deserving of the award. Among the batshit-crazy passages included in that essay are: 1. "When I showed up at the Kansas City Star in 1994, I shook the entire Midwest and eventually the country” and 2. "For me, the Pulitzer rejection was the equivalent of Ravens safety Ed Reed showing up in New Orleans for Super Bowl week and finding out on Media Day the league suspended him from playing" and 3. “Last year, it’s my belief, I had my best year as a columnist. It all came together. I perfected my column style. For years, I’ve tried to take sports headlines and transform them into lessons about American society at large."]
Third, and best of all, is when Whitlock left the Kansas City Star in 2010, he didn’t merely leave in the way most of us do when we switch companies. Nope—on Aug. 20, 2010, he appeared for three hours on Nick Wright’s show on Kansas City’s KCSP sports radio to explain/discuss/celebrate his departure. Deadspin’s Tommy Craggs e-mailed Wright for the details, and Wright responded with this …
This was one month after LeBron James’ tragic “The Decision” telecast, and Whitlock—according to a Star colleague—viewed it as an equally important/monumental event. Hell, he called it, “The Explanation” and—according to a New York Times piece—“spent considerable time tearing down The Star and especially going after Mike Fannin, the paper’s editor and a former sports editor, for his personal and professional conduct. At one point, when Whitlock was midsentence about Fannin’s behavior outside work, the station cut to a commercial break.”
Which, once again, is insane.
Like, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really insane. Like, the kind of insane where—as someone speaks—you back up slowly and hope he doesn’t notice you’re now 30 feet away and reaching for the door knob.
That insane.
During his later years with the Star, Whitlock began upping his national profile by making more and more television appearances, as well as writing for outlets like ESPN’s Page 2, AOL Sports and Fox Sports. This was during the industry’s transitionary phase from print to digital, where a big name like Jason Whitlock was expected to open eyes and induce clicks.
And, sincerely, Whitlock did some sound work. He appeared semi-regularly on ESPN’s The Sports Reporters, and came off as reasoned and wise compared to the yap-yap-yapping of Lupica. For all his fiery etchings, Whitlock had a way about him in front of the camera. He’s fairly quick-witted, a keen observer of behavior, even shockingly compassionate at times where others may well attack.
And yet … he also always seemed to be the Bledsoe Gay? guy. In an interview with the Big Lead he referred to Lupica as "an insecure, mean-spirited busybody,"6 and mocked the work of Slam Magazine’s Scoop Jackson ("the publishing of Jackson's fake ghetto posturing is an insult to black intelligence.").7 When the New York Knicks’ Jeremy Lin lit up the Lakers in a Feb. 10, 2012 game, Whitlock Tweeted out this …
In short, you never knew what you’d get. Would Whitlock say something embarrassing or profound? Was he trying to inspire or provoke? Was he the guy who helped young colleagues find their footing at the Star or the guy who demanded his bosses submit his work for the Pulitzer? He clearly resented peers receiving the acclaim he felt he deserved; clearly felt threatened by other writers stealing his shine. Back when he initially arrived in Kansas City in 1994, he was one of a tiny handful of Black voices in America’s sports landscape. Two decades later, though, he no longer reigned as The Black Voice, but merely a (muted, reduced, fairly inconsequential) black voice. Other minority writers came along, and they were—unambiguously—better. Stronger. More convincing and more authentic and less likely to flash a homophobic sign from the innards of a stadium press box. Howard Bryant and Jemele Hill; Shalise Manza Young and Greg Howard; Jeffri Chadiha and Andrew Lawrence. Bomani Jones and Candace Buckner. On and on and on.
That’s why when, in 2014, ESPN announced it would be launching a new website to serve as “the premier platform for exploring the intersections of race, sports and culture,” the hiring of Whitlock as editor in chief raised more than a few eyebrows. First, because the dude asked to spearhead the effort was the Bledoe Gay, Jeremy Lin-has-a-small-penis, Don’t-Blame-Imus-Blame-Black-Folk space cadet. Second, because Whitlock had never managed so much as a Burger King, let alone a massive ESPN undertaking with an enormous budget and equally enormous staff. Third, because it just felt … lazy on behalf of the network. Like—“We need a Black person. Whitlock is Black. Problem solved.” Leading (what was to become known as) The Undefeated was a tremendous opportunity that no sane homo Sapien would have turned down, and across America ESPN had its pick of dozens upon dozens upon dozens of high-level Black journalists (in and out of sport) with chops, with managerial experience, with self-awareness, with grace, with class, with dignity, with minimal ego, with talent, with no history of considering Jeremy Lin’s penis depth. The decision to hire Whitlock was made by John Skipper, ESPN’s president, and it was simply, confounding.
