Jeff Pearlman

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Craig Vanderoef

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Back in the fall of 1989, when I was a captain on the Mahopac High cross country team, I was very much convinced we had a future star in our midst.

Though only a freshman, the kid was preposterously fast. He had a sprinter’s speed and a distance runner’s endurance. He regularly blew past me in workouts, and during meets I only saw the underbellies of his shoes.

His name was Tim Giambalvo, and the kid kicked ass.

We also had another freshman. He, too, was good. Not great, but good. Fast, strong. Sometimes he beat me, sometimes I beat him. We’d run together quite often, and he’d dreamingly fantasize about one day joining a major Division I program. To be honest, I didn’t see it happening. Craig Vaderoef struck me as merely solid.

The year is 2018. I am Facebook friends with both Tim and Craig. The two have enjoyed fruitful and spirited lives. I’ve enjoyed watching their growths and, on occasion, communicating. One, however, stopped running shortly after I graduated.

The other became an absolute stud.

Craig Vanderoef’s career has been a joy to watch, mainly because it’s built on devotion, doggedness, working, then working even more. He spent a year running at Indiana, then transferred to Virginia, where he posted blistering times way beyond my comprehension. He’s run a 2:30 marathon (which he calls “very disappointing”), a 68:50 half, a 24:55 8KM cross country race.

Best of all, he has followed his passion, and now lives in Germany and serves as adidas’ senior director product running apparel and custumization. Yes, he loves running. Bur he loves his day-to-day existence even more.

Which makes him a tremendous Quaz …

JEFF PEARLMAN: Craig, I wanna start with a random one. My son is a sixth grader at a middle school here in Southern California. And they have this running program, where they train kids to run the Orange County Marathon. The children range in age from 11 to 14. So when I was growing up, I did a ton of 10Ks, eight milers, even a few halfs at that age—but never, ever, ever a marathon. I think it’s batshit crazy, but no one here seems to agree. Your thoughts?

CRAIG VANDEROEF: Batshit Fuckin’ Crazy! There is just no need I can think of to have kids of that age do it. Are they physically capable of the feat, sure, if trained right can it be done in a healthy manner; probably. But why?!?!?!?

I think the joy of youth is in the joy not the struggle and the marathon is a struggle, on the very best of days. I am sure they tell you that it builds character or a sense of accomplishment, but so does a 10k or 10 miles and it does not put five hours of pounding on the body. Heck, if you listen to our parents’ generation getting beat up builds character and how many parents today would sign their 11-year old up for a punch in the face? (I realize more than would readily admit it here online).

My point being we can build healthy kids with healthy habits without going to the extremes of sport. Let them have fun and learn that running is a tool that builds confidence, fitness and gives one time to think and enjoy the world.

I think all of that can happen at 5-10km, but I would ask what Emmett has learned from the process. Maybe his experience would change both of our minds. I know the Lakeview Elementary ‘after-school runnin’ program created by Mrs. Mulaney impacted my life in a pretty big way and I never ran a marathon until late in my career.

So to summarize … batshit crazy!

J.P.: You love running. Like, you looooooooove running. I really like running, and always have. But yours is a passion. Why? How?

C.V.: Running has given me most everything I care about in my life. My career, my best friends who are like family. I even met my wife on the starting line of the LA Marathon.

Running has given me my health even through the scariest of times being fit gave me something extra that helped me in the healing.

I started running young to belong … Lakeview Elementary Cchool and the race around Lake Mahopac in second grade. Everybody went so I went. The lake race was a 10k around our town’s prominent body of water. That year I finished 305th to my older brother’s 303rd (Truth be told I caught him during the race and waited up for him a bunch. He was in 7th grade). The next year I broke my arm and needed surgery. That meant 16 weeks in a cast and no little league, so my mom focused me on “the Lake Run” because that was what I could do and that was how I could compete. I finished 73rd as a third grader and that was it. My mom decided I was a runner. (My youngest sister was actually born that day after my mom walked the 5k down to the lake to watch me run by for two seconds then walked home. I owe my mom a lot).

So around all of the other sports that I played and loved I had running. Running became my time and my space, and when you are one of five kids your own time and space are rare and wonderful things. I loved being out in the rain, but my mom couldn’t have five kids out playing in the rain (or sick afterward) so I was never allowed to be out in it—that was unless I was going for a run. So when it rained I ran.

I like winning and I won a lot while running and liked that the harder you worked the better you did (up to a point, now I realize I could have rested a bit more). You really get to know a lot about someone on a 20-mile run and you build friendships that no one else gets. You find limits and truth and you get to feel yourself almost eating up the ground.

I am not able to train super hard anymore and I miss it. I miss waking up to run 12 miles on the trails before work, I miss the friends who I have shared miles with and won’t again, but mostly I am thankful for each step I run now and for the gifts running has given me and the chance to make those moments happen for others via my work.

With his father Gary

With his father Gary

J.P.: So you’re the business unit director for global running apparel at Adidas. And I ask, with all due respect—does it really matter whether I’m wearing Adidas or Nike, Reebok or Asics? Like, at the end of the day aren’t good kicks good kicks?

C.V.: I would ask you “If I want to learn about Roger Clemens does it matter who wrote the book? I mean Hansen Alexander, Joseph Janczak or Pearlman? I mean at the end of the day aren’t good writers good writers?

I am not sure if those other two guys are actually great writers or even good, but one must assume they were good enough to get the book deals. I know you’re a great writer, I know because I know your commitment to craft and to research, to share a story well told, but what of the others?.

The difference in the books will be style, research, access, etc. The same nuance exists within the athletic footwear and apparel world. The big brands are all good enough to be big brands, but the style, innovation, and perspective they bring shapes products that will make you run better, feel better, maybe even look better.

So I think brand matters because I think the stylistic choices a brand makes coupled with their philosophy and commitment to innovation shapes the experience you have in the product they have crafted.

At adidas we believe sport has the power to change lives and we are obsessed with making athletes better as we have been since Adi Dassler crafted his first pair of shoes. Our products blend performance and style in a way no one else can and this combination of performance and style has always created icons of sport and style. The Stan Smith, Shell toes, the UltraBoost were all born from a performance insight, but they transcended sport and the beauty of their form secured their place as iconic parts of the style of sport and street alike. So if you want to have world record performance coupled with style where else could you go?

J.P.: We ran together at Mahopac High, and you were very good for a freshman. Not dazzling, but definitely better than solid. And then, years later, I look up and you’re running for Virginia, posting these sick times. How did that improvement happen?

C.V.: The trials of miles and miles of trials … I worked hard and ran a lot. I think a few key factors helped me to change my level as an athlete and they are not going to be surprising. Coaching, teammates and commitment to being better were they keys.

My parents moved us across New York going into my junior year of high school and when I landed at Sweet Home High School (real name) in Amherst, New York (just outside of Buffalo) I went from being school record holder for class and for-sure captain to a team that I was going to have to earn my top five spot. My track personal bests were way behind the other guys at Sweet Home. Guys like Jim Garnham and Joe Baran were rising juniors with a bunch of trips to the state meet already and the level of excellence was set by Coach Pat Wyatt. So, I went from running alone a lot and crushing everyone to running in a pack, to getting my ass handed to me in speed sessions and grinding it back on the longer stuff. Coach Wyatt got me into the weight room and worked hard to make me the runner I could be and I believed in him 100 percent. He made sure we knew the relay was more important than what we did alone and that the name on the front of the shirt meant more than the one on the back.

