Blog

Tom Hoffarth / FartherOffTheWall.com

We’ll try to keep this short and non-Tweet.

This whole Twitter thing — it was what it was. And now, for us, it isn’t.

Coaxed into the virtual party year ago, engaging on-and-off-and-on because of the enjoyably toxic exchange of ideas, opinions, observations and usable information. Driven out by, who really knows why.

But for better or not-so-worse, and few regrets, we’re dropping the mike.

We can’t say it has nothing to do with all the recent news of its ownership change, employee layoffs, workers distress, policy ideas floated, or the welcoming back of at least one major proponent of abusive-minded posts that push Freedom of Speech to absurd limits. But that’s only an ugly slice of it.

(And by the way: Our deepest respect continues for Dan LeBatard, as he continuously calls out those who allow “dangerous rhetoric” to take place, has an effective continual proper use of the phrase “orange, racist turd,” and eventually has come, like us, to the sad conclusion that he can’t honestly advise anyone thinking of getting into journalism after the way the industry has allowed to be “trashed … How can I advise anybody to choose that as a career path when it feels so unsafe?”)

"This orange, racist turd without a subtlety in his body be able to just crush my industry with 'Fake News, Fake News!' as I see propaganda takeover and misinformation all over the internet." https://t.co/Coyzx9JSjQ

— Awful Announcing (@awfulannouncing) November 19, 2022

And there we lazily go, using another Tweet to illustrate a point.

When you’re handed a loaded social-media weapon of mass distraction, not always having the discipline to fire without being ready or aiming correctly at nothing in particular, you hope you learn things about your own self. We did.

We have no memorable exchanges in our Twitter chronicles. We doubt we will even take any steps to save whatever we posted. It was there for the moment captured somewhere perhaps in someone’s archives like any conversation you would have with a person. We will remember the best parts and try to learn from the worst all while not getting consumed with trying to save everything we’ve ever sat or posted.

Maybe we pulled an Irish goodbye. We didn’t announce “so long” to anyone. We just left the party as quietly and cautiously as we entered it years ago.

We had our reservations about it before we even joined in, finally coaxed in by a colleague who thought “you’d be really good at this.” Quick, witty opinions. Networking. Linking to stories that carried some weight and otherwise might be missed.

We had already seen some of our friends leave in the past few weeks. One said he was tired of getting a new wave of threats from a community of random followers. Another said the platform just felt like an abusive ex-spouse.

We enjoyed posting things like the view of a sunset from our front porch, date and time stamping it. It would draw a few likes or retweets, but even those became fewer and fewer.

If the simple things you’re trying to share aren’t being accepted, and the quality of the platform continues to crumble, you can either ride it out to an ugly finish, cursing and screaming about it, or politely exit, stage whatever, and embrace exchange services that are more aligned with what you’re trying to accomplish.

Like LinkedIn. Solid, reliable, a place with a purpose.

We recently read (and shared) this piece from The Atlantic — “The Age of Social Media is Ending” — that seemed to explain best to us how and why some got here and there in the first place. It was very complimentary of the LinkedIn mission statement and how it was still staying in that lane of engagement.

We’re all in, the more we use it.

It’s been a couple days now and we’re remembering the line from the movie “Office Space,” where the hired consultants talk to the employee in an interview:

“We hear you’d been missing working lately.”

“Well, I wouldn’t say I’m missing it,” he replies.

We don’t really miss Twitter. The addictive, dopamine nature of it – finding something new to stimulate the brain every three seconds, generating a response, thinking through it before posting, then ultimately deciding whether it may or may not provide some entertainment and information to someone else – actually is a nice thing to avoid.

We’re just in another career-related makeover, and we don’t need anchors around our ankles moving forward. And, in the end, as we pulled the plug last week, Twitter felt just that way.

In the end, our Twitter bio just said two simple words – “Yesterday’s news” – because that’s how we’ve felt about things.

And that has changed.

