Tuesday

journalism / links / photo / Rowan / Tuesday — Comments Off
28
Oct 25

The last windless day for a while, as it turns out

I think we’ve reached or, heaven help me, are approaching, the mid-semester doldrums. Week 9 we’re in now, and young minds will sometimes wander. I’m speaking of mine, of course. My young mind. No idea about the students’ status.

But, hey, I was up until super late watching the greatest World Series game to ever be played, the only person between both of my sports comm classes to apparently do so, and I brought the enthusiasm under the florescent lights today.

We discussed this piece on the NWSL’s sexual abuse settlement. I find it somewhere between a process piece and a rote recap from someone, Meg Linehan, who’s been all over the story for a long while now. It’s a straightforward news story, and we need a lot of those. In this case, it allowed us to discuss how you can make that determination from the first three paragraphs.

The NWSL will create a $5 million player compensation fund as part of a settlement regarding its role in widespread allegations of abuse.

The settlement, announced on Wednesday, ends a joint investigation by the attorneys general (AGs) of the District of Columbia, Illinois and New York concerning systemic abuse across the league and potential violations of state and local human rights laws.

The three offices, as with the investigation by former U.S. Attorney General Sally Yates and the joint investigation by the NWSL and its players association that came before them, focused on “pervasive sexual harassment and abuse by coaches against players” and systematic failures by the league to “exercise adequate insight, institute workplace antidiscrimination policies, or appropriately respond to complaints,” as listed in the settlement agreement.

That distinction is important because the next story we discussed was Mitchell S. Jackson’s masterclass on pathos and grief, the Pulitzer Prize-winning 12 Minutes and A Life. To those who could not be bothered I said, “If you didn’t read this story this week, you’re missing out and only cheating yourself.” It does so much with tone and depth and grief and trust and anger and history and meanness and meaning and thorough no-nonsense reporting that everyone interested in media, even in the slightest bit, should have it on their list.

On February 23, 2020, a young man out for a run was lynched in Glynn County, Georgia.

His name was Ahmaud Marquez Arbery, called “Quez” by his beloveds and “Maud” by most others. And what I want you know about Maud is that he had a gift for impressions and a special knack for mimicking Martin Lawrence. What I want you to know about Maud is that he was fond of sweets and requested his mother’s fudge cake for the birthday parties he often shared with his big sister. What I want you to know about Maud is that he signed the cards he bought for his mother “Baby Boy.” What I want you to know about Maud is that he and his brother would don the helmets they used for go-carting and go heads-up on their trampoline, and that he never backed down from his big brother. What I want you to know about Maud is that he jammed his pinkie playing hoop in high school and instead of getting it treated like Jasmine advised, he let it heal on its own—forever crooked. What I want you know about Maud is that he didn’t like seeing his day-ones whining, that when they did, he’d chide, “Don’t cry about it, man. Do what you gotta do to handle your business.” What I want you to know about Maud is that Shenice told me he sometimes recorded their conversations so he could listen to her voice when they were apart. What you should know about Maud is that he adored his nephews Marcus III and Micah Arbery, that when they were colicky as babies, he’d take them for long walks in their stroller until they calmed. What you should know about Maud is that when a college friend asked Jasmine which parent she’d call first if ever in serious trouble, she said neither, that she’d call him. What I want you to know about Maud is that he was an avid connoisseur of the McChicken sandwich with cheese. What I want you know about Maud is that he and Keem were so close that the universe coerced each of them into breaking a foot on the same damn day in separate freak weight-room accidents, and that when they were getting treated in the trainer’s office, Maud joked about it. You should know that Maud dreamed of a career as an electrician and of owning a construction company. You should know that Maud gushed often of his desire to be a great husband and father. You should know that he told his boys that he wanted them all to buy a huge plot of land, build houses on it, and live in a gated community with their families. You should know that Maud never flew on a plane, but wanderlusted for trips to Jamaica, Japan, Africa. What you must know about Maud was that when Travis McMichael, Gregory McMichael, and William “Roddie” Bryan stalked and murdered him less than three months shy of his 26th birthday, he left behind his mother Wanda, his father Marcus Sr., his brother Buck, his sister Jasmine, his maternal grandmother Ella, his nephews, six uncles, 10 aunts, a host of cousins, all of whom are unimaginably, irrevocably, incontrovertibly poorer from his absence.

