A neighbor flags me down, then runs across the street to talk.
He wants to commiserate about the fact that neither Kershaw nor Greinke won this year’s Cy Young.
“Can you believe that? The voters should be shot.”
As a Dodgers fan, I am upset. But as a human, I like to think I have some perspective.
Still, my neighbor pleads his case, using words like “injustice” and “tragedy,” without irony.
He takes me through his “deep dive” into the data. He cites stats worthy of a sequel to Moneyball. He sounds like the Valley’s angry answer to Michael Lewis.
“You should make a PowerPoint,” I say, attempting to quell his tirade with snark.
“You’re right,” he says. “Someone has to.”
But this is all pretext. What he really wants to do is savage journalism. He rants about how journalists are “sloppy, lazy, and stupid.”
He tells me that if it were up to him anyone who ever worked as a journalist would be deported. He doesn’t say where.
He tells me that the media is ruining “everything.” He cites the recent coverage of a possible NFL franchise in LA as an example. “The press doesn’t know what’s going to happen.”
He tells me that journalism is an easy job. “Just get it right, bro.”
Then he tells me he’s got to get to work.
“Me too,” I say. “This crap won’t write itself.”