Mellinger Minutes, one last time: THANK YOU. Also, some sports, and a KC Royals story
We played catch in the parking lot. The wind howled, and the gravel in Lot O scuffed the balls a bit, but there is an indescribable joy in the connection of throwing a ball to your kids and them throwing it back.
We made the walk toward the gates. The grill smoke floated and the kids looked at the third-biggest party they’d ever seen — they were at the Chiefs’ Super Bowl victory parade, and the older one was at the Royals’ World Series parade — with eyes that looked like big marbles.
We walked toward the seats, and I stole a look behind me to see their faces as they got inside an NFL stadium for the first time. It’s a scene I’ll never forget.
Once it started, I made sure to tell them it’s not normal that the first play from scrimmage they ever saw in person was a scoop-and-score touchdown.
Late last week, I called my bosses to tell them that the Royals had offered me their vice president of communications job, an opening created with the retirement of the legendary Mike Swanson. I told them I was going to say yes. It was a hard conversation for me to have, but one that I knew was motivated by the right reasons.
They were incredibly gracious. They’ve supported me as long as we’ve worked together — and in president Mike Fannin’s case, that goes back more than 21 years, to when he was sports editor and hired me to cover high schools. That support never wavered, even in the moments when I didn’t live up to the mission.
I told Mike this privately and now I’ll say it publicly: He’s had as much influence on me as just about anyone I can think of outside my parents. I will love him forever, and I appreciate all he’s done for me.
After we spoke for a few minutes, he asked if there was anything I needed. I said no. He asked again: Anything at all?
I told him the timing was strange, but a friend had given me his tickets to the Chiefs-Raiders game. My kids were over the moon about going to their first game and had been in my ear about me going along with them. I told them no, Daddy has to work.
But now?
“Absolutely,” Mike said. “Take your kids. You’ll love it.”
We got there early to tailgate, and the kids were so excited we were in our seats well over an hour before kickoff. They wanted to be sure they didn’t miss anything. Our kindergartner loved the fireworks and the video boards and the fans dressed in costume. Our second-grader loved seeing his favorite players up close and noticed they came out in position groups. When the jets flew overhead at the end of the anthem, they might as well have been watching literal magic.
The game was bonkers. You know that much. Great weather, lots of touchdowns ... we could not have dreamed of a better first game for them.
I will love The Star forever and feel grateful to have been your sports columnist for 11 years. I’ve always looked at this as a journey we take together, and I appreciate your support and guidance.
This is a new career I’m starting, and I’m approaching it with a mix of excitement and fear. I felt the same way when I became a columnist. Perhaps the only thing I have in common with George Brett, other than a birthday, is that I am motivated by a fear of failure. I’ve learned to believe that’s an exciting feeling, not an intimidating one.
I’ll be away from my family more than I’ve been. I know that. My amazing wife does, too. But there will be opportunities to do things with them I never could have before. I know that, too. They’ll see baseball in a new way and we’ll be able to do things together that we never have.
That began last weekend with their first Chiefs game. I’ll never forget it. I hope they feel the same.
This week’s reading recommendation is my friend C.J. Moore getting inside Purdue’s efficient offense, and the eating recommendation is the sunset roll at Prime*.
* That’s how my wife and I celebrated last night!
Tomorrow, I’m headed to Los Angeles to cover the Chiefs-Chargers game. This is one a lot of us have been looking forward to for months, and I’m excited to see it and experience it with you. That will be my last act in this job, and then I’ll start this new professional life on Monday.
I couldn’t have done this job at The Star without your support, and I want you to know I’ll continue to work for you with the Royals. We can do this together.
Last thing here at the top: I hope you continue to support The Star and all local journalism. The cause is important, and it makes Kansas City a better place. The mission goes on.
Dude, no. And I was hoping someone would ask this.
True story: the Minutes — Twitter Tuesday, at first — began out of desperation.
I was young and eager and full of ideas and objectively not ready for the job. That last part would have been true even if — in the span of a few weeks — readers of The Star hadn’t gone from having Joe Posnanski and Jason Whitlock as their sports columnists to … just me. I was petrified.