“It will be an extension of what I’ve been doing for a long time,” Whitlock told the Indy Star’s Dana Hunsinger Benbow shortly after his arrival. “We’re going to tackle some of the toughest issues about race and culture and sports, and hopefully we’ll address them fairly and in an original way.”
And with those words, Jason Whitlock was on his way. The Undefeated was his opportunity to create legitimate greatness. He was well-versed in the history of America’s great Black newspapers—publications like the Pittsburgh Courier and Chicago Defender that covered a people and a culture that mainstream (aka: white) society largely ignored. The Undefeated would inherit the mantle of those largely defunct publications. It would be nothing short of legendary.
Only, eh, there was one enormous problem: Whitlock.
Years ago, when I was a bumbleheaded cub writer in Nashville, the city’s alt-weekly wrote, “If there’s one cow-pie in the field, The Tennessean’s Jeff Pearlman will manage to step in it.” That line used to infuriate me, until one day I realized: A. It was funny. B. It was true. With Whitlock, every moment at The Undefeated felt like a bellyflop leap off the high dive into a pool of cow pies. On April 27, 2015, Deadspin’s Greg Howard wrote an epic opus headlined, “How Jason Whitlock Is Poisoning ESPN's ‘Black Grantland’” that, piece by piece, broke down the disaster that was Whitlock’s reign. The highlight/lowlight was a speech Whitlock gave to his new staff, which included a paragraph as amazing to read now as it surely was to hear eight years ago. Said Whitlock: “If you’re more comfortable working for white people, rather than working for me—and that sounds humorous, but it’s the truth. Some black people are far more comfortable answering to a white person than a black person no matter how black they like to pass themselves off to be. Far more comfortable, because they know a white person is going to overlook their shortcomings. ‘Eh, it’s good for a Negro.’ I’m not about that. But if you’re more comfortable working for a white person, I will find a white person for you to work for. ... We have a higher standard here. Everybody has to get on board with that or I’m going to find a way to move them someplace else.”
Yup.
Someone in the meeting forwarded a recording of Whitlock’s talk to Deadspin. I’m conveniently supplying it here. It’s a beaut …
All these years later, Howard’s piece is worth your time. It tells the story of an egomaniacal madman who berated, belittled, ignored, mocked, scorned and projected. Whitlock was a former college football player who somehow believed the same Bear Bryant-esque coach speak used to motivate a locker room would sway intellectually inclined ink-stained wordsmiths. He would distribute motivational quotes to staff members—a high percentage of which were the words of (wait for it) … Jason Whitlock.
In his mission statement, he supplied examples of what he considered to be “great content.” One piece was “The Case For Reparations” by the otherworldly Ta-Nehisi Coates. Another was (again, wait for it) “Why Black Folks Can’t Breathe.” By (dear fucking God) Jason Whitlock. Seriously, think about that: The head of The Undefeated wanted to show his staff what great content looks like—so he gave them something he wrote.
In summing up the Whitlock-Undefeated experiment, Howard noted that, “Whitlock is a social commentator with a 15-year-old’s understanding of American history and a 75-year-old’s appreciation for pop culture. He has no experience as an editor or manager; no real constituency among the young writers his site is supposed to develop; and no new ideas to bring people. His career-long aversion to reporting and love of the sound of his voice have left him without the skills necessary to build his new enterprise, and his personal incuriosity and lack of grace have left him unable to develop them or productively manage the people who have them. He is flatly, desperately unqualified for his present position. The question is just how the hell he’s heading up what should be the most important black sports and culture website in the country. And the only answer that makes much sense is that he is nothing more than the instrument of interests that would work against the very people his site is supposed to serve.”
On June 12, 2015, ESPN announced that Whitlock was being removed as The Undefeated’s editor before the site ever launched. That evening, according to Mike Wise (an Undefeated staffer at the time), Whitlock called him sobbing. “It was the first time I ever heard him cry,” Wise said. “He told me when he started, ‘This is something I really feel I’m doing that will actually help Black people.’ He genuinely dreamed of a publication that could harken back to the days of Sam Lacy and the Chicago Defender and the Baltimore Afro-American, before mainstream news places hired away Black journalists and the Black press wasn’t as needed or read. And when that dream was dead, I remember he told me, ‘Journalism is dead.’”
