http://deadspin.com/5929361/how-espn-ditched-journalism-and-followed-skip-bayless-to-the-bottom-a-tim-tebow-story
John Koblin
In October, Doug Gottlieb, a radio host and basketball analyst who'd
decamped for CBS the previous month after nine years with ESPN, went
on The Dan Patrick Show and dropped something of a truth bomb about
his time in Bristol:
I was told specifically, "You can't talk enough Tebow." I would
jokingly throw it into a segment. "I gotta find 15 seconds here to
talk about Tebow, all right let's move on and talk about Major League
Baseball."
Later, he said:
Is it ridiculous how much you have to talk about Tebow? Yeah! But for
whatever reason people can't get enough of that story, and they kind
of stoke the fire—that's kind of what ESPN does.
Gottlieb was referring to the network's yearlong infatuation with
Tebow, a player who hasn't made much actual news since he was traded
to the Jets in March. Bristol executives have decided that what we want
—or what we should want—is Tebow. "They want to own the Tebow story,"
said Jim Miller, the author of the ESPN oral history Those Guys Have
All The Fun. "They want to put their watermark on it."
This helps explain why, over the summer, ESPN dispatched veteran
reporter Sal Paolantonio and a crew to cover Jets camp as if it were
the run-up to the Super Bowl. ("ESPN embarrassed themselves," Dan
Patrick, who spent 18 years in Bristol, said of ESPN's flood-the-zone
coverage in Florham Park.) This helps explain why ESPN2's First Take
referred to Tim Tebow more than seven dozen times in late May even
though there was absolutely no Tebow news to report on. This helps
explain why SportsCenter covered Tim Tebow's 25th birthday like a moon
landing. This helps explain why it seemed perfectly reasonable to a
SportsCenter anchor to ask in-studio guest Liam Neeson whether Tim
Tebow should be the Jets' starting quarterback even though Liam Neeson
had no clue what he was talking about. This helps explain how ESPN
wound up breaking Tim Tebow news to, yes, Tim Tebow.
The story of how ESPN fell in love with Tim Tebow is really the story
of a breakup, between ESPN and the business of reporting the news.
The story of how ESPN fell in love with Tim Tebow is really the story
of a breakup, between ESPN and the business of reporting the news.
* * *
The Tebow phenomenon—that is, the sustained celebrity of a football
player of only moderate ability—says as much about ESPN as it does
about the quarterback himself. For the better part of a decade, the
narrative about ESPN has held that the integrity of the news operation
is subordinate to the Worldwide Leader's business concerns. (Just
think back to The Decision or to the Bonds on Bonds docuseries before
that, the one that ceded editorial control to the Giants outfielder
and left Pedro Gomez, ESPN's Bonds beat guy, pressing his nose up
against his own network's window.) Given that ESPN has deals with
nearly every major league—and ignores the ones with which it doesn't
have deals—the question has become inescapable: How can the company
produce honest journalism when it's in business with, well, everybody?
ESPN has proven it can—the coverage of the replacement-ref fiasco in
the wake of the Green Bay-Seattle Monday night game was a high point—
but in recent months something began to shift. There was Tebowmania,
of course, but more quietly there were several incidents of
journalistic malpractice that were notable not for the egregiousness
of the crimes but for ESPN's total indifference to them (about which
more later). We weren't the only ones to notice. A member of the
newsroom was just as baffled as we were by the silence of a media
company that blankets the office in memos at the drop of a zipper.
"Producers were looking to duplicate the success of First Take,"
according to a Bristol insider. "Given what the ratings were, you
would have been an idiot not to talk Tebow. Decisions to talk Tebow
were conscious and deliberate."
Why does any of this matter? For one thing, journalism is in the
company's DNA. It's no exaggeration to say that the modern ESPN was
built on top of its robust news division. When now-executive editor
John Walsh—an editor at the Washington Post's Style section in its
heyday, an editor at '70s-era Rolling Stone, and a founding editor of
the short-lived, much-loved Inside Sports—arrived on Bristol's campus
in the late 1980s, he declared that a strong newsroom would give the
station the identity it had lacked to that point. As he staffed up,
Walsh cared more about reporting chops than TV readiness: Andrea
Kremer (hired from NFL Films), Robin Roberts (from local TV and radio
in Atlanta), Peter Gammons (from The Boston Globe and Sports
Illustrated), Jimmy Roberts (from ABC News), Chris Mortensen (the
Atlanta Journal-Constitution and The National). Print people? Some
inexperience? Didn't matter. Talent did.
