John Wooden: Is This Really Newsworthy?
I forgot something last night.
It’s one of those things that rowels you to lie awake
in your bed for hours, all glossy eyed as you stare at the ceiling, raking
your head for that one…piece…of…information.
You figure that tomorrow won’t be right without the
news because goshdarnit, it’s important!
I laid on my back for what seemed an eternity, and
that “something” I happened to forget quickly managed to change into
“something” I hated. I eventually fell into a subconscious daze until the
sunlight rushed into my dorm windows at 6: 43 a.m.
I checked the computer and, well…the “something” that
I forgot was John R. Wooden. Yes, I flunked on basketball’s most respected
and honored man, ever.
All last night, I ran through the Nelson basketball
file from the day before: Carmello Anthony, Latrell Sprewell, George Karl,
Bob Huggins (again), Michael Finley (again), Brandon Rush (finally!). Still
nothing. It was painful. It was downright embarrassing. It was vexing and
troublesome.
And the worst part of it all: forgetting Wooden was
far too simple.
“Shocked and saddened.”
“I must withdraw my support.”
“The club has a legal duty to defend its trademarks.”
“I'm feeling better than I have a right to feel at my
age.”
“I never say never.”
Last night, soundbites ran through my brain as if my
ears were L.A. and New York and everything in between was Route 66. They
came with enough frequency to convince me of my thought’s legitimacy, but
also continued to remind me of my inadequate memory.
Suddenly it would fly in one ear…and I’d lose it again
out the other.
I started calling the soundbites demons.
And, of course, the demons didn’t stop there. All the
while, they sat on my shoulder, whispering I was crazy. They said I was
looking for nothing. That I was squeezing my brain because of psychological
insecurity. They said I wasted time.
That I worried about nothing.
The demons came at the most random moments. They
tormented me because I knew that I once knew. I understood that I once
understood. I recognized that I once recognized.
But why all this worrying in the first place? Why
then? What for?
Looking back, the answer is obvious: I should’ve paid
more attention in class.
It’s one of the (seemingly 50) Elements of News
journalists are taught over and over until their brains practically ooze the
five, six and ten o’clock newscasts.
It’s called prominence.
John R. Wooden is a name recognized by the sport
unconscious as well as sports cognoscenti’s. Wooden’s name is in the news
solely because his name is Wooden. He, quite simply, is prominent.
That’s why I couldn’t quite remember but still had the
nagging demons running through my head.
Is it really top news that Wooden won't present the
eponymic collegiate player of the year award? The legend will be 95 years
old when March roles around again. He’s got to call it quits sometime. We
all knew that.
Heck, the award’s name isn’t going to change or
anything!
If the award was named after anyone else, money says
ESPN wouldn’t even mention it.
So when I saw that computer this morning, I could only
think one thing: those demons weren’t really demonic.
They were trying to warn me. I worried about nothing.
