It's been awhile since I've written anything here, but lately I've been thinking about my upcoming season with the Batavia Muckdogs, single-A affiliate of the St. Louis Cardinals. Thing is, last year was my first experience showing up at the ballpark every day as part of a team. When you are a journalist working for an outside source, it's more difficult to get your hands on candid conversations. Everyone thinks you are going to run and tell the world. But when you are a play-by-play broadcaster, folks around the game assume you won't be revealing too much on the air. And to be perfectly honest, they probably figure nobody important is listening even if you do.
In my time hanging around scouts, coaches, roving instructors and even some high-ranking executives, I was privy to many interesting conversations. The amount I learned from these people about the game of baseball, I couldn't possibly put a value on how much it helped me do my job.
The most interesting aspect of being a sponge, soaking up knowledge from those whose careers depend on knowing the game, was that there are many different ways of looking at the same thing. So, I figured I'd pass along, with no names mentioned, the some interesting parts of chats I had with these people. Keep in mind, this is the stuff these guys would say to pretty much anybody, I kept any information that would be harmful to anyone off the record where it belongs.
I'll start out with my favorite quote, coming from a former major leaguer:
"I tell these young players, if you want to make it to the show, it's not about hitting, running or pitching. Who can't do that stuff? Fuck, man, everybody has tools. If you want to play every day in The Show, you have to be like The Wizard of Oz. I say, if you want to make it, you better have fucking heart, you better have fucking courage and you better have fucking brains."
Same guy, on what it takes to hit in the big leagues:
"I don't care one bit if you can hit a curve ball or slider or change. Don't care. Nobody cares. There are 100 guys in The Show who can't hit a curve. It's all about the fast ball. You won't make it past double-A if you can't turn around a 95 mph fastball. You know why? Because guys in the majors don't make too many mistakes with the fastball, and when they do, you better hit it. Hit those, wait on the hanging breaking stuff and you can do it."
Staying with the same theme, another ex-MLB'er turned scout on why so many young players fail:
"It's a boring game. Think about it, if you play in the outfield, you spend most of the time looking around, staring at the grass, singing a little song to yourself. It's boring. Then, you get three, maybe four chances to do something in a whole game. And you have to keep your concentration. After awhile, you are riding five hours on a bus to stand in the outfield looking at the grass and you say to yourself, 'why am I doing this?' See, you better freeking love this game or you will lose motivation quickly."
Another scout on players' competitive nature:
"I've thrown BP to the (MLB team) before. (two star players) were sitting there competing on who could rip it off which sign in the outfield or who could hit a one-hop line drive on the edge of the grass. They were kind of betting each other like, 'I bet you can't do this.' Those are two guys making millions and millions of dollars and they are so obsessed with competition that they are competing in BP in August on a Thursday. That's what I look for."
AL scout:
"Watching Jamie Moyer pitch is fucking poetry, man."
Another scout on whether leadership matters:
"(a current MLB star) invited (the team's No. 1 draft pick) over to his house for dinner a week after the kid got drafted. That's the guy who's supposed to some day take your job and you are inviting him to dinner. Think about what that means when other guys see that. They know that in this franchise, the team is bigger than anyone and it's all class. And that if you don't act like a professional here, you can go somewhere else."
Another scout on how his job has changed the way he looks at the game:
"It's funny, doing this job kind of ruins baseball for you a little. I was watching a game with my son, he's 12, and a guy threw a runner out at second base. My son says, 'dad, that guy has a great arm.' I said, 'yes he does, buddy.' I couldn't help but think, 'meh, that was only a 55 or 60 at best.' Then I thought, where did the fun go of thinking everybody was great?"
Scout on judging "make up"
"We ask a lot of guys like you, 'how is this guy in the club house? Is he a nice guy?' And you know what? If a player is a nice guy, good, but we don't care at all. The biggest jerk ever was Barry Bonds. He was also the best player ever. You know what I care about? If the guy wants to be the best that ever played. If he has a killer instinct. Honestly, not too many nice guys also want to kill you for taking them out of the lineup."