Ahmaud Marquez Arbery was more than a viral video. He was more than a hashtag or a name on a list of tragic victims. He was more than an article or an essay or posthumous profile. He was more than a headline or an op-ed or a news package or the news cycle. He was more than a retweet or shared post. He, doubtless, was more than our likes or emoji tears or hearts or praying hands. He was more than an R.I.P. t-shirt or placard. He was more than an autopsy or a transcript or a police report or a live-streamed hearing. He, for damn sure, was more than the latest reason for your liberal white friend’s ephemeral outrage. He was more than a rally or a march. He was more than a symbol, more than a movement, more than a cause. He. Was. Loved.

I print these out and scribble notes in the margin, on the off chance that someone wants to talk about a particular passage in class. One student wanted to talk about this part, and I was grateful it came up. There are so many rhetorical flourishes in there, so many bits of meaning, so much to learn from in those three little paragraphs. And not just there, but throughout the copy. I’d selfishly like everyone to be as impressed by truly great writing as I am. And I’d selfishly like to know more about Jackson’s process in writing this piece.

In org comm, as a come down, I had a slide deck about … ethics. Some days organizational communication is not the most interesting class. It’s just the material, never the presenter. Today was one of those days. Someone wanted to bring up the newest gambling scandal via the NBA, and I asked them to hold off. I have a particular reading on that which was published just today that we’ll discuss at some length on Thursday. The bracing plunge into the cold waters of ethical behavior can’t be held on just one day, no.

I had to park way up high in the parking deck today, which allowed me to see over the next building. So I took this large photograph. (Click to embiggen.)

I looked down to find myself standing in front of one of those “Feeling stressed? We can help.” signs. Aside from wishing my classes were just three percent more energetic today, I felt fine, so I hustled away from the sign and into the car before anyone came along and worried about me.

On the way home I asked Siri to tell me a joke. I got a bad joke. I asked Siri to tell me a funny joke. I think it misheard me, because I received a pretty awful pun. I asked Siri to tell me a dirty joke, which it consistently refused.

I wondered, what if there’s a big gap in Siri’s performance? What if Siri is great with simple tasks like setting a timer or texting someone, bad at slightly more ambitious things, but has the biggest stuff figured out? At which point I asked Siri to tell me the meaning of life. The second answer was useful.

I liked that one. Many people I admire carry an enthusiasm like that around with them. It seems like a reasonable, and achievable, aspiration. I liked it so much and made a mental note to remember where I was when it said that. I was driving through a cornfield that’s waiting to be chopped down. So I marveled at the burnt up stalks and leaf blades, as if I were experiencing them for the first time.

The third answer was, of course, 42. Feeling that Siri and I had come to an understanding, I stopped asking.

I was almost home, anyway.

journalism / links / photo / Rowan / Tuesday — Comments Off
21
Oct 25

Of course it’s good, a Kenny did it

I’m feeling better today. Yesterday was lousy. I blamed the back thing, which was 11 or so days ago. After sitting outside in the chilled evening air I did feel better. Ibuprofen probably helped, too. And then I got in bed, feeling fine, and completely forgot about this, right until I tried to wiggle into a better position. And I wiggled so hard that I thought I tore the wound open.

I did not.

It felt sharp anew, though. And so I lay there wondering if I gave myself a setback. But it seems not. And, hey, stitches come out Friday. And maybe I will be able to stop itching. The tape holding gauze in place is not agreeing with my skin.

Anyway.