I didn’t know what you wanted. I didn’t know what I wanted. So I figured I would just … ask?
That’s all. It was a way for me to find out what was important to you. It was a way for me to find out what you wanted to talk about. What you wanted me to talk about, and ask about, and write about. If I screwed everything else up, at least I’d know that once a week I was writing about what you wanted to read.
Honestly, that’s all it was.
I had no idea that it would become the foundation for everything I do in this job. I had no idea that I would make friends through this timesuck, or that I would get story tips through this timesuck, or that I would get thoughtful advice on being a husband and a father and a friend.
A few times, I thought about stopping the Minutes. It takes forever to put together, and it just seemed impossible to believe that enough of you felt like you needed 5,000 words about sandwiches and nonsense every Tuesday morning.
But for some glorious reason you did, and I walked blindly into being the person to give it to you.
This has been a cathartic outlet for me. I believe that readers deserve to know who their sportswriters are. This job is a privilege and readers have lots of options. They should know a little about who they’re giving their time and money to. This weird timesuck has been my best way of conveying that. So many of you have responded in an enormous way.
I think we’ve come to an understanding. I think you know I’ve always worked for you and cared for you and been motivated by what I think are your best interests. I think you know I’m VERY far from perfect and will make mistakes, but never through malice. I think you know that we won’t always agree, which is part of the fun, and that we can always disagree respectfully.
There have been times I’ve been dead wrong, and you’ve called me out on it, and I’ve been grateful. There have been times you’ve shared intimate details of your life with me, which is an honor. You have helped me through some rough times in my life and into a life I never expected.
This isn’t how it’s supposed to go. I’m not supposed to be this lucky. I owe you the world. Thank you.
I hope he doesn’t mind me sharing this, but one of the people I called when I started this job was Bill Plaschke. You might know him from TV, but for me he’ll always be one of the best sports columnists who’s ever done it. He also happens to be really kind and gracious with his time when young dipstick writers reach out for advice.
We built something of a relationship over email beginning when I was in college. I knew he replaced the LEGENDARY — he deserves capital letters — Jim Murray at the Los Angeles Times, so I asked him how the hell I was supposed to “replace” Joe and Jason.
“Look,” he said, “there will be people who like you right away and people who don’t. And the people who don’t, you tell them, ‘Yeah, those other guys left you. And I’m here, whether you like it or not.’”
I don’t think Bill meant that literally. I didn’t take it literally, anyway. I took it as his way of telling me not to think about that part of the job because it did not matter. It could not help me. I think he was telling me to not think about being Joe or Jason, and to only think about being me.
It’s advice I never forgot. It’s advice that’s fueled everything I’ve done here, and if I’m honest it’s advice that has helped me in my personal life, too. It’s so simple — be yourself — but the way he said it really stuck.
A year or two later, the woman who is now my wife gave me another critical bit of advice. She told me to loosen up. That I was taking the work too seriously and was losing touch with what we all love about sports. The fun.
Bill and my wife. I’ve never forgotten that.
And I’ve also never lost track of this: You’re the boss. You can’t tell me what to say any more than I can tell you what to say. But I only have this job because you give me your time, and I better work as hard as I can to be worth it.
I’ve done my best to hold up my end of that. You’ve done more than I deserved to hold up yours.
Man, I’m telling you, there are so many parts of this job I’m going to love. I’ve had a great view of sports for the last two decades, and I know I’m about to see and hear and know things I never could before.
I’ll be going from saying what I think about decisions to being part of why those decisions are made. I’ll be going from trying to articulate my own thoughts to helping others articulate theirs.
Here’s one thing I didn’t know: The Royals run a thorough and intense process to fill these positions. They challenged me repeatedly, asking hard questions and letting me sink or swim with my answers. It was awesome.
