Good evening everyone.  So good of you to join me.

Many of you in this room tonight, most of whom I recognize...hello Tim...embarked upon your sports writing career in much the same way.  Fresh out of J-School (or community college or vocational school or Mrs. Pebblebottom's eighth grade English Composition as the case, and exacting standards of your current employer may be), wide eyed and ambitious, you were ready to...Nay!  You WOULD change the world of sports and sports writing FOREVER!

From your humble beginnings churning out breathless filler copy about local Tiddle-Y-Wink tourneys or "professional" wrestling, you were determined to forge ahead, undaunted, until such time as you fulfilled that manifest destiny you just KNEW was yours for the taking.  And when the accolades and the Pulitzers and the groupies you would so richly deserve finally came rolling in, you would sit atop your giant mountains of money and publishing contracts and broken SI editors and laugh maniacally at the poor bastards you crushed along the road to the pinnacle and over whom you now hold total dominion, all the while sipping Cuba Libras and hand rolling Cuban cigars between the thighs of Mayan virgins.  Oh, how glorious it would be!

But, alas, not everyone can be Mitch Albom.

It is truly a cold, cruel business, this.  For there is such a fine line between glory, gobs of money or random appearances in the New York Times and being consigned to a lifetime of knuckle pounding for the local rag that it is to weep.

That line is called "talent".  Some have it.  Some do not.  Those who have it are not in this room.  For the rest of you wretched souls, I have come to offer hope.  I will show you how to keep your job in three easy steps.  Yes, that's right.  No matter your rampant alcoholism borne of disillusionment or your debilitating self esteem problems or your constant need for praise because Mommy didn't hug you enough, I will tell you how to keep collecting that pay cheque and stay on that expense account gravy train with a minimum of effort.

Imagine if you will, a one team town.  It is the off-season.  Not much, if anything is happening.  Your editors are getting grumpy, increasingly paranoid, and maybe just a little handsy.  Suddenly, you hear through a guy who knows a guy who has a buddy whose girlfriend overheard a client in the "massage parlor" she "cleans" say something to the effect that one of the team's star players may be unhappy following a recent and very raw playoff defeat.  Moreover, that star player has, in the past, been somewhat of a lightning rod for fan criticism whether deserved or not.  So what do you do?  Why, you run with that shit!  You run with that shit and you milk it for all it's worth, that's what.  And here's how...

Step 1: Keep it "in the wind"

This step is based on the assumption that you've all spent many preceding years carefully cultivating a reputation for driving your local professional sports figures to distraction with baseless accusations and/or idiotic personal questions to the point where they want nothing more to do with the team you're covering, the city in which it plays or the country itself.  Am I right?  I am?  Excellent.  Then let us move on.

First, gain the General Manager's trust and attention with innocuous questions about, say, the impending loss to free agency of a much loved and admired defenceman everybody knows the team has no hope of keeping.  Next, ambush him with a question about a routine end of season meeting with said "star" player in which he may mentioned his frustration over how the season ended (note: be sure to mention that "sources tell me" or "there are indications Player X may have asked for a trade during the meeting" to lend the veneer of credibility without the merest shred of actual proof).

Then reverse the order in which the questions were asked in the resulting newspaper column.  Finally, have some hapless intern slap a salacious, attention grabbing headline on the offending article, something to the effect of "...GM Will Talk To 'Unhappy' Player X".  Pat yourself on the back for another hard day's work and order a round of drinks and chicken wings for your buddies at the bar.

Step 2: Stoke the fire

As the backlash from the Great Unwashed (pffft...what the hell do they know?) to your so called "irresponsible" bit of journalistic license grows to a crescendo, ask your boss to pen a defense of your cause while you hide in a nearby Denny's.  When that doesn't work quite as well as planned, ask him to do it again, only this time, ensure that he also insults those same Unwashed who would dare hurl aspersions upon your Great Omniscience in the first place.  Maintain your own brave silence for several weeks.

Step 3: Tie everything up in a neat little bow.  Or...do you?

Sooner or later the object of your "scoop" will have no choice but to directly address your original assertion that he's demanded a trade out of town.  This is where things could get a little awkward.

Whereas you and your colleagues have spent the previous days, weeks, months selflessly speculating on the player's true wishes based on little more than innuendo and the voices in your shower drain while being sure to present it as solid journalism lest your artificial view of your own importance come crashing down around your ears, the player in question may put paid to all of this with a single, public and irrefutable denial.  So how can you possibly save face and avoid exposing yourselves for the the talentless hacks you are?  Easy.  Either spin it as the return of the Prodigal Son, in which case the grand Fifth Estate has nothing to be ashamed of (after all, the dude just changed his mind!) at all, ever.

Or better yet, insert a shameless bit of editorializing in a "straight" news story written by the most pathetic "reporter" on your staff that basically calls that player a lying sack of pus towing the party line in the same article that player is calling you out on your bullshit:

Still, there have to be those outside Ottawa wondering what’s going on with the Senators. It was only last summer that Dany Heatley demanded his way out of the nation’s capital. That the possibility of trading Spezza was mentioned less than a year later had to raise some eyebrows.

Much better than having to admit you pulled all of this out of your ass three months ago, isn't it?  Yes.  Yes it is.

Wait...You know what?  On second thought, none of you deserve my help.  You're all just shills and hacks and no talent asses looking to skate on outrage and controversy, and you make me want to puke, kill myself and shiv a vagrant all at the same time.  In short, you're all fucking pathetic and we're all dumber for having paid any attention to you whatsoever.

Now if you'll excuse me, I need to go roll a smoke.

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