This is my artistic interpretation of my day. The view of the sunset, through my blinds.

It was up early, work from the home office, and then work at work, and then work back in the home office again. I am, believe it or not, catching up?

In my Criticism in Sport Media class we discussed two stories. I picked them this week. Both of these are pieces I saved from this summer, for just such an occasion. (I have a remarkable folder with stories that can all be useful in making this point or that one.)

The first one we discussed was: How 3 Muslim sisters helped change the rules of American women’s wrestling.

Jamilah, Zaynah and Latifah McBryde never expected to become college athletes, much less change the rules of American women’s wrestling.

The sisters are devout Muslims who were homeschooled and grew up wrestling one another in Buffalo, N.Y.

“We always said we would never be able to wrestle in college,” said Jamilah, 22.

Coaches recognized their talent when they were teenagers, but they couldn’t wrestle with boys, nor could they wear the required wrestling singlet — due to their faith.

Eventually their passion for the sport – and their perseverance – led to rule changes allowing Muslim women to compete in full-body uniforms at collegiate and national levels.

My impression is that more of the people in my class should read these stories. And I’ve now got half a semester to figure out how to make that happen.

I really like this story. There’s so much you can do with it about story structure, quote selectivity, tone, and the pure efforts of reporting. Plus, it lets you talk about youth sports. And it has the added benefit of being ridiculously infuriating. ‘They control everything’: How the Dallas Stars monopolized Texas youth hockey:

Unlike the NFL, NBA and MLB, a handful of NHL teams are intimately involved in running the youth levels of their sports in their regions – perhaps none more than the Stars. In Dallas, the Stars spent decades turning what was once seen as a community good into a lucrative arm of their for-profit enterprise.

Stars executives addressed some of USA TODAY’s questions in a 35-minute interview and emailed statements, but left other questions unanswered.

“We’re really proud of everything we built here, and we’re committed to continuing to grow hockey in the community and across the state,” said Dan Stuchal, the Stars’ chief operating officer. “We’ve become the model for all non-traditional NHL markets that both the NHL and USA Hockey continually point to in terms of how to grow the game, because that’s the focus for everybody.”

At a time of increasing commercialization of youth sports nationally, hockey is particularly vulnerable to capture by corporate interests. Whereas baseball and soccer fields, tennis and basketball courts are ubiquitous in parks and schools, fewer than 3,000 ice hockey rinks exist across the U.S., largely because running them is so expensive.

Plus, I got to make a Kenny joke here. The author is Kenny Jacoby, an extremely well-regarded investigative reporter. And I told my class that all Kennys are fantastic writers. Some of them got the humor. But it’s a story designed to inform and aggravate and shed light on some predatory tactics of people who are sometimes a little too desperate. It’s terrific journalism and there’s a lot to glean from it. Probably because a Kenny wrote it.

In my Organizational Communication in Sport class we talked about media strategy and planning. This is the fun stuff. It’s brain work. It’s a bunch of puzzle pieces in a sandbox displayed on an Etch-a-Sketch, where the real decisions are made and money and personnel are figured out. It’s a bit difficult to just teach it. So I’d run a point out there, and then try to get the class to put this to work in a hypothetical context on their own campus. The best part is that no matter the question, and no matter the answer, there’s another consideration, another possible or additional approach. It demands you limber up your mind before you wade in. It’s a perfect thing to do at 3:30 in the afternoon, when a roomful of people’s post-lunch blood sugar is plummeting.

In first class they’ll have a midterm on Thursday. In the second class, we’ll do a media planning assignment. And after that I’ll have to decide which one was easier to grade.

But that’s a problem for Friday and Saturday.