NL scout on judging an outfielder's arm:
"If the first thing you say about a guy is: 'he's got a good arm' then I know he can't hit for shit."
Executive on statistics:
"I used to play strat-o-matic. Who knew that would come in handy, huh."
Scout on statistics:
"In the minors, stats are like a report card. If a kid brings his report card home and he's smart enough to have A's but he's got all C's, you wonder about him because you know he should have A's, or say, be hitting .350 instead of .200. You don't give up on him, just wonder if he can ever get A's. In the big leagues, stats are everything. You are a .300 hitter or you aren't."
A different scout on stats:
"I don't give a fuck about your stupid numbers."
Scout on range:
"I'd take Jeter over someone like Furcal all day. You know when the game is on the line, Jeter is going to make the play."
Scout on why a particular player was traded:
"He's an idiot. We don't put up with idiots."
Scout on judging fielding range:
"I look at who has the best range in the game and I count down from there. BJ Upton has the best range in center in the majors. His reads are flawless, speed incredible. When I see a guy going after a ball, I say, 'is he as good as BJ Upton?' Nope. He ain't an 80 then."
Coach walking by a scout (not 100 percent sure he was joking):
"I'll tell you what my wife says about scouts...she says you assholes get paid to write down your stupid numbers. Oh, 55? 45? Who gives a shit. You must laugh yourself to sleep every night thinking you get paid to write down stupid numbers."
Another scout on making it:
"I knew a guy with average everything, but that sonofabitch showed up hours before everyone else and asking every day for help on his swing, his throwing, everything. You can absolutely outwork your talent, no question."
Two scouts on the same pitcher:
Scout one: "He's tipping all of his pitches, they'll kill him at the next level"
Scout two: "He's got good deception, I think he could be a real good pitcher"
Sunday, May 27, 2012
Friday, September 2, 2011
Friday, August 5, 2011
Over the top?
So, game is 3-2, man on 3rd base, 2 outs in the bottom of the 9th....is the call over the top?
Oh, and I have no idea why it says Feb. 18, 2008 or why there are Penguins. Just go with it.
Oh, and I have no idea why it says Feb. 18, 2008 or why there are Penguins. Just go with it.
Wednesday, July 27, 2011
Former Yankees No. 1 pick Culver handles expectations
Dwyer Stadium in Batavia, N.Y., isn't much of a stage. It's an old stadium, better fit for high school than professional baseball. It holds 2,000 people and rarely comes close to capacity. The grass is green and yellow, lights dim and sometimes the PA system cuts out. It's six hours away from the World's biggest baseball stage in the Bronx, but feels like a heck of a lot farther than that....
When the New York Yankees called Cito Culver's name with their first pick on draft day 2010, the response from Yankees fans was: "who?" Fans hadn't heard of him because baseball players don't come from Rochester, N.Y. A few NFLers and even an NBA player or two have come from the Western N.Y. area, but few big leaguers. Former right-handed pitcher Tim Redding is the most notable - but he only sniffed the majors. Culver is different. Not just because he was taken 32nd overall by the Yankees, but because he is a shortstop and wears No. 2.
The expectations for most late first-round draft picks is becoming a major league starter. Culver is expected to take the shortstop position from Derek Jeter. You know, the guy with more hits than any player in the history of the franchise, five championship rings and the type of super stardom only previously achieved by Michael Jordan. "Yeah, Cito, that's your gig next," the Yankees said by spending a first-round pick on him.
Somebody had to play guard for the Bulls after Jordan. Somebody had to play quarterback for the Broncos after John Elway. Culver is pegged as the guy to play shortstop after Jeter. Brian Griese and Jay Cutler couldn't handle it, neither could Pete Myers or any of the guards, even Derek Rose for Chicago. Mike Cameron was a descent enough center fielder, but he'll always be that guy who roamed the outfield post-Griffey. That's the thing about filling unfillable shoes: it takes someone special.