But one advantage I had in knowing I’d be a fit is that I’ve spent 15 years — I started covering baseball in 2006, a few days after Dayton Moore was hired as GM — getting to know them. I had a head start in seeing how they worked together and talked about each other. I knew I respected them, and we certainly don’t and won’t agree on everything, but at a base level we are all deeply motivated by a love for Kansas City and baseball.
This is once-in-a-lifetime stuff.
I could not do a job like this for a franchise or people I did not believe in. That they are exploring the idea of a downtown ballpark — something I’ve always thought would be great for Kansas City — is an awesome bonus.
I don’t know exactly what (if any) role I’ll have in that. Kansas Citians will have the biggest say. But the ambition and work and heart the Royals are putting into this is an example of why I’m so excited to see where I can help.
Put it this way: I’d love a downtown ballpark if the math lines up, but a decision like that is not mine.
But, just as an example, if the Royals have 81 Bo Jackson Appreciation Nights next season, you’ll know who to thank.
Thanks Joel!
I’ve thought a lot about this. From what I can tell, this isn’t a move that a lot of teams have made. There are some kind-of examples, like Lee Jenkins leaving Sports Illustrated for the Clippers, but Lee’s job and my job are different in some fundamental ways. Richard Griffin made a similar move from the Toronto Star to the Blue Jays, and I hope to talk to him about that soon.
But there isn’t a lot of precedent for this, and I suppose I can understand why. Reporters — especially columnists — can have a naturally adversarial relationship with the teams they cover.
People don’t generally hire or go work for their adversaries, and I have to say I’ve written some things and had some conversations with Royals people over the years that could have closed this door before it ever opened.
I forget why we were arguing, but once Dayton called and goes: “Tell me one reason I should still talk to you.”
Another time, he was mad at something I did and I told him in plain language that I thought he was wrong. The volume on both sides rose a bit before we each said what we needed to, and then he said: “OK, that’s done, anything you need from me?”
Those are the people you want to work with. Those are the people you respect.
There could be something I’ve said or written that a player didn’t like. That question was asked in the interview process, repeatedly. Maybe some of the friends I have now in the media will think of me as a sellout, or believe that I need to give them information I can’t. There are potential challenges like that.
But I also think the skills needed to be a journalist can translate pretty well here. Journalists know how to have difficult conversations. They know how to talk to people. They can handle stress. They need to learn how to be empathetic, and to treat people with humanity. In a lot of industries, this is more the norm than the exception. I’d love to see that switch.
There are a lot of things I need to learn about this new job. It’s not lost on me that I’ve been hired for a role in which I have a total of — checks notes — zero minutes of direct experience. I have to tell you the truth: That’s one of the most exciting parts of all this, the learning and growing and stretching.
But I think the biggest strength I’ll have on Day 1 is a working understanding of who the Royals are, what they want to be, and who the people are that they need to connect with. At some point, it became clear to me that the Royals wanted someone who wouldn’t lie and who loves Kansas City.
That’s an oversimplification, and I need to learn a LOT and lean on some good people, but on some level those last two paragraphs are a big part of the job. I feel like those two paragraphs are a big part of who I am, too.
This right here. Not the Minutes specifically, but I mean the direct connections I’ve built with so many of you. I know I’ve said this a lot, but that so many of you have allowed me into your lives and shared your passions over the years has been an honor that I will cherish the rest of my life.
I’ll miss writing. Not necessarily the stuff you might think about — I don’t need anyone to know what I feel about the Chiefs’ next draft, for instance — but the personal stuff. This is how I express myself. I’ll try to find another way to fill that bucket. Maybe my wife is about to get 3,000-word emails about breakfast or something.
And as much as anything I’ll miss the people I’ve done this job with. I don’t want to name names here because I’m trying to do those things privately, but if you have someone in mind, you’re probably right. I’ve been so dang lucky to work with some of the best people I’ve ever known, with talent and drive that pushed me to keep up.
I’ll miss watching games with them. I’ll miss giving them something before I file and seeing how they make it better. I’ll miss the specific form of pride you take when someone you work with has big success.
This is a great job. Like I said, it’s the only writing job I ever really wanted. I had no idea what could pull me from that. The universe works in weird ways for this new job to come find me. I was never going to leave unless it was an incredible opportunity.
