Access

I was reading something about the death of the American Newspaper as it relates to sports the other day, and seeing how this is the kind of thing that we can spend too much thought on, let's have it, shall we?

Frankly, this blog exists on some level because I didn't continue sports journalism as a career 15+ years ago. The money just wasn't there, and by the money, I mean any money: starting salaries of $18K a year when you have college bills to pay would have had me sleeping in a car and not eating very often. Add minority hiring considerations (no complaints: the field should be as diverse as the participants), my own bad timing (the Bush I Recession) and my choice to spend my '20s chasing the music dream, and it's clear to me that the road not taken was correct. I get the same kick of creation from the day job (I'm in online advertising) without the same worries of Justify Your Economic Existence that journos are now overwhelmed by.

But, well, still. There's a reason why newspapers refer to the sports desk as the Toy Department, and that's because it really is possible to love your work, all the while knowing that you aren't going to, say, see the victims of violence and disaster as part of your 9 to 5.

Independent of the jealousy that some people might feel over making a living from writing about games, there is a strong and growing disconnect from the public to the people in the press box. As athletes get better and better at saying very little (seriously, the next person that overhears Tiger Woods saying something interesting might be the first), and the technology improves to the point where the television feed is showing you more than what the people at the stadium are seeing, the value of the hack working his or her sources and being in the locker room every day fades.

Plus, there's also this. As a 21st century sports fan (also known as someone with more of a mercenary interest than a pure fan one, thanks to the existence of casual gambling via fantasy leagues), I'm really only interested in the personal stuff if it gives me an edge in the real world.

Take, for instance, the case of Brian Dawkins, clearly the most beloved defensive football player in Philadelphia for his generation.

I know, thanks to locker room scribes, how much Dawk cared about being a team leader, and his relation to the fans. We know the origins of his spasmodic pre-game dance routine, and why he occasionally leaped around the field like he was trying out for the Wolverine role in a blaxploitation superhero movie. We know how he'd speak in tongues without resorting to profanity, and how this was a manifestation of his religious faith.

But I do not, at least not definitively, whether or not he was very good at his job anymore, or whether or not the Broncos made the right move in signing him at age 35.

My eyes tell me that he's not as effective as he used to be, and the Eagles problems in covering the tight end are also a very strong hint that they had to move on. And since I've never met Dawkins and don't have to worry about him or his teammates freezing me out if I trashed him, the only retribution I might face for my ungratefulness for his decade of outstanding service is from a nasty commenter.

The people who covered Dawkins on a day-in, day-out basis had a lot more on the table. And they were more or less quiet on the subject, just as they are on most matters of personnel assessment. I heard about Dhani Jones writing poetry and William James changing his name; what I didn't hear was that they were horrible at being football players, at least while they wore my team's laundry. And so on, and so on.

Why? Because, well, they are too close. If it makes me hurt to rip Dawk, and I've never set foot in the Eagles locker room or had more access to him than anyone else with a remote control, how much would it suck to have to write that sort of thing when you consider him something of a friend? Or that you might need him to comment on something else the week after you write your glue factory piece?

Journos are an ornery lot; if you tell them that they are compromised or complicit, they read that as corrupt and go into full shock and awe response mode (assuming they decide to give the criticism any thought at all). They are also frequently uncovering things that are of real value, if only for the fact that 90% of life is showing up, and they show up.

But to answer the questions that people like me (and if you are reading this, that also includes you) want answered, you may be better off with an obsessive geek that isn't so knee-deep in the underbrush that he can't see the forest for the trees.

And, well, as much fun as it was to learn about Dawk's quirks... well, I care more about his performance. And always will.

So how much value does that access have, anyway? (Oh, and if you want to extend this to our regrettable political coverage, please go review the entire sordid Judith Miller incarceration. This kind of thing isn't limited just to sports...)