While their colleagues died around them, they reported by tweet from beneath their desks. Because that is what journalists do.
They put out a paper this morning that chronicled their own tragedy, because that is what journalists do.
They hold public officials accountable for their words and their deeds. Sit through droning meetings about sewer rates so you won't have to. Poke their noses in where people who have something to hide think they don't belong ... and stage hand-to-hand combat with balky connections that always seem to fail right on top of deadline ... and quell the rising panic that comes when there's a big story to be told and a blank screen is staring at you, that lonely blinking cursor mocking your efforts to make the words come.
They afflict the comfortable, and comfort the afflicted. Because that is what journalists do.
This sometimes makes them unpopular, even in a nation whose constitution recognizes their worth. If we're doing our jobs even half right, we make people angry sometimes. In 40 years as a sports journalist, most of them as a columnist paid for my opinions, I have made plenty of people angry. I have been shouted at on the phone. Letters have come to me in what I dubbed Angry Cap Font. And I've gotten more emails than I can count questioning my parentage, my intelligence, my manhood.
One night, at a hockey game, I was standing in a hallway when a man brushed past me. He didn't stop. He didn't make eye contact. All he did, as he breezed past, was growl "Not a fan."
Then he was gone.
It was funny at the time; I actually laughed. But when I thought about it later, it seemed decidedly creepy.
And yet, I got off easy compared to some of my colleagues. None of the people I angered, to my knowledge, was mentally unhinged. Can't say that for some of those with whom a few courts and cop shop reporters I've known have had to deal.
And so in hindsight I guess I'm not surprised by what happened at the Capital Gazette in Annapolis, Md., yesterday, only that it doesn't happen more often. A madman with a grudge walked into the newsroom and killed five people, among them the brother of famed Miami Herald columnist and novelist Carl Hiaasen. The gunman apparently had a long-standing beef with this paper in particular. But it needs saying that he's not the only madman with a grudge against the free press these days.
Chief among them is the Madman in Chief, who may not have influenced the shooter in Maryland but who has poisoned the well against journalists in a way that is both unprecedented and reckless. When you daily smear the character and integrity of journalists because they're doing an indispensable job -- holding a corrupt and shameless chief executive accountable for his lies and inventions -- you do more than undermine faith in a free society's institutions. You imperil that very society.
And when you call the free press the "enemy of the people," as Our Only Available President also has?
You reveal that are you not a true defender of the American faith. Because those are the words of a despot, not the leader of a democratic republic.
It has been my privilege, and the highlight of my professional life, to call myself a journalist. To work with some of the most dedicated, passionate, decent human beings I have ever known anywhere. To accept that so much of what we do and how we do it is so badly understood by the public, especially when that public is being willfully misled by a charlatan.
"We do our best to share the stories of people, those who make our community better," the Capital Gazette's community news editor, Jimmy DeButts, tweeted yesterday. "Please understand, we do all this to serve our community. We try to expose corruption. We fight to get access to public records & bring to light the inner workings of government despite major hurdles put in our way. The reporters & editors put their all into finding the truth. That is our mission. Will always be."
And so there was no doubt what was going to happen this morning. It's what happens every day all over the country, even in a greatly diminished landscape. It's what happened the morning after the blizzard of '78 in Anderson, Indiana, where the guy driving this sentence was a kid sportswriter.
We got the paper out, is what happened. Only a handful of people made it to the office in the wake of the worst winter storm of my lifetime, but we got the paper out.
And so to yesterday, and a Capital Gazette reporter named Chase Cook.
"I can tell you this," Cook tweeted, on a day of unimaginable horror. "We are putting out a damn paper tomorrow."
Damn right they were. And did.
Friday, June 29, 2018
Thursday, June 28, 2018
Down goes Deutschland
You needed Jack Buck for this one, telling us again he couldn't believe what he just saw. You needed a South Korean Al Michaels, asking the folks back home if they believed in miracles.
You needed, maybe, the late great Howard Cosell, nasally chanting "Down goes Frazier!", only with a small but significant alteration in the script.
Down goes Deutschland. And this World Cup just got curiouser and curiouser.
You would have needed an 18-wheeler to haul away the cash if you'd bet on what happened yesterday, when Germany -- the World Cup defending champs -- bowed out of the tournament in a shocking 2-0 lost to South Korea. With that loss, the Germans, who came in with 4-1 odds to repeat as champions, not only failed to reach the knockout round, but finished dead last in its group.