I’m so grateful to the Royals for helping me see it.
We have now come to the list portion of the timesuck!
1. It’s hard to say this is my favorite, because it was the hardest thing I’ll ever write. But helping tell Michael Keck’s story was an honor. Cassandra, his widow, was so gracious with her time and honesty. It was an important story for people to hear. Michael was a good man, and someone I knew through covering high schools here. My heart broke in the process.
2. The best venue I’ve ever been to was Kauffman Stadium for the 2014 Wild Card Game, but that’s not what you’re asking about. So the answer is Fenway Park for a World Series. You’re watching the highest level of baseball on the same field where the best baseball players in human history won and lost.
3. The people, my neighborhood, the Peanut, Arrowhead Stadium on a Sunday afternoon, Kauffman on a Friday night, the sports fans, the people, the Nelson, downtown, Westport, the Plaza, dives like LC’s, fancy spots like Westport Cafe, the people, my kids’ school, Karnes Boulevard, Rockhill Road, Ward Parkway, the Buck O’Neil Bridge, T-Mobile Center when it’s full, the people, the tacos, the cheeseburgers, the steaks, the burnt ends, and I just want to make sure I mention this: the people.
1. 2014 Wild Card Game. All of it.
2. Wasp.
3. Eric Hosmer’s mad dash home.
4. Patrick Mahomes’ run against the Titans.
Yeah, I did four. Fight me. I barely work here anymore.
Also, important note: My wife and I were on our honeymoon when KU and Mizzou played their last game in 2012, or that would be on here somewhere. And I was at my mom’s — I was covering baseball at the time, give me a break! — when (and gawd this still sounds so weird) No. 3 Missouri beat No. 2 Kansas at Arrowhead.
The Royals are the first team I ever loved. My dad was not a big football fan, but he loved baseball, and I think those influences stay with us forever. So we went to a lot of Royals games. A LOT.
I remember picture day on that baking Astroturf and a miraculous throw from Gary Thurman and trying to mimic George Brett’s exaggerated lean and weight shift. I remember once — I think the Royals’ starters were on some crazy run of complete games or something — the relievers jokingly growing flowers in the bullpen.
I remember a doubleheader against the Blue Jays — one of the few things my dad liked more than baseball was value — and the time Brian McRae charged the Rangers’ dugout and seeing Bo break a bat over his leg after a strikeout. My dad thought that was bad body language. I thought it was the most incredible thing I’d ever seen.
So, one way I can answer this question is to tell you that it seems surreal that I’ve had the chance to get to know and write freely about that franchise for 15 years, and now they’re letting me inside to help the whole thing go.
I could also talk about some of the specific ideas I have to help. I’m going into this being well aware that I can’t help anyone hit or throw a slider, but I can help them navigate the rest.
It will not surprise you that I care deeply about media access, and believe it’s good for both teams and fans. There are some things we just can’t do, but I want the Royals to continue to be among the teams willing to be open and honest and connect with fans through the media.
I need to say something else here that’s been in my heart. Swanee made this job what it is. I’ll be standing on the shoulders of a giant with this. That department — the franchise in general, too, but that department specifically — was not in a good place when he arrived. He gave it credibility, confidence and heft. I know there are boulders he’s cleared for me.
But, really, the part of the job I’m looking forward to the most is working with so many people I already respect and know can help me grow. I know it sounds like a line, and I suppose in a few days you’ll be able to say I’m literally paid to say these things, but I hope you believe that I’ve been honest enough over the years to know this is what’s truly in my heart.
These are good people. These are imperfect people, like all people, but these are people who are deeply motivated by the right things and believe that everyone lucky enough to work in professional sports has a responsibility to help grow that sport.
I can’t wait. I can’t believe I get to do this. My professional life has been absurdly lucky. I’m going to be reincarnated as roadkill or something, just so the luck evens out.
Ha, so yeah, this is one of those moments where the sports columnist who talks a big game sees what’s what.
