Those Guys Have All the Fun - James Andrew Miller [114]
Normally the breaking of a big news story energizes and excites journalists, but the story that broke on November 7, 1991, truly tested the journalistic mettle of ESPN. This was the day that Earvin “Magic” Johnson, thirty-two but looking younger, faced cameras and microphones in Inglewood, California, to tell the world he was HIV positive and was bidding good-bye to basketball, the game at which he had so spectacularly excelled.
“Because of the HIV virus that I have attained,” Johnson said, calmly and soberly, “I will have to retire from the Lakers today.” He’d played twelve spectacular seasons with the Los Angeles Lakers by that point—twelve times an All-Star, three times league MVP—and everyone watching had to process the shattering news that Magic’s career as a player was now over.
As is often said of momentous events, there was a haunted, surreal quality to the day—a sense that it couldn’t really be happening. The television cameras and microphones validated something that everyone wanted to deny. In fact, Johnson had taken the HIV test twice more after testing positive in the hope that the first positive was a false one; unfortunately, the answer kept coming back the same.
Johnson’s declaration immediately became one of the biggest sports stories of the age, as well as one of the most affecting. For many ESPN reporters and producers, covering it dispassionately was difficult; Magic was one of the best-liked and most affable athletes around, on and off the court. Indeed, the room in which the press conference was held was all but awash in tears, many from supposedly hard-bitten reporters. For his part, Johnson had never been a press-basher; he included journalists among those he thanked that night.
“I will miss you guys,” he said, looking out at the crowd.
The story tested the professionalism of the ESPN team, requiring everyone to stay cool even when emotions ran high. Heading up the coverage, Bob Ley kept viewers informed and involved with his gravitas and empathy—and no hint of sensationalism.
Public interest ran high, and so, apparently, did public trust in an improved ESPN. The network’s Thoroughbred Digest, usually seen in the 6:00 p.m. time slot, had averaged a .6 rating; Johnson’s press conference, at 6:10 p.m., earned a 2.0, and ratings continued to build through the evening, with the seven o’clock SportsCenter garnering a highly unusual 2.3.
November 7, 1991, would be, then, a day of culmination, when all the elements and improvements in the ESPN newsroom came together; when the changes made in the years leading up to this date—in process, standards, personnel, and other areas—had strengthened the news operation and got it working like the proverbial well-oiled machine.
Newfound parity with “the big guys” at long-established networks was apparent in what ESPN did, not in what it said about itself. Magic Johnson’s press conference had been available on many other channels, including the all-news kind, but for many viewers, ESPN was now the source of choice for a story such as this. Competitors, take note.
4
Manifest Destiny: 1992–1994
“The difficulty lies not so much in developing new ideas as in escaping from old ones.”
—John Maynard Keynes
JOHN WALSH:
We were ready to make Olbermann an offer, go full board to get him, and Steve Anderson and I told Bornstein, who says, “You got a tape of this guy? Let’s see him.” We pull the tape off the shelf and put it in. I swear to God, the tape is on maybe fifteen seconds and Olbermann’s got one of those looks in his eyes, and Bornstein pushes the pause button and says, “Take a look at that.” We looked at Olbermann’s face and then Bornstein says, “Good luck,” and walks out.
Have Keith Theodore Olbermann spend a few seasons working at your