Yankees scout Tim Alexander told his club that Culver is that special. He watched the shortstop play more than 200 times. The arm is plus-plus, range outstanding, hands quick with a little bit o' pop. But lots of guys have all that. "Good kid?" I ask Alexander. "No," he says staring down from his wrap-around sun glasses. "Great kid."
Alexander said makeup is often overstated. He doesn't care if a kid is arrogant or friendly, smart or dumb. He wants to know if he can play ball. But, with the expectations for Culver, it's a different ballgame. "For that kid to go through what he went through and still play? That tells you something," he said.
The 19-year-old infielder watched his father try to burn his family's house down. He watched his father go to jail. He watched the draft from his home in Rochester with everyone but the man who taught him baseball.
One year after being picked 32nd overall, Culver is in the rusty confines of Dwyer Stadium of the New York Penn League. Standing at the bottom of the mountain, he can barely see the Bronx at the top. He's wearing No. 2, batting second with the word "Yankees" across the chest. Only the words "Staten Island" are above it. There's a nervous ovation as he steps in to the batter's box, only a 45 minute drive from the back yard he grew up throwing the ball around with his dad.
He doesn't look back at his mom or at the local media cameras. He looks at ball two. He's facing what scouts call an "org" pitcher. Which stands for organizational and is a nice way of saying he'll never amount to anything. The org pitcher grooves one. Culver, a switch-hitter batting left, snaps the wrists and launches a home run over the right field wall. It's his first home run of the season. The crowd exhales, then cheers.
In the fourth inning, he hit another home run. You could almost hear Suzyn Waldman screeching, "of all the dramatic things...."
Culver greets the media with a grin in the glittery media room known as the visitor's bullpen. He smiles politely at questions about coming home. "What would Jeter say?" Seemed to come out in all of his answers. Cliches about loving the game and having great teammates. But what about being the next Brian Griese? Or Mike Cameron?
"I just try to play hard, man," he says with a little less ease. "I'll take his spot only if he wants to give it to me."
What's surprising is that Jeter does want to give it to him. Alexander says Jeter has invited Culver over for dinner and talked to him about what it means to be a professional baseball player. "He's a really great guy, he teaches me things and I just try to listen," Culver says.
You can tell he's been listening.
Culver won't be playing in rusty stadiums at the bottom of the mountain for very long. Soon, Yankee fans won't say: "who?" anymore, either. The 19-year-old is hitting around .300 and playing defense fit for higher levels. We don't know yet whether he can hit a 97 mph fastball; we won't for some time. We do know that he's not afraid of expectations. Or afraid to wear No. 2.
When the New York Yankees called Cito Culver's name with their first pick on draft day 2010, the response from Yankees fans was: "who?" Fans hadn't heard of him because baseball players don't come from Rochester, N.Y. A few NFLers and even an NBA player or two have come from the Western N.Y. area, but few big leaguers. Former right-handed pitcher Tim Redding is the most notable - but he only sniffed the majors. Culver is different. Not just because he was taken 32nd overall by the Yankees, but because he is a shortstop and wears No. 2.
The expectations for most late first-round draft picks is becoming a major league starter. Culver is expected to take the shortstop position from Derek Jeter. You know, the guy with more hits than any player in the history of the franchise, five championship rings and the type of super stardom only previously achieved by Michael Jordan. "Yeah, Cito, that's your gig next," the Yankees said by spending a first-round pick on him.
Somebody had to play guard for the Bulls after Jordan. Somebody had to play quarterback for the Broncos after John Elway. Culver is pegged as the guy to play shortstop after Jeter. Brian Griese and Jay Cutler couldn't handle it, neither could Pete Myers or any of the guards, even Derek Rose for Chicago. Mike Cameron was a descent enough center fielder, but he'll always be that guy who roamed the outfield post-Griffey. That's the thing about filling unfillable shoes: it takes someone special.
Yankees scout Tim Alexander told his club that Culver is that special. He watched the shortstop play more than 200 times. The arm is plus-plus, range outstanding, hands quick with a little bit o' pop. But lots of guys have all that. "Good kid?" I ask Alexander. "No," he says staring down from his wrap-around sun glasses. "Great kid."