I’ve written about this before, but how incredible would this be:
Barbecue restaurants that can prove scaleability for 81 home games are invited to enter a special category at the American Royal. The top three (or so) get space at Kauffman Stadium, preferably all together in the outfield somewhere, but I’m flexible on that. The process repeats every year, so we end up getting variety over time — think of it as promotion/relegation for ribs.
I am quite certain that there are a thousand reasons this can’t work, and maybe on Monday I’ll hear a few of them.
But at least for now, I’ll take one more chance to talk about how fun it would be.
I can’t think of one that I regret not asking, but maybe that’s a self-survival mind trick, like a cornerback who remembers the interception but not the three touchdowns. I do wish I had even more time with Eric Berry recently. He might be the most interesting athlete I’ve been able to write about here.
There are two moments that come to mind that I’d like back.
The first came in a Bob Sutton news conference. I forgot the details, but I do know that by the time of this particular news conference, Bob — a truly decent man, and smart football mind — knew that I thought he should have been fired.
I said something, and Bob — I’m telling you, he’s as solid a human as they get — went out of his way to relate to me. I think I used a word that he liked, and he said something like, “You and I, we think alike on some stuff, huh?”
And I wanted to hit the volley back to him, but in my mind I was thinking HEY SAM YOU IDIOT YOU MIGHT WANT TO JUST SHUT UP ON THIS ONE BECAUSE IF YOU SAY IT THE WRONG WAY YOU’RE GOING TO COME OFF LIKE A JACKASS. I thought I had it right in my brain, but then I panicked, because I said:
“Well that’s really bad for ME.”
Holy crap. Dangit. I meant to say “…for YOU.” But I’m sometimes an idiot. This was one of those times. Bob mimed a knife going into his heart and laughed it off as best he could. I apologized immediately, and then again through Chiefs PR. They knew what I meant to say. I hope Bob does, too.
He didn’t deserve that.
The other moment I wish went differently was the Jeff Long video call. A lot of you might remember this as the In what regard? moment. This was still the early days of COVID. We were all trying to adjust to the lack of in-person access, but KU had just parted ways with football coach Les Miles, and I believed Long should’ve been gone as well. And I didn’t know how else to do it.
So when it was my turn for the question, I basically made the point that while people were focused on Miles, it was also true that Long’s other college football hires had not worked out. The question was simple: Why should KU fans believe the next hire will be any different?
I prefaced the question with an apology about the tone, and that this was something I’d prefer to ask one-on-one, man-to-man, in normal times. But that horse left the barn when Jeff came back with, “In what regard were they not successful?”
I was shocked and said the only thing I could think to say in that moment: “On … the field? I mean, I don’t think you want to talk about the whole Petrino thing …”
Jeff’s voice cracked, and his answer was rambling, and I think by then we all knew he wouldn’t last the rest of the day in that job. I don’t regret the question, necessarily, and I believed then and now that he needed to be replaced, for everyone’s sake.
But I do regret that the exchange sort of blew up and could have come off as performative. He was bad at the job and was the leader of what had become a truly terrible work culture, but he didn’t deserve that.
Can we talk about a few things that aren’t me?
I probably won’t ever understand any upside on this.
I mean, to be clear: I think this is one of those things that people like us — media and fans, both — make FAR too big a deal about. Some chunk of the Chiefs’ players did not even know it happened until after the game. So you’d have to do some convincing before anyone would believe it had an impact on the game.
That said: why?
No, seriously: WHY?
There is no benefit. No profit to be made. The ONLY thing that can happen here is that you look like clowns after getting throttled. I just. Don’t. Get. It.
It’s the dumbest and most counterproductive pre-game silliness in these parts since the KU football team refused to shake Baker Mayfield’s hand at the coin toss.
I’ll never understand. I just won’t. I can’t.
And to be clear: I’m pro trash talk. I like the personality. I think it adds fun, in the right context. Sports are supposed to be fun.
But that?
Come on.
