The Best American Sports Writing 2019 Read online

  Contents

  * * *

  Title Page

  Contents

  Copyright

  Foreword

  Introduction

  WRIGHT THOMPSON: When Winter Never Ends

  SAM MILLER: The Aging Curve

  JACKIE MACMULLAN: When Making the NBA Isn’t a Cure-All: Mental Health and Black Athletes

  CHRISTOPHER SOLOMON: A Terror Way Beyond Falling

  JOHN BRANCH: Children of the Cube

  BONNIE D. FORD: Holding Her Own

  LOUISA THOMAS: Game Plan

  KERRY HOWLEY: Everyone Believed Larry Nassar

  BETH DAVIES-STOFKA: Winning at the Cost of Silence

  HEATHER DINICH, ADAM RITTENBERG, and TOM VANHAAREN: The Inside Story of a Toxic Culture at Maryland Football

  VIRGNIA OTTLEY CRAIGHILL: The Lost Cause

  CAITY WEAVER: My Magical Quest to Destroy Tom Brady and Win a Philadelphia Eagles Mini-Fridge at Super Bowl LII

  JEFF MACGREGOR: Taming the Lionfish

  CLAY SKIPPER: Joel Embiid Is Seven Feet Tall and Rising

  NATHAN FENNO: A Killing Still Unresolved

  BOB HOHLER and PATRICIA WEN: Gladiator: Aaron Hernandez and Football, Inc., Part One: The Secrets Behind the Smile

  NICK HEIL: Is Kilian Jornet for Real?

  KATHRYN MILES: Is This Man a Victim?

  ABE STREEP: What the Arlee Warriors Were Playing For

  TIM LAYDEN: Fists of Fury

  KIM CROSS: The Redemption of Artis Monroe

  JOHN M. GLIONNA: Who’s Lookin’ for a Fight?

  MAGGIE SHIPSTEAD: Another Voyage for Madmen (And, This Time, One Woman)

  JEFF JACKSON: Paradox of Paradise

  Contributors’ Notes

  Notable Sports Writing of 2018

  Read More from the Best American Series

  About the Editors

  Connect with HMH

  Copyright © 2019 by Houghton Mifflin Harcourt Publishing Company

  Introduction copyright © 2019 by Charles P. Pierce

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  The Best American Series® is a registered trademark of Houghton Mifflin Harcourt Publishing Company. The Best American Sports Writing™ is a trademark of Houghton Mifflin Harcourt Publishing Company.

  No part of this work may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying and recording, or by any information storage or retrieval system without the proper written permission of the copyright owner unless such copying is expressly permitted by federal copyright law. With the exception of nonprofit transcription in Braille, Houghton Mifflin Harcourt is not authorized to grant permission for further uses of copyrighted selections reprinted in this book without the permission of their owners. Permission must be obtained from the individual copyright owners as identified herein. Address requests for permission to make copies of Houghton Mifflin Harcourt material to [email protected] or to Permissions, Houghton Mifflin Harcourt Publishing Company, 3 Park Avenue, 19th Floor, New York 10016.

  hmhbooks.com

  ISSN 1056-8034 (print)  ISSN 2573-4822 (e-book)

  ISBN 978-1-328-50785-3 (print)  ISBN 978-1-328-50870-6 (e-book)

  v1.0919

  “Children of the Cube” by John Branch. First published in the New York Times, August 15, 2018. Copyright © 2018 by The New York Times. Reprinted by permission of The New York Times.

  “The Lost Cause” by Virginia Ottley Craighill. First published in Sport Literate, January 30, 2018. Copyright © 2018 by Virginia Ottley Craighill. Reprinted by permission of Virginia Ottley Craighill.

  “The Redemption of Artis Monroe” by Kim Cross. First published in Bicycling magazine, June 2018. Copyright © 2018 by Hearst Magazines, Inc. Reprinted with permission of Hearst Magazines, Inc.

  “Winning at the Cost of Silence” by Beth Davies-Stofka. First published in Baseball Prospectus. Copyright © 2018 by Beth Davies-Stofka. Reprinted by permission of Beth Davies-Stokfa.

  “The Inside Story of a Toxic Culture at Maryland Football” by Heather Dinich, Adam Rittenberg, and Tom VanHaaren. First published on ESPN.com. Copyright © 2018 by ESPN, Inc. Reprinted by permission of ESPN.

