I wonder just how united we really are

I was moved, as I'd like to think most people were, by the events of Tuesday in Washington. It wasn't President Obama's best speech, but he said what he had to say and hit on all the themes that needed to be hit on.

The networks gushed all day and into the night about how now we can move forward together "as one." I want to feel that way, but anecdotal evidence suggests it's just not so.

At this Yahoo! baseball blog, a cute examination of Obama's connection to his beloved White Sox devolved into a back-and-forth snipe fest among the commenters at the bottom. This is only one example; on my Facebook account, mixed among all the expressions of joy, I saw comments from friends that were cheap shots at Michele Obama's gold outfit and frank expressions of fear of Obama's policies. Why are people afraid? Why do people feel the need to belittle the First Couple already?

It's no surprise, though. The people who spewed such hate at the Palin and McCain rallies during the campaign aren't going to change their hearts just because 52 percent of the country says they should. They are who they are, and this country is what it is: still split along Rovian lines, still a Red America and a Blue America.

I have as much cause as anyone to feel disenchanted with the economic future of this country. Yet, my natural sense of optimism (blind optimism?) is in keeping with Obama's message. That's enough for me today.

What I hope Obama will say in his inauguration address tomorrow

Fellow Americans: I stand before you today on the steps of this hallowed building, humbled by the enormous responsibility we share. Humbled, but determined. Determined to stand upon the shoulders of those who came before us in order to meet the enormous challenges of our generation. Our mothers and fathers, grandmothers and grandfathers, and generation upon generation of Americans have risen up in the way most appropriate to their times to overcome the great problems of their age. The citizen patriots of the Revolutionary War, who gave birth to our great nation; the abolitionist voices in the wilderness in the first half of the 19th century, who recognized and dared to speak out against the evils of slavery; the men, women and children of the age of Lincoln, who waged a brutal war and died by the hundreds of thousands to secure the sanctity of the United States of America and to give freedom to the unjustly chained; the children of the Great Depression, who, even as their empty stomachs rumbled, never lost faith in the promise of our nation; the men and women of the Greatest Generation, who partnered with the forces of good in the world to strike down tyranny and preserve the rights of human beings everywhere; the marchers of Selma, Ala., risking life and limb to transform Dr. King’s dream into reality; all of these people, all of these Americans, helped nourish the ideals of a young and burgeoning nation by not only weathering the change inherent to a life of freedom, but by becoming themselves the very agents of change.

It was not easy. Throughout our nation’s history, change has upended lives, shattered dreams, shaken us to our very foundation. In the darkest hours of our history, when the days and nights were fraught with grief and uncertainty, all that remained was hope. Hope for a better future for ourselves, for our children, for our children’s children. But hope we had then, and hope we have today. Yet, hope without action is one cruel moment removed from despair. We must hope, but we must do more than hope. Our sense of ourselves as a people, as a nation, demands that even as we gather to our hearts the glimmer of hope in the darkness of our age, we act upon our impulse toward that shining beacon of the promise of a better life.

Where else, but the United States of America, can a people reach back into their collective history to seek for such a clear course for the future? Where else, but the United States of America, could the disjointed rhythm of history propel a Hawaiian-born son of a Kenyan father and a Kansan mother into the highest office in the land? Where else, but the United States of America, have the lessons of the past proven so eloquently that, as Benjamin Franklin warned his fellow Founding Fathers, “We must all hang together, or we will surely hang separately?” The path forward, while not smooth, is thoroughly known and eminently passable if we merely listen to the message cast down through history by those who came before us.

We might ask, as President Kennedy urged 48 years ago, “What can I do for my country?” In asking this, we must ponder the purpose of the question: simply, to engender a stronger, more vital America, where anyone who works hard and wants a better life has a fair chance to achieve it. It is our sacred duty as a people to continue the work begun by those citizen patriots of the late 1700s and to honor the hard work and sacrifice endured by the generations that followed. Only by doing so, by mirroring the example of our forefathers, can we ensure generations to come will have their chance to pursue the American dream. What we do for our country today, we also do for your children, for my daughters, for our children’s children.

It will not be easy. High-minded questions and philosophical answers will not alone soothe the fears of the unemployed factory worker in Ohio or Michigan; the retiree whose life savings has been devastated by the worst economic climate since the Great Depression; the young college graduate, burdened with student debt and unable to find a job; the lifelong journalist, out of work as the newspaper industry crumbles; the soldier back from service in Iraq or Afghanistan, ready to return to private life, only to find his or her civilian job no longer exists. These and millions of their fellow Americans are, and by right should be, the agents of change. Confronted with the reality of a sick economy, worried about how to pay the bills and keep a roof over their heads, they seek answers.

These answers will not surface quickly, but surface they will. For the one constant in our nation’s history has been our resolve as a people not only to confront change, but to embrace it and mold it to our present and future needs. Change, while painful, is the only way to grow. And, to paraphrase Dr. Franklin, if we do not grow together, we will surely grow apart.