Alexander said makeup is often overstated. He doesn't care if a kid is arrogant or friendly, smart or dumb. He wants to know if he can play ball. But, with the expectations for Culver, it's a different ballgame. "For that kid to go through what he went through and still play? That tells you something," he said.
The 19-year-old infielder watched his father try to burn his family's house down. He watched his father go to jail. He watched the draft from his home in Rochester with everyone but the man who taught him baseball.
One year after being picked 32nd overall, Culver is in the rusty confines of Dwyer Stadium of the New York Penn League. Standing at the bottom of the mountain, he can barely see the Bronx at the top. He's wearing No. 2, batting second with the word "Yankees" across the chest. Only the words "Staten Island" are above it. There's a nervous ovation as he steps in to the batter's box, only a 45 minute drive from the back yard he grew up throwing the ball around with his dad.
He doesn't look back at his mom or at the local media cameras. He looks at ball two. He's facing what scouts call an "org" pitcher. Which stands for organizational and is a nice way of saying he'll never amount to anything. The org pitcher grooves one. Culver, a switch-hitter batting left, snaps the wrists and launches a home run over the right field wall. It's his first home run of the season. The crowd exhales, then cheers.
In the fourth inning, he hit another home run. You could almost hear Suzyn Waldman screeching, "of all the dramatic things...."
Culver greets the media with a grin in the glittery media room known as the visitor's bullpen. He smiles politely at questions about coming home. "What would Jeter say?" Seemed to come out in all of his answers. Cliches about loving the game and having great teammates. But what about being the next Brian Griese? Or Mike Cameron?
"I just try to play hard, man," he says with a little less ease. "I'll take his spot only if he wants to give it to me."
What's surprising is that Jeter does want to give it to him. Alexander says Jeter has invited Culver over for dinner and talked to him about what it means to be a professional baseball player. "He's a really great guy, he teaches me things and I just try to listen," Culver says.
You can tell he's been listening.
Culver won't be playing in rusty stadiums at the bottom of the mountain for very long. Soon, Yankee fans won't say: "who?" anymore, either. The 19-year-old is hitting around .300 and playing defense fit for higher levels. We don't know yet whether he can hit a 97 mph fastball; we won't for some time. We do know that he's not afraid of expectations. Or afraid to wear No. 2.
Sunday, July 24, 2011
Here's an inning of me calling baseball
And, a hilarious pitcher of left-hander Pat Daugherty...for no reason.
Tuesday, July 5, 2011
What makes a big leaguer? I asked...
"Sometimes you just see something," one scout says during batting practice.
He, only halfway paying attention to our conversation about a young outfielder's swing, surmised player evaluation pretty darn brilliantly. It's a complicated process that, unless you spent thousands of hours playing, you could never truly understand. At the same time, it's simple. Sometimes, you just see something.
As hitters pop in and out of the cage, the scout studies the mechanics of each swing. Hands here, foot lands there, left leg ends here, head doesn't move and shoulders end square. Then he studies bat speed and approach.
"But, for every guy who does all those things right, there are 100 guys in the Majors who do them wrong and make $20 million a year," another scout says.
The two agree on the skills it takes to play Major League Baseball. "Can a guy hit a 97 mph fastball?" They ask. "Does he have the arm to make all the throws?"
The thing is, there are thousands who can hit a 97 mph fastball and make all the throws, yet a select few make the Majors. The difference is makeup.
An instructor for the team - an 30-year baseball guy who has a way of fitting every possible curse word into his analysis - says makeup is what separates booms from busts. ""I tell these young players, if you want to make it to the show, it's not about hitting, running or pitching. Who can't do that stuff? Fuck, man, everybody has tools. If you want to play every day in The Show, you have to be like The Wizard of Oz. I say, if you want to make it, you better have fucking heart, you better have fucking courage and you better have fucking brains."