Sweden -- Sweden -- won the group. Mexico finished second to advance as well. And Germany?
The last time it failed to get out of group play was 1938, when it was in the grip of a certain monster who needs no introduction here. And until yesterday, Germany had never lost to an Asian team in World Cup play.
That's "never" as in, never. Like, ever.
But the South Koreans pulled of a Miracle on Grass, scoring twice in stoppage time to send the defending champs packing. It was a stunning failure on Germany's part, matching the failures of Italy in 2010 and Spain in 2014 -- who were also the defending champs, and who also failed to get out of group play.
This, however, somehow seemed more stunning, if only for the inexplicably desultory way Germany played in its three games. It opened with a shutout loss to Mexico, the first time El Tri had beaten Germany in 32 years. Then came a near-death experience against the Swedes in which Toni Kroos brought them back from the dead in stoppage time with the goal of the tournament so far. Then came the historic failure against South Korea, in which the Germans were again uncharacteristically sloppy and listless.
So what happens next?
Well, that's the upside to this: Nobody really knows. Brazil, another of the favorites, won its group but was unimpressive in doing so. Argentina has been shockingly average, if not worse. Portugal has the best player in the world in Cristiano Ronaldo, but he was uncharacteristically listless himself in Portugal's last game.
Spain? Uruguay? Croatia? France?
Hey. Toss 'em all in a hat. Pull out a name. This is about to get interesting.
You needed, maybe, the late great Howard Cosell, nasally chanting "Down goes Frazier!", only with a small but significant alteration in the script.
Down goes Deutschland. And this World Cup just got curiouser and curiouser.
You would have needed an 18-wheeler to haul away the cash if you'd bet on what happened yesterday, when Germany -- the World Cup defending champs -- bowed out of the tournament in a shocking 2-0 lost to South Korea. With that loss, the Germans, who came in with 4-1 odds to repeat as champions, not only failed to reach the knockout round, but finished dead last in its group.
Sweden -- Sweden -- won the group. Mexico finished second to advance as well. And Germany?
The last time it failed to get out of group play was 1938, when it was in the grip of a certain monster who needs no introduction here. And until yesterday, Germany had never lost to an Asian team in World Cup play.
That's "never" as in, never. Like, ever.
But the South Koreans pulled of a Miracle on Grass, scoring twice in stoppage time to send the defending champs packing. It was a stunning failure on Germany's part, matching the failures of Italy in 2010 and Spain in 2014 -- who were also the defending champs, and who also failed to get out of group play.
This, however, somehow seemed more stunning, if only for the inexplicably desultory way Germany played in its three games. It opened with a shutout loss to Mexico, the first time El Tri had beaten Germany in 32 years. Then came a near-death experience against the Swedes in which Toni Kroos brought them back from the dead in stoppage time with the goal of the tournament so far. Then came the historic failure against South Korea, in which the Germans were again uncharacteristically sloppy and listless.
So what happens next?
Well, that's the upside to this: Nobody really knows. Brazil, another of the favorites, won its group but was unimpressive in doing so. Argentina has been shockingly average, if not worse. Portugal has the best player in the world in Cristiano Ronaldo, but he was uncharacteristically listless himself in Portugal's last game.
Spain? Uruguay? Croatia? France?
Hey. Toss 'em all in a hat. Pull out a name. This is about to get interesting.
Wednesday, June 27, 2018
The Battle is joined
That would be the Battle, the entirely made-up and overblown Battle for the Cellar in the NL Central, in which the Blob's crappy Pittsburgh Pirates and the even crappier Cincinnati Reds duke it out for Crap Supremacy in the division.
(And, yes, I know, Blobophiles: "Not this AGAIN!!" Yes, this again. Too bad. Deal with it.)
(Or not. I honestly don't care.)
Anyway ... a few weeks back, when the Reds weren't even trying and the Pirates were playing so far above their heads it looked like they'd been pumped full of helium, the Battle was as dead as rational thought in America. The Pirates were nine, 10, 11 games ahead. The Reds were flirting with relegation to Triple A.
Now?
Now, after the Reds somehow swept the mighty Cubs (a trick of the light, the Blob suspects) to go to 8-2 in their last 10 games, the gap is down to four games. Four. Games.