Our graduating class sent four athletes to Division I track and field programs that year. I started at Indiana University, where I was able to train with America’s best distance runners in Bob Kennedyand Todd Williams. They were gods and I got to see what it really took to get better and I busted my ass to make it happen. In reality that year I busted up my knee … apparently running 130 miles a week plus lifting a ton can have your patella so tight it pulls away from the tendon and it subluxes. The varsity letter from that freshman year means an awful lot to me still, knowing you worked hard enough to break yourself is a good lesson.

That injury and that year devastated me, but it also built the foundation of the fire that burned through my university career and beyond. I moved to Boulder that summer to train with the best American collegians I could find and got crazy fit, while realizing IU was not the place for me.

I called coach Sam Bell and let him know I would not be coming back, but I was the third member of my freshman class to make that call and he decided not to sign a release for me to run somewhere else the next year. I was a man/boy without a place …

So a friend of mine  said, “You are studying English. You should go to UVA. I have a friend who goes there. You should call him” (Jason would later become the head coach at UVA). Anyway, I called, I grabbed my stuff and moved to Charlottesville. I took a year off from school, working two shitty jobs making sandwiches for entitled rich kids by day and night.

I was running 120 miles a week getting my ass kicked by US national team member Rob Cook and just set my eye on the prize of getting back to school and back to an easier life. So I ran, worked, and read for a year. That was about it, I spent a year realizing what it was to want; to not have everything I wanted at the moment I wanted it and I tried to turn that into a desire to perform.

When I did get back into school I still had to work and I was never great at listening to coaches or taking it easy and I had some good races, some bad races, and in general a lot of missed opportunities. As I look back now I needed to better understand and live a more balanced work and recovery lifestyle.

Short version of this: I RAN A LOT!!

Craig (top, fourth from left) and Jeff (far right) were two components of the legendary 1989-90 Mahopac High cross country team.

Craig (top, fourth from left) and Jeff (far right) were two components of the legendary 1989-90 Mahopac High cross country team.

J.P.: As I age I find running increasingly hard. Bad lower back, creaky knees. Does there come a point when, just maybe, we need to stop and choose a different sport?

C.V.: I would say just imagine how bad your back and knees would be if you were not running! Running in general is a benefit to the body and being fit from the cardiovascular point of view adds so much to overall health and if you stop running you’ll lose those benefits and the problems may not go away. Over the years of repetition it is likely that your auxiliary muscle groups have become weaker and that can make the running motion put more stress on those key areas.

Likely what you need to do is reduce your intensity on your runs and start taking more time to build core strength. Build strength in your core and auxiliary muscles and you will run better and with fewer problems.

Over time I have had to say goodbye to competitive running and as a result I stopped doing the hours of extras each week as a results my form has suffered and so nagging injuries have shown up. This did not happen in our youth because we played other sports which kept our core strong and our stabilizers were built up through time on the basketball court or soccer field. My suggestions to you would be to get to softer surfaces … you can do your runs in Wood Canyon Park, great soft trails near your pad. The other way forward is a return to sport in order to make your running better.

I recently returned to playing lacrosse, which I said goodbye to at 15 so that I could specialize in running. I am playing in the for Nuremberg Wizards in the German second division with kids who weren’t born when I gave it all up. It has been a blast and it is helping my running to feel better again. I am using the muscles that lateral sports bring to life and so they are stronger and more able to do their job when I run. I would also throw out a huge THANK YOU to Mahopac coaches Counes, Corace, and Georgalas as the skills they hammered into me at 13-14 year old seem to have stuck pretty well.

J.P.: What’s your day-to-day job like? Soup to nuts?

C.V.: Set the vision and direction for all adidas global running apparel and customized running shoes. My job boiled down to a phrase is “Better Runs.” It is my job to work with and understand runners and create products that help them to have better runs. That might be a faster run, a dryer run, a less horrible run, what it is is a better run today so that they might be inspired to run tomorrow.

We work with runners around the world from Mary Keitany and Wilson Kipsang to the crazy guy running across the Brooklyn bridge at midnight to better understand what they need to feel and be better. After we understand that need, we work together with our designers and developers to create the product and with our communications partners to bring the product and story to life around the world. Our apparel was on the backs of athletes for the last four marathon world records, countless Olympic gold medals, and someone’s first ever 5k. I know it is just T-shirts and shorts, but I do my best to remind my team that they are creating someone’s favorite, the one piece they dig through the laundry to find, the piece that cannot run without. We are not curing cancer every day … but sometimes we are helping others to do so.

Soup to nuts though, the big part of my day that I take very seriously is as a coach and leader for the teammates and colleagues with whom I interact. It is my job to make the world a better place through sport but also through the teammates I can coach and influence on their journey to betterment. I have grown to see that work as my most important role.

With Almaz Ayana, the Ethiopian and Olympic champion

With Almaz Ayana, the Ethiopian and Olympic champion

J.P.: I talk about this with my son quite often, but I’ve never asked someone involved in running. So I’ll ask you: Twice during her career, the great Grete Waitz diarrheaed herself while leading marathons. I actually remember it happening in New York, thinking, “Fucking ewwwww.” But how do you view it? Admirable? Weird? Did you ever do the same?

C.V.: Grete Waitz was tough as effing nails! Nine times she went out and beat that NYC Marathon field. Nine times!! She was a destroyer of souls in the marathon and the kindest person off the track.

I was lucky enough to work with Grete and help the charity she co-founded Aktiv Against Cancer. Adidas apparel inspired by her still gives back today. I consider her husband Jack a good friend and am really proud to keep her legacy alive …

That said, poop is gross, no one wants to poop themselves, but it does happen. I have had to hit a porta potty on a run, but I was never leading the New York City Marathon, so stopping was the better option for me. The marathon is hard, and when you are running fast and you gotta go, you gotta go … as for me I would say always wear black shorts, and always have huge amounts of respect for Grete.

J.P.: Why does Kenya have such a dominant distance running system? What do they do/have that Americans lack?

C.V.: Kenya elites dominate for a few reasons. Of course at the highest level each athlete has picked his/her parents really, really well! Talent is a gift that is from your parents and what they give you and the Rift Valley is a place where some amazing athletes are born at altitude and many have a great aerobic capacity, lean build, powerful drive. But it is not luck of the draw, so do not even for a second be fooled. Those guys train their asses off! They put in a ton of miles and work incredibly hard. I have been lucky enough to meet and work with some of the greatest marathoners to ever lace up a pair of shoes and they became great the same way any runner before them did. The secret, as  John L. Parker Jr. put it … “What was the secret, they wanted to know; in a thousand different ways they wanted to know The Secret. And not one of them was prepared, truly prepared to believe that it had not so much to do with chemicals and zippy mental tricks as with that most unprofound and sometimes heart-rending process of removing, molecule by molecule, the very tough rubber that comprised the bottoms of his training shoes. The Trial of Miles; Miles of Trials.”

Americans don’t lack anything and that could be the problem. It is hard to find that deep level of hurt if you have grown up without ever wanting for anything. We grow up without a lot of worry in the true sense of the word and so it takes a really special personality to dig that deep and hurt that much day after day. A lot of guys do it, as do a lot of girls. Desi Linden has a level of grit and toughness few others ever have and she showed it in her winning of the Boston Marathon. All of us in the industry said it the night before, “If the weather stays this bad Desi wins, no doubt.”

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J.P.: You live in Nuremberg, so you have an at-a-distance view of America under Donald Trump. What does it look like from afar? What do people ask you when they learn you’re an American? Because I sorta envy you right now.