This isn't how we usually think of makeup. We ask whether he's a good person, whether he runs out ground balls and if he signs autographs for hours after the game. That stuff matters a little, but not much. "When I ask a guy to come out of the game, does he have a problem with coming out of the game?" The coach asks. "You can't teach a guy to not ever want to come out of the game. That's what I'm looking for."
The rhetorical questions seem endless. They ask so many questions, you wonder how anyone ever has the stuff to play in the Major Leagues. Can he make it through failure? Can he make adjustments? Is he willing to learn?
So, let's say we have a player who can hit a 97 mph fastball, he has heart courage and brains, he can handle failure, is willing to learn and make adjustments. He can still fail in the Bigs. In fact, he can still never make it. "Double-A separates the men from the boys," one of the scouts says. Why? "Approach," he says.
As players advance, the fastballs get faster, the curveballs are sharper and everybody throws all their pitches for strikes. The instructor says all the tools on Earth do no good if a batter doesn't have a plan. One of the players, a lefty, says he tries to take the ball to left field each time. If he gets a hanging breaking ball, he can react, but he needs to think fastball away, fastball away, fastball away.
There a hitters who can "see the ball hit the ball." There are guys so good they swing at breaking balls to fool the pitcher into throwing it again (see: Manny Ramirez). Those are outliers. And, guys that good had to learn it from thousands of minor league at bats.
All that said, sometimes the tools aren't there or the heart or the approach and a player still has success in the majors. Sometimes you just see something.
He, only halfway paying attention to our conversation about a young outfielder's swing, surmised player evaluation pretty darn brilliantly. It's a complicated process that, unless you spent thousands of hours playing, you could never truly understand. At the same time, it's simple. Sometimes, you just see something.
As hitters pop in and out of the cage, the scout studies the mechanics of each swing. Hands here, foot lands there, left leg ends here, head doesn't move and shoulders end square. Then he studies bat speed and approach.
"But, for every guy who does all those things right, there are 100 guys in the Majors who do them wrong and make $20 million a year," another scout says.
The two agree on the skills it takes to play Major League Baseball. "Can a guy hit a 97 mph fastball?" They ask. "Does he have the arm to make all the throws?"
The thing is, there are thousands who can hit a 97 mph fastball and make all the throws, yet a select few make the Majors. The difference is makeup.
An instructor for the team - an 30-year baseball guy who has a way of fitting every possible curse word into his analysis - says makeup is what separates booms from busts. ""I tell these young players, if you want to make it to the show, it's not about hitting, running or pitching. Who can't do that stuff? Fuck, man, everybody has tools. If you want to play every day in The Show, you have to be like The Wizard of Oz. I say, if you want to make it, you better have fucking heart, you better have fucking courage and you better have fucking brains."
This isn't how we usually think of makeup. We ask whether he's a good person, whether he runs out ground balls and if he signs autographs for hours after the game. That stuff matters a little, but not much. "When I ask a guy to come out of the game, does he have a problem with coming out of the game?" The coach asks. "You can't teach a guy to not ever want to come out of the game. That's what I'm looking for."
The rhetorical questions seem endless. They ask so many questions, you wonder how anyone ever has the stuff to play in the Major Leagues. Can he make it through failure? Can he make adjustments? Is he willing to learn?
So, let's say we have a player who can hit a 97 mph fastball, he has heart courage and brains, he can handle failure, is willing to learn and make adjustments. He can still fail in the Bigs. In fact, he can still never make it. "Double-A separates the men from the boys," one of the scouts says. Why? "Approach," he says.
As players advance, the fastballs get faster, the curveballs are sharper and everybody throws all their pitches for strikes. The instructor says all the tools on Earth do no good if a batter doesn't have a plan. One of the players, a lefty, says he tries to take the ball to left field each time. If he gets a hanging breaking ball, he can react, but he needs to think fastball away, fastball away, fastball away.
There a hitters who can "see the ball hit the ball." There are guys so good they swing at breaking balls to fool the pitcher into throwing it again (see: Manny Ramirez). Those are outliers. And, guys that good had to learn it from thousands of minor league at bats.
