He’s Disturbed by Sounds of Silence

Many fans believe pro athletes have a right to freedom from the press.

These fans are correct.

Before I interview an athlete, I am required to read him (or her) his (or her) rights.

“You have the right to remain silent,” I drone, reading from a little card I carry around in my wallet. “If you give up that right, anything you say can and will be used against you in my column, and will probably be taken out of context and misquoted.

“You have the right to be represented in this interview by an agent named Shifty. You also have the right to turn your back and nonchalantly riffle through your fan mail during our interview.

“Do you understand these rights?”

Most players do understand these rights and willingly waive them.

These guys (and women) make sportswriting a pleasure. They also make the games they play much more enjoyable and meaningful to the fans.

Then there are the athletes who won’t talk.

Such as Cecil Cooper, whom I took a shot at not long ago when he put himself on the baseball non-talkers’ list. Cooper had a sub-par season last year and wants to eliminate distractions.

I received a letter from a Lance Peterson, who wrote, in part:

“Your recent comments about Cecil Cooper’s decision not to talk to the press caused me a bit of distress. I’m a long-time fan of Cecil Cooper, and if one of baseball’s most successful hitters over the last 10 years makes a decision not to talk to the press in order to improve his performance, I believe his reputation and experience should be enough to support his decision. I think he knows what’s best for him, but I’m sure he appreciates some constructive criticism from a reputable baseball expert such as yourself.”

Compliment acknowledged, Lance.

Peterson continues: “Cecil Cooper makes more money in a month than you make in a year, and you’re criticizing his professional decisions.”

Wrong. Cecil Cooper makes more in a week than I make in a year. That’s OK. For me, money is a distraction.

“Did you ever stop to think?”

Once, Lance, about five years ago. It destroyed my momentum.

“When are you going to benefit Rod Carew on how to increase his B.A.?”

Not until he asks. I want Rod to think of me as an adviser, not a meddler.

May we digress?

Lance, I believe, is speaking for a lot of well-intentioned but misguided folks who support the athletes’ right to remain silent when the vultures of the press come flapping around.

These fans figure if a guy such as Steve Carlton doesn’t want to talk to us ink-stained wretches about his pitching or his Kung Fu-ing, he should be left alone and not criticized.

The truth, however, is that these non-talkers are freeloaders.

They are reaping the benefits of a system supported by the talkers.

The non-talkers are like union members who refuse to pay their dues.

I shouldn’t have to, but I will explain.

A lot of the popularity of pro sports is generated by athletes who talk. They share their professional insights and explanations, personal opinions and emotions, and they bring us closer to the game.

It’s more interesting to watch people perform if we know them, even if we don’t like them.

Reggie Jackson creates so much excitement--he is cheered and booed more enthusiastically than anybody in baseball--because he has allowed the public get to know him.

Fans see Reggie dig in at the plate, spitting and windmilling, and they experience strong personal feelings about him, feelings that transcend his home run potential. Reggie draws fans to the ballpark and to the TV sets.

I know. So does the silent Mr. Carlton.

But is he paying his dues?

Every player can’t be a quote machine like a Reggie or a Pete Rose, but every player owes it to the game to make himself available for a reasonable amount of questioning on his performance.

The right-to-silence advocates will say this is a cop-out by sportswriters who want the athletes to do our work for us by filling our stories with nifty quotes.

Wrong. We can paint word pictures all day, but often the emotion and excitement of a game is best expressed by the participants.

An airliner crashes in a cornfield. Whose eyewitness account would you rather read: The farmer who saw the plane go down, or a surviving passenger?

I’d go with the passenger, even if the farmer happened to be an aviation expert.

I can tell you in words how it looks when Steve Carlton strikes out the side, but I can’t tell you how it feels.

Of course, not every athlete talks a great game, like a Reggie or a Rose.

To some players, sportswriters are the ants at the picnic. But those players grit their teeth and fulfill their unofficial obligation.

Others, a few, the Coopers and Carltons, clam up. They aren’t stiffing the writers, they’re stiffing the fans.

For these gentlemen, I would suggest switching to a profession where such distractions are less likely to occur. Coal mining, for instance.