Is anybody else finding it hard to tear away from the biz?

In fact, that may be exactly what is making it so hard.

 

Yes. I don't know what I'd do. I wish I could remember all the good games and events I've covered over the years to have a better appreciation of them

 

The one and only John Minko? Nice!

 

I expect the decision to leave will be made for me soon, and I'm working extra hard because of it. I do a lot on my own time because I know when I do get that pink slip followed by months of unsuccessfully searching for another job in the industry, that at least I can say I soaked it up when I had it.

I refuse to be miserable as this industry spirals. I don't expect a recovery or a return to the way it does, but if it does morph I want to be there for the next incarnation.

Either way I'm living this until the end.

 

Think I'll miss the credential most, that sense that I can call or walk up to just about anybody and start talking to them because I'm "Joe Williams of the Bumfuck Bugle..." Anybody, of course, being a relative term -- I wouldn't get within 50 yards of Obama, I understand. But the extra heft that you have because your institution is acknowledged (maybe respected, maybe feared) in your coverage area feels good. Even though you dare not trade on it for real personal gain, it does give some satisfaction.

But I agree with Moddy and Frederick. Most of what I'll miss when I go already beat me out the door -- the level of ambition, the camaraderie, the starch in a good supervisor's shorts when it comes to fending off sources' and readers' complaints, the travel budget, the opportunities to advance and the freedom from worries about layoffs and pay cuts. Gone. I also miss working in a newsroom that truly tried to cover the news without undue political leanings or agendas. And for top bosses who knew how to lead and cared about it, as a way to tap into that little extra-extra in good journalists, rather than just frantically ordering us to "do more with less" because, like children, they know they don't have to pay for that "more."

Leaving newspapers, though, will never stop me from writing in some shape or form. So I'll never miss that. I plan, in fact, to enjoy it more than ever, freed from the running stories and the blogs and other wastes of time that have crowded out substance and something approaching real writing.

 

I've never done anything but this except for my college summer job at the sewage treatment plant and the stint as a cart jockey at the local muni when i was between assignments, so to speak.
played my best golf ever while working at the muni, BTW. There's a lot i wouldn't miss if i step away, but there's plenty i would miss.

 

I've been doing this since I was 19 years old. Little by little, just about everything I've enjoyed about this job has been taken from me. I pilot a desk now, equal parts crisis management, air-traffic controller and trying to stretch time, money and resources to a point that would amaze my father, a man who once instructed us (only half in jest) to answer the phone "No habla inglese" when bill collectors called.
Jim Murray once said, "I never had a bad day at the ballpark." That was always true for me, be it an All-Star Game or a 24-3 high school softball drubbing. But I don't get to do that anymore. I don't get to talk to interesting people. I get to talk to angry people.
I don't get to write anymore. I get to read copy of reporters (staff writers, for Christ's sake) who don't know the difference between you're and your. Sometimes I make it better. Most of the time I make it less bad.
Five or six years ago, the idea that my next job wouldn't be in newspapers was equal parts sad and terrifying to me. Now, I'm counting on it.

 

Reading some of these stories takes me back to an old girlfriend from high school.

Back in the day I had a 1987 Mercury Cougar X-R7 that I loved. Got lucky when I was a junior in high school and found this thing on the back of the lot for a fair price for a five year old car. I'd spend countless hours washing, waxing, polishing, cleaning the tires. I'd put Armour All on the tires, it would rain that night and I'd do the same thing all over again the next day.

One day I was running a good 25 minutes late to pick her up for dinner or the movies or a party or whatever the hell we were doing that night because a "quick wash" involved vacuuming the interior and the rims. She steps out of the house, looks at the car, looks at me and says, "You ARE aware that it doesn't love you back, right?"

That's this profession anymore. Shit, that's any profession anymore.

 

I got out of journalism three times, only to get back in each time because I didn't like what I was doing as much as I like this business. Now I'm out again, but not of my choice, and I can't find or even think of anything I can do that would interest me nearly as much.
But, I'm tethered to the place I live for various reasons so I'm going to end up doing something I won't like, and there's nothing I can do about it.

 

I left on Dec. 30, 2004. That night, I filed two stories from a high school/NBDL doubleheader, and went straight home. A week later, I started grad school. I haven't been back in the office since, even though it's in my hometown and I still visit quite often.

I missed the rush of deadline and the camaraderie at first, but now the only time I get nostalgic is when March rolls around and I remember the college basketball post-season -- four cities in four weekends and countless gamers, advances, notes, columns, etc. That was so much fun. Then the game ends, and I'm sitting at home, not beholden to my editor, not going back to a hotel room, not wishing I could see my girlfriend because she's right there. And the nostalgia washes away.

 

Living what? Getting your pay slashed 23 percent? Having sources laugh at you because they are true businessmen chuckling at the ridiculous newspaper model? Giving it away for free on the Internet?
The ONLY good thing about being a sportswriter is the inner satisfaction you get from writing a good story. That's it right now and I think you can find inner satisfaction in a field that might someday give you a raise and not demand more more more and not even fucking express true displeasure that you have to go on furlough a week.
THIS BUSINESS SUCKS.

 

My ship hasn't hit an iceberg yet, but don't think for a second I haven't been casting an eye for lifeboats.

Still, I've missed a lot of the pain, so far. Not all of it — a raise would be nice, a photog in the next county would also be nice, etc.