Enjoying Catober? Be sure you are up to date. Click that link to see them all.

adventures / football / history / photo / Rowan / Tuesday / video — Comments Off
14
Oct 25

Between Saturday and the Revolutionary War

This is how my back feels. I carefully squatted down to pick up my mostly empty backpack. I put my mostly empty backpack on my home office chair. I slipped my laptop and my notebook inside. I zipped it up and carried it downstairs. Because I was being helpful, I went back upstairs I did the same for my lovely bride’s backpack. Same procedure, squat, chair, laptop, two notebooks, zipped it. I carried it downstairs. And there near the end of that little trip the muscles around my shoulder where this little incision suggested they might not like me to do that anymore.

So I did not.

How it works this semester is that we drive to one building, where she has her classes, and I drop her off. Then I drive over to the building where our office is, and where my classes are. There’s a parking deck right behind it. (We have, probably, the best parking arrangement on campus.) I go to whatever floor, park, and then walk down the stairs, around the side of the building and about half a block to the door. Up the elevator to the office, and so on. And about the time I got off the elevator, I didn’t want to carry my bag for a while.

Again, this is basically an intense pulled muscle sort of sensation. A “hey, you really shouldn’t” kind of thing. And I am fortunate in that I can obliged that feeling, follow the doctor’s advice and still do the things I need to.

Which, today, was class. In Criticism in Social Media we talked about this story which was OK enough to make two or three small points on. And we also talked about this story, which was worth a bit more dissection. Back with Dodgers, emotional Freddie Freeman details son’s health scare:

Max woke on July 22 with a slight limp and went into full paralysis four days later, prompting Freeman to rush home from a series at the Houston Astros. By Wednesday, doctors removed Max from his ventilator.

Five days after that, Freeman was back in the Dodgers’ lineup for the start of a three-game series with the Philadelphia Phillies, playing first base and batting third. He finished 1-for-4 in the Dodgers’ 5-3 win and was greeted by a long standing ovation before his first at-bat. The Phillies joined the applause from their dugout. The pitch clock was stopped as he stepped out of the batter’s box, removed his helmet and waved to the crowd, before then touching his right hand to his chest.

“I was doing OK tipping my hat and then my dad was sitting first row with my stepmom, and he was — I don’t know if I could call it crying, but he was choked up and teary-eyed,” Freeman said. “That’s what really got me going.”

Max spent eight days in a pediatric intensive care unit before being discharged Saturday. The next day, he began physical therapy.

At my next opportunity, I’m going to have to pick a few stories that aren’t emotional stories, lest I give my class the wrong idea about this. And looking at some of the documentaries I’ve selected for later in the semester … I need to do that soon.

In Organizational Communication in Sports my normal slide deck theme gave away to egregious fandom. And since Auburn got ripped off Saturday — this was one of about four games I’ve watched in three years, and what a clown car the whole thing has become — I turned it into hating on fans. My hope was that it would make for a comedic, and memorable, conversation. So it started with this.

I rather like that shaker theme, though. So I put up all sorts of unflattering photos of Georgia fans — I won’t reproduce them here, but they’re out there — and talked through Social Identity Theory. There was one photo of a Georgia fan, in his best Georgia t-shirt (it only had three stains on it) proudly shaking hands with some klansmen. Then I said, “whereas my guys are good Christian boys.” And here’s a shot of a big chunk of the team praying in the end zone. “And patriotic?” Boy you’ve got no idea!” And then there’s a shot of them celebrating with some ROTC students. It just went on like this for a while, talking about the cognitive choices of Social Identity Theory, the purpose of it all, the In-Group / Out-Group nature of sports. Most of this we all inherently know, but some days you get to put a name and some scholastic explanation to things.

I pointed out that, of course this is unfair. I’m cherry picking these guys in outlandish ways to try to make a point. You can do this with any fan base if you want to. It’s just easier with some then others.

We talked about Presentation of Self, which let me show people dressed up all nice for something as silly as a football game. We talked about Goffman’s notions of front stage and back stage. We talked about social identity as our fandom extends beyond the venue. Look, I’m wearing this tie, and this tasteful lapel pin, and so on. And then we came around to highly identified fans, and I talked about the most highly identified fans I know. And that’s where I played clips of Bama fans.