C.V.: What does it look like from afar? Pretty much the same shitshow it looks like close up, but just nine hours behind. I think it is a scary thing that is happening and watching the events triggered in Gaza, or Iran by an unqualified mean spirited racist worries me for sure, but I believe in the American people enough to believe the call to action for the midterms will show us a light at the end of the tunnel soon. Or at least I hope that.

Don’t envy me too much. I live in a country where they do not sell peanut butter M&Ms. Freedom and choice are a blessing you should be thankful for every day. They do, however, have healthcare for all, paid parental leave, and make sure everyone eats.

People shake their head at our president and the state of our government and they ask us how it was possible that it happened. A question that is often followed by, “How is Trump president? Everyone I have ever talked to over here didn’t vote for him!” And that’s the problem—the folks with passports with a wider global view voted one way, but those with a more closed view of their world that is centered around a local sphere of influence were lied to and scared into voting for a fraud and a sell-out.

J.P.: Greatest moment of your life? Lowest?

C.V.: Let’s start lowest. Because I grew up very Catholic that one comes easier. January 12, 2001 the day my best friend Travis Landreth died while on a run. I lost a huge part of myself that day and I still have not found it. I am pretty sure that I never will. I was able to share his love of running and legacy via the Gel-Landreth that our teams created after his passing and I enjoyed seeing that shoe on runs around the world.

Greatest Moment: Those keep happening. I have an amazing wife who loves me and supports me regardless of the fact that she is way cooler and way more beautiful a person than I am. I got one more day with her today and I think that is pretty amazing. I have been blessed with parents who teach me still how to grow and learn each day, my chosen family is a group you would be blessed to know let alone call friends and I can them family. I suppose I am hoping my greatest moment is still ahead.

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• Rank in order (favorite to least): Alberto Salazar, YouTube, mugs with uplifting messages, Tim Giambalvo, “Over the Top,” Ty Dolla $ign, Rusty Staub, the smell of newspaper, the Elbe River, rum and Coke, Zeus: Staub … he is no Lenny Dykstra, but he was Mets’ royalty when I was a kid. Over The Top … Stallone, the turning around of the hat to create go time… amazing (Over the top was also the name of my favorite run at the University of Virginia, I ran it every Monday for four years and miss it to this day). YouTube is fun, but I love the smell of a newspaper, not as much as used book store. I am neutral on Tim G, TY$, the Elbe, Zeus and rum and Coke. But on the negative side those mugs and the people who carry them (unless ironically) and then there is Albert Saladbar.

• Five all-time favorite distance runners: Emil ZatopekBilly MillsPaul TergatKenny Moore (Runner/Writer, he brought all of my favorites to life on the page… Read “Best Efforts” a collection of his stories for SI, amazing especially “Concentrate on the Chrysanthemums”—life changing and an amazing view of Frank Shorter who I wanted on the list but ran out of spots, Brian Diemer

• Three memories of Mahopac running coach Tom GilchristGEEZ!!! 1.The pants, he always wore those bad shiny polyester BIKE brand coach’s pants and in an assortment of colors; 2. His coffee cup and slow drawl way of communicating … I can still hear his voice but not so much his words. Which I think is a little sad; 3. He was always there, I don’t know that he had a passion for cross country or track, but he never missed a day, he showed up, he listened to us and he would be there for you and that is great lesson too. He much rather would have been on the basketball court, but he was there. Summer before sophomore year he taught summer school P.E. at Lakeview and each weekday I got there and ran the full fields loop with the hills as he watched students that failed gym glass play softball or some such, and then gave me firm handshake for the effort and then was off. I worked super hard and at the end of that summer I was one vote short of being named captain for the year, but instead the team voted in another kid who didn’t run very much or very fast, and I was pissed!! Coach Gilchrist said “You’d have made a great captain, but Henry needed it more.” It took me a long time to absorb that lesson, but I still appreciate Tom trying to share it.

• Ever thought you were about to die in a plane crash? If so, what do you recall?: I have had some pretty awful and long plane rides, but nothing almost death related. I had a deep vein thrombosis a few years back and I was told I might not wake up from the surgery. I called my dad to say “Thank you” and goodbye. I talked with my closest friends to do the same, but before I went under I asked the doctor for “one more day” … begged really for one more day with my wife, Raine. When you are about to not wake up ever again you are looking for the person you want to most wake up with.

• One question you would ask James Earl Jones were he here right now: Does the sexy voice or the Darth Vader voice get you more chicks?

• What do your running shoes smell like?: Roses … I am sample size and work for a running company, my shoes are never too gross. If your shoes are ratty and stinky they are likely in need of replacement for technical reasons.

• How much interest do you think you can muster up in Germany for a USFL book?: Hmmm … I would assume here in Bavaria you could sell a solid 37 copies to expats and folks who need to prop up their TV stands. Not a big American football fanbase here (ask the World League guys …) I smell a book idea? The world league of America Football and the rise of fandom in a United Germany?

• Best advice you ever received?: Professionally—“Always treat your products like they are art and people will pay for art, treat it like trash and no one will buy it.” Stan Mavis, who was then the SVP of Apparel at Brooks Sports. We never let anyone throw around adidas running apparel or put it on the floor. The products we make are artful expressions of equipment that make athletes better and each T-shirt or short represents months of hard work and dedication, it deserves reverence. Stan made sure I never forgot that and it drives me today.

In life, I go to Rudyard Kipling and the poem “IF.” It is a poem about how to live one’s life and move through it and I always hear it in my dad’s voice or the voice of my maternal grandfather. Life is not fair, not easy, but Kipling shares a path through all of it. When things are tough you can “Kipling it” I tell my teammates. I love that it is a poem that was a part of book, he didn’t even write it to have it stand alone because life is the some of its parts not it’s solitary efforts I suppose. “if you can dream and not make dreams your master or think but not make thoughts your aim”

• What are the keys to growing a kick-ass beard?: There are two keys …

Key one to a great beard: Shape the beard early. If you want it to end up long and pointed you need that vision day one. Shape to the vision, Jeff. Shape to the vision!

Key Number two for a kick ass beard: SPOUSAL BUY-IN! If your wife or partner is not a fan of the beard, the beard is doomed or your relationship is. In fact, if you wanna get your girl to break up with you but are afraid to ask… GROW A BEARD without her buy in.

If you have spousal buy in, magic stuff happens (or at least it does for me). Scented beard shampoos show up in the shower, beard combs and shaping oils show up on the counter. And once you have them life gets easier for the wife and a healthy, handsome beard is sure to follow. (genetics also play a part, but as of now that one cannot be adjusted)

• You against Odell Beckham, Jr., right now, in a half mile. Who wins? By how much?: OBJ. You gotta figure that in high school he ran 22.31 for 200 m and so he could have run 1:50 or so at 800 m if he had wanted. He would likely just sit on me for 700 meters and fly by me in the last 100 meters and win by 83 meters. I’m old and slow … he’s young and fast. My only chance would be that his Nikes would malfunction causing him a horrible injury. I’m no Giants fan, but still I wouldn’t want the guy hurt just to win … but if it did happen I would gloat.

The chain


Back in 1984, when I turned 12, my mother took me to Aljans, the local jewelry store, to pick out a chain for my birthday.

After sorting through options, I settled upon a silver chain with a blue Jewish star. I don’t recall why I selected that particular one, but it felt right. Alice, the shop’s owner, advised us to buy it large, so we did. And for years the star hung halfway down my torso, until I started to grow and grow and grow.