So it's officially a race now.
Pop some corn. This is going to get good.
OK, so bad, then. Horrendously bad.
(And, yes, I know, Blobophiles: "Not this AGAIN!!" Yes, this again. Too bad. Deal with it.)
(Or not. I honestly don't care.)
Anyway ... a few weeks back, when the Reds weren't even trying and the Pirates were playing so far above their heads it looked like they'd been pumped full of helium, the Battle was as dead as rational thought in America. The Pirates were nine, 10, 11 games ahead. The Reds were flirting with relegation to Triple A.
Now?
Now, after the Reds somehow swept the mighty Cubs (a trick of the light, the Blob suspects) to go to 8-2 in their last 10 games, the gap is down to four games. Four. Games.
So it's officially a race now.
Pop some corn. This is going to get good.
OK, so bad, then. Horrendously bad.
Tuesday, June 26, 2018
The Big Orator
Some guys you don't want to give a platform, if you're uncomfortable hearing the truth. So maybe it was a tactical mistake on someone's part to offer one to Oscar Robertson last night, on the occasion of him being given a lifetime achievement award by the NBA.
Oscar, as he is wont to do as a black man in America who has never been shy about speaking out, gave us all some hard reality to chew on.
He said there was a lot of injustice going on in this country right now, same as there was when he was coming up. Oscar grew up in Indiana in the 1950s, not an optimum time or place to grow up if you were a person of color. He lived in a segregated housing development in Indianapolis, and when he and his Crispus Attucks teammates became the first predominantly black school to win the state basketball title in a state that regarded basketball as a religious artifact, they did not get the Milan treatment from the year before.
No, sir. The white kids from Milan got what amounted to a parade all the way back from Indy. The black kids from Attucks -- even though they had just delivered the first state title ever for an Indianapolis school -- were told they couldn't even hold a parade downtown.
That sort of injustice wounds, and, if you are a man of principle and character, it makes you unafraid to speak out thereafter. And so in the '60s, when they all came of age, Oscar spoke out and Bill Russell did and Jim Brown did. Tommie Smith and John Carlos raised their fists into the Mexico City night. Muhammad Ali gave up his title and his livelihood.
In so doing, they got pretty much the same pushback from white America that Colin Kaepernick and the NFL kneelers are getting now. Which suggests we haven't moved as far as we like to believe in how we regard racial injustice. African-Americans still see it every day; too much of white America still denies it exists or it's overblown or it's just those black folk whining again.
And so to last night, when Oscar Robertson said that had to change.
"The only thing that really bothers me is where are the white athletes when this is happening?" he said. "This is not a black athlete problem. You see injustice in the world. It's all around you. Just because LeBron steps out, I'm glad he does. I hope some other players -- because this is what they believe -- I mean, what do you want players to do? Shut up and dribble?
"I think it's time for them to say what they want to say about life and about politics and things about the street and whatnot. And about education. They're a lot of players donating money back into different colleges. But it seems that what we have today is a system where you don't want players to say anything at all."
He's right about that. The effective muzzling of Kaepernick and the kneelers by the NFL is Exhibit A. Cowed as men like Robertson have never been, the NFL knuckled under to the demagoguery of a regressive oaf whose racial sensibilities align as openly with white supremacists (sanitized these days as "white nationalists") as any president's ever have. The demagogue, as demagogues are so adept at doing, stole the message of the players' and made it about something it's not. And that, Robertson intimated, can only happen if blacks and whites -- particularly those with the platform professional athletes have -- do not stand together against it as a united front.
There is, after all, so much to stand against these days in the demagogue's America. So much.
Oscar, as he is wont to do as a black man in America who has never been shy about speaking out, gave us all some hard reality to chew on.
He said there was a lot of injustice going on in this country right now, same as there was when he was coming up. Oscar grew up in Indiana in the 1950s, not an optimum time or place to grow up if you were a person of color. He lived in a segregated housing development in Indianapolis, and when he and his Crispus Attucks teammates became the first predominantly black school to win the state basketball title in a state that regarded basketball as a religious artifact, they did not get the Milan treatment from the year before.
No, sir. The white kids from Milan got what amounted to a parade all the way back from Indy. The black kids from Attucks -- even though they had just delivered the first state title ever for an Indianapolis school -- were told they couldn't even hold a parade downtown.