I’d also point out that if you go back and look at it, I’m not sure the Raiders committed to the bit. They stayed on their side of the field, so that half the midfield arrowhead logo was left clean and visible. I say if you’re going to do something stupid, at least commit to it and stomp over the whole thing.
Ain’t no such thing as halfway crooks, as they say.
Oh hey, look guys: It’s the first question that I can’t really answer!
Honestly, I’m just desperately hoping it all gets settled and we can get started with what we love.
How am I doing with this PR stuff, anyway*?
* That’s the truth, though. And so is this: I don’t think anyone knows how it could affect the Royals, or any other team. Virtually nobody involved in a team’s personnel decisions has been through something like this in a similar role before.
I love this question for a lot of reasons, but let’s start here:
I’ve thought the same thing at times this season. There are moments he doesn’t look like he can get off the line of scrimmage, and moments his body language tells a story of frustration. He’s had four games with fewer than 30 yards receiving this year, after only two such games the last three seasons.
But then, this is also true: He is two catches and 51 yards behind Mark Andrews for most among tight ends. He’s on pace for 1,144 yards — that would/will be his sixth consecutive season over 1,000 yards.
There is a certain counter-logic here that teams are doing all they can to limit Tyreek Hill, but he’s still on pace for more yards (1,347) than any season since his career high in 2018. That’s with the 17-game schedule, of course, but his 79.2 yards per game is fewer than six off last year’s pace.
This should, logically, be a season in which Kelce is even more productive than we’ve become used to. He puts a lot of pressure on himself, so maybe that’s part of why we see some of that frustration.
I’m not smart enough to know how much of Kelce’s relative struggles — and they are VERY relative — are things defenses are doing and how much of it is things the coaches can help wit,h and how much of it is that he’s 32 years old and time is undefeated.
He can be a bigger part of this offense, and for the Chiefs to reach their ceiling they probably need that from him.
But he is still among the best in the world at what he does.
You guys, I have to tell you this. The reaction from so many of you and others this week has been overwhelming. I don’t know that I’ll ever be able to see every message, but the bunches and bunches I’ve seen have rocked my world.
Kansas City has been so freaking good to me. I hope to be half as good back, both professionally and personally.
I’m including this one because it’s from someone I got to know through this weird job, and who at one point was critically helpful in me writing a story that I was proud of. He’s not using his real name here, so I won’t out him.
But there are so many more. You guys have just been so kind. Thank you.
Here’s a story that I’m not sure if I’ve told before.
This was 15 years ago. My first day covering the Royals for The Star. Man, I was stoked about the job. My first big promotion, from covering high school sports to Major League Baseball. I’d asked a lot of people for advice and thought I was at least pretending to know what I was doing ... but that couldn’t have been true because then a hand tapped me on my shoulder.
“Hi,” the man said. “I’m Mike Sweeney.”
Oh, I said. Hello, Mike.
“I don’t think I’ve seen you around before, but just wanted to introduce myself and if you ever need anything let me know!”
Need anything? Like, what? An hour-long interview? A round of BP? Nachos? I think I said something like thanks, and then kept on pretending to know what I was doing, but I never forgot that outrageously kind gesture. I’ve gotten to know Mike in a better way and think the world of him as a man. We still talk about the day we spent in Burlington, Iowa, when he drove his dad up on a rehab assignment.
Mike was among the many Royals employees who reached out with encouragement this week. The welcome has been ceaselessly kind. They even sent my wife flowers.
When Mike called, I mentioned that story. He remembered where we were in the clubhouse when it happened. I told him that when I decided to pursue the job I wrote a letter to the Royals’ leadership team. I wanted them to know where my heart was. I began the letter with that story, and at the end of the letter I told them that I couldn’t be sure I’d be any good at this job, but that I’d do well by making others feel as welcomed and supported as Mike made me feel on that first day.
This week, whew, this week I’m particularly grateful for you and anyone else who’s ever read anything I’ve written, listened to anything I’ve said, and helped me along the way. I owe this city and the people who love it so much, and I’m beyond grateful for a new opportunity to try to pay that back.