Sunday, June 9, 1996
One of my most vivid memories of high school track is the of
last time that I ran the 400 meters. It was the preliminary round
at the Nor-Cal CIF state track meet qualifier in the 1600-meter
relay, and I was anchoring. I had been the lead-off runner in the
relay for the previous three years, and unfortunately, was not made
aware of the cutthroat nature of races not run in lanes.
I was on the inside. My opponent in the next lane and I received
the batons simultaneously. I definitely had the advantage: I could
use a burst of energy to sprint ahead of her and try to maintain my
lead until the end, or I could fall in behind her and, taking
advantage of knowing her position for the entire race, pass her in
the straightaway.
What a joke. People say it’s an advantage to follow, but it
takes a Herculean effort to pass someone on the straightaway of the
400 meters, at least someone of my minimal talent. She won the
race.
Though I can liken myself to Florence Griffith-Joyner, who came
up short when she made the same decision in the anchor leg of the
1600 at the 1988 Seoul Olympics, the truth is it’s not much of a
consolation  the Americans set a world record in that second
place effort.
So I came to UCLA, where athletics is a way of life more than a
pastime. Of course I didn’t even allow myself to dream of being on
a sports team here, but I never did lose my love for athletic
competition, which inspired me to join the sports department at the
Daily Bruin.
For all the pressure of deadlines, quotas and uncooperative
coaches, life at Daily Bruin Sports is much more laid back than
being on a sports team. Journalism, and especially sports
journalism, is a very voyeuristic profession by nature. When Harry
asks Sally to tell him the story of her life she says that she’s a
journalist, but "Nothing’s happened to me yet. That’s why I’m going
to New York." Harry replies, "So you can write about what happens
to other people?" Which is so funny because it’s so true.
The paradox with voyeurism is that it derives its charm from the
inactivity of the observer but contains an inherent yearning to be
involved in whatever it is that’s being watched. That is why I like
movies so much, in case anybody wants to know.
I have the luxury of sitting up in the press box writing about
other people’s joy in victory, and their agony in defeat, eating
half-price hot dogs, and laughing at memories of my own
overwhelming anxiety waiting for the gun to go off. But at the same
time I’d do anything to be out there on the field.
The joke around the office is that those who can’t play sports
write for sports (it continues but I can’t print the rest here),
and it’s never been more true than in my case.
As a sports writer I was given a great deal of freedom in
writing my stories, analyzing games and describing athletes in
features. It was a powerful thing.
I had the ability to put into print exactly what I thought
happened at a sporting event. The power to describe things as I saw
them was something I immensely enjoyed.
Actually, I’m not really sure why I told that story at the
beginning of this column except that maybe I wanted to relive a
painful memory with a twinge of nostalgia. I think that is what
sports writing really is  trying to recapture the spirit of
an event, so it can be relived, and reexperienced by those who love
watching the game, but who yearn to be in the arena as well.
Esther Hui is a graduating senior. She has been with the Bruin
throughout each of her four years.
It was a powerful thing. I had the ability to put into print
exactly what I thought happened at a sporting event.