That sort of injustice wounds, and, if you are a man of principle and character, it makes you unafraid to speak out thereafter. And so in the '60s, when they all came of age, Oscar spoke out and Bill Russell did and Jim Brown did. Tommie Smith and John Carlos raised their fists into the Mexico City night. Muhammad Ali gave up his title and his livelihood.
In so doing, they got pretty much the same pushback from white America that Colin Kaepernick and the NFL kneelers are getting now. Which suggests we haven't moved as far as we like to believe in how we regard racial injustice. African-Americans still see it every day; too much of white America still denies it exists or it's overblown or it's just those black folk whining again.
And so to last night, when Oscar Robertson said that had to change.
"The only thing that really bothers me is where are the white athletes when this is happening?" he said. "This is not a black athlete problem. You see injustice in the world. It's all around you. Just because LeBron steps out, I'm glad he does. I hope some other players -- because this is what they believe -- I mean, what do you want players to do? Shut up and dribble?
"I think it's time for them to say what they want to say about life and about politics and things about the street and whatnot. And about education. They're a lot of players donating money back into different colleges. But it seems that what we have today is a system where you don't want players to say anything at all."
He's right about that. The effective muzzling of Kaepernick and the kneelers by the NFL is Exhibit A. Cowed as men like Robertson have never been, the NFL knuckled under to the demagoguery of a regressive oaf whose racial sensibilities align as openly with white supremacists (sanitized these days as "white nationalists") as any president's ever have. The demagogue, as demagogues are so adept at doing, stole the message of the players' and made it about something it's not. And that, Robertson intimated, can only happen if blacks and whites -- particularly those with the platform professional athletes have -- do not stand together against it as a united front.
There is, after all, so much to stand against these days in the demagogue's America. So much.
Monday, June 25, 2018
Your Animal Kingdom moment for today
So, remember the Rally Squirrel that became a baseball sensation in St. Louis one October?
Pffft. That was nothing.
Say hello, sheilas and blokes, to the Rally 'Roo.
Some mad skills right there, by golly.
Pffft. That was nothing.
Say hello, sheilas and blokes, to the Rally 'Roo.
Some mad skills right there, by golly.
Pitchin' woo
And now a question from a Mrs. L. James, who wants to know what everyone in America wants to know this week, or at least everyone who cares about a Mr. L. James:
"Where are you going, LeBron?"
LeBron's answer, exclusively acquired by the Blob, is that he's going to the grocery store. It seems Mrs. L. James, and all the little Jameses, are out of milk. Also bread ("Get the whole-grain kind," Mrs. L. James says). Also paper towels.
So, there you have it, America. Where LeBron Is Going.
Oh, you meant where he's going to play basketball?
Well, the Blob has the answer to that, too, which is "Somewhere in the NBA." I realize this is not helpful for those of you who will be on pins and needles this week wondering where LeBron will land. On that specific, the Blob doesn't know anything more than you do.
It may be the Lakers. It may be the 76ers. It may be he stays put in Cleveland and doesn't go anywhere, a possibility that perhaps became less improbable with the drafting of Collin Sexton of Alabama last week, a really good college guard and a possible budding superstar.
What the heck. I had a conversation last week with a guy who thought it was possible the Pacers -- a franchise on a definite upward track -- might be able to entice LeBron to Indianapolis. Although that doesn't seem likely.
I do know this: When LeBron says he doesn't want a lot of elaborate sales pitches, he is watching a ship that has already sailed disappear over the horizon.
Because, let's face it, there will be sales pitches. Lots of sales pitches. Which has sent the Blob's fertile imagination into overdrive.
Pitches, we've got pitches ...
"Come on out to L.A., Bron! It's sunshine! It's Hollywood! We'll even trade the Ball kid (and his annoying father) if you like!" (Lakers)
"Houston's your celebration destination, LeBron! Yeah, the weather sucks, especially in the summer. But, hey, you don't have to be here in the summer! And just think, we almost beat the Warriors!" (Rockets)
"Good ol' San Antone, we got everything you're lookin' for, LeBron! We got Pop! We got Kawhi! OK, so we might or might not have Kawhi. But if you come, he might stay!" (Spurs)
"Think about this, LeBron: Indianapolis. Yeah, we're not L.A., but we're not as boring as people say, either. And look at this team we got! Look how much fun they have playing basketball! You'd like to have fun playing basketball again, right?" (Pacers)
"You want to get back to the Finals again, LeBron? ('Cause, sorry, you go anywhere West except Golden State, it ain't happenin'). Wanna be part of something fresh and new and exciting? Wanna visit the Liberty Bell anytime you want? Join the Process!" (76ers)
And, of course, last but hardly least ...
