How To Ignore A Pulitzer

Six easy steps for surviving evidence in the age of vibes.

There is way too much information out there these days, and unfortunately, much of it has the nasty habit of contradicting what I already believe.

However, I’ve devised a foolproof concept for rejecting credible reporting before it can disturb my opinions. This six-step process works for all manner of uncomfortable thoughts: politics, medicine, neighborhood Facebook groups - and, most recently, professional sports.

Step 1: Decide whether you like the reporter.

Last fall, Pablo Torre’s independently produced podcast reported that basketball star Kawhi Leonard was being paid under the table. Twenty-eight million dollars under the table, to be more precise.

And NBA rules say things like backdoor endorsement deals for no-show jobs are illegal. From scrolling TikTok I learned that the basic gist of the Clippers’ misbehavior was something they called “salary cap circumvention.”

I call it an unusually successful side hustle. I was also paid under the table once - five dollars per lawn in 1991 - but none of my customers owned an NBA team. Twenty-eight million dollars would have required 5.6 million lawns, before edging and bagging.

For months, I brought Torre’s reporting up while other people tried to discuss their golf game, their remarkable children, or why you really need to brine the meat first.

The response was usually:

“Isn’t that Torre guy just talking shit?”

This comforted me. Evidence takes time. Disliking someone is like getting a table at Denny’s: available immediately.

Step 2: Put everything into the content blender.

The computer in my hand presents me with an investigation, a team denial, a meme, and a man speaking from a parked F-150 - all inside the same glowing rectangle.

So I treat them all accordingly. Which means I treat them equally.

“Pablo uncovered documents” becomes “Pablo claims.” Then “Pablo has a theory.” Then “I find Pablo annoying.”

Case closed.

The internet gave everybody a printing press. But it did not give us a reliable way to decide whom to believe.

So, I mostly use facial expressions.

Step 3: Ask for institutional validation.

In May, Pablo Torre and his staff received a Pulitzer Prize for their reporting on this story. This was disconcerting. Although I cannot pull from memory any other human who’s won such a prize, I have the faint memory that it once meant something.

So I had a choice to make: reevaluate my feelings on Torre, or assume the Pulitzer has devolved into the shitty political abyss like everything else around it. Which, my friends, is like fish in a barrel.

Fuck that Pulitzer.

Even better, two weeks ago ESPN gave me a lifeline. Their sources, who I assume to be as unassailable as Deepthroat himself, stated that the NBA had thus far found no wrongdoing by the Clippers organization. I treated their threadbare reporting as gospel, because news stories fuse to my prefrontal cortex the moment they agree with me.

At the time, the NBA refuted the story, stating there were “numerous and significant inaccuracies,” but I was no longer taking opinions by that point.

Remember: when credible sources conflict, you do not examine the nuances.

Nuance is for communists.

Step 4: Demand official proof.

On Wednesday of this week, the NBA formally announced the results of their investigation. They concluded that Ballmer and the Clippers showed a pattern of misconduct and committed multiple rules violations. They fined the Clippers $30 million, stripped them of five first-round draft picks, and suspended Ballmer for a year.

This was all an extremely elaborate way to say that the podcast guy might have a point.

But I did not panic. In the face of overwhelming evidence, there is only one thing to do: double down.

• $30 Million? Slap on the wrist.

• Five first-round picks? Name me one guy from last year’s draft.

• Balmer’s suspension? He’ll probably just run the team from his megayacht.

Always remember, choose whichever explanation protects your original opinion.

Step 5: Say, “It’s only basketball.”

This argument is like Novocain:

Public corruption? All politicians are crooked.

Corporate fraud? Rich people always get away with things.

Basketball scandal? Name me two Clippers.

Some may say, “Where does the evidence lead?” I say, “Where are we eating dinner tonight?”

Besides, powerful people don’t need me to believe them. They only need me to distrust everyone trying to prove them wrong. And that, dear friends, is a service I’ll happily provide free of charge.

Step 6: Move on with your revised opinion being the only opinion you ever had.

Honestly, I consider this my superpower. Now that the hammer has dropped and the Clippers have been found guilty, I can explain that I saw this coming all along. I was never fooled, I just needed to see facts.

Fortunately, memory is flexible. Like space-time, bend it enough and you can travel from one spot to the next, instantaneously.

So yes, perhaps Pablo Torre was talking shit.

He was simply doing so with twelve months of reporting, 3,487 pages of documents, and a Pulitzer Prize.

The rest of us usually just bring a meme sent by our cousin.

I knew Pablo Torre was right all along.

Just don’t scroll up.

Darla is currently considering whether she likes Partnow before deciding whether to believe him.

This week’s book recommendation is The Midrange Theory: Basketball’s Evolution In The Age Of Analytics, by Seth Partnow. While the piece I wrote above was designed to be digestible to non-basketball fans, this one may not be. That being said, you didn’t have to be a fan of baseball to enjoy Moneyball. This book isn’t exactly like that though - think less Brad Pitt, more Jonah Hill.

That’s all for now folks. Se ya’ next week.