  “A Killing Still Unresolved” by Nathan Fenno. First published in the Los Angeles Times, September 13, 2018. Copyright © 2018 by The Los Angeles Times. Used with permission.

  “Holding Her Own” by Bonnie D. Ford. First published on ESPN.com. Copyright © 2018 by ESPN, Inc. Reprinted by permission of ESPN.

  “Who’s Lookin’ for a Fight?” by John M. Glionna. First published in California Sunday Magazine, May 31, 2018. Copyright © 2018 by John M. Glionna. Reprinted by permission of John M. Glionna.

  “Is Killian Jornet for Real?” (originally titled “Are Killian Jornet’s Speed Records Too Good to Be True?”) by Nick Heil. First published in Outside, July 12, 2018. Copyright © 2018 by Nick Heil. Reprinted by permission of Nick Heil.

  “Gladiator: Aaron Hernandez and Football, Inc., Part One: The Secrets Behind the Smile” by Bob Hohler and Patricia Wen. First published in the Boston Globe, October 13, 2018. Copyright © 2018 by The Boston Globe. Reprinted by permission of The Boston Globe.

  “Everyone Believed Larry Nassar” by Kerry Howley. First published in New York Magazine, November 12, 2018. Copyright © 2018 by Kerry Howley. Reprinted by permission of New York Media LLC.

  “Paradox of Paradise” by Jeff Jackson. First published in Ascent/Rock and Ice, April 24, 2018. Copyright © 2018 by Jeff Jackson. Reprinted by permission of Jeff Jackson.

  “Fists of Fury” by Tim Layden. First published in Sports Illustrated, October 8, 2018. Copyright © 2018 by Sports Illustrated. Reprinted by permission.

  “Taming the Lionfish” by Jeff MacGregor. First published in Smithsonian, June 2018. Copyright © 2018 by Jeff MacGregor. Reprinted by permission of Jeff MacGregor.

  “When Making the NBA Isn’t a Cure-All: Mental Health and Black Athletes” by Jackie MacMullan. First published on ESPN.com. Copyright © 2018 by ESPN, Inc. Reprinted by permission of ESPN.

  “Is This Man a Victim?” by Kathryn Miles. First published in Down East, July 2018. Copyright © 2018 by Kathryn Miles. Reprinted by permission of Kathryn Miles.

  “The Aging Curve” (originally titled “What Happens as Baseball Players Age?”) by Sam Miller. First published in ESPN The Magazine. Copyright © 2018 by ESPN, Inc. Reprinted by permission of ESPN.

  “Another Voyage for Madmen (And This Time, One Woman)” by Maggie Shipstead. First published in Outside, July 17, 2018. Copyright © 2018 by Maggie Shipstead. Reprinted by permission of Maggie Shipstead.

  “Joel Embiid Is Seven Feet Tall and Rising” by Clay Skipper. First published in GQ, October 23, 2018. Copyright © 2018 by Condé Nast. Reprinted by permission of Condé Nast.

  “A Terror Way Beyond Falling” (originally titled “The Boy Who Lived on Edges”) by Christopher Solomon. First published in Outside, April 2018. Copyright © 2018 by Christopher Solomon. Reprinted by permission of Christopher Solomon.

  “What the Arlee Warriors Were Playing For” by Abe Streep. First published in The New York Times Magazine, April 4, 2018. Copyright © 2018 by Abe Streep. Reprinted by permission of Abe Streep.

  “Game Plan” by Louisa Thomas. First published in The New Yorker, April 16, 2018. Originally titled: “How Far Can Becky Hammon Go in the N.B.A.?” Copyright © 2018 by Condé Nast. Reprinted by permission of Condé Nast.

  “When Winter Never Ends” by Wright Thompson. First published in ESPN The Magazine. Copyright © 2018 by ESPN, Inc. Reprinted by permission of ESPN.

  “My Magical Quest to Destroy Tom Brady and Win a Philadelphi
a Eagles Mini-Fridge at Super Bowl LII” by Caity Weaver. First published in GQ, February 6, 2018. Copyright © 2018 by Condé Nast. Reprinted by permission of Condé Nast.

  Foreword

  We’ve been doing it all wrong.

