jbeecham
ASFN Addict
Posted by Paul Shirley, May 12, 2005
This journal has received more attention than I could have ever thought possible. Stories have been done on the “blog” by wide-ranging outlets such as Fox Sports, ESPNews, the Wall Street Journal (Online edition—this has not quite been enough of a phenomenon to rate mention in the traditional version), Sports Illustrated, Newsweek and, strangely enough, the BBC. (I will clarify—BBC stands for British Broadcasting Corporation. Someone to whom I was speaking recently was confused by the acronym, leading to another drop in my estimate of the general intelligence level of the average human.) All of this has made me realize I had forgotten how intoxicating, yet frustrating media attention can be.
I am a huge proponent of the concept that is “The Media.” Without the watchdog attitude that is taken by many journalistic outlets, our personal freedoms would be in serious jeopardy. Because of the inherent corrupting nature of power wielded, government would slowly take total control of many aspects of the average person’s life if not for the checks and balances provided by the damned liberal media. Historically, the creation of any totalitarian regime worth its salt was marked by some sort of media takeover or, at the very least, heavy censorship. (Side note: As I have mentioned before, I spent two months in Russia earlier this season. Scary developments are afoot in that country. Of course, no one here knows about them because we are all entirely too concerned with the latest celebrity gossip to care that the Russian government has gained control of most of the television stations there. Without independent voices to raise a questioning eyebrow, the push to find a way to make Vladimir Putin the country’s permanent leader should be an easier one. I am not making this up.) The press has always been one of the few entities that held influence over the heavy hand that is big government. It is an overused example, but it still rings true: What if no one had uncovered the evidence that brought the Watergate scandal to the public’s eye? Our lives would not be the same, methinks. One does not need to be a conspiracy theorist to realize that those in charge want to stay that way and will do most anything to accomplish that goal. More recently, I could point to Bush’s own Patriot Act as an example of a piece of legislation that, had it been enacted… Wait. Oh, that’s right, that fine idea came to fruition. I forgot about the fact that scare tactics override all else as a motivator. And that the general public is inherently stupid. And that even though the Act severely restricts individual rights and puts the US on a fast-track to an Orwellian destiny, the Joe Rednecks of the world stood up and said, “Rights? I’m willing to give up my own personal rights, if it means more freedom around the world.” (Think about the blasphemy found in such a statement.)
I have digressed. I write the above as background only to impress upon the reader that I realize that the media is very necessary to our survival. Well, not to our survival, I suppose, but at least the survival of our way of living — that is, in a “free” country. I think some journalists do great work. That being said, there is always room at the bottom.
I did an interview on “The Best Damn Sports Show” about a month ago. I vowed not to watch my own performance, but the participants at the poker game that went down at my apartment that night overrode my veto. I was reminded of why I don’t like to see or hear myself. Ever. First of all, seeing oneself on television is surreal because everything is backwards. We do not think about it much, but most of the views a person sees of himself are reflections in the mirror—meaning that, when I see myself on TV, it looks kind of what I think I look like, but not really. It is very unsettling. Second, it turns out that I talk out of the side of my mouth. It is not a pretty sight. I will be accepting applications for the position of “Instructor in How Not to Look Like a Complete Jackass When Speaking on Camera” starting next week. It would be okay if I had just had a stroke; since I haven’t, it is inexcusable to appear so ******** while speaking. Last, I know of a few people whose faces should ever be subjected to a close-up. I am not one of those people.
The interview was moderately entertaining, I suppose. It was somewhat strange in that my only contact with the hosts of the show was through an earpiece. The interview was done via satellite; my location was a darkened room with a camera, and so I had no view of the proceedings — another very odd feeling. For all I knew, the studio audience was openly mocking my presence and the hosts not actively participating in the interview were making obscene gestures in my direction. (Maybe it is better I didn’t see them, actually. I can pretend they were entranced by my droll observations on the state of professional basketball and no one will be the wiser.) As usual, when my 2.5 minutes was up, I spoke briefly to a producer who thanked me for my time and sent me on my way.
The interview process, when done badly (which is most of the time), is extremely degrading. In my experience, whether it is for TV or newsprint, the interviewer pretends to be extraordinarily interested in the subject’s life…for anywhere between two and ten minutes. Then like a john leaving a cheap motel room, he goes on his merry way without a second thought to the proceedings.