Through the years, I rarely removed the chain. I was wearing it for my first half marathon, for my first dance, for my Bar Mitzvah, for my first kiss, for my high school and college graduations, for my first day of college, for the death of my grandparents, for my first date with my wife, for my wedding, for the birth of my children, for my hiring at The Tennessean and Sports Illustrated, for thousands of pickup basketball games. For highs. For lows. I grew, I aged, I gained weight and lost weight.

The chain, through it all, was eternally there.

Earlier this evening, the wife and I went to a nearby beach with some friends. At one point everyone went into the ocean, and—after stalling—I pulled my shirt over my head and jumped in. The water was usually warm. The sky was a perfect blue. It encompassed all the reasons I wanted to move to Southern California. Pure beauty and outdoor adventure. Later, we climbed over some rocks and up a pretty steep hill. My hands covered in dirt, I gazed out over the Pacific, more at ease and content than I had been in many moons.

Then, a few hours later, it hit me: My chain was gone.

I looked everywhere. Pockets. Collars. I dug through sand. Moved chairs. Asked others for help.


I am, truly, devastated. The chain symbolized so much for me. I always liked the idea of passing it on to one of my kids; to having it ride with me through all of life.

And yet … as down as I am, I’m also reminded of an occurrence from seven or eight years ago, when our elderly neighbors moved from New Rochelle, N.Y. to San Diego. One of the men left behind a bunch of personal items—a high school diploma, a yearbook. So I called and said, “Joe, do you want me to mail you these things?”

He didn’t pause. “It’s just stuff,” he replied. “Not life.”

My chain is gone.

I’m saddened.

But I’m living.

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Listening from the back seat

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Earlier today, while we drove up the 73 in our 2010 Prius, the son asked if I’d play some music.

The question actually contains a simpler request—”Cue up ALL MIZZOULA FLY.” That’s the name of a playlist he and I have compiled over the past, oh, 1 1/2 years. It’s a 160-song, 11-hour-long gathering place for our favorite hip-hop tunes. And it’s elicited at least 10,000 conversations through the days and weeks and months.

Emmett, I am happy to report, is a hip-hop head. It’s the only genre of music he listens to, and much of that (I have to think) is a byproduct of our exposing him to the genre from a very young age. Back when he was a tyke, I’d play Snoop and Dr. Dre and Tupac, but when curses would come I’d reach over and drop the volume from 15 to 0. This would happen over and over again—extended arm, twist of the dial, then a return to 15 when enough seconds passed.

Ultimately, though, I stopped. First, because he was too young to understand, so the curses meant nothing. And second, because, well, why is cursing so bad? I’m not saying I want Emmett walking through camp saying, “Fuck this shit. I’m getting some motherfucking pizza.” But if he knows the words, understands the words, gets the meanings and origins—what’s so terrible? Hence, beginning at age, oh, 8, Emmett has absorbed the fucks and shits and bitches and on and on. He knows they’re not to be used. He gets the power and implications. Recently he said to the wife, “It’s like kids and wine in France. They’re exposed to it, so they don’t overuse it.” That was wise.

Best of all, we’ve had sooooo many discussions about hip-hop and the artists and their origins. I’d say, right now, Emmett leans toward Nas and Tupac—two artists with riveting backstories. So, for example, yesterday evening we played “I Ain’t Mad At Cha” a couple of times, and debated the meaning. We both think it’s funny how Shakur keeps saying he’s not angry with the people he’s actually tearing to pieces. “You a damn-ass bitch—but I ain’t mad at you.” Hmm …

So, yeah. Not a traditional method of parenting.

But one that’s been fruitful.

The South African water polo players and a magical trip to Costco

Post-Costco bliss

Post-Costco bliss with Keet (far right) and the gang.

So it’s 12:30 Sunday afternoon here in Southern California, and I just experienced a truly magical, amazing whirlwind of wide-eyed awesomeness.

Over the past bunch of days we’ve had two visiting South African high school water polo players stay at our house. Their names are Alex and Meralda, and they are these lovely girls who we introduced to (among other things) boba, roller skating, “Get Out!” and (of course) the Slurpee.

Anyhow, a few moments ago Alex, Meralda and their coaches and teammates took off for a different part of the state, but not before the wife and I hosted a breakfast shindig at our house. I would say, oh, 50 people crammed into our crib for the wife’s legendary French toast bake, sausage, eggs, fruit, etc. There was chatter and laughter and … and …


Yup, Costco.

It turns out a couple of the South Africans visited Costco yesterday, where they purchased Apple Watches for about 60 percent of the price they paid back home. Well, we have a Costco just six minutes down the road, so I mentioned that we certainly could go if they wou—





I loaded my car, as did another parent. We pulled into the lot, and you could all but feel the electricity shooting off from girl to girl. They posed for photos out front. They looked up with awe-filled eyes. Before we entered I warned them that, inside Costco, a store rule demands no one ever make a sound.

“OK,” one said.

“I’m kidding,” I replied. “I’m kidding.”

Deep breaths.

Escape from Costco

Escape from Costco

We entered, and they scattered like wide receivers in the Run ‘n Shoot. Apple watches! Big bags of candy! Sweatshirts! Underwear! Bras! Giggles! Cheers! In between purchases we spoke at length about the whole phenomenon. Back home in South Africa, I was told, there is access to very little of this. Apple Watches are purely luxury items. You might buy an enormous sack of sweets, but it’ll cost an arm and a leg. Another coach went into deep detail about crime. Sleeping with a door unlocked? Never. “When you pull up to a traffic light, you slow down,” he said. “But you absolutely do not stop.” The kids, he said, were blown away by America’s possibilities and bountifulness. “It’s overwhelming,” he said

And, inside Costco, I could see that. They’re actually visiting Disneyland in a few days, and I asked whether they’d prefer a trip to Costco or the Magic Kingdom. As a group, they were indecisive.

It was all an important reminder of how spoiled so many of us are; how accustomed we are to this and that and that and this. We enter Costco, we see the vat of relish, we purchase the vat of relish. It’s not much of a debate. We just … buy it.

Seeing these girls, with their jaws dropped and their eyes the size of Oreos—it was a needed refresher course in Spoiled: 101.

An important one.

PS: Side note one: They were absolutely dazzled by Alexa. D-a-z-z-l-e-d.

PPS: Side note two: The team’s coach, Marcelle Keet, is both lovely and really well known.

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Fuck this shit, I’m out: A guest post from Geoffrey the Giraffe

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In the past few days the above image of Geoffrey the Giraffe leaving the last-standing Toys R Us store has generated across-the-nation sadness from millions of people. Geoffrey comes to to set the record straight.

OK, so first, I wanna be clear: I’m sad about Toys R Us, in that I’ve made some pretty sweet bank in the 50-plus years I’ve worked for the company. I mean, it has allowed me to travel the world, to snuggle, to hug, to pose for a photograph with Gary Coleman, to fuck bitches and do shitloads of blow.

Wait, hold on.

Let me start again. I know you’re upset. And I get it. But, seriously, get a fucking life. Please. You know I’m not a real giraffe, right? That this is just a suit, and I’m a 5-foot-3 six-pack-a-day smoker named Deacon McGill?

Do you know what this torture has been like for me? Do you know how it feels, having kids kick you, stick you with screwdrivers, vomit on your feet and spit in your eyeballs? Do you know how many parents have whispered into my ears, “I hate you and I want you dead”? Jesus Christ, THEY’RE NOT EVEN EARS!!! MY EARS ARE IN MY ARMPITS! HOW FUCKED IS THAT?!?!?!?