We’re in the present, moving forward. Twitter is yesterday’s news.

Tom Hoffarth / FartherOffTheWall.com

Forty years ago, this happened.

A contest of attempted athleticism followed this photo op. And then, probably, a trip to Tommy’s hours later in the rain for some comfort food.

The Daily Trojan (representing a university that once had a separate school of journalism, now consolidated into a communications department) kept up the tradition of collecting members its newspaper staff to participate in an annual flag football contest against the Daily Bruin (a school still without a journalism program but with access to newsprint).

This battle of wits has been called the “Blood Bowl.”

Mostly, it’s just a few scrapes and skid marks. A black eye or two. Maybe even self-inflicted. Nothing to call Keck Medicine about.

This meet and greet happens on an agreed-upon day leading up to the scheduled USC-UCLA football contest. The home team aligns with whether the “real” game happens either at the Coliseum or the Rose Bowl.

That game, for what it’s worth, hasn’t really inspired a nickname. Marketeers have tried to incorporate some “gauntlet” thing. A “Victory Bell” is always at stake. We once took a media poll and the consensus was to call it “The ‘Wood vs. the Hood.”

In 1982, the Blood Bowl was at the UCLA practice field next to Pauley Pavilion – that’s in the background of this photo. It came prior to the Nov. 20 Trojans-Bruins season-ending game at the Rose Bowl. That one was won by No. 11 UCLA, 20-19, when Karl Morgan sacked Scott Tinsley on a two-point conversion attempt with no time left – there was no overtime, so No. 15 USC and coach John Robinson, ineligible for the postseason because of NCAA sanctions, decided to go for the victory instead of a tie — but that’s incidental to any of this and should not be mentioned again).

UCLA also defeated USC in this Blood Bowl – we remember it as 12-0 mess on a muddy Spaulding Field that involved slipping, sliding and sloppiness in inappropriate shoes.

My one contribution was falling down while trying to cover a UCLA receiver, but an under-thrown pass landed right in my hands. I cradled it for an interception and felt like Ronnie Lott.

Forty years later, what else could possibly be memorable? Depends on your mental capacity.

When InsideSC.com scribe Scott Wolf posted this team photo recently, real estate financier and UCLA grad Michael Gottleib had a response:

“I was on the advertising team for Daily Bruin and played in that game.  …  The advertising guys carried the load. My recollection is UCLA won 6-0. I scored on a 99 yard hook and ladder and that was the only score. It was …  and was testy for sure. I graduated but came back for next game at USC, and I recall a few scuffles in that game and one of the TV stations aired some highlights on the news. I didn’t think there was a bigger highlight than my TD, but now I can see I played against Randy Johnson.”

Yes, we had Randy Johnson.

And he was magnificently terrible.

When the once-aspiring Daily Trojan photographer (now is a pretty famous photographer – see his body of work) was inducted into the Baseball Hall of Fame in 2015, I thought it was appropriate to post this column explaining all his contributions to the contest.

That included a Daily Trojan touchdown called back because of an illegal block downfield – by Johnson.

Not to be too star struck, but UCLA had some notable names on its side as well, that we choose not to mention here for fear of ego inflation. You know who you were, David Kahn.

Wait, you had a bunch of guys from the ad department on your roster? From this team photo, I can tell you there’s no Mad Men present. Just journos. Pretty much. And a freakin’ Hall of Famer who knew how to snap off a Konica lens when the time calls for it.

And for what it’s worth, as noted in G. Scott Thomas’ new book, “Cooperstown at the Crossroads,” Johnson in his first year of eligibility received 97.27 percent of the votes to top the ballot, ahead of Pedro Martinez, John Smoltz and Craig Biggio, and Johnson’s “quality score of 89 points established him as the top-rated inductee since Mike Schmidt two decades earlier.”

Not sure exactly what that means, but all we know is we never took the time to ask the Big Unit to autograph any one of our bruises. Because, well, who knew?

