I always find it entertaining when my editor gives me a word count. It varies from week to week: 600750 800. Eighty percent of the time I have no idea what to write about. The other chunk – 20 percent – I legitimately have something to get off my chest.
However that 80 percent … well those are late nights with lots of chewed up coffee cups and plenty of man tears to boot. My stomach churns every minute trying to put forth another thought.
No matter the word count I always seem to go over. I can’t contain my thought process for it pours out of me when I hear the fast-paced keystrokes; I know I’m thinking of something that is worthy to print.
And as the three seniors on the men’s basketball team stroll into Firestone Fieldhouse one last time this weekend I too will slowly move along with them fading into the background of championship banners and poorly-designed 70s architecture.
Much like these seniors (Mike Hornbuckle Ryan Holmes and Rico Tucker) I jumped to the basketball team just one year ago. While they transferred in hopes of starting a new era of basketball by the beach I started down this path of being your sports columnist in the stench-infested walls of a Pre-med classroom morgue.
After nearly vomiting numerous times in anatomy class I haven’t regretted the long hours – and the superior smell of a newsroom – since.
I’ve given up numerous media passes and semi-comfortable chairs to jump up and get down passing on opportunities to further my career. If I could write a 509809-word article on the emotions and level of excitement that went through the crowd during the men’s basketball three-game winning streak I would. I certainly spent more time talking about it the last two weeks than anyone else.
But despite the amazing one-year ride this column has given me I can’t hide my anxiety anymore. I am scared at giving up this great college life picking up the pieces after weeklong graduation parties and moving on with my life.
Jobs? Hah. I’ve had two internships at different newspapers in the Los Angeles area. Both of the times I went back I could barely recognize the staff because it had changed so much.
The Internet is both a gift and a curse to sports journalism. Besides providing some of the best time wasters on earth it brings about new and exciting voices to the media.
Similarly the coaching changes were both a gift and a curse to the seniors. Tucker once a prized recruit out of high school and key building block for recruiting in Vance Walberg’s agenda now gets less minutes than anyone else on the team.
With all forms of media ailing every sports journalist is looking for an edge. For the columnist it has been sometimes a “shock and awe to make headlines somewhere else. Those headlines mostly lead to buffoonery.
For instance, Rob Parker at the Detroit Free Press used his last straw on calling out Detroit Lions Head Coach Rod Marinelli. Parker tried to take a jab at Marinelli’s daughter, who is married to the defensive coordinator.
Do you wish your daughter would have married a better coordinator?” Parker asked.
Parker was probably wishing for his job back after that question. So when those senior guards step out onto the court I think they will be going through the same uncertainty I am facing this very moment in my career. They were promised the world two years ago to come here. Now they will leave with a rose a staged picture and a kiss from mom. Come May we’ll hopefully leave with degrees.
And next week at the West Coast Conference tournament during spring break lets keep what happens in Las Vegas … well you know the rest.