ESPN left its mark on the major stories of the early '90s—Pete Rose,
Magic Johnson, the O.J. saga—and competitors noticed. They worried
about ESPN's reach. Well, actually, not just its reach. They feared
its audience and its journalistic chops. Here's The Franchise: A
History of Sports Illustrated Magazine author Michael MacCambridge
talking in Those Guys Have All the Fun:
[Former Sports Illustrated managing editor] Mark Mulvoy was just
obsessed with whatever ESPN was doing. A lot of writers at Sports
Illustrated couldn't understand that and asked, 'Why are we so worried
about ESPN?' but to Mulvoy's credit, he saw that the paradigm was
changing and the primacy that Sports Illustrated had enjoyed in the
media world was being usurped by ESPN. And the reason was not because
ESPN was a cable network with x number of viewers; the reason was
Walsh had invested SportsCenter with a journalistic authority that had
not existed before he got there, and that did not exist anywhere else
where people did sports reporting on TV. Mulvoy was scared, and in
retrospect, he was right.
David Hill, the longtime head of Fox Sports, has called Walsh ESPN's
"secret weapon." Longtime Disney chief executive Michael Eisner, in
his 1998 autobiography Work In Progress, said Walsh's hiring was one
of the two turning points for ESPN (the other was getting part of the
NFL's Sunday night package in 1987). Walsh's genius, in Eisner's
estimation? He "recognized that it was possible to lure viewers to
ESPN with strong reporting about sports, even in instances where the
network didn't have broadcast rights to a big event," Eisner writes.
And it helps when the centerpiece show, SportsCenter, runs three times
a day. This seems obvious now, but think about how you watched sports
at the time: You watched them live. ESPN provided a self-contained
alternative—highlights, reportage, and analysis—without having to open
its wallet to buy every "big event," though eventually ESPN would grow
profitable enough to want to do that, too. It was a deliriously
effective business model. Today, ESPN is worth $40 billion, about $5
billion more than the combined value of every NFL team.
"You can't say enough about how important their news operation is,"
said Miller. "If you take John Walsh and [director of news] Vince
Doria out of its history, ESPN is a fundamentally different place.
It's a less important place, it's a less successful place."
But that success has created problems for the newsroom, which operates
within a distortion field that the company's size creates. Doria, for
instance, recently suggested to media reporter Ed Sherman that
passionate local hockey fandom "really doesn't transfer much" to the
"national discussion," which overlooked the fact that ESPN is the
national discussion. If the network doesn't talk about hockey—and the
evidence is strong that, lacking an NHL television contract, it won't—
the nation doesn't talk about hockey, either.
And how much power does the newsroom have, anyway? One of the
SportsCenter anchors who hosted the bizarre Tebow birthday bash said
that she wasn't that into the idea. But she didn't have a choice.
Here's Sage Steele speaking to SportsBiz USA (emphasis mine):
When it's Tim Tebow, when it's Tiger Woods, when it's Brett Favre, the
numbers are such they support the bosses' decision to do this stuff.
Not all the time. We can sit there in the newsroom and argue all we
want. Which many of us do. When they come out and say, 'OK Sage, fine,
here's a rating,' what do I say? What do I say? I can't fight that.
[…]
Unfortunately, when we do stories in that manner, I can't argue with
fans (who criticize ESPN). I can't. So hopefully we can squash all
that talk and cover more teams…I agree with people who are
complaining. But I also agree with our bosses who say, 'OK, it's the
business. Look at the ratings. They might hate it. But they're still
watching.' People might hate Skip Bayless. But they're still watching.
As a result, the steady stream of Tebow non-news is as much a part of
ESPN's identity now as Chris Berman doing NFL highlights on Sunday
night.
"It's great when they choose to flood the zone on a story that's
really important—like the Pete Rose trial early in their history," Jim
Miller said. "Nobody can do it the way they can, that's fantastic. But
when they do it to a story that doesn't necessarily warrant the
attention they're giving it, it gets confusing to viewers. It hurts
your pedigree.
"It's kind of out of whack," he continued. "You risk losing an
identity for a news organization that they've been building for 20
years."