All that said, sometimes the tools aren't there or the heart or the approach and a player still has success in the majors. Sometimes you just see something.
Friday, April 29, 2011
Was Mark Ingram Used by ESPN?
Let me first say, I have a great deal of respect for Jeff Pearlman. His accomplishments at SI and beyond speak for themselves. Jeff is one of those lightning rod types. Often times - whether he'll admit it or not - he takes the opposite of what everyone else is thinking just to prove he's smart enough to make a good argument. His take on ESPN's handling of Mark Ingram is one of those times.
If you missed it, Ingram was drafted 28th overall by the New Orleans Saints. Immediately after he hugged the commish, ESPN's Suzy Kolber read the rookie an email from his incarcerated father. As you would expect, the 21-year-old running back was extremely emotional.
Pearlman wrote this blog post explaining why he felt the special moment was dishonest:
"In the ESPN production booth, everyone cheers. What raw emotion! What spur-of-the-moment grittiness! Great job, Kolber! Great job!
But it’s not a great job. It’s emotional manipulation. You don’t spring this sort of letter upon a 21-year-old kid on national TV. It might make for great viewing, but it’s dishonest, dishonorable and wrong. This is the life he’s been handed—a father behind bars; trying to overcome that and somehow get past it."
Let's start with the decision to have Kolber read the note to Ingram. When broadcasting a live event, decisions have to be made faster than you can say "conflict of interest." It seems reasonable to say Kolber said to her producer, "I got an email from Ingram's father, should I roll with it?" To which the producer, without thinking, said "yes yes yes." It is possible that the email was a setup - and if that's the case I would be more inclined to agree - but Kolber reading the note from her cell phone doesn't seem exactly how they would have plotted it out. So, for now, let's assume it was organic.
Here's what went through said producer's mind in that eye blink: "Ingram will cry. His fans will care about him more. Kolber will win a fucking Pulitzer or something. The Saints will send me a care package filled with wonderful fruits my wife will love. Roger Goodell will hug me twice for helping build the same brand my company is paying billions for, raise raise raise raise raise raise raise raise...."
The producer weighed the following drawbacks of reading the imprisoned father's email to his son: NONE. Outside of a few souls bouncing the notion around that it may have been contrived, the only long-shot, 1,000-to-1 shot of something going wrong would be if the draftee became somehow angry. Although, let's say Ingram screams "how dare you!" Then, the clip gets played a zillion times on Youtube, the producer gets interview on Good Morning America and ESPN's brand grows evermore.
Forgive me, for thus far I've ignored Pearlman's main argument for why ESPN shouldn't have read Ingram's email: that the World Wide Leader was abusing a 21-year-old's raw emotion. That they took advantage of him for ratings or awards/recognition purposes. That they got the reaction they wanted and the poor ignorant kid thinks they did something nice.
There's something faulty here. First, Ingram realizes full well that he's going to a major televised event. He knows his father is in prison. And, I would argue it isn't a stretch to say he is aware the NFL and ESPN should both start with the letter E for entertainment. Could he have possibly thought it wouldn't come up?
If you're going to talk about taking advantage of young guys, how about the fact that Ingram is stepping into a league that will mash his brains into a suicidal soup by age 45? How about running him 400 times per year until his knees are more or less that of Joe Namath then cutting him faster than Shaun Alexander can say Larry Johnson? How about parading him around on national TV and hugging a commissioner who just wrote in an Op-Ed that his teammates who don't stick around for more than six years are basically worthless? Oh, but gosh darn ESPN for making him cry.
The cynicism from Pearlman is appreciated - and that's said with zero #sarcasm. Ethics in sports broadcasting needs to be talked about. Like, how Jon Gruden will criticize the hell out of a player when he's just drafted, but as soon as he's playing for a team Gruden might coach the next season, he'll "this guy" him to death on Monday Night Football. Or how about the fact that Kolber, like hundreds of outstanding female broadcasters, was even stuck on the sideline of the draft!