And so, fellow Americans, I stand before you today and echo the call to action of President Kennedy, who understood the truth about the deeply independent spirit of his fellow countrymen. He understood then and we understand today that together, we the people of the United States of America CAN overcome all obstacles, CAN rise to new heights, CAN live by the example of our ancestors, CAN help our children’s children live a better life, CAN transform the smallest glimmer of hope into the towering promise of a future brimming with optimism, a future worthy of our great nation. Together, we can. Together, we will.

Thank you, God bless you and God bless the United States of America.

Not The Professors' Fault

In my last post, I complained about the lack of vision I witnessed from the University of Florida and University of South Florida journalism schools in the early 1990s. The kind of vision that might have better prepared that era's burgeoning writers (and today's laid off journalists) for the changes that were coming in the way the public received its news.

Let me be clear about one thing, here: I don't put it on the professors at all. With few exceptions, the teachers I had at UF and USF were outstanding. A couple, in particular -- USF's Randy Miller and Rick Wilber -- became mentors to me and I consider them friends, still. Miller provided the inspiration for me to finally graduate, and Wilber gave me moral support and the occasional verbal kick in the butt that I needed back then.

The skills they and others taught are just as relevant now as they were then. It will always be vitally important to know how to report and write well, regardless of the medium used to present the information.

There are multi-media graduate degrees now at USF. One of the first (if not the first) graduate of that program now works for tbo.com. Ironically, I gave the good folks in the Tribune/tbo heirarchy a glowing report on this guy before he was hired (he had interviewed me for a baseball project he did, and I thought he came off as very professional and competent). I don't know how much (if any) that influenced the decision to hire him, but the fact remains he works there now and I don't. So, was this a simple case of "out with the old" (me) and "in with the new" (him)? Eh. Maybe. I certainly don't begrudge that guy his job; anyone who can cling to a position with a media company in this era has my full support. I do have to wonder, though: If USF had offered that program in 1991, with an eye toward the future of the business, and if I had chosen to participate (and actually graduated), would I still have my job today?

That's what I meant in the previous post. I wish I had had that choice way back when.

Should Journalism Schools Have Known This Was Coming?

In 1999, 12 years after I graduated from high school and seven years after I was hired by the Tampa Tribune, I received my degree in mass communications from the University of South Florida. When I stopped being a full-time student in 1993, I needed only a few credits to graduate. But I had a job; I figured the degree would only be a redundancy I could not afford (financially). I was a poor student, in more ways than one.

I know now how important it was to actually finish school. It wasn't so much about what I was learning in the classes as it was about making a plan for my education and seeing it to fruition. I learned most of what I know about journalism from hands-on experience, but I learned most of what I know about myself during my haphazard college career.

And somewhere in the recesses of my time-addled brain, I seem to recall the softest of warnings being sounded in the course of my college career. This was the late 1980s and early 1990s, before the Internet had become so prevalent and before many folks outside of Microsoft's offices in Redmond, Wash., had any inkling of the meanings of acronyms like HTML, SEO or SERP. Words like "blog" and "iTunes" and "podcast" had not been invented. Yet, some professors spoke of the changing nature of journalism. They spoke of it as an eventuality, something relatively far in the future to ponder while mastering the soon-to-be-antiquated skills being taught in J-school. I mean, think about this: In 1991, I took a required class in photography, wherein we learned the art of film development. When's the last time you developed film? Or even used film?

The point is this: While there was a vague uneasiness at the academic level regarding the future of journalism, nothing was done about it in the early 1990s -- when it would have mattered to so many thousands of future journalists.

Should someone have known? Should some bold, visionary dean of a J-school somewhere in the land have shaken the system and forged a new way of learning? For all I know, that might have been happening at top-flight places like Missouri and North Carolina. But at the two J-schools I attended, Florida and South Florida, there was very little in the way of useful, practical vision. There was solid, fundamentally grounded education, but it was based on a model that, before its students would reach their 40s, would become as irrelevant as vinyl records.

Now, would some new way of learning about the practice of journalism have changed the disastrous business model that was the real reason newspapers died in 2008? I doubt that; publishers and owners made too much money on newspapers for too many years to let the old way of doing business give way gracefully to some new, perhaps less-profitable paradigm. So, the profession died, and our society must live with the consequences of a government under the so-so scrutiny of a terribly weakened watch dog.

Would knowing in 1991 what I know now about the way readers/viewers/listeners/Web surfers receive their news have made me a better writer? No. But it might have allowed me and the thousands of other out-of-work writers to better position ourselves in our chosen fields. Was it the University of Florida and the University of South Florida's responsibility to prepare me for a future in journalism? You bet it was, at least in part. The responsibility also rested with me, and with all journalism students whose careers stretched out so promisingly before them in the early '90s.

That was an empty promise. I confess, I had no idea it would happen in my lifetime. If I had, I would have followed my fellow high school nitwits to law school. Instead, I'll continue to scramble to find a way to make the skills I learned and honed for 22 years relevant. Perhaps it's not too late, but it sure would have been nice to have received a meaningful warning all those years ago.