My first suicide attempt came in 1971. I swallowed 723 Matchbox tires, figured that’d end the misery. Nope. A year later, I ran in front of an oncoming Tonka train. Also—no go. I’ve wanted this to end and end and end. I’ve threatened to kill children. Nope. I’ve threatened to have sex with Marge, the 73-year-old shedding clerk in our Tulsa store. No. I once even pulled my giraffe head off in the middle of the store. Thought that was a guarantee masterpiece. How was I to know there was a second giraffe head under the first giraffe head?

Hence, when I heard the magic words—”We’re closing!”—I let out a shout for joy.

That picture above? The one making you cry?

I’m smiling, bitches.

Trust me.

I’m smiling,


American Airlines, Flight 2283 and Miami’s airport

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The scene at D5.

I’m writing this from gate D5 inside the American Airlines terminal at Miami’s airport.

It’s been a c-r-a-z-y flying day. And we haven’t flown an inch.

Flight was scheduled for 2:25, so son and I arrived, oh, noonish to return the car, check our bag, etc. At some point I got notice the flight was pushed back to 3. OK, three o’clock. Big deal. Then it was pushed back again. And again. And again. We’ve actually had a pretty terrific time. Played cards (Emmett taught me Casino), ate Chinese food and Nathan’s fries, competed at some pretty intense games of Really, I can’t complain about a bunch of hours solo with my best little buddy.

Well, wait.

Our flight was finally scheduled to depart at 7:10. Emmett and I set down at a table 20 gates away from D15—the listed departure point. At about 6:15, I said to the boy, “OK, let’s head over.” So we’re walking, walking, walking. He’s got a hot cocoa, I’ve got a hot coffee. We’re casually cruising through the terminal, and I catch a quick glance at the enormous digital schedule.

FIGHT 2283


Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit …


“Emmett!” I say. “It’s leaving—now!”

He bolts. I bolt. We’re doing O.J. through the airport (look it up, millennials), cutting left, cutting right. I have a fat backpack strapped to my shoulders, he’s pulling a wheelie. I chuck my beverage in a can. Emmett is whimpering. I look and his hand—gripping a cup—is coated in hot chocolate. “Give me the cup!” I yell.

He hands it to me, I launch it toward the next can.

It’s an insanely long and tiring sprint. The surface is hard. My back is aching. I’m figuring out what happened when we inevitably miss the plane. Where do we stay? Hotel? Airport floor? The kid is only 11. I’ve gotta handle this well.

We reach the gate. Dad huffing and puffing, son huffing and puffing. There’s no one else walking through the boarding zone. I assume we’re either too late, or barely on time. We walk toward the door.

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“What flight are you on?” an employee asks.

“Los Angeles!” I say.

“No,” he says. “Stop. This is San Francisco.”

I look around. A bunch of other LA passengers are wearing exasperation across their faces. One tells me he, too, ran here. But there’s no plane. Not yet. “We’ll be boarding soon,” the agent says.


Everyone runs to gate D5.

We got here 20 minutes ago.

Nothing seems to be happening.

PS: Just checked—it’s now a 7:45 departure. Was talking to a guy going on a vacation with his family. He’s missing his connection to Anchorage. He’s rightly furious. “This isn’t weather!” he said.

I will not be attending my 30-year high school reunion

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Back in 2010, I was one of the organizers of the Mahopac High School Class of 1990 20-year reunion.

And it was fabulous.



Truly, I loved seeing people I hadn’t laid eyes upon in two decades. I loved fading into the past. I loved old stories and funny anecdotes and the random bonds of time and geography.

I will not be attending the 30th.

This does not make me happy. First, because I’m longtime friends with one of the organizers, and this person’s heart is gold. And second, because (despite what some of my past etchings might suggest) I’m glad about where I was raised. Mahopac, N.Y. is a fabulous place to grow up. Some of my closest pals hail from my hometown. Whenever I return to New York, I make certain to drive up Emerald Lane and take a long look at my boyhood home.

That said, I can’t pretend. I happen to come from a place that—with some exceptions—loves Donald Trump. The people don’t merely respect him, or begrudgingly approve of him. They seem to worship him. Salute him. Follow him. Obey him.




I’m not gonna smile and shake hands and slap backs with people who think it’s fine and dandy to lock children in cages. I’m unwilling to chuckle about the ol’ Mahopac-Carmel rivalry when so many of my peers openly, vocally, strongly back a misogynistic, racist aspiring dictator; one who speaks of doing violent things to journalists; one who inspires members of the KKK and alt-right to keep plugging, keep bringing it; one who has branded Muslims as the enemies; one who spent five years insisting America’s first African-American president was a Kenyan-born foreign agent who hated America; one who suggests we treat illegals as we would rabid animals.

I’m sorry, but I can’t pretend everything is kosher and dandy. I can’t set aside this level of difference for a night of memories.

I can’t.

And I won’t.

My grandparents escaped Nazi Germany to come to the United States. My Great Uncle arrived—then immediately enlisted in the Army to fight in World War II. My nephews are bi-racial. My friends and colleagues form a rainbow coalition of black, white, yellow, gay, straight, bi. Truth be told, I have friends who work illegally here; who came to find a better life for their children. They’re neither thugs nor criminals. They’re here to make money and live safely. Period. I refuse to turn my back on my history or my people; to set them aside and say, “For one night, I’ll hang with many of those who spit on all we believe in.”

The reunion will go on with out me. People will have a good time—as they should. But as the country melts away, and our democracy becomes an ideal of the past, and as a strongman woos the pliable masses with lies and phony tough talk, I’ll be back home in California, sad that this has happened but contented in my stance.

I’m a proud graduate of Mahopac High School.

But I’m not particularly proud.

PS: And if you’re one of my former classmates thinking, “Good! We didn’t fucking want you there anyway!”—well, this works out quite well, doesn’t it?

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Will Reeve

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I don’t care what any of you say about Wonder Woman or The Avengers or Batman or Spiderman or even Deadpool—the greatest superhero film of all-time is Superman: The Movie.

In case you’re too young or just sorta naive, the 1978 movie starred a young actor named Christopher Reeve as the Man of Steel—and it was friggin’ awesome. I remember seeing the flick as a child, and just being blown away, and haunted, and mesmerized. In the decades that followed I probably watched Superman, oh, a dozen more times, and earlier this year took my son to the nearby theater for a 40th anniversary showing.

Do the special effects hold up? Eh, not really.

Is the Superman costume a tad underwhelming? Definitely.

Does Reeve still leap off the screen? One hundred percent yes.

And, technically, that’s why we’re here. Although Reeve died 14 years ago, I left the movie wanting to know more. About his life, sure, but also about his legacy. Who was left behind. What sort of work has the family done in relation to spinal cord research. How have the Reeves moved forward in the aftermath of both Christopher and his wife Dana dying far too young.

Enter: Will Reeve.

The youngest of three siblings, Will, 26, is currently an ESPN reporter/personality, as well as an ambassador and board member for the Christopher and Dana Reeve Foundation, which benefits those affected by spinal cord injuries. Today, he talks about his relative ambivalence toward superhero movies, the lessons learned from his parents and—most important—how he’d box a one-armed Larry Holmes. You can follow him on Twitter here.

Will Reeve—you are the newest Quaz …

JEFF PEARLMAN: Will, I’m gonna start with a TOTALLY random one. As I mentioned to you over DM, I just took my son to a 40th anniversary screening of Superman: The Movie. Which is a great film, and your dad was ridiculously good. That said, my son and I were both struck by the love scene starring your dad and Margot Kidder; the whole, “Can you read my mind.” It seems a little, um, I dunno. Goofy. In an otherwise awesome flick. Tell me what I’m missing/don’t understand. 

