The Merkinist: A Chink In Our Armor
I wrote this a few days ago about Jeremy Lin, the media coverage chasing and exalting and exploiting his story, and where we’ve seen this before (and personal anecdote included).
Earlier this morning, ESPN.com ran a headline about Knicks sensation Jeremy Lin, the 23-year-old, out-of-nowhere point guard who has lit up the league and lifted a disappointing team to national prominence once again. He’s got legitimate NBA size and build, and real game, too, with the ability to drive hard to the basket, make impressive passes and nail last second three pointers. He’s been the key to the Knicks’ sudden seven game winning streak, and ball-crazy New York — along with the sensation-crazy internet — has been going nuts for Lin, including finding every conceivable pun for a last name that stretches across his jersey alone in a league of Andersons, Jameses and Millers.
Jeremy Lin is Asian — a Taiwanese-American from Palo Alto, California who went to Harvard — and after a turnover-laden game that marked his first loss as a Knicks starter, ESPN.com splashed the words “A Chink in the Armor” underneath a photo of him mishandling the basketball. The internet — the same internet that has turned a God-loving novice into a search term that out-Googles Jesus — is outraged. And, of course, the headline was egregious, offensive and downright racist. But to act as if this gross mistake wasn’t coming, to fake shock that anyone could even think of his race, is nearly as bad.
As a sports-crazed kid growing up around New York City in the early part of the previous decade, I had posters and carefully-scissored Post and Daily News back pages chronicling the brief and glorious run of the National League Champion Mets lining my bedroom walls. I had Mike Piazza, the super star, Edgardo Alfonzo, the quiet rock, and Robin Ventura, the charismatic face of the team, staring at me from all directions, as if to say, we couldn’t have done it without you, Jordan.
My real sports idols, however, were Gary Cohen and Howie Rose, the play-by-play broadcasters who wove those tales of hardball glory over WFAN, which I’d listen to with the TV on mute and was the number one pre-set on all the various radios that I kept stashed under my pillow for all those extra-inning games on school nights. As scrawny Jewish kid, I knew from an early age that my best chance to make it in pro sports wasn’t on the field, but in the media.
Notes
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jordansheartsucks reblogged this from merkinist and added:
coverage chasing...before (and personal anecdote included).
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merkinist posted this
