While Caps fans on Tuesday were treated to a 3-2 overtime victory, I instead attended a panel to honor the late, great Shirley Povich at the University of Maryland’s College of Journalism. While that doesn’t necessarily sound like more fun than a hockey game, I found it remarkable watching the banter of Washington Post legends Michael Wilbon, Tony Kornheiser, George Solomon, Don Graham, Ben Bradlee, and David Aldridge. Povich’s children, including Maury (yes, that one) also attended, as well as other established journalists and journalism students. (Only one Connie Chung reference during the evening.)
While much of the panel was dedicated to telling stories about Povich’s remarkable 75-year Washington Post career (he wrote six or seven columns a week), and while sometimes getting sidetracked (Kornheiser goofed on Wilbon for going to Dunkin Donuts before the panel), some notable advice did come out of this. I’ll skip the part about interviewing techniques with athletes after a loss, or how journalists aren’t as focused on the craft of writing any longer, and tell about the show-stealer.
In an angry rant, Michael Wilbon made it clear that sports journalists today do not dress professionally. He even cursed a few times (while this was being filmed). Perhaps it’s because journalists he learned from, including Povich, always dressed professionally.
I agree with him. I’m betting that it’s the relative relaxed nature of the sports beat (as opposed to, say, presidential beats), and over time some journalists tossed the suit and tie and now it’s come to being completely casual. I’ve personally witnessed Dave Feldman from Fox 5 show up to a Redskins preseason game press conference in shorts, and a Capitals game in torn jeans (keep in mind that TV reporters are often shot from the waist-up.). And Feldman is a veteran reporter, not a blogger out of college.
Wilbon has a point. Journalists, especially those out interviewing people, ought to class it up a bit, just for the sake of respectability, before the next generation comes and makes it even worse.
Update: The Post picked up the story.
You can’t put a price on sentimental value, and that’s why I decided to get my grandmother’s cuckoo clock fixed, after it hadn’t worked for probably more than 35 years. My father originally bought it, I think in Switzerland, and gave it to her. My grandmother’s story is that my uncle and grandfather couldn’t stand listening to it, so she brought it to the basement, and over the years I suppose it just stopped working.
Years ago, my grandfather would take me to his basement to show me his box full of World War II stuff. It contained a German helmet, some Nazi knives, and a couple of old handguns. (See photos of him during 
