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202 9 The 1990s Literary Lion of Sports Burnout is a lousy modern invention, a sign of the times, like rap music and call-waiting. It’s a disease that inflicts only the affluent. A product of prosperity. It’s a good thing for us Thomas Edison needed the money. Or Rembrandt. Or Michelangelo. —Jim Murray, “Susceptibility to Burnout Increases with Income,” Los Angeles Times, March 14, 1993 Trophy Case If you hang around long enough in the newspaper business, you inevitably become what Furman Bisher refers to as a “walking statue.” Murray knew the feeling. He had long ago graduated to “lifetime achievement” status, and every sports, academic, and civic organization competed to bestow upon him its highest honor, provided Murray would agree to attend a dinner and make himself available for pictures and questions. “What did you think of Ben Hogan , Jim? How about Sandy Koufax?” Murray deflected the invitations when he could and labored through them when he could not. He hated giving speeches and never felt comfortable speaking in front of an audience, and his eyesight issues made public appearances even more difficult. “He’d write this fabulous speech, and he’d get to the place, and the podium wasn’t lit very well, and he couldn’t read it, so he’d kind of stumble around,” said Dwyre. The 1990s 203 The invitations kept coming, and Murray hated to say no, so Dwyre devised a plan. He, Dwyre, became Murray’s screener, chauffeur, and master of ceremonies , all in one. He would wade through the requests, decide which ones were worth Murray’s time, and accompany Murray on the night of the event. On the dais, Dwyre would moderate. He would start Murray off with a few prearranged questions and then let the audience loose to mine Murray’s fifty years of anecdotes. Walking-statue status extended to the press box as well. The Rose Bowl was one of Murray’s favorite events, and he made sure to cover it every year. A few minutes after he made his way to the Times section of the press facility, a line of out-of-town sportswriters would slowly begin to form around him. The scribes of Minnesota, or Iowa, or whatever Big Ten school had the honor of facing the Pac-10 champion that year, each wanted the chance to shake Murray’s hand and hear a quip or two about their home state. Murray was happy to provide a lifetime memory, but, again, his eyesight made things difficult. His admirers would approach from the left side, his blind side, and Murray would be forced to execute a 270-degree head twist for each introduction. He always worried he would be surprised, snap his neck around, and detach his last remaining retina. To solve this particular problem, Dwyre would arrive with Murray and take up residence on his left side, blocking access and forcing the line toward Murray’s good eye. And there Dwyre would stand, for an hour or two, watching as the throng moved past him, each writer leaving the encounter with a smile on his or her face as they made their way back to their assigned seat, and eventually back to Peoria.1 Murray’s likeness was hung in halls of fame of dozens of sports and journalism organizations over the years, and eventually the honors became, for him, about as much of a thrill as taking off his shoes. Winning the J. G. Taylor Spink Award from the Baseball Writers Association of America, however, certainly held special significance. The award is presented at the annual Baseball Hall of Fame induction ceremony, so the winner gets to share the stage with that year’s crop of baseball greats entering the sports pantheon. Murray traveled to Cooperstown , New York, in August 1988 to accept the award on the same day that Pittsburgh Pirates legend Willie Stargell was inducted into the hall. Baseball Hall of Fame representatives are quick to point out that winning the Spink Award does not mean one has been “inducted” into the hall. Instead, their plaques hang in the “Scribes & Mikemen” exhibit in the hall’s library. Still, to the many Pirate fans and assembled visitors on August 1, 1988, it certainly appeared as if Murray was now a Baseball Hall of Famer. And that is how Murray took it as well. He climbed to the podium after his introduction and announced , “I don’t know what the hell I...

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