  It’s no secret, to either readers or writers, that the entire writing industrial complex is in trouble as regards not just sports writing but just about every kind of writing that makes use of letters, sentences, and the occasional paragraph. Jobs are scarce, layoffs have spread like measles among the unvaccinated, and print and online publishers close or merge into the dim-witted mists of capital reorganization every day. The few that remain not only publish less written work every year but often treat it like an enormous bother. Somehow writing itself has become the greatest impediment to the reigning business model, which measures success in IPOs, an office fridge full of double IPAs, and a summer tiny house.

  Clearly, the model that worked for so long, one in which writers, usually supported by advertising, were paid in currency for their work, then had children, bought houses, and went to the bar and ran up a tab (although rarely in that order), is no longer sustainable. Not only are there fewer jobs—by some estimates in the last decade half of all journalism jobs have disappeared—but already stagnant pay is going down, and fast. Finalists for the National Magazine Award have asked if I know where they might be able to pitch a story and get paid in cash. I know of legacy outlets that now pay only $100 for stories that run thousands of words, often make the writer wait many, many months for that, and cut a check only after the writer has expended more pretty-please words begging for payment than they used in the original story. Even more brilliant are those outlets that have convinced “people” to produce “content”—which approximates writing through the ingenious use of a familiar alphabet, punctuation, and the occasional space and hard return—for free.

  Virtually every writer I know is in the same boat—or, to use a professional writing trick and turn to the online thesaurus in search of an eye-catching synonym to exhibit style (thereby proving that a scribbling MA degree from Pretentious and Prestigious A&M did not go to waste), the same dinghy. Those favored few who aren’t in there with the rest of us use their parents’ yachts and are therefore not my concern. To those in this dory (a wooden boat favored by my forebears, utilized for the jigging of squid in the North Atlantic, and used here to pump up the word count), let’s just say there seems to be a moratorium on far more than codfish. Many former full-time staffers have shed their slickers and jumped ship to become substitute teachers or, even worse, freelancers. And many of the freelancers among us have become housepainters or gardeners. If you don’t believe me, I guarantee you that some pretty decent writers are probably raking the leaves in your front yard right now.

  There is, of course, a price to be paid. While many useless stories blessedly go untold, unfortunately so do many worthy ones, and countless voices are silenced before they ever get a chance to speak. How, then, to go forward?

  A freelancer myself, I tried, as I pondered this question while raking, to identify the through line (another upmarket editorial phrase) and figure out what has remained constant ever since the first word was put in print in exchange for compensation. Then it struck me.

  Money.

  I rapidly abandoned the notion that the problem would disappear if readers didn’t have to pay for writing. I mean, we live in a capitalistic society, and only an idiot or a media company executive would embrace the crass socialism of distributing words for free. Clearly, the problem is not with the reader. He or she is only at the end of this idea supply chain. Fortunately, as an experienced freelancer, I am accustomed to thinking, as so many editors have requested, “outside the box” or, after hours, while drinking at home.

  The answer was right in front of me. It was a bitter realization, but the problem was . . . me. By actually expecting to be paid for writing, I had helped bring a once-thriving industry to its knees. God forgive me.

  But no more. I declare that the era of the paid writer is over. Instead of staffers and freelancers, I propose a new model, one that over the past decade or so has already been rapidly evolving into reality. Let us now usher in a brave new age.

  I call it “Paylance.”

  See, the whole problem began the moment writers started being paid, creating what is now an entirely unrealistic set of expectations and an unsustainable economic model, one that turned writing from a privilege of the educated class into something far more crass, even a little icky: a “job,” like taking out the trash. And therein lies the answer. The problem is, and always has been, paying writers for their words.

  Ah, but in the Paylance era, we’re turning that on its head. From now on, the writer pays. If we want the industry to thrive, we’re gonna have to pay for it ourselves. This is only fair.

  The benefits are obvious. Instead of a media company paying writers, under the Paylance model the reverse will be true: writers will pay for the privilege of seeing their work in print. Wanna write what we once called “columns” and now call “posts”? Rates are variable, but my startup will likely start at a dollar a word and go up from there, depending on your lack of experience and the size of your inheritance. Got a personal essay about repressed trauma after you were caught coloring outside the lines in kindergarten? Ten grand a page. Pondering a long-form feature, investigative story, or enterprise piece? The floor starts at $50,000, even more if you want to use pictures, and if you insist on calling it “creative nonfiction,” the penalty will be ten grand, or more, per page. Want to be on the cover? Tack on another $250,000. Social media push? Negotiable. Author mugshot? $5,000, more if the picture is actually of you. Bylines start at $10,000, but it’ll cost you extra for a middle initial or middle name, or if one of your parents was a published author.

