If you've ever wondered about that little tag line at the bottom of my offerings, yes, I am, in fact, a recovering journalist.
I still have marginally contained authority issues, I think deadlines are when you're supposed to start, not when you stop, and somewhere in my personal library is an AP Style Book, so I'm not sure how well the recovery is going. But owning your issue is the first step, so I'm at least on my way.
Specifically, the journalism from which I am recovering is of the sports variety. In fact, in an organization where any level of leadership is met with utter disdain and those in charge often feel they were herding snarky, ill-tempered (potentially a needless redundancy there) cats with underperforming blow dryers, I had the distinction of being the sports editor of a larger Arkansas daily.
I did love just about every part of being a sports editor, with one noted exception. Of all the things I was called on to cover, in all the cramped press boxes in all the strange places people elect to play sports, the absolute worst thing(s) I ever had to do was report on coaching searches.
For one, my beat was the University of Arkansas, which, even then, had achieved a level such that folks seldom left of their own volition (despite what they might say, up to and including their pledge to crawl all the way to the new location) to find a "better" job.
And while they may not all have been saints, for the most part Arkansas isn't in the habit of hiring downright despicable people. Or at least we don't know they're despicable until the motorcycle winds up in the ditch, so to speak.
Which means a big part of covering coaching searches is dealing with the fact that someone you knew and who seemed like a pretty good person has just lost a job and is entering into that long dark night of the soul where he or she doubts everything his or her life has been about and just what comes next.
There's also the dichotomy that arises when, after spending all of our school years and most of our careers having pounded into us the need for absolutely truthful and rigorously attributed reporting, in coaching searches we're called on to print rumor, innuendo and bald-faced speculation.
Kind of like having your doctor toss you a pack of Marlboro Lights and say, "Yeah, but in this case ..."
I consider myself fortunate I got to cover the Razorbacks at the very beginning of the Nolan Richardson era. I got to see him turn things around after a rocky start, got to see his first Southwest Conference championship team, got to feel like I witnessed the story from the very beginning.
Part of that beginning was his trusted assistant, Mike Anderson. I didn't really know Mike, but he seemed like a good guy and a good coach and I was happy for him when he went on to success with his own programs and then returned to Arkansas.
So, as with just about all coaching situations, things worked out and then they didn't. And now the Razorbacks and the reporters who cover them are wrapping up another search. Best of luck to the new guy. He'll need it. But then, coaches everywhere all do.
I'm not a particularly nostalgic person. I don't think things were better when I was younger. Heck, I'm pretty sure things weren't even better last week than they are right now. But as we celebrate the latest "new beginning" at Arkansas (again, more of that redundancy. Aren't all beginnings "new?"), it's important to pause.
There was a time when the University of Arkansas had the best basketball team in the country. When the arena was full and we called the Hogs and other teams seemed to crumble under the weight of that noise and enthusiasm.
Now, the last vestige of that is gone. Maybe we'll have it again. But we definitely had it once. And Mike Anderson was part of it.
So as we celebrate the new guy, wish him luck and hope for the great good fortune and success he and we deserve, let's remember that at one point, the "old guy" was the "new guy." And we were so, so happy to have him .
And I'll remember why I hate coaching searches.
Commentary on 04/12/2019