I ended it with mascots. Here’s a shot of 11-time mascot of the year Aubie in a library. And here’s Rowan’s mascot, with the way the university describe’s Who R U on his own page: fierce, ready to attack, full of aspirations and expectations. I dug up a shot of Rowan’s next football opponent’s mascot, a big black bear that’s goofy in the appropriate sort of mascot ways. Pio is his name, and his site says this bear represents the values and attributes of their students: gritty, confident, persevering, fun-loving and the first in the family to attend college.

Because, ya know, he’s a bear, and not a lot of bears go on to higher education.

The Yankee came to see what that lecture turned into. She said it went well. Said she might steal some of that material the next time she teaches this class.

We left our building and went across the street for a special presentation. Some of the faculty here know the filmmaker Ken Burns, and he graciously allowed them to screen the first episode of his upcoming documentary.

Six episodes, starting next month. We were asked to not discuss it at length, and I’ll respect that. But I’ll say this. Episode one was quite good, I can’t wait for the rest. Also, the voiceover casting is just incredible.

One of the professors, who is a professional film critic, talked a bit. A history professor, a public historian who is a key figure in the ongoing work at a nearby Revolutionary War site also spoke. She’s the perfect kind of historian, in my view. She has such an enthusiasm for her work that it makes you want to be enthusiastic about it, too. Maybe all teachers should be that way. I try to be that way. Maybe it comes through. For Dr. Janofsky, though, it is obvious, and infectious.

She passed around this piece of shot that had recently been pulled from the ground. For 250 years this had been buried beneath the soil, and just before that, it was hurtling at an enemy with great urgency.

Janofsky did not say whose shot this was. I’m assuming they know. We also know a lot about the muzzle velocity of 18th century cannons, and we know there was a fair amount of variation between them having to do with a lot of different variables, the type of shot, the canon, the powder and so on. I’ll just go with a number that keeps popping up for British cannons of the era, 487 meters per second. That’s a bit over 1,000 miles an hour. No one wants to be standing downrange of that, in any century.

And then something controversial, that had nothing to do with work or the Revolutionary War happened. I’m running out of pixels today, so I’ll type about it tomorrow, when there will surely be more to know, anyway.

cycling / photo / Rowan / Tuesday / video — Comments Off
7
Oct 25

I reference dramatic reality, undramatically

This is a reminder that this is a light week, because of working events. But Catober is here to amuse you. But there are about 800 words here and four photographs from yesterday’s bike ride. So, yeah, light week.

In my criticism in sport media class we examined two different kinds of stories. The students selected these. One of them was this incredible piece from CNN: ‘Harmed, outed, scrutinized’: How new sex testing rules affect athletes:

Just like Ajok and Imali, a raft of athletes will no longer be allowed to compete in the women’s category at the World Athletics Championships, which are currently taking place in Tokyo, Japan.

Track and field body WA announced earlier this year that beginning from September 1, anyone wanting to compete in the “female category” of its elite events would be required to take a “once-in-a-lifetime test” in the form of a cheek swab or blood test that will screen athletes’ genetic samples. This will determine whether they contain the SRY gene – or “a genetic surrogate for a Y chromosome” – according to the organization.

The decision comes following a World Athletics Council meeting where, along with a raft of other policy changes, the council agreed to adopt multiple recommended conditions of “eligibility in the female category,” WA confirmed in a press release.

The World Athletics Championships hosted something like 2,200 competitors from almost 200 countries and teams. Not everyone, of course, was subjected to this strict scrutiny. It’s an in-depth story that does a nice job explaining this process and some of the biological information to people who aren’t expected to be experts. I wish my lovely bride wasn’t teaching in another building at the same time as that class, because this subject has become one of her primary areas of research expertise. I am not an expert in this area, which meant I had to learn a lot the last few days. The class handled the conversation with interest and care. I was pleased to see what we got out of the story, from a critiquing point of view.