* * *
The story of ESPN's Tebow obsession really begins last year. In
September 2011, ESPN2's First Take, having gone through several
different lives (a faint imitation of a morning TV show, a debate-cum-
variety show), went to an all-debate format starring former newspaper
columnist Skip Bayless. This new iteration wasn't all that popular
with other producers in Bristol, a source said, but the decision was
made after ESPN consulted a focus group.
"We focus-grouped it to people and realized pretty quickly that
viewers wanted debate," hot-shot First Take producer Jamie Horowitz
told Men's Journal. "In particular, they wanted to see Skip debate."
Producers around the network saw it the same way a lot of us do: as
willful crap. Staged disagreement. On the show, Bayless would be
pitted against another panelist—often a black counterpart, including
Stephen A. Smith, who is now the full-time co-host—and "debate" him or
her, Crossfire-style, on the sports topic of the moment. Around the
time that Bayless become the country's most visible and outspoken
Tebow supporter—which ultimately spawned this abomination and the 4
million clicks that went with it—ratings for the show began to climb.
Before long, a source told me, higher-minded Bristol producers
swallowed their pride and acknowledged that something was working. And
the producers who really took notice? The ones who worked on the live
morning edition of ESPN's SportsCenter, which runs opposite First
Take. The morning SportsCenter's producers had a problem: First Take
was eating into its ratings. In September 2011, the 10 a.m. and 11
a.m. editions of SportsCenter had 636,000 more viewers a day than the
same time slot that First Take owned on ESPN2, according to data from
Nielsen. Over the next six months, a period that stretched from
Tebow's emergence in Denver through his trade to New York, First Take
narrowed that deficit each month. By March, when Tim Tebow was traded
to the Jets, the SportsCenter lead was down to 182,000 viewers—less
than a third of what its margin had been.
A programming battle ensued. Morning SportsCenter producers "noticed
that First Take was killing them in ratings with Tebow stuff, so they
made a conscious effort to deliver more Tebow," the source said. "ESPN
is a competitive environment and the competition between SportsCenter
and First Take is very real."
It resulted in the sort of skirmishes that you might find ESPN
fighting outside the company. At times, SportsCenter producers made
sure that certain NFL analysts weren't available for First Take, the
source said. When SportsCenter went all-in on Tebow during Jets
training camp in a way, some folks in Bristol saw it as a move to
neutralize First Take.
"Producers were looking to duplicate the success of First Take," said
our Bristol insider. "Given what the ratings were, you would have been
an idiot not to talk Tebow. Decisions to talk Tebow were conscious and
deliberate."
A small, prideful ratings battle had metastasized around the network.
ESPN had become the source for Tebow news, whether it bled into
SportsCenter or into its various NFL shows or its Monday night pre-
game show or its NFL reporters' Twitter feeds or its dot-com stories
or its SportsNation polls.
And what dawned on a segment of the newsroom was something that
would've seemed absurd even five years ago: Skip Bayless and Stephen
A. Smith were indirectly setting the editorial agenda for the biggest
platform in the sports world. As our source put it to me, First Take's
ratings surge late last year "completely changed" the look of ESPN.
* * *
Meanwhile, there were smaller moments that, taken as a whole,
suggested ESPN was long past caring about its news operation. A
litany:
Our old friend, Sarah Phillips, was a weekly contributor to ESPN's
website while also moonlighting as a sort of social-media huckster.
The red flags were there when she was hired—a lack of experience, a
trail of accusations in the message boards of the betting website
where she briefly contributed—but she was given a column anyway
because, as she put it, "they thought I was pretty, quick witted, and
knew my stuff."
Lynn Hoppes, an ESPN senior writer and former senior editor (he was
the guy who recruited the scam artist mentioned above), was caught
copying-and-pasting from Wikipedia and occasionally from press
releases, too. ESPN called Hoppes lazy, but it turns out no editors
over there could be bothered with updating any of his stories that we
flagged. There are no editors' notes appended to Hoppes's stories; no
corrections or links or attributions or clarifications. They exist
exactly as they did before our initial story was published. He remains
employed.
In July, a German soccer player Lukas Podolski claimed that an
interview posted to ESPN's Soccernet never actually happened. The
story was removed from the web, and all Bristol had to say was that
the interview was conducted by a "freelance contributor," and that the
company was looking into "sourcing questions." A few weeks after the
incident, I asked ESPN for an update; a spokesman gave me the same
statement that was trotted out after Bristol deleted the story. Was
the interview made up? Was it conducted when Podolski thought it was
off the record? Who knows?