That same day, ESPN released a far-too-kind statement, noting that, “we collectively determined that having Jason focus his time and energy solely on creating thought-provoking content—his hallmark—across various ESPN platforms will make our overall content even better.”
Put differently, the guy was a catastrophe.
This is where something shifted.
No one seems entirely sure why. Or how. But the public humiliation of having his baby taken away clearly hit Whitlock hard. In one snap of the fingers, he went from being the king of a highly anticipated website to a flop.
All in public, for the wide consumption of the sports landscape.
If you’re just a normal person, this level of setback is hard. But if you’re Jason Whitlock—the type of guy who twice pushes himself for the Pulitzer; who cites his own work as must-read; who takes pleasure in the shortcomings of colleagues—it has to be 100 Tyson Fury blows to the gut.
According to folks who worked with/knew Whitlock, the devastation was unbearable. But what seems to have taken it to the next level was something Whitlock rarely discusses, but looms over his life. Namely, the dude is lonely.
Jason Whitlock turns 56 in April. He has never married. He has no children. Or pets. Try finding friends (genuinely close friends of Jason Whitlock) in the industry, and—well—you’ll really struggle. “Even when I would have called us friends—and not just peripheral press box friends—I can’t remember a time he called to talk about anything other than what was bugging the shit out of him about someone or something in journalism,” said Wise. And, to be clear, none of this is an indictment of Whitlock’s character. Not everyone marries. Not everyone has kids. Plenty of media members prefer to keep colleagues at arm’s length. But if you’ve done this job long enough (as I have), you come across a good number of folks who so live and die with the profession that it becomes a sickness. Instead of, say, taking an art class and painting watercolors of nearby ponds, you Google your name over and over and over and over and over and over again. Instead of coaching your kid’s lacrosse team, you wonder why Joon Lee has more Twitter followers than you do8. Your self-worth becomes tied up in journalism and only journalism. Or, really, in journalism fame. In airport recognition. In hashtags—both positive #lovejasonwhitlock and negative #fuckjasonwhitlock. In this stuff …
When you have no one else to care for, and all that matters is the Brand of You, you’re broken.
Like, really broken.
Post-The Undefeated, Whitlock spent some time doing TV at Fox Sports 1 before, in 2020, signing on with Outkick the Coverage, Clay Travis’ sports/politics website with a haaaaaaaard-right lean and a media columnist whose racism is as proud as it is overt. It was a pathetic move for a man who, a mere six years earlier, named The Undefeated for a Maya Angelou line (“You may encounter many defeats, but you must not be defeated.”), and what followed was nothing short of harrowing. Along with his neutered Trump sit-down, one of Whitlock’s more discussed Outkick products was a column headlined, “Leaked Video Exposes George Floyd's Death As Tragedy And Race Hoax Used To Divide Us.”9 By the time he left the site just seven months later (predictably, he departed on bad terms) any illusion that Whitlock was sane and reasoned had vanished. His new brand was trailer trash slogans in easily digestible Tweets for MAGA loyalists (he literally wrote a Wall Street Journal opinion piece suggesting Colin Kaepernick isn’t Black enough to be a Civil Rights figure). “Honestly,” one former colleague told me, “I think there’s some real mental illness there. There has to be.”
These days, Whitlock is a sad sight to behold. His tireless need to be seen and heard, coupled with the embracing of racist talking points and conspiracy theories, have rendered him among the nation’s most pitied media figures. He is far less Royko than, oh, Lauren Boebert. He will never again work in sports media. For anyone. Anywhere. Ever. Wrote Jay Willis in GQ: “He's a well-compensated troll whose body of work clearly indicates that he cares less about making intelligent arguments than he does about getting a rise out of people so he can doltishly refer to them as ‘triggered.’” Last week, ESPN’s Stan Verrett Tweeted of Whitlock: “[He] will only get worse. Anti-black rhetoric comes easily for him because of personal insecurity and self-loathing. But HE has to get worse because his employers demand it. And he has zero leverage to say no. He’s stuck. It’s more predictable than provocative at this point. And the new angle to the grift is disingenuously invoking religion as a defense. It’s an insult to true piety and faith. But he thinks it makes him immune to criticism and renders his buffoonery unassailable. He will crash and burn, again, in due time. He can’t help himself. Whenever anything involving black people makes news, his handlers trot him out with anti-black talking points. He spices it up with some nonsense of his own, and they sit back and watch him demean himself. It even shocks them how low he’s willing to stoop at times. Shameless.”