Forty years is kinda mind blowing to look at that team photo, which exists only on photo paper, created in a dark room. If the game and everything around it was in full color, this is what we have now as the memory — like the last wedding scene in the movie “Diner.”

These were the career-aspiring, pre-Internet, read-the-newspaper ass kickers who laughed and wrote and drank and wrote and crammed and wrote and got on each other and wrote.

Guys and girls, some of whose names I can’t remember, and surely, they don’t recall mine either. Some are just nicknames given to them at 4 in the morning during some deadline rush to get the paper finished so we could figure out how we’d attempt that 8 a.m. Science For the Non-Scientist Class.

Over the last four decades, a few of them did really special things in big-time journalism. Even the guy wearing a lacrosse shirt. Maybe that’s why we were confused about what we were doing out there.

I see my trusted roommate and best-man at one of my several weddings – the guy with no shoes, far left. He had the right footwear for this game. And in life in general.

I see a friend who passed away.

I smile again when I see the guy wearing a No. 18 jersey in the front row who should also be in the Baseball Hall of Fame for his life of photography. I’m next to him — the idiot with the cheesy mustache and plastic Trojan helmet. Which still has mud on it and sits on my bookshelf.

There’s a game ball I collected after it was over and took it back to my dilapidated off-campus apartment. It’s in a box somewhere in the garage. I went searching for it the other day and came up empty. Maybe I should rescue it for some better shelf space.

The ultimate takeaway from any of this: Take, and save, lots of pictures with your friends. Forty years later, you never know who’ll amount to anything. There could be this 6-foot-10 guy in the back row, a head taller than anyone. It’s doubtful this photo-op is in his Top One Million memories. It’s gotta be in our Top 20.

Then again, with all the crazy things that happened in our lives since then, the rest of us maybe sleep easier knowing we never killed a bird with a fastball in a Major League Baseball game. So we got that going for us.

Tom Hoffarth / FartherOffTheWall.com

How much are you invested yet – financially, emotionally, intellectually or otherwise — in Crypto.com?

Considering it’s still fresh in our minds how the cuddly super-sized arena in downtown L.A. just abandoned a loyal partner to have its naming rights changed, it might be penny-wise to see how miscalculations are heating up in Miami these last few weeks.

The FTX Arena, home of the NBA’s Miami Heat, needs a quick fix.

A crypto currency company that just last year pledged Miami-Dade County some $135 million to add its name to the marquee for 19 years, plus give $5 million toward local causes concerning a reduction of gun violence, is now bankrupt.

It gave the county some $20 million up front for the first two years and the check has cleared apparently. A $5.5 million installment is due in less than two months.

Talk to the CEO, who resigned amidst a massive missive of social media mea culpas.

1) I'm sorry. That's the biggest thing.

I fucked up, and should have done better.

— SBF (@SBF_FTX) November 10, 2022

The custodians who run the place — it opened in 1999, same year as L.A.’s Staples Center, with the seemingly secure American Airlines Arena title in place — said they’re immediately dropping the FTX name and are “extremely disappointed.”

The people making these decisions shall remain nameless.

Due diligence and some common sense in how dollars are created out of thin air and then dispersed might be helpful.

“Crypto collapses have become par for the course,” Will Gottsegen writes in The Atlantic. “But now, crypto feels less ready for the mainstream than it has in years. Even as crypto slunk into a bear market in recent months, there was still the dream of crypto as it was originally conceived in the aftermath of the 2008 financial crisis: Part of the blockchain’s raison d’être lay in cutting out greedy bankers and creating greater trust between transacting parties. Now, in 2022, the crypto markets are controlled by an industry that’s proved time and time again just how similar to the existing financial system it really is.”

There’s that, and there’s the advice we once got from broadcaster Al Michaels, famous for his financial acumen. He suggested whenever a company in your investment portfolio announces it has spent millions in its marketing budget to buy the naming rights to some sports facility, that’s the moment you sell the stock. They are likely in over their skiis, and the investment will never pay off.