  But what about advertising, you ask? What do we do with that?

  This is where Paylance really pays off. Although there is a great temptation to monetize this prematurely, hear me out. Paylance will never lack for advertising, because since the writers have to pay, the advertisers don’t. At least not at first. That means every print issue will be as fat as an old big city telephone book and every paragraph of every online story will be separated by an annoying old school banner ad or an autoplay video. Page counts will go through the roof, and so will page views, because every story will be spread across dozens, if not hundreds, of pages. We’ll provide enough metrics to eat ’em for breakfast and spread it on your toast. Then . . . heh, heh, heh . . . we’ll charge ’em through the nose, backed up by all the data we need to prove scale.

  And get this: under the Paylance model (talk about every writer’s dream), editors will have to pay at least a dollar more than you have to pay to write just for the privilege of editing you. This will likely result in no editors at all, as it’s a well-known fact that most of those parsimonious bastards don’t ever want to pay for anything or answer an email.

  Oh, I know, there are those who will say that such a model isn’t inclusive and will prevent all but the very rich and privileged from participating. Well, duh—just look around. By any measure, this is already one of the least inclusive industries around, its demographics frozen like a mammoth in the permafrost. Paylance likely won’t change this, but at least it will be honest and transparent. Besides, no one in their right mind gets into this racket anymore anyway unless they have a trust fund, a former roommate on the board of directors, and enough Xanax to render this realization moot. As it is, I still wonder if I made the right decision when I abandoned the glory of concrete and steel for ink and paper. On an hourly basis, my earning power probably peaked that summer I worked seventy hours a week at the prevailing wage. Besides, while I was growing up I simply assumed that anyone who wrote for a living was already rich, that writing was already out of reach for someone whose only other discernible talent was the ability to do backbreaking physical labor in the sun for hours at a time. Guess I was ahead of my time!

  So far, of
course, all this is just a dream, a nascent idea waiting for the right visionary to make it reality. But I’ve got some experience with many of the acronyms and dots and Article Subject Tribune/Reviews and have learned how this game works. In fact, I have taken several meetings with vulture—er, venture—capitalists whose gluttonous and unrealistic profit expectations have already destroyed most other industries (not to mention public education) and who are now eager to exploit—make that explore—the brave new world of media I envision, line up behind the inevitable unicorn, rush it toward extinction, and auction off the carcass to another sucker even more delusionally greedy.

  Precisely why we would need venture capital under this model is another question entirely. I mean, since the writers are paying for everything, it wouldn’t really require much involvement from the investment class. But since XYZ Investment Unequal Equity Partners has already flushed hundreds and hundreds of millions of dollars buying up digital media companies that—yup, you guessed it—now only produce podcasts about the pivot to video (But we’re talking to Netflix! And YouTube!)—sending a few hundred million more my way is the soundest investment opportunity available. Besides, these people just can’t resist spending on stuff they don’t understand. And I’m gonna take it, just like all the acronyms and dots and Article Subject Tribune/Reviews have. As Paylance founder and CEO, I plan to grow my beard out, skate up in my worst T-shirt and thrift store shoes, and, after playing a set with my favorite band you’ve never heard of, preach to our target audience at the annual Tech FyreFest Northwest. I plan on telling them—again—about how we’ve already turned a profit before we’ve produced anything (they fall for that every single time). As soon as it’s over, I’ll swill down a couple of ayahuasca cocktails while inappropriately accompanied by a gaggle of Paylance interns who have no choice, pay myself in Bitcoin and other people in unrealized stock options, and prepare for the future the old-fashioned way. Because in the unlikely event that this model should unexpectedly collapse, I plan to transfer my wealth into bullion, bury most of it either in my backyard or in a friendly foreign bank, surround myself with lawyers, and string together so many buzzwords that it’ll take six months before anyone realizes I’ve said nothing and have already skipped away into the limitless future only I was blind enough to see.