Us vs. them: athletes and the media - Column

USA Today (Society for the Advancement of Education), Jan, 1994 by Wayne M. Barrett

THE CONVERSATION rightly was centered on the New York Islanders' playoff success--but for all the wrong reasons. The upstart Isles already had knocked off the Washington Capitals, and now the two-time defending Stanley Cup champion Pittsburgh Penguins were in town and led the best-of-seven series, two games to one. The sports media were gobbling down their free pre-game meal and lamenting the inevitable: The Islanders--a sportswriter's dream loaded with a group of articulate, honest, and stand-up players--eventually would be eliminated (it didn't happen until the next round against Montreal) and the great gathering of pencil pushers and microphone draggers would have to return to the baseball beat. (The horror! The horror!) Their fears, although sounding exaggerated, turned out to be well-founded. The vindictive freak show that was Shea Stadium in the summer of 1993 serves as a perfect microcosm for the rapid deterioration of an already tenuous relationship between professional athletes and the media.

Before the not-so-lovable Mets finally secured last place for the first time in almost three decades, the reporters who covered the team had been blasted with fireworks, sprayed with bleach, and berated with ill will. And in some strange, twisted way, they may even have deserved all they got. The same for the players. A pox on both their houses? Absolutely.

Today's sports world, not unlike the society from which it draws its main combatants, is filled with venom. And the leading vipers are poised on either side of the microphone. A bunker mentality--an us-against-them attitude--pervades.

"The clubs and the media, as if stuck in a bad marriage, have grown apart," wrote Sports Illustrated. "We feel like targets," said Kansas City Royals' pitcher David Cone in the same article. "A lot of times [the media is] looking for a reason to get on you. Negativity sells."

When Cone was a Met, the media didn't have to look hard. For example, during Spring Training 1992, his former girlfriend filed rape charges against three of Cone's teammates. During the ensuing investigation (and the ongoing tabloid wars of New York), many Mets emerged with less than Boy Scout reputations. In retaliation, the players, urged on by underachieving malcontent Bobby Bonilla, responded to the negative publicity by boycotting the press. Bonilla, it may be recalled, was signed by the Mets as a free agent, as much for his supposed good rapport with the press as his ability with the bat. The slugger had stated the previous winter that the New York media couldn't "knock the smile" off his face. He's been scowling ever since. In April, 1993, Bonilla physically confronted a member of the press corps, calling him a politically incorrect name ("faggot") for unkind words written in the book, The Worst Team Money Could Buy. This was before Met pitcher Bret Saberhagen threw firecrackers at a pack of interviewing sportswriters and, in a subsequent transgression into adolescence, sprayed a group of scribes with bleach.

Can't anybody here play the age-old interview game? Apparently not, and the reasons are many. First off, such confrontational actions by the players bring just the opposite effect intended--more media, more attention, more headaches. True, beat writers, having to face surly ballplayers on an everyday basis, wear down quicker these days, but there's always another sportswriter eager to step into the breech. Moreover, the boom in electronic media and the proliferation of 24-hour sports call-in shows have transformed the already bloated fourth estate into an impersonal, multi-headed, yet faceless beast, at least according to the players.

Having their off-the-field, Joey Buttafuoco-style behavior reported, however, isn't the only thing that the sports establishment deems off limits. Questions about the game itself, how it's played and the strategy employed, also is a sore spot. For instance, ex-Met manager Davey Johnson used his radio pre-game show as a welcomed forum for all those second-guessers. He delighted in explaining why this pitcher was yanked, why that particular hurler came on in relief, why this outfielder was in left today instead of fight, etc. The two subsequent Met managers, Buddy Harrelson and Jeff Torborg, found the pre-game show highly intrusive and the questions too negative. They couldn't explain away their bumbling moves with cliches, so they quit the show.

Players' salaries also play a big part--on two levels. The athletes now make millions a year. Lucrative endorsements add to their burgeoning treasure chest. Such riches don't corrupt as much as they warp. Players always were paid well, but their present-day booty has served to sever them from reality. They've become rich snobs answerable to no one. Trouble is, their talents, or lack thereof, are on display for all to see. And the fans, saddled with escalating ticket prices, love nothing better than ripping some overpaid crybaby who isn't playing up to expectations. The press, alienated by the arrogant athletes and eager to pump up the public feeding frenzy, simply dig in, and dig deeper. And they always get the last word, making the athletes angrier still.