I am sitting in Maryland’s basketball arena at 8:20 p.m. on Tuesday night and the arena clock says there are still 47 minutes before player introductions begin. That means the game will tip-off at 9:10, unless there’s some kind of delay because the football game on ESPN2–on a Tuesday night!–runs long.
I’m sitting three rows up in the end zone, which isn’t a bad seat except when the fans in the two rows down on the floor decide to stand for an extended period–which is likely tonight since the opponent is Georgetown. I can’t see one corner of the court or the area in front of the bench where Coach Mark Turgeon will be standing for most of the evening.
Am I spoiled? Oh, you bet. I’m one of those old sportswriters who remembers when we sat courtside and had the best seats in the house on the grounds that we were there to represent–to report back to–the fans who couldn’t be there or who were sitting in the upper reaches of the arena.
There are exceptions to the rule–in big-time college basketball the notable is Duke–but for the most part those seats have gone the way of games that took 90 minutes to play. Yup, I’m old enough to remember those days too.
This is the way of jockworld. Corporate America has completely taken over, starting with the TV networks who dictate when just about every game will start. The building I’m sitting in has a corporate name–it’s second since it opened in 2002–and more and more college buildings have corporate names on them. Georgetown plays in a place people call, ‘the phone booth,’ because it is named after a phone company.
Oh well.
I can actually live with not having the best seats anymore, but what REALLY bothers me as an old reporter is the lack of access the media has in college athletics nowadays. At least at the pro level, locker rooms are still open after games–even if players will sometimes hide out and there are often hovering PR people saying, “time’s up,” when there’s no apparent reason for time to be up.
A few years ago I was covering a hockey game between the Penguins and Capitals in the phone booth. Generally speaking, hockey players are the most accessible and quotable athletes on earth. Maybe it’s because so many of them are small town kids; maybe it’s because there just isn’t as much hype around junior hockey as there is around college–or even high school–football or basketball.
I was in the Penguins locker room and had just been more or less shooed away from Sidney Crosby by an officious PR-type. I walked across the room and found Brooks Orpick, a good player, a good guy and a good talker. Orpick was talking very comfortably when the PR-type came up and said, “Sorry, Brooksie’s got to go now.”
Seriously? I said, “WHERE does Brooksie have to go right now?”
Orpick started to laugh. “Yeah Joe (I’m making up the name) where do I have to go? I’m fine.”
The PR guy glared at me and stalked away. Brooksie talked for several more minutes.
The clock is now down to 33 minutes and we are being bombarded with corporate messages from Maryland’s corporate, “partners.” The band’s not playing, the fans are sitting on their hands. Just corporate blather. THIS is the atmosphere you want 30 minutes before one of the most anticipated games in this area in years?
Apparently, yes.
Back to the access question. Tonight, when the game is over, “selected,” players from the two teams will be brought to an interview room where they will give banal, cliched answers to banal, cliched questions.
Back in the good old days, as we old guys often like to say, locker rooms were open. Even Big John Thompson’s Georgetown locker room was open. Of course his assistant coaches were always lurking in case someone asked a “non-basketball question.”
Once, I asked Patrick Ewing about an ankle injury he’d suffered during a game. He hadn’t come back, probably in part because the Hoyas had the game under control, but I thought it made sense to ask if he thought he was okay for the next game.
Ewing started to answer the question but assistant coach Craig Esherick, standing right off my shoulder jumped in and said, “Basketball questions only, John.”
I turned to Esherick and said, “He got hurt playing BASKETBALL Craig. How is that not a basketball question?”
Before Esherick could answer, Ewing jumped in and said, “I’d prefer not to talk about my injury.”
There’s no doubt in my mind, Ewing would have answered the question if Esherick hadn’t opened his mouth.
Still, even though talking to Ewing was never easy, I was able to get to know Gene Smith and Billy Martin, two bright, cordial guys–who were also very good players–BECAUSE I could go talk to them at their lockers while the stars were surrounded by TV cameras. That can’t happen today.
Players are coached to be very careful around the media and, when they come into the interview rooms they are inhibited by the presence of TV cameras; PR people and, often, their coach, who is sitting right next to them. There’s very little chance to develop relationships.
When I was the Maryland beat writer, I routinely went to practice. I routinely went in the locker room before and after practice to talk to players. It was a no-brainer. The players got to know me, felt comfortable when I was around. I was able to do my job well.
When I traveled, I could go to practice anywhere. The only place where there was any restriction was at North Carolina, where you had to sit in the upper level of Carmichael Auditorium–and, later, the Dean Dome–because Dean Smith didn’t want you to hear him if he got on one of his players. Of course Dean never cursed so it really didn’t make much difference.
So, I’m feeling old tonight. I’m one of the few people in the building who was in the D.C. Armory in December of 1979 when John Thompson and Lefty Driesell got into a shouting match at mid-court that led to John directing his favorite word at Lefty. The first part of the hyphenated word is mother. I will leave the rest to your imagination.
To be fair, John often uses that word as a term of endearment. He didn’t use it that way that night.
There was no way for John or Lefty to deny what had happened or what was said after the game, because they were standing right in front of me–and others on press row–when it happened. I sincerely doubt that John Thompson III or Mark Turgeon will get into a shouting match tonight but, if they do, the only ones who will hear them are the people at the scorer’s table–none of whom are media members, unless you count the radio broadcasters for the two teams.
I’m happy to be here–even if it is entirely possible I will fall asleep by halftime–because it is completely ridiculous that this is the second time Maryland and Georgetown have played a regularly scheduled game since that fateful night in 1979.
It’s not the same. I miss my old seat, I miss the access and I miss the days when the building here was called Cole Field House–named after Judge William P. Cole Jr.–who was once chairman of the Maryland board of regents.
The game is about to start. The PA guy just thanked two more corporate sponsors for providing the T-shirts the students are wearing. Tipoff is now at 9:16 p.m.
Enough said.
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