Beat Reporting
It’s Houston Texans training camp, August 2015. The heat has graduated from absurdly unbearable to nearly lethal, the HBO Hard Knocks crew are blatantly and frequently muscling past everyone, and I’m about to run out of water. In a word, it kind of sucks.
But none of the aforementioned elements make this afternoon truly miserable. No, the most challenging, grueling aspect of my day was standing two feet away from J.J. Watt, my microphone pointed in his direction, my right thumb frantically typing tweets into my phone, and not asking him for an autograph.
Truth be told, as the weeks went on, I completely failed to keep my professional composure. After posing him a few questions one-on-one, I asked DeAndre Hopkins to sign my hat – yes, the Texans draft hat I purposefully toted with me, nestled in my bag (I collect them all, and have gotten every single one John Hancocked).
I’d spent the previous five years on the other side of the ropes, cheering my favorite players on, shouting for their attention like the rest of the masses of fans. Finally, I had complete access, a lanyard around my neck, was casually walking among the athletes, but had never felt more restricted. So I gave Whitney Mercilus a high-five anyway.
Needless to say, Doug Kyed, Tim Britton and Adam Himmelsbach would have disapproved.
Although I’d like to defend my behavior, a large part of me agrees with them. I’m not in public relations. I don’t give lip service. I can’t allow my passion to suggest such falsities as “the Texans’ secondary will be one of the league’s best.” If I start rubbing shoulders with Brian Cushing, I can’t omit the fact that his missed tackle may likely have cost the game.
Kyed advised that “riding the highs and lows” of a team can influence one’s work, and that, in order to remedy this and report accurately and fairly, all fandom must be put aside. In fact, he went so far as to say that he loses respect for his fellow reporters when they fail to do so.
According to Britton, the task of shedding one’s enthusiasm is an easy task. In his own words, “The fandom gets beat out of you.”
I suppose my question is: Do I want it to?
Allow me first to clarify. I never wish to be the reporter leaping from their seat in the press box. As Himmelsbach attests, it is, understandably, “the cardinal sin” of beat reporting.
It is also never my intention to be a “homer.” Much like the three visiting reporters attested, Trevor Solway of the Calgary Journal wrote in “Why Being a ‘Homer’ Could be Bad for Sports Broadcasting” that retaining any semblance of idolization can lead to softball questions, a decrease in journalistic integrity and even misrepresentation.
So if not those things, what, then, am I trying to say?
Following my classmate Rachel Blauner’s assessment of beat reporting through a comparison to the life of an athlete and factoring in all of the discussed sacrifices and commitments a beat reporter makes, it almost seems masochistic not to revel in the exciting times.
I can imagine myself, toiling away for years, harping on Houston’s lack of a franchise quarterback, hearing the frustration from star players. And suddenly, a legitimate shot at a deep postseason run emerges. If the team is finally getting it right, if things have well and truly turned around, how dare I not allow myself a moment of excitement to finally joyously report the state of the Texans for what it really is – a championship-caliber team?
Even something as simple as classmate Alex Smith being on-hand for the color commentary as Boston University women’s basketball dramatically notched their second win. I would never dream of passing judgement on the obvious elation in his tone.
In a sense, I fear falling out of love with the sports I hold dear. I don’t believe that any of us have selected this profession because we like the idea of the brutal lifestyle or the unimpressive pay. It’s because we can’t stop watching, analyzing, talking about, reporting on, obsessing over sports. I feel as if stripping that away would leave, well, the brutal lifestyle and the unimpressive pay. In other words, a fairly sad existence. No one wants to eat a dessert they don’t enjoy, get a sore stomach and consume an extra 1,000 calories. Much like the thrill of shaking Peyton Manning’s hand for the first time, the payoff of the diet-breaking glory is the sweet satisfaction of chowing down on some chocolate.
I’m also a firm believer in the benefits of enthusiasm. While I would undoubtedly crossly regard any reporter hamming it up with a player, congratulating them on a sensational dunk, as Himmelsbach suggested he’s seen being done, I can’t shake the thought that the response from an athlete might be improved depending on a reporter’s demeanor. Happiness is infectious. While there will be some sour moments, the players we’ll be covering are living out their dreams, and as far as I’m concerned, should I be working in sports, so too will I be. There’s no need to make monotonous something as incredible as that.
Many people regard beat reporting as one of the coolest, most enviable jobs in the world. “You know Arian Foster?!” I’ve often been asked in an astounded tone. Clearly, there’s more to it than that. I’ve barely begun to scratch the surface myself, and already I’ve experienced the sting of a snapping Bill O’Brien (a pupil in the ways of the Master of All Things Austere, Bill Belichick).
But these people aren’t wrong. I still believe that being so intimately familiar with the on-goings of a team you care about can be some of the most rewarding, exciting work. Why intentionally lose your sense of wonder?
All good things in moderation. The daily grind of beat reporting could use some spicing up. If I plan to dedicate every waking moment to something for months at a time, I better be enjoying it. Suffice it to say that, when the time comes, I’ll be ready to ask about a missed potential game-winner, but I’ll never once try to wipe the ear-to-ear grin off of my face when I find myself standing at the Super Bowl.