"Hey, Bron! Lookit! We got you another Kyrie! (Maybe)" (Cavaliers)
"Where are you going, LeBron?"
LeBron's answer, exclusively acquired by the Blob, is that he's going to the grocery store. It seems Mrs. L. James, and all the little Jameses, are out of milk. Also bread ("Get the whole-grain kind," Mrs. L. James says). Also paper towels.
So, there you have it, America. Where LeBron Is Going.
Oh, you meant where he's going to play basketball?
Well, the Blob has the answer to that, too, which is "Somewhere in the NBA." I realize this is not helpful for those of you who will be on pins and needles this week wondering where LeBron will land. On that specific, the Blob doesn't know anything more than you do.
It may be the Lakers. It may be the 76ers. It may be he stays put in Cleveland and doesn't go anywhere, a possibility that perhaps became less improbable with the drafting of Collin Sexton of Alabama last week, a really good college guard and a possible budding superstar.
What the heck. I had a conversation last week with a guy who thought it was possible the Pacers -- a franchise on a definite upward track -- might be able to entice LeBron to Indianapolis. Although that doesn't seem likely.
I do know this: When LeBron says he doesn't want a lot of elaborate sales pitches, he is watching a ship that has already sailed disappear over the horizon.
Because, let's face it, there will be sales pitches. Lots of sales pitches. Which has sent the Blob's fertile imagination into overdrive.
Pitches, we've got pitches ...
"Come on out to L.A., Bron! It's sunshine! It's Hollywood! We'll even trade the Ball kid (and his annoying father) if you like!" (Lakers)
"Houston's your celebration destination, LeBron! Yeah, the weather sucks, especially in the summer. But, hey, you don't have to be here in the summer! And just think, we almost beat the Warriors!" (Rockets)
"Good ol' San Antone, we got everything you're lookin' for, LeBron! We got Pop! We got Kawhi! OK, so we might or might not have Kawhi. But if you come, he might stay!" (Spurs)
"Think about this, LeBron: Indianapolis. Yeah, we're not L.A., but we're not as boring as people say, either. And look at this team we got! Look how much fun they have playing basketball! You'd like to have fun playing basketball again, right?" (Pacers)
"You want to get back to the Finals again, LeBron? ('Cause, sorry, you go anywhere West except Golden State, it ain't happenin'). Wanna be part of something fresh and new and exciting? Wanna visit the Liberty Bell anytime you want? Join the Process!" (76ers)
And, of course, last but hardly least ...
"Hey, Bron! Lookit! We got you another Kyrie! (Maybe)" (Cavaliers)
Sunday, June 24, 2018
Epic
People who don't get soccer always start by saying it's boring because nobody ever scores, because too many games end 1-nil, because there are long, long stretches where it looks like nothing is going on except a lot of pointless kicking of the ball back and forth.
As one of my wittier non-soccer-getting friends likes to call the sport: Hey, Kick Me The Ball.
Of course, he's a baseball fan, which compels me to point out that all of the above also describes many of Max Scherzer's starts for the Nationals. Lots of 1-nils when Scherzer gets the ball, too, and lots of nothing going on but guys swinging and missing.
At any rate ... I used to think soccer was Hey, Kick Me The Ball, too.
Then Toni Kroos of Germany comes along and does this.
Yeah. That's just ... yeah.
As one of my wittier non-soccer-getting friends likes to call the sport: Hey, Kick Me The Ball.
Of course, he's a baseball fan, which compels me to point out that all of the above also describes many of Max Scherzer's starts for the Nationals. Lots of 1-nils when Scherzer gets the ball, too, and lots of nothing going on but guys swinging and missing.
At any rate ... I used to think soccer was Hey, Kick Me The Ball, too.
Then Toni Kroos of Germany comes along and does this.
Yeah. That's just ... yeah.
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