Resolved

Is it too late? Can I still make my New Year's resolutions on Jan. 2? I'll start with this: I resolve to procrastinate less. (Although, to be fair to myself, deadlines never have been an issue for me.)

I also resolve this year to not have another heart attack, to not get laid off from another job and to not spend eight days in the neonatal intensive care unit with my newborn son.

I resolve to be more resolute after overcoming so many obstacles in 2008.

Oh, and here's a big one: I resolve to forgive and (try to) forget.

I resolve to turn off the TV.

I resolve to write.

I resolve to get a job.

If I fail in the latter, I resolve to throw myself whole-heartedly into the former.

I resolve to be the person I know I should be. A better husband. A better father. A better son. A better brother. A better son-in-law. A better neighbor. A better friend. A better homeowner (that persistent patch of clover in the back yard is doomed).

A better everything.

Six For The Hall

I've just marked my Hall of Fame ballot. I'll fax it to BBWAA secretary/treasurer Jack O'Connell tomorrow. Of the 23 eligible players, I voted for six. Here they are:

Starting Pitcher Bert Blyleven
Outfielder Rickey Henderson
Starting Pitcher Tommy John
Outfielder Dale Murphy
Outfielder Jim Rice
Relief pitcher Lee Smith


Here are the 17 players I chose not to mark:
Harold Baines, Jay Bell, David Cone, Andre Dawson, Ron Gant, Mark Grace, Don Mattingly, Mark McGwire, Jack Morris, Jessee Orosco, Dave Parker, Dan Plesac, Tim Raines, Alan Trammell, Greg Vaughn, Mo Vaughn, Matt Williams.

Why Blyleven, Henderson, John, Murphy, Rice and Smith? Because they deserve it.

McGwire might also prove to deserve it one day, but there is too much uncertainty about whether he used steroids to mark him this time. If he is cleared, he will certainly be elected.

For all I know, this might be the only time I have the privilege of voting. I'm glad I got to do it at least this once. I'll fax the ballot, rather than mail it, because I want to keep it and show it to my sons and their children.

Voting For Baseball's Next Hall Of Famers

One of my goals when I became a sportswriter in 1986 was to become a voter in baseball's Hall of Fame. In order to become a voter, a sportswriter must maintain membership in the Baseball Writers Association of America (BBWAA) for 10 consecutive seasons. I got my decade in this year, which made me eligible to vote for the first time.

My situation was complicated by my layoff from the Tampa Tribune in July. The day after I was let go, I e-mailed BBWAA secretary/treasurer Jack O'Connell, wondering whether the loss of my job affected my status as a Hall of Fame voter. As it turned out, because my dues were paid for this season, I maintain my status as a voter even though I no longer work for the newspaper.

Unfortunately, unless I join another news organization and maintain my membership in the BBWAA, this might be the only year I get to cast a ballot. So, I might only enjoy briefly one of the great privileges afforded members of my chosen profession.

My ballot came in the mail today. It included a letter from Jeff Idelson, president of the National Baseball Hall of Fame; a page showing how last year's voters cast their ballots; a ballot with the 23 eligible players; biographical information on the 23 eligible players; a stamped envelope in which to return my marked ballot; and on the back of Idelson's letter, an explanation of voting rules.

The voting rule that I wrote most about as the steroid era deepened over the past five years was Rule No. 5: "Voting shall be based upon the player's record, playing ability, integrity, sportsmanship, character and contributions to the team(s) on which the player played."

The italics and boldface type were inserted by me. You won't find these qualities included in the rules for election into the Pro Football Hall of Fame. In fact, the roomful of reporters who elect the NFL's greats each winter are specifically reminded only to consider a player's contributions ON THE FIELD.

We baseball writers have to take the measure of the man, as well as the player. That's a complicated thing. Who are we to judge based on the character of a fellow human being? Still, that's the rule. Character counts. It's a blurred line, though. Was Ty Cobb a good guy? Based on everything we think we know today about the man, not really. Yet, was he a Hall of Famer? You bet.

So, it's time to ponder my vote. Here are the eligible players, in alphabetical order: Harold Baines, Jay Bell, Bert Blyleven, David Cone, Andre Dawson, Ron Gant, Mark Grace, Rickey Henderson, Tommy John, Don Mattingly, Mark McGwire, Jack Morris, Dale Murphy, Jesse Orosco, Dave Parker, Dan Plesac, Tim Raines, Jim Rice, Lee Smith, Alan Trammell, Greg Vaughn, Mo Vaughn, Matt Williams.

The only players on the list I did not see play in person were Blyleven, John, Mattingly and Rice. I wrote often about Greg Vaughn, a former Devil Rays outfielder. I followed the career of one, Dale Murphy, as closely as any player I can recall (my cat's name is Murphy because of him). I'll carefully consider the qualifications of each before I mark my ballot. I can vote for no more than 10, and I'm not required to vote for any of them.

Meanwhile, I am open to advice from anyone who cares to weigh in on the merits of any of the 23. I can't promise I'll take that advice, but I will listen and consider everything I hear and read before I send off my ballot in time to meet the deadline of Dec. 31.