Even if we grant that Ingram was taken advantage of, it's nearly impossible to find actual damage. He had an emotional moment on TV that endeared him immediately to Saints fans. NFL is happy, Saints are happy, his agents is happy, ESPN's happy. Everybody won, nobody lost. Except cynics, I suppose.
If you missed it, Ingram was drafted 28th overall by the New Orleans Saints. Immediately after he hugged the commish, ESPN's Suzy Kolber read the rookie an email from his incarcerated father. As you would expect, the 21-year-old running back was extremely emotional.
Pearlman wrote this blog post explaining why he felt the special moment was dishonest:
"In the ESPN production booth, everyone cheers. What raw emotion! What spur-of-the-moment grittiness! Great job, Kolber! Great job!
But it’s not a great job. It’s emotional manipulation. You don’t spring this sort of letter upon a 21-year-old kid on national TV. It might make for great viewing, but it’s dishonest, dishonorable and wrong. This is the life he’s been handed—a father behind bars; trying to overcome that and somehow get past it."
Let's start with the decision to have Kolber read the note to Ingram. When broadcasting a live event, decisions have to be made faster than you can say "conflict of interest." It seems reasonable to say Kolber said to her producer, "I got an email from Ingram's father, should I roll with it?" To which the producer, without thinking, said "yes yes yes." It is possible that the email was a setup - and if that's the case I would be more inclined to agree - but Kolber reading the note from her cell phone doesn't seem exactly how they would have plotted it out. So, for now, let's assume it was organic.
Here's what went through said producer's mind in that eye blink: "Ingram will cry. His fans will care about him more. Kolber will win a fucking Pulitzer or something. The Saints will send me a care package filled with wonderful fruits my wife will love. Roger Goodell will hug me twice for helping build the same brand my company is paying billions for, raise raise raise raise raise raise raise raise...."
The producer weighed the following drawbacks of reading the imprisoned father's email to his son: NONE. Outside of a few souls bouncing the notion around that it may have been contrived, the only long-shot, 1,000-to-1 shot of something going wrong would be if the draftee became somehow angry. Although, let's say Ingram screams "how dare you!" Then, the clip gets played a zillion times on Youtube, the producer gets interview on Good Morning America and ESPN's brand grows evermore.
Forgive me, for thus far I've ignored Pearlman's main argument for why ESPN shouldn't have read Ingram's email: that the World Wide Leader was abusing a 21-year-old's raw emotion. That they took advantage of him for ratings or awards/recognition purposes. That they got the reaction they wanted and the poor ignorant kid thinks they did something nice.
There's something faulty here. First, Ingram realizes full well that he's going to a major televised event. He knows his father is in prison. And, I would argue it isn't a stretch to say he is aware the NFL and ESPN should both start with the letter E for entertainment. Could he have possibly thought it wouldn't come up?
If you're going to talk about taking advantage of young guys, how about the fact that Ingram is stepping into a league that will mash his brains into a suicidal soup by age 45? How about running him 400 times per year until his knees are more or less that of Joe Namath then cutting him faster than Shaun Alexander can say Larry Johnson? How about parading him around on national TV and hugging a commissioner who just wrote in an Op-Ed that his teammates who don't stick around for more than six years are basically worthless? Oh, but gosh darn ESPN for making him cry.
The cynicism from Pearlman is appreciated - and that's said with zero #sarcasm. Ethics in sports broadcasting needs to be talked about. Like, how Jon Gruden will criticize the hell out of a player when he's just drafted, but as soon as he's playing for a team Gruden might coach the next season, he'll "this guy" him to death on Monday Night Football. Or how about the fact that Kolber, like hundreds of outstanding female broadcasters, was even stuck on the sideline of the draft!
Even if we grant that Ingram was taken advantage of, it's nearly impossible to find actual damage. He had an emotional moment on TV that endeared him immediately to Saints fans. NFL is happy, Saints are happy, his agents is happy, ESPN's happy. Everybody won, nobody lost. Except cynics, I suppose.
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