WILL REEVE: Full disclosure: I’m not a huge Superman fan, or fan of superhero movies generally (the Deadpool franchise being a hilarious exception), so I don’t totally remember the last time I watched that movie, or that scene specifically. But, to start this Quaz off on the right foot, let me take a stab: as far as I can tell, the thing that makes Dad’s Superman (both the franchise and his character) canon is its irreverence and campiness. Keep in mind, this was the late ’70s, decades before Christopher Nolan came in and darkened the superhero landscape to one shade above pitch black. Dad’s Superman is fun and cheesy and earnest to a fault (not unlike the man playing the character, or his son, for that matter), and that type of scene fits perfectly within those thematic notes. Does it hold up to our evolved standards in 2018? Not really. Should it be enjoyed for what it was then and remains now? In my opinion, absolutely.

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J.P.: You graduated from Middlebury College in 2014, and before too long landed a gig at ESPN. How did that happen? And … why? What I mean is, was your dream sports media? Was it something you aimed for? 

W.R.: I interned at “Good Morning America” for two summers in college—2012 and 2013—and fell in love with TV. Until then, I had no clue what I might want to do with my life (which was a source of great anxiety at the time, but with the benefit of hindsight I of course realize that I was just being dramatic). Being in studio every day with the GMA team opened my eyes to the frenetic intensity, orderly chaos, and, ultimately, great fun of making entertaining live television. I had always been a serviceable writer and loved storytelling, and learned through my time at GMA that TV would be a perfect outlet to pursue those passions.

So, in addition to my typical intern duties like fetching coffee, printing script pages, managing the crowds in Times Square, attending production meetings and whatever else, I spent as much time as I could in studio with the talent and crew, trying to become good at TV through osmosis. I befriended the camera operators early on and used those relationships to my advantage when I would ask them about once a week to stay a few minutes after the end of the show to shoot me for my reel. I would bring a coat and tie on those days, throw on a microphone and jump on the anchor desk and have the camera folks point their instruments in my direction. A producer up in the control room would run prompter for me, and I would read the news of the day for a few minutes and have someone clip that off. After two summers of doing this, I had a serviceable—if not very diverse—reel, which, for people in the television industry, is far more valuable than a resume. Tape don’t lie, as they say (I don’t know if anyone actually says this).

I had never been a deliberate networker, but I’m a friendly guy who loves to meet and talk to people, so over the course of my two summers at GMA I had come to know some important people at ABC News. One of these important people was a woman named Susan Mercandetti, who worked in the talent office (part of her job was to identify people either currently in the industry or coming into it who showed any sort of promise that might be of interest to ABC). I met with her occasionally to talk about my future and how I wanted it to involve me working on air. She also happens to be the mother of a college classmate at mine, which I only learned after I had met her in a professional context.

Fast forward to October of 2013, a month into my senior year at Middlebury. I’m at a Parents Weekend football tailgate, and I run into Susan, who is up to visit her daughter/my friend, Francesca. We’re catching up over some beverages and Susan asks me how my job prospects are looking. I tell her that I’ve taken all those clips of me reading the news at the GMA desk and edited them into a minutes-long reel and am prepared to send them to any TV station in any market in the country; I was prepared to move to any town in America and work my way up from there. She asks me if I had ever considered working at ESPN. Probably emboldened by the aforementioned tailgate beverages, I basically laugh in her face. Of course I’d considered working at ESPN. It had only been my dream to be on SportsCenter since I was about five. She says she’d like to introduce me to some important people there when I was home for Christmas break.

Over Christmas break in 2013, Susan set a meeting for me with John Walsh, the Godfather of SportsCenter and one of the most legendary sports media figures in history, and Laurie Orlando, the unfailingly kind, caring and competent head of talent at ESPN at the time. We had lunch in New York City. I thought this was just the culmination of Susan doing me a favor, that this meeting was perfunctory and in no way a job interview. Turns out that ESPN was looking for young people who could write and talk, and Susan had evidently pitched me as someone who might fit that description. Somehow, I nailed that lunch. I only know I nailed it because I got an email from Laurie later that day telling me that I had nailed it and that she would be in touch to bring me up to Bristol to meet some more decision makers in the coming months. In February of 2014, I went to Bristol for the first time (I have my Visitor badge from that day framed in my bedroom today) and met with about ten people, all of whom I would later learn were outrageously influential and surely had better things to do with their time (I’m glad I didn’t know how big of a deal they were during those meetings because I definitely would have stuttered and sweated my way out of consideration for a job right there), and those talks went well, too. I didn’t hear anything for about another month, until I got a call asking me to come up to Bristol again in late March to meet with some people I hadn’t seen the first time I was there. Those meetings also went well. So well, in fact, that I said to myself as I walked to my car at the end of the day, “I think I might be getting a job here…”

I went back up to Middlebury and finished my senior year in a 21-year-old haze, not thinking that my life was about to change.

I graduated on May 25, 2014, without a job. For most people, and especially Type As like myself, that would be cause for concern. For whatever reason, I felt calm.

On June 5, that calmness was rewarded in the form of a call from the great Al Jaffe in the ESPN Talent Office, offering me a two year contract as an on-air commentator. I managed to stammer out that I was absolutely interested, that I was basically saying yes right now, but could I please call my family to tell them the news and get their blessing and then I would call back to officially accept? He agreed to this, and about ten minutes later I called him back with those blessings having been bestowed. ESPN told me to take the summer off and I would start in the fall. The rest is history that is still being written, very slowly.

To directly answer your question: working at ESPN was always something I dreamed of, and I still feel like I’m dreaming every time my ID card works on the Bristol campus, but I never really planned for it. I realize I skipped a ton of steps getting to that dream state, and I never take that for granted even for a moment. But to say I aimed for it would be disingenuous, because it all happened so fast and so many people are responsible for more of it happening than I am.

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J.P.: I don’t love bringing up tragic moments from one’s life, but yours were both public and world altering. You lost both your father and your mother when you were still quite young. I’m not asking what that was like, or how you coped at the time. What I wonder is, as an adult, how did/does that shape you? Like, what does it do to a person, long-term? How has it formed who you are? How you think? Feel? Etc? 

W.R.: My parents’ legacy shapes me every day, privately and publicly. Privately, I am so fortunate to have been raised by those two people specifically because the values they instilled in me, lessons they taught me, and opportunities they gave me have served and will continue to serve as my guide for the rest of my life. Publicly, I feel a solemn obligation to carry on their mission of helping others. That manifests itself most obviously in my carrying on their work at the Reeve Foundation, but also in smaller ways as I try to live by the words they emphasized to me above all others: you have to give more than you take. Having the parents I did, in the community I grew up in, and all the advantages that gave me has allowed me to start on third base in many phases of my life. Because I was raised correctly, in my opinion, I have the tools to get home. Those tools were given to me methodically by my parents in every moment I had with them; they were preparing me for a life without them. Unfortunately, that phase came far sooner than anyone would want, but one of the tools in my kit is fortitude. My parents gave me strength by showing me what strength is. It’s not obviously heroic and isn’t accompanied by a swelling musical score; it’s in trying to do and be a little bit better each day, treating people kindly, and clinging to hope resolutely and unfailingly not because you’re desperate or naive, but because you know it will sustain you.

J.P.: Stupid question, perhaps, but what is it like having Superman as a father? 

