“M” Stands for More Than “Mistakes”

My biggest regret after three years of writing for the Spectator is that I never learned what the “M” in Athletic Director Dr. M. Diane Murphy’s name stands for. Maude? Myrtle? Murphy? The failure will haunt my days.

As for the positives, nothing I did in four years at Columbia gave me as much preparation for life as did working for the college daily newspaper. The key qualifier in that sentence is “college,” because, like most undergraduate activities, the college newspaper gave me the freedom to screw up in new and imaginative ways and never have to account for it. And have I made some egregious mistakes while working for this paper.

I misprinted Columbia’s final record in the last football article this season. I wrote the headline “Bison Poached, Streak Goes On.” I once stood up and shouted, “Columbia is a disgrace!” in the football stadium press box when Columbia was losing to Harvard, 27-6. (I was talking over my cell phone about the hunger strikers, but all the athletic administrators took it the wrong way.) I once wrote an article entirely about yoga, and Matt Velazquez published it. I nearly killed Matt, Holly, and Lisa on every football road trip. I failed to kill Matt Reuter.

Moriarty?

I made serious mistakes, too. Something I wrote in my first profile of football head coach Norries Wilson made him never trust me again. I regret this because I know he is a good guy to have in your corner. I botched a feature story on the history of Columbia football last season, and, as a result, Bill Steinman, Columbia’s sports historian, no longer talks to me. This is unfortunate because he’s an incredible resource, and—little-known fact—his brother wrote the songs “Bat out of Hell” and “I’d do Anything for Love (but I Won’t Do That).”

Meat Loaf?

The point I want to make by exposing all my mistakes is that in the long run, they aren’t going to matter. I don’t mean to legitimize my bad journalism, but writing for the Spec was always a learning experience. There are mistakes in the Spectator every day, and the reason for this is that the students in the office each night are exhausted, it’s 3 a.m. by PDF time, and they aren’t getting paid. Compare this work environment to a professional newspaper that pays you to work nine daylight hours, and frankly I’m just impressed the Spectator gets the name of the University right.

Mephistopheles?

It’s unfortunate that when the Sports section errs, it’s usually on the side of pessimism, but I have often seen a kind of over-hyped disdain for student journalists on the part of some Columbia coaches and players, especially when it comes to football. I hope those people know that we wouldn’t do it if we didn’t care, and also that, like it or not, some of the Spec writers covering Columbia athletics will be covering sports for the New York Times in the near future.

M. Night Shyamalan?

Maintaining a professional relationship with Wilson was the most difficult and formative experience in my time at Columbia. He treated me, Matt, Holly, and Carolyn the way most professional coaches treat many professional journalists—with no patience and even less respect. His rant after the Penn game in 2006 was the most hostile form of human interaction I have ever witnessed, and I’m saying that having been to France. I am grateful for the opportunity to have met someone who cares so deeply for the team he leads, and I hope he knows that none of my mistakes were intentional.

I hope that pointing out all my mistakes also points out that, all things considered, the Spec is pretty damn decent. I’d say the Spectator’s Ivy League football coverage over the last four years has been at a higher level than any other news source. Carolyn Braff consistently wrote a more engaging game story than any other Ivy paper. Holly MacDonald was probably giving more accurate statistical analysis than the Lions’ assistant coaches. Matt Velazquez could pick apart a defense from the press box and then turn it into an insult directed at Jon August.

Just M? Like the James Bond character?

I’m grateful for the opportunity to have made so many mistakes along with so many great people. Working with Kartik Kesavabhotla until 4 a.m. every Sunday was a unique experience. He’s the smartest person I know, yet he was shocked and appalled when he saw that Morton Williams was selling “Boar’s Head” for $8.99/lb. Anna Lindow tried her hardest to make us excited about being editors, even when no one came to her meetings for five weeks straight. Josh Robinson wrote the last three words of every headline I ever thought up. Jon Kamran let me get away with writing the lyrics to the Doors’ “Break on Through” in a football graphic.

Mystery?

It kills me to say this, but it’s Margaret. You heard it here first. What a letdown.