Later that month, a SportsCenter anchor read on air, word for word,
without attribution, something written by RealGM.com about Dwight
Howard. An ESPN spokesman said steps were being taken to prevent it
from happening again.
Three weeks later, it happened again.
In September, ESPN's soccer blog initially failed to credit an SI
writer, who raised a small fuss over the omission. Poynter gave ESPN a
slap on the wrist for that one.
The same month, ESPN scooped itself when a video posted to ESPN.com
broke the news that prized college hoops recruit Demetrius Jackson had
elected to go to Notre Dame. The video was quickly yanked. Why?
Jackson's announcement was scheduled to be broadcast exclusively by
ESPNU later that evening—a staged event that for obvious reasons was
more important to ESPN than the news itself.
These cover the waterfront of journalistic malfeasance: plagiarism,
fabrication, a hiring clusterfuck, business decisions masquerading as
news judgment, business decisions overriding news judgment. Taken
individually, none of these missteps is pervasively illuminating. All
newsrooms screw up. But here's why the recent incidents tell us lots
about how ESPN regards journalism: nothing happened.
At any newsroom around the country, these dust-ups would prompt a self-
administered proctology exam. There'd be earnest committee
assignments, standards-and-practices reviews, a "Letter to Our
Readers" or two. None of the mea culpas really matter in the grand
scheme of things—mistakes will go on happening no matter how many
seminars the Poynter Institute convenes on the subject—but the point
is to let your readers and colleagues know that you're deeply
concerned about these things, that somewhere a standard is being
upheld. But if any of this were happening in Bristol, it would come as
a surprise to the rank and file in the newsroom.
"What's funny is that as soon as the Steve Phillips [sex scandal] went
down, they were very proactive about informing us on company policies
and all that jazz," said one ESPN insider. "This?" the source went on,
referring to Hoppes, Phillips, and the quote fabrication. "Crickets."
* * *
"It is a business first and foremost," Bruce Feldman, a 16-year
veteran of ESPN who left for CBS last year, told me. "The people who
run the company told me as much when I was going through it with them.
There's still an element of ESPN that does journalism and there are
some people there who are really good journalists. But above all it is
a business."
Feldman ran into his own problems with ESPN. (Long story short, for
those who don't remember the "Free Bruce" episode: Feldman told ESPN
brass that he was writing a book with then-Texas Tech coach Mike
Leach. ESPN brass approved. Then when Leach decided to sue ESPN over
its coverage of the Adam James affair, network execs ignored the fact
they had given Feldman permission and suspended him. He chose to leave
the network.)
"ESPN serves two masters—entertainment and journalism, information—and
depending on the day, we're probably only serving one of those," said
one ESPN insider. "We can't be purely journalistic because we have too
many business interests with the subject we're supposed to cover
objectively. But in a way, it's a copout. We move the journalistic
line when it suits us."
And occasionally that line grades into incoherence. On Oct. 8, in
anticipation of the Texans-Jets Monday night game, which was broadcast
on ESPN, ESPN.com splashed a 3,100-word Skip Bayless story answering
the question no one was asking: Why is Skip Bayless such a staunch
supporter of Tim Tebow? During the pre-game show, there were segments
devoted to Tebow. An ESPN New York Jets beat reporter breathlessly
tweeted that Tebow was throwing more in pre-game warm-ups than he ever
had before and this had to mean something.
What was it that Doug Gottlieb told Dan Patrick? He said "they kind of
stoke the fire—that's kind of what ESPN does." That's not quite right,
though. On this Monday night, ESPN didn't just stoke the fire. ESPN
was the fire, the fireplace, the poker being jabbed at the coals, and
the coals, too. The newsroom was covering a "story" that another wing
had manufactured.
As Dan Patrick told Gottlieb: "They've lost that credibility, a large
portion of the credibility of covering news. I think that it's now:
'What's trending?' Focus groups. You're trying to create things
there."
In the end? Tebow saw seven snaps for a team that lost and fell to
2-3. During the game, ESPN's stat line at the bottom indicated that
Tebow was 0 for 1 passing because a receiver dropped the ball. And it
turns out he was throwing all those balls in the pre-game because he
was a little bored. Game 2 of the Orioles-Yankees ALDS ran opposite
the Texans-Jets game, but 14 million viewers tuned in to watch
football anyway—about a million more than the Monday Night Football
average. It was a bad night for journalism, but a good one for ESPN.
Image by Jim Cooke