W.R.: Well, I didn’t have Superman as a father. I had my dad, Chris. Superman, he reminded me often, was just a role he played for a little while well before I was born, which happened to have a major impact on his life and the world. To me, Dad was Superman, but not because of that role; he was my hero because he was my dad. My life was as “normal” as it could have been, given the circumstances, and my parents went to great lengths to ensure that my existence was not defined by fame or privilege, so I never really cared much about what they did for a living as a result. I’m exceedingly grateful for that.

J.P.: You’re an ambassador and board member for the Christopher and Dana Reeve Foundation. What does that entail for you? And how has the foundation managed to thrive in the years since your parents passed?

W.R.: Board membership entails throwing on a suit and tie once per quarter and sitting at a needlessly long conference table in a sterile room at a midtown New York law firm and pretending to take notes on my laptop while I’m really just refreshing Twitter. Kidding, kind of. The board stuff is an honor; my brother and sister and I all serve on the board, and we each feel a happy responsibility to take it very seriously and contribute tangibly, because we are the most obvious direct connection to my parents (Matthew, Al and I share a dad. My mom was their stepmother, though there was no “step” in the relationship, just like there is no “half” in my relationship with my biologically half-siblings). My role on the board and at the Foundation writ large is as sort of the Young People Ambassador charged with fostering involvement from my generation of peers, who are key to the Foundation’s current and future success; I have the unique perspective of, yes, being a young person, but also, and more importantly, of having grown up in a family affected by paralysis. I know, intimately, what it’s like to have a parent with a spinal cord injury. It’s hard and challenging and scary and very different from not having someone in the house in a wheelchair. But it is also inspiring and instructive and gives those family members a better understanding of the human condition, and with it more empathy.

I try to use that empathy and my experiences to relate to the myriad people I speak to and visit with all over the country who are dealing with the same challenges that I lived through when I was younger. I travel the country on behalf of the Reeve Foundation. Sometimes that means speaking at conferences or to groups interested in what we do or how I’m doing, other times it means visiting hospitals or rehabilitation facilities or families of the recently injured. One of Dad’s great legacies is one often overlooked: after his injury, he spent time nearly every day reaching out to the newly injured across the world to console them and encourage them to keep fighting, to not give up, to do whatever they could to stay mentally and physically ready for the treatments and cures that he was working every single day to bring to fruition. It is a privilege to carry on that tradition, though I recognize getting a call from me is slightly less cool than getting a call from Christopher Reeve, I hope that my family’s and the Reeve Foundation’s reputation and resources bolster the spirits and fortunes of anyone I encounter. I also really enjoy visiting our NeuroRecovery Network sites across the country, where we fund rehab treatments and practices and provide equipment like treadmills and electrical stimulation, to name but a couple. I also am beyond honored to carry on Mom’s legacy in the form of our Quality of Life Grants; each year, the Reeve Foundation awards millions of dollars to individuals and organizations across the country seeking to make daily life just a bit better for people affected by paralysis, whether that’s buying new wheelchairs for a wheelchair basketball league, or paying for a ramp at the entrance to a community center, or funding adaptive art programs or camping trips, among countless other initiatives. Mom created the Quality of Life program in our back yard in 1997 armed with a positive attitude and a loan from Dad; in the two-plus decades since its inception, the grants program has awarded over $20 million nationwide. The Foundation has managed to thrive thanks to strong leadership, aggressive fundraising, and partnerships with the best scientists and doctors in the world. With everyone’s continued support and buy-in, both figurative and literal, we are going to cure paralysis. My association with the Foundation and what (and who) it represents is the most meaningful part of my public life.

J.P.: You played “Young Danny” in the 1997 TV movie, “In the Gloaming.” Your dad was the director. Glenn Close, Bridget Fonda and Whoopi Goldberg were in the cast. What do you remember from the experience? 

W.R.: I remember it being Dad’s return to film after his accident. The movie shot in Pound Ridge, N.Y., about ten minutes from our house. He was so focused and happy, directing his friends doing what he loved so much. As I recall, my scene opens the movie; I played tag with Glenn’s daughter, Annie, on whom I think I had my first crush (I was 4-years old). Because I was so young, Dad thought it would be wise to gently instruct us to just start running around and surreptitiously start filming. He told us to begin, and after a few halfhearted steps I stopped and turned to him impertinently and demanded to know: “Aren’t you going to say action?” After the entire cast and crew’s laughter subsided, Dad did indeed say action and we were off and running, for real this time. I really gave it my all. Mom sang the title song, “In the Gloaming,” and would sing it to me every night before bed for the rest of our time together.

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J.P.: Soooo … your grandfather, F.D. Reeve, apparently accompanied Robert Frost to the Soviet Union as a translator. Um … what? Please explain.

W.R.: Grandpa Franklin set the intellectual and academic precedent on the Reeve side of the family. He was the ultimate scholar, a professor at various points at Wesleyan and Yale, and a moderately-to-very well known poet. I think he taught a lot of things, but his expertise was in English Literature, specifically poetry, and Russian, in which he was fluent. Frost took a trip to the Soviet Union in the early 1960s and needed a translator for his journey. The New England literary scene being as small and intertwined as I understand it to have been, my grandfather, the accomplished poet and Russian speaker, was the obvious choice. He ended up writing a book about the experience, titled, appropriately, “Robert Frost in Russia.” My relationship with Franklin was not particularly close, but there was still mutual love and admiration between us; I won a national award for poetry in seventh grade and invited him as my guest to the ceremony at Carnegie Hall and I would visit him periodically at his home in southern Vermont while I was at Middlebury; I always brought my latest writing samples and papers from school for his edits and improvements. There were many to be made. I owe much of my passion for reading and writing and the general pursuit of knowledge to him.

J.P.: What’s the goal? What do you want to do with your sports career? And how do you see sports media evolving in the coming years?

W.R.: The short term goal is to work more consistently, primarily so that I can improve at the craft, and secondarily to build my profile, which is how you get more and bigger opportunities in this business. Working at ESPN was and is my dream job since I was a little kid. That I would be living my dream so early on my career is something I will never not be grateful for. I’ve been fortunate to check off so many bucket list items at ESPN already: appear on SportsCenter, anchor SportsCenter, write for, contribute features to E:60, host a show on ESPN Radio, meet Bob Ley. It’s all been awesome. The medium-to-long term goal is to continue to establish myself in the media landscape and do as much live TV (or internet or mobile or wherever the hell the most viewers are going to be) as possible, hopefully landing a prominent role on an existing show or, one day, having a show to call my own. If I knew how sports media were going to evolve in the coming years I would feel far more secure in my future than I do now; as it stands at the moment, I believe in OTT services, the importance of live events, and, above all, having the most compelling content possible. If it’s good and useful, people will see it, wherever it is.

J.P.: A couple of years ago you were named one of the top 50 bachelors by Town and Country Magazine. I’m pretty riveted by this—because I didn’t know Town and Country has a top 50 bachelors. Being serious—how did you find out? And what sort of shit did your friends and siblings give you? 

W.R.: I forget how I found out, but I was rather mortified. I try to keep my “son of famous people” background as quiet as possible, especially if and when it concerns my looks or personal life. I do remember being a bit frustrated, though, that they listed me as “William” rather than “Will,” which is what everyone in my life, personal and professional, calls me. It showed me they hadn’t done their homework too diligently. Having said that, it’s quite flattering to be listed as some sort of handsome bachelor, though it didn’t have any kind of noticeable impact on my dating life. I’m very fortunate that the people I choose to spend my time with, whether romantically or platonically, couldn’t care less about what some could consider my “glamorous” lineage. As a result, thankfully, my friends made merciless fun of me. To be honest, that’s par for the course, though; I am always the butt of the joke among my friends, which I am more grateful for than just about anything.