We also discussed this other story which didn’t offer us a lot. But I was able to get in several points about how all stories aren’t created in the same way, some of them aren’t going to have all of the features (or conspicuously lack them) when we’re doing a critique. I turned it into a criticism of Sports Illustrated in general. Because there’s always some context to understand, somewhere. And maybe that’s a note that will seep in over the course of the semester.

We started talking about storytelling in org comm today. Presumably I have a little expertise in this area. There were 14 or 15 slides to digest, getting into the different kinds of stories we receive from the media, our different levels of participation and sociality, fan-centered media messaging and the structures of dramatic reality storytelling. (The by-the-book version requires a story to have drama, adversity, crisis, mentors, persistence and a final reward to be a dramatic reality.)

Here’s a video I showed them that included all of those things and Da Coach O, in under four minutes.

The class will have to put some of that in to practice on Thursday, but they don’t know that yet. So don’t tell.

Here are a few shots from yesterday’s ride, which was a slow, 21-mile tour of some new roads, and some old roads. You can really see the passage of time here, which could be seasonal, or about an afternoon, depending on your meaning.

I love these yellowing cover crops.

On a road I think I’ve been on just once or twice before, we have a discovery for the Barns By Bike catalog.

And on a nearby stretch of road, which I think was entirely new to me, another.

I found myself up a hill, over some bumps, around a bend and taking a left turn. I figured I would just ride that a certain amount and then turnaround. The easy part is getting lost. The difficult part is retracing my steps if there are too many turns. So as I pedaled along some scenic, tree covered roads dotted by a cemetery here and a neighborhood there, I was trying to play the map out in my head: I’m going, roughly, east and this should dump me out … where?

Eventually I got to a stop sign and, considering the amount of daylight I had left, and what I wanted to do with it, decided to turn around and start my hustle for home. It was delightful. Three empty roads and one of them wide open with fields on either side and the only sound was the sound of my tires on the road. I got back to a little crossroads community I know well, turned right and started racing home.

As I got close, this was one of my last views.

I made it in just before dark, and hopeful I can go out again soon. Maybe for some more old roads, maybe for some new ones.

adventures / family / photo / Rowan / Tuesday — Comments Off
30
Sep 25

2ENI6S

We went to see a big field hockey game tonight. It was senior night for my god-niece-in-law (just go with it.) My in-laws came down to see their god-granddaughter. (I guess that’s how it works? The field hockey player is the daughter of their goddaughter. This would get confusing pretty quickly after that.) So we all went to her high school together. Her sister is on the junior varsity team, and they played first. The younger Jaguars won their game, and fans trickled in all night. By the time they dragged out the balloon arch for the senior night festivities both sets of her grandparents, her god-grandparents, her god-aunt-and-uncle and a bunch of her friends were there. They made signs and posters and had big Fathead-style faces. It was all quite cute.

She was, I think, the third athlete through the balloon arch. The guy on the PA introduces her and her parents and her little sister. He read off her career highlights, which at this point is something like 10-plus years of field hockey. He had a little sentence or two from the player thanking her family, and a note about what’s next, where she’s going to school, what she’s planning to study.

The sun was going down about that time.

And then, when all the seniors were introduced they went out there and played a game against the Lions. And the seniors went out in style, winning 5-0.

The cool thing was, after dinner, she said she got a piece of the ball on the last goal, though it was credited to one of her teammates. But she was glad for that. The other player hadn’t yet scored this year.

She’s always been a thoughtful girl; she’s going to be a pretty spectacular woman.

Though I guess we’ll do this again during softball season. How many senior nights do you need?

All of them, if you’re the senior.

