http://www.imdb.com/board/bd0000055/flat/79702007?p=1

ESPN Worldwide Sports Cheerleader?
By Devin Gordon
Newsweek
July 23, 2007 issue - Throughout July, ESPN's award-winning flagship
news hour "SportsCenter" is devoting a chunk of every broadcast to a
segment called "Who's Now." It's an elimination tournament, purely
theoretical, to determine which current athlete is the most "now"—
although two weeks into the competition, it's still anyone's guess
what exactly "now" means. A panel of experts, including ex-NFL diva
Keyshawn Johnson, debate whether, say, the NBA's Dwyane Wade or
snowboarder Shaun White is more "now." Viewers vote online, and the
winner moves on to face Tiger Woods in the next round. And so on.
Everything about the segment is so artificial, from concept to
execution, that watching it is like chewing Styrofoam.

Lots of people in the sports world took shots at "Who's Now" last
week, including ESPN's own star columnist Bill Simmons. It was just
another wound in what turned out be an unexpectedly untriumphant
stretch for "the worldwide leader in sports." Monday's Home Run
Derby on ESPN, minus slugger Barry Bonds, who declined to
participate because he's old, was a bit of a dud. Later that
evening, the network's much-hyped miniseries, "The Bronx Is
Burning," premiered to lukewarm reviews and luker-warm ratings. And
on Wednesday, one of ESPN's brightest nights of the year—the taping
of its annual sports awards show, the Espys—was dimmed by the news
that longtime "SportsCenter" anchor Dan Patrick, arguably ESPN's
most cherished on-air personality, was leaving the network. ESPN
still has plenty of big names on the payroll; its TV dominion is
secure. But Patrick's departure is a watershed moment, not least
because it epitomizes a battle for the soul of ESPN. As an anchor,
Patrick struck the perfect balance between wit and gravitas; he had
the funniest one-liners and he asked the toughest questions. But in
recent years, networkwide, that balance has begun to tip
unmistakably toward the kind of athlete-centric idol worship that
seems more like the province of Us Weekly than ESPN.

Some of this is inevitable. ESPN's lucrative partnerships with the
NFL, the NBA, MLB and NASCAR, among others, have put its news
operation, and "SportsCenter" in particular, in a unique
bind. "Imagine The New York Times owning half of the Broadway
theaters whose plays it reviews. Or imagine CNN paying billions of
dollars for exclusive ... rights to cover the War in Iraq," wrote
ESPN's own ombudsman, Le Anne Schreiber, in a May 10 Web column
titled "At ESPN, Conflict of Interest Is Business as Usual." It has
led to the occasional gaffe, like ESPN's decision to cancel its well-
regarded drama "Playmakers" after the NFL complained about the show.
And many influential sports bloggers, such as The Big Lead and
Deadspin, have accused the network of ignoring sports, especially
pro hockey, that ESPN doesn't have deals with. Then again, ESPN has
ramped up its coverage of ultimate fighting even though the network
has no financial stake in it—and does have a stake in its rival,
boxing. And while it's true that ESPN's hockey coverage has declined
lately, hockey has also declined lately. Is that ESPN's fault, or
the NHL's?

What's more troubling is how frequently ESPN's boosterism leads to
bad television. Another regular "SportsCenter" segment called "A Day
in the Life" (think "ESPN Cribs") recently featured star NFL
linebacker Shawne Merriman, who was suspended last year after he
flunked a steroid test. "SportsCenter" duly noted the suspension
early on, but it only underscored the exercise in image
rehabilitation that came next: Merriman eating breakfast, Merriman
lifting weights, Merriman volunteering at a soup kitchen. How
convenient that ESPN's cameras showed up for that day in his life.

ESPN remains peerless at reporting, and breaking, news—there's a
reason so many of us still mainline hour after hour
of "SportsCenter." And it has covered the year's biggest story,
Bonds's tainted pursuit of Hank Aaron's hallowed home-run record,
with a fittingly ambivalent mix of awe and skepticism. But too
often, the network seems hellbent on sanctifying athletes, rather
than merely covering them, because it's good business for both.
(ESPN's overreliance on underqualified ex-jocks to fill its analyst
ranks is a grating example.) In a way, the Espys have become an apt
metaphor for ESPN. It's a party the network throws for itself and
its closest friends. Everyone sits together, news anchors rubbing
elbows with All-Stars. It's more business as usual—two crowds that
should probably keep their distance, getting a little too cozy
instead.