I’ve had a couple of relationships go belly up in recent years and been flummoxed by these vanishings. Stupid things were said, and surprisingly it wasn’t me either time. I reached out to them in both instances to help move us past the conflict. However, instead of resolution, they stopped answering.
I tried to re-engage, only to realize that the problem wasn’t something I should do or say, but that they couldn’t engage because they didn’t want to face their shame. That’s what I represented, a memory of something stupid they had done. Rather than deal with the issue, it was easier to cancel me.
This has been a revelation for me not just in my personal relationships, but in today’s politics. It is impossible for Trump to take any of his horrible nonsense back. He cannot reflect or reconsider. Neither he nor his supporters cannot face what they have done. It’s easier just to head off the cliff then face their shame.
I recently received the following voicemail from a student: Actually last week. The calculator. Oh, Jesus, no, no! (Audio unclear)That was so loud. Mr. Ellen might come over here. Here we go, move on. What else you got? We’re running out of time. How’s your day? Because you can’t. This kid keeps asking me questions and they don’t have a question anymore. How was your day? Bob, I’m out. What’s the information? Yeah. It would not be shocking. It would not shock me tomorrow.
The hyped moment of this week’s Toronto Maple Leaf press conference was tabloid reporter Steve Simmons offering his vitriolic remarks on John Chayka’s hire as general manager. “You talk about due diligence…but many think this a sham. Words like ‘con artist’, ‘liar’, and ‘salesman’ have been said.”
Steve Simmons takes a quivering potshot at the hiring of John Chayka
While it’s possible that Mr. Chayka won’t do well as Toronto’s GM, the hiring isn’t the point here. It’s the bitter, self-centered nature of Mr. Simmons. I’ve previously blogged on the tendency of sports media towards flailing stupidity, focusing on reporters such as Dave Feshuck (Toronto Star) and Cathal Kelly (The Globe & Mail).
This has been on my mind for many years. Beginning in 1997, I worked as a sports reporter for a now-defunct Vancouver weekly and witnessed firsthand the behavior of these Neanderthals, many of whom only ask questions along the lines of “What’s it feel like to lose again?” I was once in a post-game scrum with Allen Iverson, an NBA rookie at the time, who fielded endless critical questions about his posse. When I asked him about his decision to change tactics in the fourth quarter, he looked at me in surprise. “Oh, a sports question.”
I eventually wrote a piece on the miserable state of sports journalism. I interviewed athletes such as Peter Zezel (Toronto Maple Leafs), Mark Messier (Vancouver Canucks) and Othello Harrington (Vancouver Grizzlies) as well as Blue Jays manager Cito Gaston and Neil Amdur, the sports editor for The New York Times, asking their opinions on the aggressive, often uneducated nature of sports reporting. There was a clear consensus on how challenging this could be, Mr. Gaston especially amused by line of inquiry, given the target the media had painted on his back in those days. I completed the piece, offering it to The Globe and Mail, and was told it couldn’t be published because I had named names.
Gary Mason espousing on some kind of irrelevence
Gary Mason, the sports editor of The Vancouver Sun at the time, was one of those names. Among other things, I cited his laughable decision to write about his personal hike up Grouse Mountain and not the Vancouver Canadians championship on their final day as a Triple-A Baseball Team. Instead of witnessing an historic day at Nat Bailey Stadium, Mr. Mason had wandered off. “The Grind is so popular, it has become a zoo.”
Astoundingly, Mason has since become a Globe and Mail national affairs columnist, giving us hope that Simmons too might drift off somewhere and allow someone else to take his place and actually report on the intricacies of decision-making in the sports world.
“The test is today?” Anni looked like she had just got out of bed. “Since when?”
“I posted the date last week.”
“Where?”
I nodded at the whiteboard beside her.
“Oh, I didn’t see that.”
“It’s on Google Classroom too.” I turned back to my desk. “And we had a class discussion about it on Monday.”
She crossed her arms. “I don’t have my book.”
“I told you to bring your book to every class.”
“Can I borrow yours?”
“Me too,” Betty sidled up. “And I need to work in another room.”
“What do you mean?”
“My ADHD.”
“Since when have you had ADHD?”
She scoffed. “Like…always.”
“Me too,” Anni echoed. “I have it too.”
Betty crossed her arms with Anni. “We both do.”
The path of least resistance beckoned. I sat them at opposite ends of the room next door and returned moments later to find them chatting in the back. “Seriously?”
“Have you ever been to Scotland, Mr. M?”
“Scotland?”
“My family rented out a castle in Scotland for the summer.”
“Anni, you’re writing an test.”
“Oh, don’t worry about that,” Betty laughed
“We’re fine.” Anni waved her book absently. “We just have to write it.”