I mentioned this the last time we went to see her play, but they host their home games on the high school’s football field, which is actually a multipurpose field. They also play their soccer there, and some of their track and field events are held there, too. If you’re sitting on the home side you see the high school in the background. And off to your left is a little building that is probably a field house. The side that faces the parking lot is painted red, and right in the center is the word:

2ENI6S

The graduating class all signed their names in a bit a of condoned graffiti. Though I wonder how the teachers feel about that treatment of the word. And how the class of 2027 will mangle it.

I visited the concession stand tonight and bought a handful of things for various members of our section of fans, a sandwich, three drinks, two pretzels. The students staffing the concession stand could not calculate the price. (It was $16 I told them.)

All of this gives me a great deal of material. So I pointed at this new construction in the western corner of the sports field.

“I hope it is a learning center!”

It is, of course, a new field house. Athletics first, and at all cost. Even at a good school — and their school scores in the top four percent of the state. But still, 2ENI6S, simple math.

We all went to the star players’ for dinner and family revelry. It was a wonderful evening.

In class today we discussed The Concussion Files:

The Post reviewed more than 15,000 pages of documents relating to efforts by more than 100 former players to qualify for settlement benefits, including thousands of pages of confidential medical and legal records. The Post also interviewed more than 100 people involved with the settlement — including players, widows, lawyers and doctors — as well as 10 board-certified neurologists and neuropsychologists for their expertise on how dementia is typically diagnosed.

Among The Post’s findings:

The settlement’s definition for dementia requires more impairment than the standard definition used in the United States. Several doctors who have evaluated players told The Post that if they used the settlement’s definition in regular care, they would routinely fail to diagnose dementia in ailing patients. “I assumed this was written this way, on purpose, just to save the NFL money,” said Carmela Tartaglia, an associate professor of neurology at the University of Toronto.

At least 14 players have, like Cross, failed to qualify for settlement money or medical care and then died, only to have CTE confirmed via autopsy. Eight of these players were diagnosed in life with dementia or a related memory disorder but still failed to qualify for settlement benefits.

In more than 70 cases reviewed by The Post, players were diagnosed with dementia by board-certified doctors, only to see their claims denied by the administrative law firm that oversees the settlement. While the NFL has often blamed denied claims on fraud, none of the denials reviewed by The Post contained allegations of fraud. Instead, records show, settlement review doctors simply overruled physicians who actually evaluated players, often blaming dementia symptoms on other health problems also linked to concussions, including depression and sleep apnea.

The NFL’s network of settlement doctors has been beset by systemic administrative breakdowns since its inception. Former players suffering from dementia wait, on average, more than 15 months just to see doctors and get the records they need to file a claim. Maynard was one of two players The Post found who waited more than two years to get paperwork and died before they could get paid.

In total, court records show, the settlement has approved about 900 dementia claims since it opened in 2017. It has denied nearly 1,100, including almost 300 involving players who were diagnosed by the settlement’s own doctors.

It’s an aggravating story, and it should annoy readers. And some of my students were aggravated by what they read — which leaves some questions about a few other students.

We also talked about this story.

On the face of it, playing chess and competing in the NBA couldn’t be further apart.

One requires monk-like levels of silent concentration – particularly in classical chess – while the other demands physical dominance, peak athleticism and the ability to stay composed in a frenzied atmosphere.

But it seems there is more that links the two sports than initially meets the eye – just ask NBA legend Derrick Rose.

The 2011 NBA MVP has been leading a new and unlikely collaboration between the worlds of chess and professional basketball.

That story didn’t seem to connect, but for different reasons.

Those were in my criticism class, of course. In org comm class we wrapped up the unit on branding. The students broke up into their fantasy football franchise groups and had to do an assignment which asked them to assess the sort of star power that each of their players possess. Then they had to pick three players from their team which would be the most likely pitchmen, and then assign them products or brands they would advertise for. It went well, and it all just goes on the now large stack of things I need to grade.

And that starts tomorrow. I am able to devote an entire day to pecking away at the computer and I am weirdly looking forward to it.