That, dear readers, is the perfect word.
Shameless.
The Quaz Five with … Tom Doedee
Tom Doedee is a professional Australian rules footballer for the Adelaide Crows of the Australian Football League. He’s also (weirdly) a reader of my books—so much so that I swapped him a copy of “The Last Folk Hero” for some Crows gear. He’s a cool guy and you can follow him on Instagram here.
1. Tom, you’re a member of the Adelaide Crows of the Australian Football League. You’re also a huge NFL fan. If we flew you to America, gave you, oh, six months working on NFL halfback skills with trainers, former pros, etc—could you reasonably fight for a roster spot with, oh, the Carolina Panthers?: No chance. Haha! As much as I’d like to think I’m a good enough athlete to make the transition, those guys are on a different level—especially in terms of power/explosiveness. We run about 14-16 km (around 9 miles) a game so endurance, repeat efforts and strength are more important for us. I play a position similar to a free safety so maybe, with some elite coaching and training, I could be a back up safety on the worst defense in the league and give up a few touchdowns a game.
2. Kinda fascinated—how does a guy 8,000 miles away from where I live become an American football fan? What’s the genesis?: Relatively long story that I’ll try to keep concise. I played basketball at a high level growing up and my dream since I was 10 was to go play in America so I was infatuated by the NBA and college ball. Once my dad got Foxtel (the equivalent to cable here in Australia), I was able to start watching other sports and not just NBA highlights on YouTube. He was a massive Larry Bird fan growing up, which led to me going for them and the Patriots, which led to me falling in love with Tom Brady, then playing Madden and so on. My fandom reached its tipping point when I visited the States during playoff season in 2012 and seeing the passion of fan-bases completely captured me. So basically, I went from not knowing a single player, to watching the replays of the first Super Bowl and All-22 vision of Patriots games in a couple of years and haven’t stopped since.
3. I’m pretty well-versed in sports coverage here in the U.S. But what’s it like for you and the Crows? How many reporters come to your games? What are the media expectations? Are locker rooms open? Etc?: Extremely different to the NFL! We have TV coverage and a few radio interviews post game but they are in the warm-up area. No media personnel are allowed in the locker room or to interview anyone that hasn’t been approved by our media team. There would be about 5-to-10 reporters in the coach’s post-game press conference (players don’t do press conferences post game, only during the week) and around 2-3 radio stations covering the game. It’s a lot more controlled and leads to less players saying things they shouldn’t after a tough loss or a big win—which I think is for the better!
4. Two years ago Carl Nassib, the first openly gay NFL player, came out—and it was a big deal for a brief period, then sorta evaporated and now he’s just a guy on the Bucs. What are the feelings toward gay men in AFL? Are there out players? Does it ... matter?: I think we are in a very similar spot to where the NFL was before Carl came out. I feel it is pumped up to be a big deal and something that would obviously receive plenty of coverage. However, with how progressive the world is in 2023, the hoopla would dissipate similar to the way Carl’s story did in the NFL. I’m not entirely sure when it will happen but whenever it does I would like to think they will be embraced and praised for their courage.
5. This is a little self-indulgent, but ... how the fuck do you even know who I am? How did you come to find/read my books?: Probably not giving your globally recognized self enough credit here, Jeff! As mentioned above, once I started getting into NFL I dived head first into anything I could get my hands on. Having been a big reader as a kid, I turned towards books to continue to build my knowledge. Along with “America’s Game” by Michael McCambridge and “Paper Lion,” your book “Gunslinger” was one of my first NFL books purchased and after really enjoying the objectivity and wit it was written with I decided to try a few more of your books. “Football for a Buck” was next, followed by “Three Ring Circus” and now “The Last Folk Hero.” Being in Australia, it’s hard to get my hands on some of your older books but I plan to complete the collection one day!