Continue reading “The writing on (and off) the wall: What kind of foundation is L.A.’s Crypto.com Arena on as one sizes up what’s going on in Miami?” →

Tom Hoffarth / FartherOffTheWall.com

A nervous chatter came from the outer region of the local Costco on Sunday afternoon. It started near the display of inflatable rafts, drifted past the frozen meat aisle, circled around the 10-pound jugs of nutmeg and, by the time he made its way around the bakery, it might as well have been the store’s soundtrack.

All the $4.99 rotisserie chickens were gone. And at least a couple dozen oversized shopping carts converged from all corners as if a magnetic force drew them to the empty stainless steel shelving display.

The heat lamps had nothing to heat. There was a chill in the air.

When and where might the new brood arrive? And what is the correct collective noun for a group of these featherless domesticated junglefowl? Flock? Gaggle? Did someone say murder?

A guy in a hairnet (and beardnet) behind the glass kept assembling the toasted birds and the containers, plopping on lids, trying not to notice all eyes fixed on him.

“How many can we get at a time?” a woman in amongst the crowd, who appeared to have no stones to throw, asked aloud to no one.

“Forty” I decidedly blurted out.

A couple near me with a cart already overloaded with cat litter and 100-liter vodka bottles turned to look at what idiot offered the information, and then began devising a plan.

In biblical terms, 40 is big deal. It is mostly meant to metaphorically represent not just a long period of time, but also a test, a trial or a probation.

Why did two chickens cross the road to get onto the ark?

Forty just popped into our head because we just finished reading about this guy in Philly named Tominsky.

The other day, he polished off a run of eating 40 rotisserie chickens. One a day for 40 days and nights.

Holy hotwings.

Continue reading “Yesterday’s news: Egging on ‘Chicken Man’ in Philly” →

Tom Hoffarth / FartherOffTheWall.com

If you’ve got a few minutes, watch this clip from the sadly short-lived NBC series, “The Richard Pryor Show,” from 1977. In this skit, Pryor is the first U.S. Black president, holding a press conference, fielding questions from a new mix of folks now in the media corp.

We will circle back to this shortly. Lights please:

COMM 387: Sports and Social Change is a four-unit course offered at USC for an hour-and-a-half on Tuesdays and Thursdays. The focus: “Application of critical, sociological and rhetorical theories to sports events and sports media; examination of the role of sports in enacting social change.”

Sign me up.

There’s room for about 100 students in the old Annenberg School of Communication Building Room 204, and it was nearly full when I found my way in, per invitation by Dr. Dan Durbin, the director of the USC Annenberg Institute of Sports, Media and Society.

Julianna Kirschner is the class instructor, and I became part of a panel discussion with ESPN’s Jason Reid and filmmaker Marvin Towns Jr. to talk about issues of sports and social change, particularly race, from the perspective of media members who have documented it over the last 40-plus years.

Towns got into his unique relationship with Muhammad Ali and the impact the heavyweight champ had on so many levels back in the day. He encouraged the students to take their knowledge and talents and move to other parts of the country to help educate others on this subject.

Reid, the senior NFL writer for Andscape.com, has just come out with a new book, “Rise of the Black Quarterback: What It Means For America” (Andscape Books/Buena Vista, 282 pages, $26.99) and could talk about why Patrick Mahomes, Lamar Jackson and Kyler Murray are here today because of the foundation laid by James Harris, Randall Cunningham, Doug Williams decades ago.

He also addressed questions about the pros and cons of Black ownership in the NFL and the effect it might have moving forward. Reid, a ’93 USC grad, has been to the campus already this fall to discuss the book and its subject matter, as well as other important media shows and platforms.

What could I possibly add, as a 60-plus white journalist who grew up in L.A., graduated from USC in ’84 and tried to be a keen (and sometimes caustic) observer of how sports and culture intersected from decade to decade?

Continue reading “Yesterday’s news: Lessons one can still learn on a college campus” →