Born on Third: A Response
ESPN’s Darren Rovell offered advice to emerging writers; he’s not wrong but he’s not right either.
Other than working for free at the outset, the greatest challenge a writer who covers a beat faces everyday is to keep the words ‘I’ and ‘me’ at a minimum. If you can’t make the object of your writing interesting then maybe stick to penning one man shows — John Leguizamo did ok. I — oops, already did it — can’t not make this piece about me — shit. This is a piece about baseball and writing and my — forgot about ‘my’ — perspective about the two.
“Do what you love and never work a day in your life” is a lovely axiom that implies the word job without ever using it. I — ugh this is hard — love baseball. MLB’s 162 game schedule serves as a daily warm summer companion and the sample size provides ample digits, dots, and dashes to develop new metrics that challenge people to look beyond their eyes. Like a good novel, the teams are comprised of characters of diverse temperaments; the Chicago Cubs alone feature the mad Joe Maddon, the homecoming king Kris Bryant, the affable Anthony Rizzo, the cranky Kyle Hendricks, and a fugitive cannibal. Those who write about it usually love the work of writing about baseball, but they’d love the job too.
I’d — contractions don’t count, new rule — write about baseball for free. That’s a feeling, not exactly similar but somewhat to what economists call a stated preference; there is no doubt that I would like to be rewarded for my beloved work but I feel I’d do it anyway regardless . If I dug deep, I bet my revealed preference would be stacking that cheese while slinging dope prose. It’s hard out there for a writer, while internet distribution platforms make it easier and easier to produce content and thus more opportunities for writers, the economics of ad driven revenue doesn’t make it down the pyramid to the actual content creators — as Medium, this site’s host, recently acknowledged during their review of their vision. That’s the environment; we have to accept it but we don’t have to like it.
Today ESPN’s Darren Rovell gave his viewpoint on the state of entering the business with a series of tweets:
Rovell has made it. He has developed a wide-reaching audience; on Twitter alone he has a following of 1.7 million. After a college (Northwestern) internship with FoxSports.com, he went right to work with ESPN.com and followed that with TV gigs at CNBC before returning to ESPN. Heck, he has also published a few books. No doubt anyone moving up the ranks as a young writer looks to Rovell’s advice as a resource. He’s young, social media savvy, and not incorrect about what it takes to enter the writing grind.
Rovell, however, is the perfect poster-child for the latter portion of “we have to accept it but we don’t have to like it.” Rovell grew up in the lap of luxury. He’s the son of Jeffery Rovell, a highly-respected medical devices researcher and innovator who reached the top of one of the most lucrative industries. By the 1980s the senior Rovell was an executive at Pfizer. While it was difficult to find the compensation for Pfizer executives 30+ years ago, here is what they pay now annually:
The Rovell family is wildly successful; let’s not take anything away from that. But the young and/or new writer trying to get their foot in the door isn’t likely to have the same experience. Most don’t have the resources — socially, financially, or otherwise — to rely on during the vast amount of time it may take before making a single dollar in the industry.
Certainly throughout the history of writing we’ve lost talented ones who quit to take care of a sick relative, or work full-time to help a laid off parent or to pay for an expensive medication — not to mention the compounding problem of paying back those college loans. Over time the forces of privilege work similarly to the forces in geology; erosion of vulnerable sediment digs deep valleys, creating a top and a bottom. Rovell is simply a very poor messenger for those facing the status quo.
I’ve — I’m back — seen it from both sides. I’m one of those new, but not especially young writers. Growing up my family wasn’t accepting government assistance or anything, but it stayed just above the line thanks to two hardworking parents. Youth breeds optimism, but even as a kid I knew any endeavor was going to be an uphill battle — it was. I married a fantastic woman — I promise I have proof — near the end of my collegiate senior year and worked to support her through medical school.
Those years caused me a slow start to my ambition of writing, directing, and acting — my areas of study in school. We moved to Chicago thereafter — a city where I was a complete stranger — and made progress. I taught theatre and writing for money and performed at night — mostly for booze. Then we had a kid, then two kids, and finally three. The financial burden of childcare and the time burden compounded by my wife’s 80+ hour work week in fellowship eventually meant putting behind what I wanted to do for six years. It was maddening, and defeating and when I didn’t feel that way a kid would puke on me. With more family resources and more paid opportunities I have no doubt it would have been different, but no matter what I had baseball to keep me company.
Baseball became my new singular passion. I didn’t have to leave the house. I had access to all of the data at Fangraphs.com and BaseballProspectus.com from the comfort of my diaper genie scented toddler cave. For the first time I could view every game on MLB.tv and reach other fans and informed baseball people on Twitter. My knowledge of the game grew expeditiously.
By the end of those six years my wife was finally able to practice and provide us with financial comfort. In an instant our financial resources quintupled and my children were no longer constantly vomiting on themselves and me. I had time and we had money — it was a complete 180. So, inspired by some of the people I’ve followed on Twitter for a long time, I began to write and submit, write and submit, write and submit, until I was finally published. I wasn’t paid, but I was no longer in the position to care so much about that. I recognize that that is privilege as well, even if we worked hard as a family to get here. Most won’t ever see it from both ends like I have.
For me the call from industries and corporations and even someone of status like Rovell who receive vast compensation but refuse to offer anything to freelancers or interns at the bottom is an immoral one — perpetuating the exploitation of willingness. Which perspective would you be willing to listen from Mr. Rovell? I don’t know, one that addresses how to make it a more level playing field for content producers? Perhaps the development of a foundation endowed by industry players that helps assist emerging writers with lesser means to keep contributing to sports journalism during their unestablished years? Or a market exchange for freelance sports writers to match up with paying publishers if you’re into the old free market ideas? The truth is I don’t have an actual answer at all, but Rovell’s a smart guy and he might. Luckily for all of us Medium.com is trying to crack the logarithm.
Part of baseball’s legacy is contributing to the country’s national vernacular. It gave us the phrase “born on third base.” I don’t see it that way. I think no matter what we all have to hustle to get to third base, but some of us have an unabated path to run through while many have to navigate an American Ninja Warrior course. Me, I’m the aging veteran who hopes he hit it to Juan Pierre in right field. I’d just ask that we think about it, does it have to be this way?