A random old article worth revisiting …
This past Sunday marked the 37th anniversary of the Challenger explosion. For those of us who were children at the time, the tragedy was a (nearly) 9.11-esque moment of shock and horror; one that illustrated to millions of young Americans that life is fragile and nothing is guaranteed. Kathleen McClain and Wendy McBane of the Charlotte Observer captured it well …
This week’s college writer you should follow on Twitter …
Selma Krantz, Arizona State University
The opinion columnist for ASU’s State Press delivered with a powerful piece headlined, ASU MUST CONTINUE ITS SUPPORT OF JEWISH STUDENTS. And what struck me most about Krantz’s take is she pulled no punches; held nothing back. She’s a young Jewish woman who’s tired and fed up.
This is gold …
One can follow Selma on Twitter here. Bravo.
Random journalism musings for the week …
Musing 1: The most beautiful/heartbreaking piece I’ve read in some time was penned by Kelsie Snow, the former newspaper writer whose husband, Calgary Flames Assistant GM Chris Snow, is experiencing the absolute hells of ALS. Trust me, read this—and think of the Snow family.
Musing 2: If you’re in need of a good laugh, Donald Trump is threatening to sue Bob Woodward. I mean—seriously. Is there anyone this buffoon doesn’t sue?
Musing 3: What a crazy story in the Washington Post beneath the headline, Haitian police, angered by officer killings, attack PM’s home, airport. According to reporters Widlore Mérancourt and Claire Parker, Haitian police surrounded the prime minister’s house to protest the recent killings of law enforcement officers. Read the article: “Police commanders called for calm. But among some rank-and-file officers, fearful and fed up with the government’s failure to restore security, their entreaties fell on deaf ears. Dozens of protesters, including police officers, took to the streets of multiple neighborhoods in the capital to burn tires and block roads.”
Musing 4: I know he meant well, but I’m definitely not feeling Bengals defensive lineman B.J. Hill, who after his team’s devastating loss to Kansas City in the AFC Championship clash stood alongside teammate Joseph Ossai (the game’s unfortunate goat) and determined what questions reporters could and could not ask. Again—I appreciate the protective instincts. But we’re all adults here, and scribes should be allowed to ask as they see fit.
Musing 5: Former Major League catcher Ed Hearn is best known as the player the Mets surrendered to Kansas City in a lopsided 1987 trade for David Cone. But he also happens to be a lovely man whose health struggles through the decades are well-documented and crushing. Well, it turns out Ed is in need of a kidney transplant. And, along those lines, a kidney donor. There’s a full article here.
Musing 6: I haven’t maintained many connections from my days covering the Majors for Sports Illustrated, but former Dodger slugger Shawn Green is a real friend and a lovely guy. My pal Mike Moodian asked if Shawn would speak to his Little League team, and Shawn (being Shawn) happily obliged.
Musing 7: This week’s Two Writers Slinging Yang stars Alex Coffey, the excellent Phillis beat writer for the Philadelphia Inquirer. Take a listen here.
Quote of the week …
"It's through mistakes that you actually can grow. You have to get bad in order to get good."
I reached out to Jason for an interview/comment for this post via his e-mail and Instagram feeds. He never replied.
This, from Wikipedia, explains Royko quite well: “In 1976, a Royko column criticized the Chicago Police Department for providing an around-the-clock security for Frank Sinatra. Sinatra responded with a letter calling Royko a "pimp," threatening to "punch you in the mouth" for speculating that he wore a toupée.”
Bledsoe is Drew Bledsoe, New England’s quarterback. He went 17 of 26 for 226 passing yards, three touchdowns and no interceptions against the Chiefs. He did not suck.
Available for $19.95 on my Onlyfans.
I want to emphasize this point. I’ve been a journalist for 30 years. I have never, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever considered submitting anything I wrote for Pulitzer consideration. Why? Because: A. Who gives a shit? It’s just an award; B. What kind of arrogant fuck does such a thing?
Gotta admit—the dude had a point.
According to one person I spoke with (not Scoop, to be clear), Whitlock was jealous over Scoop’s increased TV profile.
Joon’s name just popped in my head. Much respect. Talented guy.
Whitlock argued the footage proved officers were “appropriate and restrained given Floyd’s level of resistance and bizarre conduct,” adding that it also “reasonably explains how and why Floyd wound up on the ground with multiple officers restraining him.”
Bob: A. Thanks for reading and commenting. B. I would never appear on a show that peddles such levels of propaganda, hosted by a Grade A buffoon. C. I don't need your money THAT badly. :)
Seriously, though, thanks for reading and chiming in. Appreciated, even if we disagree.
Enjoyable and impressive as always. The phrase "a vomit-soaked gas station urinal cloth" was worth the subscription price alone.