Tom Arnold, who I gather works for the aforementioned Best Damn Sports Show, was at Game Two in our series against Dallas. I suppose he was on-hand to further his career as a…(Why exactly is Tom Arnold famous? I’ve never been clear on this.) After doing a few pre-game interviews, he took a seat courtside and watched as we lost to the Mavericks in a thriller that nearly resulted in serious damage to the arena floor due to impact with Joe Johnson’s cheekbone. (I don’t mean to be so glib. Joe’s fall was a doozy and it will be an impressive feat when he is willing to put his face back in harm’s way, which I am sure will be sooner for him than it would be for the rest of us.) One of Arnold’s pre-game interviews was with me, which was disappointing news for this author. I have grown rather tired of talking about the “blog,” mainly because the questions asked are usually repetitive to the point of making me want to commit acts of violence upon the interviewer. I tried to hide behind a pillar when I saw the cameras, but I had to pass by Arnold and one of his handlers to get to the locker room. As soon as I came around the corner, my hopes of a quick walk-by were dashed. His sidekick recognized me, and quickly whispered something in Crazy Tom’s ear. A microphone was shoved into my face and the camera turned my way.
(I should note that my distaste for the attention caused by all this is not modesty. My ego is as big as anyone’s. I just don’t see the point, really. I haven’t DONE anything. As I mentioned in a previous missive, there are already way too many people talking or writing about the things other people are doing — and I am one of those. To have people talking about what I am writing about takes the process to a new level of absurdity and pointlessness.)
Tom, in what I learned is his normal, rather high-strung way, began berating me with near-questions that were of absolutely no substance at all. In fact, the only thing I gleaned from the experience was a new way to envision what a person who had just snorted twenty five... Pixie Stix must look like — he is that hyperactive. The poor guy didn’t have a clue why he was interviewing me — and I had been on his show. I even tried to lob something his way, mentioning that I had seen him in my Cyclone days at pre-Iowa caucus rally for Al Gore. (Perhaps he wiped the compelling performance that the ever-captivating Gore put on from his memory. I pretty much have.) He said something like, “I liked Al Gore,” and then trailed off into a frantic butchering of the English language. All in all, it was an awful interview.
I don’t blame Tom Arnold for the fact that he is a half-crazed reporter for the BDSS. I blame the people that watch. Maybe, instead of tuning in to some guy who used to get it done with Roseanne on a regular basis talk about the journal, a body should read it for himself. Arnold’s viewpoint cannot be superior; he is still addled from those years in bed with a less-than-attractive mate. Better yet, watch the game and then stowaway in my bag, stalk the players, and come up with even stranger impressions than the ones I have. (On second thought, maybe just read the journal.) Think for yourself. Question authority. The media is around for a reason, but Tom Arnold isn’t it.
This journal has received more attention than I could have ever thought possible. Stories have been done on the “blog” by wide-ranging outlets such as Fox Sports, ESPNews, the Wall Street Journal (Online edition—this has not quite been enough of a phenomenon to rate mention in the traditional version), Sports Illustrated, Newsweek and, strangely enough, the BBC. (I will clarify—BBC stands for British Broadcasting Corporation. Someone to whom I was speaking recently was confused by the acronym, leading to another drop in my estimate of the general intelligence level of the average human.) All of this has made me realize I had forgotten how intoxicating, yet frustrating media attention can be.
I am a huge proponent of the concept that is “The Media.” Without the watchdog attitude that is taken by many journalistic outlets, our personal freedoms would be in serious jeopardy. Because of the inherent corrupting nature of power wielded, government would slowly take total control of many aspects of the average person’s life if not for the checks and balances provided by the damned liberal media. Historically, the creation of any totalitarian regime worth its salt was marked by some sort of media takeover or, at the very least, heavy censorship. (Side note: As I have mentioned before, I spent two months in Russia earlier this season. Scary developments are afoot in that country. Of course, no one here knows about them because we are all entirely too concerned with the latest celebrity gossip to care that the Russian government has gained control of most of the television stations there. Without independent voices to raise a questioning eyebrow, the push to find a way to make Vladimir Putin the country’s permanent leader should be an easier one. I am not making this up.) The press has always been one of the few entities that held influence over the heavy hand that is big government. It is an overused example, but it still rings true: What if no one had uncovered the evidence that brought the Watergate scandal to the public’s eye? Our lives would not be the same, methinks. One does not need to be a conspiracy theorist to realize that those in charge want to stay that way and will do most anything to accomplish that goal. More recently, I could point to Bush’s own Patriot Act as an example of a piece of legislation that, had it been enacted… Wait. Oh, that’s right, that fine idea came to fruition. I forgot about the fact that scare tactics override all else as a motivator. And that the general public is inherently stupid. And that even though the Act severely restricts individual rights and puts the US on a fast-track to an Orwellian destiny, the Joe Rednecks of the world stood up and said, “Rights? I’m willing to give up my own personal rights, if it means more freedom around the world.” (Think about the blasphemy found in such a statement.)
