Why I'm starting this newsletter, and what to expect
Because there's no better place in the world to be a sportswriter than Boston.
The first thing you see when you walk into the press box at Fenway Park is a framed capture of the front page of The Boston Globe the morning after Game 6 of the 1975 World Series, the greatest game ever played in that building. And right there in the top-left slot, above the fold, is one of the greatest deadline ledes ever written in this town, by the best baseball writer that’s ever lived, Peter Gammons:
And all of a sudden the ball was there, like the Mystic River Bridge, suspended out in the black of the morning.
When it finally crashed off the mesh attached to the left field foul pole, one step after another the reaction unfurled: from Carlton Fisk’s convulsive leap to John Kiley’s booming of the “Hallelujah Chorus” to the wearing off of the numbness to the outcry that echoed across the cold New England morning.
At 12:34 a.m., in the 12th inning, Fisk’s histrionic home run brought a 7-6 end to a game that will be the pride of historians in the year 2525, a game won and lost what seemed like a dozen times, and a game that brings back summertime one more day. For the seventh game of the World Series.
Time tends to either melt your legacy or embolden it. And more than four decades after that idyllic piece of poetry came off the presses, that first line, And all of a sudden the ball was there, like the Mystic River Bridge, suspended out in the black of the morning, might as well be its own National Historical Landmark. Put that one on my headstone.
I’ve been in the Fenway press box hundreds of times. There’s been times where I walked by that frame and felt like I needed to do the sign of the cross or something. It’s just iconic.
Sportswriting has seen better days. Crappy pay. Miserable hours. Having to answer to @CrazyJimbo283’s irrational ire. The perpetual paranoia of getting scooped, paralyzed by a nonstop news cycle at the mercy of what others do or don’t tweet. It’s tough raising a family under those circumstances.
But if you ever get a chance to get up there in that press box, and sit in those same seats where Fake John Henry once slid a cocktail napkin to Brad Pitt’s Billy Beane with the offer of a lifetime, take a look at that Gammons story and ask yourself — at what cost the immortality?
Because that’s the allure, the intoxication, of being a writer in a city that romanticizes sports as much as Boston. Forty years from now, someone’s going to be researching an historic moment in the timeline of this wonderful city, and will probably stumble upon your account of it. That’s just cool any way you look at it.
You can’t put a price on that.
***
This sometimes gets lost in today’s oversaturated media landscape, but Boston is like the West Point of sportswriting. It’s the ultimate proving ground. The ones who make it big tend to go on to become icons in the industry.
Picture this. The year is 1978. You are my father, a senior at Abington High School and captain of the hockey team. A young Nick Cafardo, the beloved baseball writer posthumously honored by the Hall of Fame last year, is covering your game for the Quincy Patriot-Ledger. And if the Globe shows up, there’s a one-in-three chance the writer showing up is either Kevin Paul Dupont, Lesley Visser or Mike Lupica. Three pioneers widely recognized today as three of the greatest to ever pick up the pen.
Think about how preposterous that is.
Twenty-five years later, I’m a senior at Oakmont High School stealing my dad’s Globe sports section at breakfast, poring over columns from Dan Shaughnessy, Bob Ryan, Jackie MacMullan and Michael Holley.
And then in my second-period business class, 30 copies of the day’s Boston Herald are delivered to class (yes, this was a thing papers used to do). I sneak a copy every day into my backpack so at lunch I can read Steve Buckley, Gerry Callahan, and Howard Bryant.
Maybe you can see where this is headed…
I’ve had my nose in a piece of literature from the time I first learned how to read. But something about opening the paper every day and reading something mystical about my hero Pedro Martinez made me want to get into sportswriting.
I took up an independent study answering phones at my hometown paper, The Gardner News, later my that year, and the rest is history. I’m proud of every second of my two-decade whirlwind in journalism, which took me from Globe to ESPN to NBC and USA Today before switching gears into marketing, where I work on content for a prominent sports technology company.
I’m still telling great stories — just now, I’m moving hearts and wallets.
And I wouldn’t be in this position in the first place if it wasn’t for The Proving Ground.
***
Covering Boston Marathons, Stanley Cups and walking 18 with Tiger are cool. But the lessons I learned working for editors like Craig Larson, Bob Holmes, Dave Lefort, Greg Lee and Joe Sullivan were the most rewarding. Those guys were tough on me and challenged me every day to be better. I’ll be carrying their wisdom with me the rest of my life.
I believe in Boston, and its stories to be told, more than ever. This is the greatest place in the world. And after 20 years of writing in this town, I like to think I know a thing or two about what makes for a good narrative.
So here’s what I’m going to do. Every month, I’m going to talk about the best stuff I read from the people who write in Boston, and why you should be reading it if you haven’t.
Eventually, I’d like to get this to a weekly or bi-weekly cadence, and maybe even put out a yearly anthology. But we’ll start slow, and see where this goes.
Other media markets may scrutinize its athletes and managers as intensely.
But nobody puts the romantic touch on it quite like our poets and playwrights.
A few FAQs…
Are you taking suggestions?
Of course. Fire away. bhallwrites@gmail.com
What about national writers who write about Boston?
My goal is to spotlight the locals, so I’m going to try not to do that. If I do, it has to be exceptional.
What about Central and Western Mass?
Hell yes. MassLive has a better sports section than most of the Boston-based outlets. Matt Vautour is one of the best columnists in all of New England. And I don’t know if you heard, but Joe freakin’ McDonald is at the Worcester Telegram & Gazette now.
Same goes for the Providence folks. And New Hampshire. And Maine. OK, how about this — if you’re writing about Massachusetts and you can get here in a half-day.
Does it even have to be a sports publication?
I’ve always kept a real open mind, because the best talent I discovered as an editor for six years at ESPNBoston routinely came from places I least expected. The best sports stories in this town are free to live wherever they want.
Is this focused on the pros?
No. College sports need more love around here, and some of the best stories being written are on the high school beat. It’s disappointing that high schools don’t get enough attention locally. There’s over 300 of them in Massachusetts, and I can guarantee you there’s a compelling human interest story in every one of those athletic departments just waiting to be told.
What about paywalled content?
I didn’t start this to try and weasel some free subscriptions out of people. My goal is to spotlight the best sportswriting being done in Boston. How you get there, we’re all on our own for now. Apologies in advance.
***
OK, that’s all for now. Let me know if there’s any questions I missed. I’m going to put out my first Boston’s Best Sportswriting volume in early November. My email address is above, but make sure to follow me on Twitter at @BHallWrites as well. However you get a hold of me, I’m usually pretty good at getting back to you.
Enjoy the rest of your week. Here’s hoping Laz Diaz finds that long lost strike zone he’s been looking for.