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J.P.: You look like your dad, who was very handsome. Hence, you’re also very handsome. And I wonder—how aware of this are you? I’m actually being serious, because it’s mentioned a good amount in what’s written about you. So … do you see it? Do you care? Does it matter? 

W.R.: Thanks? Look, I’m aware that my parents were beautiful people. Here is the part where I cheesily remind you that they were more beautiful on the inside. Having gotten that out of the way, to answer your question, I suppose it’s nice to be referred to as handsome or attractive as opposed to some alternative, but my looks are not something I’m particularly preocuppied with. Actually, that’s a bit of a lie: I work out and get my clothes tailored and have yet to meet a mirror I haven’t wanted to stare at. And I’ve chosen to be on television for a living, which comes with a level of vanity that needs to be analyzed by a professional.

But as far as my looks being a driving force in my life, they just aren’t. In fact, I always find it pretty lazy whenever someone writes “Superman’s son is the spitting image of his gorgeous father!!!” or whatever. Look a little closer: Dad had drastically pointed features and piercing blue eyes; I have a much rounder face and dark brown eyes, like Mom. I’m grateful that I look a little like both of them, and, more importantly and, again, much more cheesily, I’m grateful that I carry myself through life like both of them, as best and as often as I can. This entire subject is such a first world problem I am cringing harder with each key stroke. Thank you for further complicating my insecurities in this area.


• Rank in order (favorite to least): almond milk, Wyoming, Roseanne, “Gray Lady Down,” grilled cheese, Maddie Poppe, diaries: 1. grilled cheese 2. Wyoming 3. almond milk 4. diaries 5. Maddie Poppe, “Gray Lady Down” (never seen it! but I do like submarine movies…) Last: Roseanne

• In exactly 18 words, make an argument for Superman IV: The Quest for Peace:The studio allowed Dad to direct a few scenes, an experience which affirmed his desire to pursue directing.

• Who wins in a 12-round boxing match between you and a one-armed Larry Holmes? What’s the outcome?: Larry Holmes today, or in his prime? Probably him either way. I’ve never been in a fight. He’d just need to run around the ring to tire me out, and then land one good punch whenever he felt like it. Let’s split the difference and say I’d go down in a 6th round TKO.

• Three memories from your first date: Seventh grade. Cheaper by the Dozen starring Steve Martin. Shared a large popcorn and soda, held hands, no kiss at the end.

• What is your obscure talent?: I am a sensational whistler

• Three memories from playing “Young David” in “The Brooke Ellison Story.”I got to have my own trailer for the day (and this role got me my SAG card, which I didn’t realize was such a huge deal). I thought I nailed it in one take, but the director insisted on no fewer than seven more. Dad was the director.

• What do we absolutely need to know about your family’s foundation?: The Reeve Foundation is the leading organization dedicated to finding a cure for spinal cord injuries (through funding cutting-edge scientific research and medical efforts) while ensuring the best possible quality of life for individuals and families affected by paralysis. Our dual mission statement of “Today’s Care.Tomorrow’sCure.” reflects that wonderfully. “Hope” is not a buzzword at the Reeve Foundation, it is our currency, and the spinal cord injury community has a surplus of it thanks in no small part to what we do for millions of people every day.

• Five words you overuse: profound, like, whom, wildly, and pick any curse word.

• Four reasons one should make Williamstown, Mass. his/her next vacation destination: In no particular order: the Clark Art Institute, Lickety Split ice cream, skiing at Jiminy Peak in the winter, the Williamstown Theater Festival in the summer

• What’s the worst smell in the world?:hot meal in the back of a crowded airplane.

U-Save and the worst rental car experience ever

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OK, to begin with—I’ll acknowledge this was a poor call on my part.

A few weeks ago, after we booked a trip for my son Emmett and I to come to Florida, I went online to Travelocity to find a rental car.

Now, generally, we rent from Avis or Budget or Dollar or any number of reputable places. But, well, prices were sorta high—except for one outlet, called U-Save.

Again, that should have been a red flag, right? Why was one place charging, like, $17 a day when everyone else was listed in the $30 range? Nonetheless, I went with it. I mean, hell, I’ve rented from off-site places before, and it’s worked out relatively well. Nothing fancy or snazzy. But fine.

Alas … that was then.

We flew into Miami two nights ago. It was late. My son is 11. He was tired. We had a 1 1/2-hour drive to Nana’s house staring us down. The U-Save shuttle van arrived quickly. Good sign. There was a line, but only one person ahead of me. “Wow,” I told Emmett. “This looks pretty good.”

Ah, words.

The customer in front of me took, no lie, 45 minutes to complete his transaction. Then I walked up, armed with a reservation number. The clerk asked for my name. He checked his computer and stared blankly. “I have a confirmation number,” I said. Another blank stare. “I don’t have you in the system,” he said. “But I can give you a rate of $25 a day.”

Again, it was late. I couldn’t access my Travelocity account. The amount didn’t sound so bad. “OK,” I said. “That’s fine.”

I wasn’t happy. But … whatever.

He next asked if I wanted a Sunpass—the Florida toll pay system. “No,” I said. “I’ll just pay later.”

“Well,” he explained. “You have two options. You either sign up for $12.25 per day rate, which covers every toll. Or every time you use the Sunpass you pay $10.”

“You’re kidding?” I said.

“No,” he replied. Then he flashed a sheet in front of me. Real quick. I snapped a photo of it as I left and, in fact, that’s not what it says.

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If you read closely, it seems to be a one-time $10 administrative fee. Which, of course, is complete bullshit. Because maybe you just don’t want the damn Sunpass. Maybe (as in my case, as it turns out) you have no use for it.

Alas, rushed, pressured, annoyed, I went with the $12.25 option.

OK, next up he tells me my total is $220. Then, I look at the bill and it says $320.

“Three twenty?” I say. “How is that?”

“You said you wanted insurance,” he replied.

“I absolutely did not,” I snapped. He completely made that up. Invented from thin air. I never purchase the additional insurance (for the record, neither should you).

Finally, after being there well over an hour, we get into a red Toyota. The guy who directs us to it says, simply, “That’s your rental.” I walk around it, see no damage. By now we just need to be on our way before the little guy collapses.

I drive, oh, five miles before I notice the gas tank is only 3/4 full; before I notice the tire pressure light is on; before I notice the frayed seat; before I notice the car has nearly 70,000 miles on it; before I notice the engine sounds funny; before I notice the keys are held together by tape; before I notice the trunk opener is gone.

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In short, it’s a complete piece of shit.

Earlier tonight, I went to check the air pressure in the tires, because the light makes me nervous. The recommended bpi for the car is 32. I figure the tires are a bit low. Maybe, oh, 27, 28. Nope—they’re all between 50 and 60. Dangerously high, especially with the hot weather.

Oh, final thing. Found my original rental agreement; the one Biff somehow couldn’t locate. I was paying a whole lot less than they’re billing me.

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I’m calling tomorrow. Either they concede, or this gets ugly.

Showtime Book
Love Me, Hate Me Barry Bonds Book
Sweetness Walter Peyton Book
The Bad Guys Won Book
The Rocket that Fell to Earth Book
Boys Will Be Boys Book

Once again, Jeff Pearlman has produced an exhaustively researched, elegantly written book that re-creates one of the most colorful and memorable teams of the modern era. No basketball fan's bookshelf will be complete without it.

— Seth Davis, author of Wooden: A Coach's Life