As you can probably tell from reading the column, I liked Rose. I found him to be humble and thoughtful. Let’s see how long that lasts. My nephews think it was a really big deal that I got to meet Rose, as well as some of his teammates. But for me the best part of writing this story was getting to meet and hang out with the greatest of all modern sports columnists, Rick Reilly, formerly of SI, now of ESPN.

Reilly was sitting on the floor of the Bulls locker room. I thought he looked familiar but couldn’t place the face right away. I introduced myself and learned, to my horror, that he was also planning to write a column about Rose. His turned out pretty well, too.

Reilly has always been one of my favorite columnists. I put him up in the highest tier, with Mike Royko and Red Smith. He’s almost always funny, but he can also hit hard when the story calls for it.

So, while I was upset that I was going to have to share Derrick Rose with Reilly, I was happy to watch him work. First of all, he didn’t use a tape recorder, and he barely took notes. He scribbled a little bit on the back of a folder.

I’ve been writing newspaper and magazine stories since I was 16–which means I’ve been doing the same simple job more or less for 30 years. But I learned some new tricks watching Reilly. He had no more than 10 minutes at a time with Rose, but he established an instant rapport, joking around with him instead of firing questions. Too often, journalists, including me, squeeze their sources to answer questions, especially when time is short. Reilly just let the conversation flow. Of course, he’d also done his homework. He wanted to ask Rose about his bodyguards. But instead of asking, “Do you have bodyguards?” or, “Why do you have bodyguards?” he asked, “Do your bodyguards carry guns?” Rose didn’t get defensive. He answered the question straight. That led him into a discussion about how he’s adapted to stardom.

It was also interesting to see how Reilly tried out some of his material on Rose. When Rose complained that he had to hang in the air longer than he expected to catch an alley-oop pass, Reilly didn’t miss a beat. “I hate it when that happens,” he said.

Funny guy, great columnist.

Oh, and I paid tribute to him in my story. The line I use about Michael Jordan bikini-waxing Dennis Rodman, that’s my imitation of Rick Reilly. Remember, it’s not plagiarism; it’s an homage.

A few years back, a talented screenwriter took a shot at converting my book on Lou Gehrig into a screenplay. He invented a couple of scenes and inserted a few characters, but, all in all, I thought he did a hell of a good job. That’s because his inventions helped capture Gehrig’s character in a way that a historically accurate film never could have. His Gehrig was MUCH better than Gary Cooper’s Gehrig in “Pride of the Yankees.” Don’t get me started about that movie. What a disaster! POY made up dialogue and characters and played fast and loose with the facts–but not in the service of giving us a sense of the real Gehrig. POY gives the viewer a better sense of Eleanor Gehrig than Lou, although she’s wildly distorted too.

My point is this: We don’t go to the movies to get the truth. We go to be entertained. So Pride of the Yankees succeeded as entertainment, I suppose. It sold a lot of tickets and won big awards. I would have preferred a different scenario. I would have preferred that the distorted facts worked toward giving a sense of Gehrig’s true nature. But with the movies, you get what the directors wants, and that may or may not have anything to do with historical accuracy.

Books are a better bet. No sure thing, but a better bet.

I thought the NYT had a great discussion of the subject today in this article.

Miranda writes:

Internet identity can create a new complication for reporters in search of sources.

Take the recent sex toy scandal at Northwestern University for example. While most NU students would probably agree that the entire controversy was overblown, some of the students who witnessed the sex toy demonstration felt reluctant to comment to news organizations, regardless of whether reporters worked for campus media or CNN. These students kept their silence mainly because they didn’t want their names to be associated with a sex toy controversy on the Internet. Since employers can easily enter the names of potential employees into Internet search engines, it might not come off well for a job seeker to pop up in a story about a sex toy. One student told me that she feared a future boss might think she was a sexual pervert and not hire her if she offered a comment in defense of the NU course’s professor.

Something similar to this happened to me. My godfather happened to Google my name one day and noticed that it popped up on a bunch of pro-marijuana websites.  After my godfather began cracking jokes and teasing me, I explained to him that the only reason my name appeared on these websites was because they picked up a story I’d written. (Last spring The Daily Northwestern assigned me to cover a speaker who lectured on the reasons why marijuana is less dangerous than alcohol.) The story had nothing to do with my personal views on marijuana, but search engines now link me with marijuana supporters.

While these pro-marijuana associations have gotten buried until the six, seventh and eighth pages of my Google identity as I’ve written other stories, non-journalists typically don’t have a large cushion of stories to hide under. This can make sources reluctant to voice their opinions and make ordinary people more conscious of their public image. Internet identities also give reporters something new to consider when they try to minimize harm in accordance with journalism ethics.

Quite frankly, this post’s subject matter definitely will not improve my Google id.

And here is Epstein’s hilarious and smart take.

As for me, I must be getting old, because my first reaction was this: I’d be pretty damn ticked if one of my kids wasted time and money taking a bullshit class like this from a bozo professor like that.

I love going to book festivals. For one thing, I get to meet a lot of authors who I’ve read and admired through the years. In Miami a couple of months ago I met Kay Redfield Jamison. In Austin, I met Hampton Sides, T.J. Stiles, James McGrath Morris, James L. Swanson, and Jeff Lindsay. Lindsay is one of the funniest people on the planet. I had never heard of his Dexter books (oops!), or the TV series (oops!), but he was cool when I told him. Let’s see if I turn up dead in his next book, though.

In Tucson I’m looking forward to seeing Stephen Fried (Appetite for America), Julia Glass, Frank Deford, C.J. Box, and Stiles.

And if I can possibly manage to meet Pete Dexter or Elmore Leonard, I’ll try to remain calm.

The other great thing about these festivals: They’re packed with people who love books.

Like in the old days!

Bring it on.

Piano Practice With Tiger Dad

Speaking of book reviews, here’s my response to Amy Chua’s new book, Battle Hymn of the Tiger Mother.

Ever notice that some book reviews never get around to reviewing the book?

They start with a riff by the reviewer that suggests he knows more about the subject than the book’s author. Then they summarize the story contained in the book. Then they single out some flaw in the book that may or may not be important. When I get done reading one of these reviews, I have no idea whether the book is worth reading or not.

Here’s one–Jay McInerney’s take on the new J.D. Salinger bio–that does the job the right way. It’s not about McInerney, it’s about Salinger and the new biography. Told me everything I wanted to know, and did it stylishly.