Costas: He’s Got Cronkitis

To adequately cover nearly 200 hours of the Summer Games, NBC has U-hauled to Atlanta about 2,500 personnel and 70-odd broadcasters, 95 cameras with 270 tape machines and more than 800,000 feet of cable, 20,000 monitors, 15,000 videotapes, 17 mobile units (including something called a “SWAT” production trailer), a half-dozen helicopters, five boats and a pair of blimps. And one Bob Costas.

There is, after all, only one Costas.

But by the time this sawdust festival settles, he could be both your best friend and your worst nightmare.

America’s voice of the Olympics, our nation’s greatest sports resource, the 10-time Emmy Award-winning little big-leaguer has received about as much pre-Games hype as if Spartacus suddenly came back and qualified for the U.S. team under political asylum.

Frank Deford, quoted in an Atlanta Journal-Constitution story, calls Costas “maybe the best ever.” Why even qualify it with “maybe”?

I don’t want to get off on a rant here. But if there’s a potential for Costas to implode from the mix of overexposure and a greater sense of self-worth from media glorification, this is the time. If you’re told enough times you’re the greatest ever at any particular chore, it’s tough not to believe it, even backstroke in it.

Would Costas allow himself to bask in this glory? A media man should know better than to become a story. He’ll justifiably argue that, in these times, media hype is unavoidable for TV types. But since he’ll appear on more den Zeniths over the next 17 days than that infomercial guy selling abdominal-exercise machines, there’s a natural interest in the messenger.

Once that happens, though, the subject matter is exposed to closer examination for flaws. By all accounts, Costas has no imperfections. In fact, McDonald’s should do a scratcher game: If Costas slips up, everyone gets a small fries.

Costas has become a quote machine, polished, ponderous, cerebral. He articulates in a controlled speech that draws you to his every word, building layers of drama so that you wonder if this guy is reading from a TelePrompTer or has memorized his ad-libs so precisely that it’s scary.

In a Newsweek Q-and-A headlined “The Man Who Really Knows the Score,” Costas talks about the hype factor of the Games: “It’s a force bigger and stronger than all of us, so you can’t really fight it.”

Is he reviewing the movie “Twister” or just being his too-cute-and-too-proud-of-it smug self?

Impish, precocious Bobby C. shoots out phrases like “tapestry” and “moments of heightened emotion” or “the human component” into an interview. He starts to take himself a little too seriously (see: Baseball’s All-Star Game coverage).

From his studio chair, he’s liable to catch the dreaded illness - call it Walter Cronkitis - where he tries to put the world’s existence into a sound bite of 15 words or less.

Writers who’ve dared to criticize him draw out Costas’ insecure side. Negative press really does get under his skin. He wants to be so well-liked. Asked about an unflattering piece on him by Charles Pierce in Gentleman’s Quarterly a year ago, Costas says: “The guy’s a fool, but someone will read it.”

In all the pre-Olympic hype, it might seem impossible for everyone to read all the Costas press clippings. In that case, add this to the heap. And if you must, stamp it written by another quibbling fool who just hopes he isn’t easily fooled.