The Spectator Office is Decadent and Depraved

In 1963, the old New York Journal-American’s Jimmy Breslin wrote a wonderful book about a pitiful team. The new New York Mets had just lost 120 games in their inaugural season and, he felt, this side of grown men failing on such a magnificent scale needed to be committed to legend. He called it, “Can’t Anybody Here Play This Game?”

Over the last four years, there have been long nights in the Spectator office when I’ve felt the same way. “Can’t anybody here play these 29 men’s and women’s varsity sports?”

For those of you who aren’t familiar with the Spec office, it’s that rank hellhole at 112th and Broadway with as much charm as the 1 Train and far less efficient. But somehow, the people inside it perform the Daily Miracle and, most of the time, do a pretty damn good job of it. Which is even more impressive when you consider the amount of caffeine, pizza and incestuous relationships consumed about the place.

“A newspaper is not the place to go to see people actually earning a living, though journalists like to pretend they never stop sweating over a hot typewriter,” a United Press International Washington Bureau manager once said, unknowingly describing Spectator. “It is much more like a brothel—short, rushed bouts of really enjoyable activity interspersed with long lazy stretches of gossip, boasting, flirtation, drinking, telephoning, strolling about the corridors, sitting on the corner of desks, planning to start everything tomorrow.”

For those of you who aren’t familiar with Columbia athletics, you probably still think that betting against Columbia is the surest thing in town.

So why does a staff numbering in the twenties even bother covering Columbia sports?
For one, Columbia athletics haven’t been all bad news in the last couple of years. A few programs, like women’s soccer, golf, tennis and track have become truly competitive, while fencing is in a league of its own. And Athletic Director M. Dianne Murphy, whose handling of coaching matters has been downright disconcerting at times, deserves some credit for at least trying to overcome this school’s “culture of losing” and bringing in some money—money from alums that is, not from the dinky merchandise wagon outside of football games.

But that is hardly the point of this column. Nor am I questioning the place of sports on this campus—my frustration with those who do is endless. The point is that there is great relevance in covering Columbia sports even when they provide irrelevant results.
The purpose of the rest of Spectator’s coverage tends toward accountability journalism, at least in theory. They cover every major Columbia institution with the noble intention of keeping them on the level. So when you have an institution that represents over 700 Columbia students, a sizeable chunk of funding, and most of the school spirit, it should rightly command attention. Sports is in fact the only true campus-oriented section of this newspaper. But with that attention come all the trappings of serious journalism, namely unbiased reporting.

Unfortunately, certain parts of the Athletic Department never quite understood that. (I must say that there were others who were always helpful—they know who they are). To some, Spec should promote Columbia sports, play up every .500 season, and gloss over the defeats. But for that we have gocolumbialions.com. More importantly, though, we never criticized teams and coaches for the pure sport of it. Contrary to what most athletes on this campus will tell you, we actually care. Trust me, everyone is far more pleasant to deal with when they’re winning.

And at the end of the day, the wonderful thing about sports is that it’s only sports. On a campus rife with serious issues, sports should come as a welcome distraction. As Earl Warren told Sports Illustrated in 1968, “I always turn to the sports section first. The sports section records people’s accomplishments; the front page nothing but man’s failures.”

But what happens when a sports section spends most of its ink recording man’s failures?

Well, it still has agony and ecstasy. Done right, the stories should have poetry. And anything that can just as easily make adults cry and jump into each other’s arms deserves to be celebrated, no matter what the level.

Disney may love a winner, but writers love a loser. Some of the best stories in sports have been about losing teams. There was Roger Kahn’s chronicle of Dem Bums in The Boys of Summer and John Feinstein’s Season on the Brink about the Indiana Hoosiers’ lean years under Bobby Knight. Anyone can be a gracious winner, but put a person on the wrong end of a rollicking and you’ll see their true colors. That’s where stories are born.

But there’s another place to mine a wealth of stories, because newspapers aren’t just about informing. They are also supposed to entertain. And something I learned early on at Spec was that everyone has a story to tell. From the time a soccer goalie told me that she used to cry as a kid whenever they put her between the sticks to finding out that Dean Austin Quigley played for the Newcastle United youth team in his teens, it was obvious that with a little digging, sports could contribute a unique brand of personal interest.

And when most of the athletes here ply their trade in total obscurity in front of empty bleachers on rainy nights 100 blocks away, they earn the right to a second look. Even if they lose.

It’s been said about the Mets, it was said about the Brooklyn Dodgers before them, and it applies to any team that perennially disappoints: They may be bums, but they’re our bums.

***

It’s been four years since I started playing “varsity newspaper.” Four years since I was that new kid who wanted to write about soccer. Over 200 articles later, I look around Spectator and I don’t know most of the staff members. Somehow they’re all younger than I am and I’m supposed to be some kind of elder statesman.

Weird.

But as the doctor of gonzo himself, Hunter S. Thompson, once wrote, “When the going gets weird, the weird turn pro.”

So, as I prepare to do exactly that, I must thank the people who made it possible.
First there was (and there will always be) Theo Orsher. I’ll never understand how he managed to keep everything together while raising the bar higher than it had ever been. Remember the days of the 800-word soccer previews? Theo taught me everything there was to know about Spec and a lot of other crucial things too, from layout to lobster noodles. We never quite replaced him.

And irreplaceable only began to describe Anand Krishnamurthy. He instilled a sense of professionalism in the section and everyone associated with it. During those times when the rest of the newspaper felt like a day camp, Anand reminded us that it wasn’t enough just to show up. The sports section, for all of its locker room atmosphere and off-color (read: Auggie) jokes, always knew that it was putting out a newspaper. Things had to be done until they were done right and the clock was only ever a suggestion. For that, I’m ever grateful.

Jake Olson was the perfect complement. He was the first person I met when I joined Spec and told me that I could write on the first day. Four years later, I still remember that and I’ll always owe him that.

I was blessed with a superb crop of associates and deputies—Scott Hughes, Jonathan August, Taylor Harwin, Kartik Kesavabhotla, Jiadai Lin, D. Max Puro, Jon Tayler, Charles Young, along with the production wunderkinder Andrew Pramberger and Andrew Scheineson, and without forgetting the always-entertaining, often-reliable Laurène Aigrain and the simply brilliant Will Davis. That motley crew made sure that, on any given night, every crazy idea made it on the page.

As a result, picking the next sports editors became an incredibly difficult decision. But J-Tay and Auggie did a remarkable job fighting writer apathy and rebuilding bridges with the athletic department. In the profound words of D. Max, “You guys were pretty clutch/key/money.”

As for Matt Velazquez and Kavitha Davidson, don’t let up yet, you’re only halfway through. The section is in your hands and your commitment to it will never cease to amaze me.

I must also thank all those friends outside of Spec who for four years have put up with all my rants and helped me keep my often tenuous grip on sanity — J.A., Z.H., J.L., D.W.

But the last word is reserved for my co-editor Jon Kamran. I still remember the first thing I heard about him when we were first named associate sports editors. “He’s a real baseball guy,” Anand said, “Sabermetrics, and all that.” Three years later, on one memorable trip around spring training in Florida, that was still true. But in between, the two of us had also shared a year at the helm of the sports section. At first, I thought I was just getting a co-editor. What I got was a brother-in-arms.

So, for the last time Spec, here it is: Sorry about the delay. Story’s attached... Runs about 1550 words.