A professional journalist’s view from above

Covering athletics at the collegiate level is rewarding in many ways, but we here at Spec Sports are still full-time students. We cover our beats, write our columns, spend some time editing in the office, and attend the required meetings, but for the most part, we have to put school first. What is life like for professional sports journalists who are able to grant their occupations full attention? Thanks to the friendly media relations people working for the New Jersey Devils, I was able to gain some perspective on this question. The Devils granted me press credentials for two games a month apart, and the following are some of my observations from the Prudential Center press box.

After arriving in Newark, N.J. about two hours before game time, I availed myself of the simple press meal of salad, pasta, and chicken for $10. The room was full of broadcasters, journalists, Devils operations staff, and league officials. Adjacent to the dining area was a press working room with carrels where journalists could finish up any necessary pregame tasks before ascending the elevator up to press level.

In hockey arenas, the press box isn’t rinkside or on the mezzanine level. It’s all the way at the top—above the club level, luxury boxes, and nosebleeds. I found myself high enough to look down on the championship banners hanging from the roof. The press level at the Prudential Center offers such a dramatically different perspective from any other seat in the house that it seems a God’s-eye view. From the first minute of play, I understood why journalists and broadcasters sit up so high. Gameplay in hockey operates with a faster flow than in any other professional sport. The average player shift is around 40 seconds, meaning the pace is furious, and action is end-to-end and rarely settles in one area of the ice for long. I found myself appreciating the opportunity to see the whole ice at once and anticipate how a play might be unfolding on the fly.

There are downsides to sitting above the balconies, though. The sheer distance means players can be hard to identify, whistles difficult to hear, and sounds arrive only after a short delay—sort of like the crack of a baseball bat when you’re watching from the bleachers. Additionally, the most prominent arena sounds creeping into the press area tend to be those generated from the cheap seats—think chants of “Bullshit!” after a New Jersey penalty is called. Overall, while the view was great, I was not too thrilled with the harsh separation between spectators and media. At times, it barely felt like we were in the arena at all.

The whole experience was also less glamorous than I expected. For some reason, I imagined that the press box at a professional event would feature leather seating, ample work space, and perhaps even in-seat food and drink service. The Prudential Center is less than four years old, but there is certainly nothing posh about the press level. The hallways were whitewashed, there wasn’t much elbow room between seats, and I nearly broke a hip when I sat down in my chair and learned the hard way that it was missing a wheel.

Still, there are some obvious perks to being a sports journalist. Although cheering isn’t allowed and partiality in the press box is frowned upon, the chance to see some of the world’s best athletes in live action is unbeatable. Postgame interviews with players and coaches provide additional perspective and access to some famous names. And there’s always a chance to see history happen on any given day.

Most sobering for me was the realization that the hockey game itself sort of seemed to get lost in the shuffle. Everything up on the press level was so businesslike—so professional. Everyone wore a jacket and tie. Some of the journalists were young, but the league officials and broadcasters were generally not. Very few women seem to have cracked the hockey press corps.

When Ilya Kovalchuk, one of the league’s top offensive stars, fired home a slap shot just 1:22 into New Jersey’s matchup against Pittsburgh, the stands erupted, but the press seemed too busy taking notes and watching replays to appreciate the thrill of the moment. When that sort of inspiring play becomes routine—when athletic prowess and creativity are reduced to analysis, numbers, and diagrams—something must be wrong with the sports world. Why else would I have found myself wishing I was down in the balcony with some local fans than up in the press box living the dream?

For me, I think this dream will end at Columbia. I have enjoyed providing the community with coverage of our varsity sports teams, but attending basketball games this winter purely as a fan has helped me remember what it’s like to don Columbia blue, sit in the stands, and feel no qualms about cheering heart and soul for a Lions championship.

Jacob Levenfeld is a List College senior majoring in history and Talmud.
sports@columbiaspectator.com