I have digressed. I write the above as background only to impress upon the reader that I realize that the media is very necessary to our survival. Well, not to our survival, I suppose, but at least the survival of our way of living — that is, in a “free” country. I think some journalists do great work. That being said, there is always room at the bottom.
I did an interview on “The Best Damn Sports Show” about a month ago. I vowed not to watch my own performance, but the participants at the poker game that went down at my apartment that night overrode my veto. I was reminded of why I don’t like to see or hear myself. Ever. First of all, seeing oneself on television is surreal because everything is backwards. We do not think about it much, but most of the views a person sees of himself are reflections in the mirror—meaning that, when I see myself on TV, it looks kind of what I think I look like, but not really. It is very unsettling. Second, it turns out that I talk out of the side of my mouth. It is not a pretty sight. I will be accepting applications for the position of “Instructor in How Not to Look Like a Complete Jackass When Speaking on Camera” starting next week. It would be okay if I had just had a stroke; since I haven’t, it is inexcusable to appear so ******** while speaking. Last, I know of a few people whose faces should ever be subjected to a close-up. I am not one of those people.
The interview was moderately entertaining, I suppose. It was somewhat strange in that my only contact with the hosts of the show was through an earpiece. The interview was done via satellite; my location was a darkened room with a camera, and so I had no view of the proceedings — another very odd feeling. For all I knew, the studio audience was openly mocking my presence and the hosts not actively participating in the interview were making obscene gestures in my direction. (Maybe it is better I didn’t see them, actually. I can pretend they were entranced by my droll observations on the state of professional basketball and no one will be the wiser.) As usual, when my 2.5 minutes was up, I spoke briefly to a producer who thanked me for my time and sent me on my way.
The interview process, when done badly (which is most of the time), is extremely degrading. In my experience, whether it is for TV or newsprint, the interviewer pretends to be extraordinarily interested in the subject’s life…for anywhere between two and ten minutes. Then like a john leaving a cheap motel room, he goes on his merry way without a second thought to the proceedings.
Tom Arnold, who I gather works for the aforementioned Best Damn Sports Show, was at Game Two in our series against Dallas. I suppose he was on-hand to further his career as a…(Why exactly is Tom Arnold famous? I’ve never been clear on this.) After doing a few pre-game interviews, he took a seat courtside and watched as we lost to the Mavericks in a thriller that nearly resulted in serious damage to the arena floor due to impact with Joe Johnson’s cheekbone. (I don’t mean to be so glib. Joe’s fall was a doozy and it will be an impressive feat when he is willing to put his face back in harm’s way, which I am sure will be sooner for him than it would be for the rest of us.) One of Arnold’s pre-game interviews was with me, which was disappointing news for this author. I have grown rather tired of talking about the “blog,” mainly because the questions asked are usually repetitive to the point of making me want to commit acts of violence upon the interviewer. I tried to hide behind a pillar when I saw the cameras, but I had to pass by Arnold and one of his handlers to get to the locker room. As soon as I came around the corner, my hopes of a quick walk-by were dashed. His sidekick recognized me, and quickly whispered something in Crazy Tom’s ear. A microphone was shoved into my face and the camera turned my way.
(I should note that my distaste for the attention caused by all this is not modesty. My ego is as big as anyone’s. I just don’t see the point, really. I haven’t DONE anything. As I mentioned in a previous missive, there are already way too many people talking or writing about the things other people are doing — and I am one of those. To have people talking about what I am writing about takes the process to a new level of absurdity and pointlessness.)
Tom, in what I learned is his normal, rather high-strung way, began berating me with near-questions that were of absolutely no substance at all. In fact, the only thing I gleaned from the experience was a new way to envision what a person who had just snorted twenty five... Pixie Stix must look like — he is that hyperactive. The poor guy didn’t have a clue why he was interviewing me — and I had been on his show. I even tried to lob something his way, mentioning that I had seen him in my Cyclone days at pre-Iowa caucus rally for Al Gore. (Perhaps he wiped the compelling performance that the ever-captivating Gore put on from his memory. I pretty much have.) He said something like, “I liked Al Gore,” and then trailed off into a frantic butchering of the English language. All in all, it was an awful interview.
I don’t blame Tom Arnold for the fact that he is a half-crazed reporter for the BDSS. I blame the people that watch. Maybe, instead of tuning in to some guy who used to get it done with Roseanne on a regular basis talk about the journal, a body should read it for himself. Arnold’s viewpoint cannot be superior; he is still addled from those years in bed with a less-than-attractive mate. Better yet, watch the game and then stowaway in my bag, stalk the players, and come up with even stranger impressions than the ones I have. (On second thought, maybe just read the journal.) Think for yourself. Question authority. The media is around for a reason, but Tom Arnold isn’t it.
