Norman Chad: Covering sports isn’t all it’s cracked up to be

I had an epiphany in 1983, watching Texas Rangers manager Doug Rader eating barbecue ribs while wearing nothing but a jockstrap. But I’ll get back to that later.

To many sports fans, being a sportswriter looks like heavenly work – you go to all the games for free, you talk to famous athletes, you write up what you saw and then you go home and scratch yourself.

Ah, but there is a fine line between dream job and nightmare shift.

I was reminded of this last week witnessing Spurs coach Gregg Popovich’s postgame news conference after San Antonio blew a 25-point lead, lost to the Golden State Warriors and saw its best player, Kawhi Leonard, sidelined with an injury.

It started like this:

Reporter: “Coach, any update you can give on Kawhi?”

Popovich: “No.”

And it went downhill from there.

After Popovich answered the next question – “Just your general thoughts about the Warriors comeback” – 12 awkward seconds passed before any mortal stepped up.

Reporter: “Um, think your team, you know, got a little rattled, you know, when…”

Popovich: “You think so? Did you notice that?”

Reporter: “Well, you know, when Kawhi went down, I mean, the game kind of changed from there…”

Popovich: “”Okay. Good observation. You’re correct. We got a little rattled….”

After that uncomfortable exchange, another 10 seconds passed before we heard someone ask, “Any more questions?” And, with that, Popovich left the stage.

He did return moments later for another question about Leonard. Popovich politely answered, again saying he had no update on the injury, and after another 11 seconds of painful silence, Popovich said, “Going once, going twice…” then left, this time for good.

This was amazing, and disquieting.

The assembled media were so intimidated by Popovich, so off-stride in his presence, they couldn’t even summon up the nerve to ask him anything. And this is just basketball – it’s not as if we’re chewing over sending ground troops to Afghanistan or a Middle East peace accord or planet-unfriendly climate change.

Nobody was talking about invoking the 25th Amendment.

But nary a soul wanted to stand up and speak for fear of getting their tongue cut out.

The thing is, the postgame news conference is a saner, sanitized version of what normally transpires between us and them.

Usually after a game, the media – armed with notebooks, recorders, cameras and the occasional rash – head into the locker room and approach players who are drying themselves off after walking out of the shower.

Frankly, the locker room is one of the worst places in America to conduct business.

There’s something about asking a half-naked man why he fumbled on third down that makes no sense.

Does any other industry work this way?

Are Apple executives mobbed by the media as they exit iPhone 8 planning sessions? Does a high school history teacher face reporters wondering why she quoted Arthur M. Schlesinger Jr. rather than Doris Kearns Goodwin in class that day? Do bank robbers emerge from a heist and get asked, “So the moment the teller handed you the money, what were you thinking?”

Which takes me back to 1983.

As a wet-behind-my-large-ears part-timer at the Washington Post, I occasionally got to cover a meaningless MLB game. So I was in Baltimore for Rangers-Orioles, among a handful of ink-stained wretches in the manager’s office of the visitors’ locker room, where we had a postgame audience with one Doug Rader.

Wearing only an athletic supporter, he sat behind a desk with his feet up, answering questions about a pitching change in the seventh inning while eating barbecue ribs.

I told myself, “I don’t think I can do this for the rest of my life.”

So what did I do? I’ve ended up sitting on a sofa watching games on TV for the rest of my life.

Now, that’s a dream job – I usually fall asleep by halftime.

Ask The Slouch

Q. The NBA seems to think changing the referees’ jerseys every few years makes the game more compelling to watch. Did you ever change pajamas during your first two marriages to garner more interest from your wives? (Paul Buch; Guttenberg, N.J.)

A. I believe I lost my pajamas in the first divorce settlement.

Q. There are many “unwritten rules” in baseball. Are there any unwritten rules in poker? (Brian Coffman; Gaithersburg, Md.)

A. Only two – never touch a dealer mid-hand and never tell a bad-beat story in the bathroom.

Q. Your Olympics column convinced me that L.A. isn’t where you ought to be. Why punish yourself? We have couches in Indiana. (Bruce Doughty; Mooresville, Ind.)

A. But that would leave me 1,200 miles from the nearest In ‘N Out Burger.

Q. Did Tom Brady tell Gisele he had a concussion instead of using the classic headache excuse? (Grady Chism; Indianapolis)

A. Pay the man, Shirley.

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