Hi, Peru



By Tony Kornheiser



Sunday, July 21 1996; Page F01

The Washington Post 



ATLANTA



While strolling through the Main Press Center at the Olympics, I couldn't help but notice the

names of two German papers that were headquartered right near each other: the Frankfurter

Rundschau and the Hamburger Morgenpost. (When reporters from those papers conduct

interviews, would we say they "grilled their subjects"? Hahaha. If circulations rose, would th

papers from Hamburger and Frankfurter be "on a roll"? Oh, Tony, stop, you're killing me.)



With 197 countries represented in the Olympics -- including "Kyrgyzstan," which I thought

was a type of carpet, and "Sao Tome and Principe," which I seem to remember as a

ventriloquist act on Ed Sullivan -- there are more foreign newspapers covering the Olympics

than ever. Among those foreign newspapers with offices here are Dong-a Ilbo, Folha de Sao

Paulo, Fukui Shimbun (my sentiments exactly), Magyar Tavirati Iroda, Helsingen Sanomat

and the New York Post.



Anyway, being here with all these foreign sportswriters got me to thinking about the

differences between us and them, the rich cultural panorama from which we can draw

valuable lessons about diversity, sensitivity, and how incredibly silly these foreigners are. 



Being a sportswriter in America is a glamorous profession. Look at me. I am a sportswriting

god. I have it all -- money, fame, an adoring entourage of half-naked mega-bosomed

groupies, a garage Genie, etc. I bring this up because in some foreign countries being a

sportswriter isn't so glamorous. 



I submit as evidence the events I observed in Lillehammer, Norway, during the last Winter

Olympics. As some sort of promotion, the Hanes company was giving away underpants.

People were fighting over them. I looked pityingly at this crowd of wretches, thinking they

must have been the Norwegian homeless. But no, they were the Russian sportswriters.

(There's an old Russian proverb that goes: "Floom Grzmenskarov Floom Yooshmuznikov." It

translates roughly into "You Can't Ever Have Too Many Underpants.") 



Generalizing about groups of people is dangerous, especially where ethnicity is concerned,

because such discussions often perpetuate ridiculously untrue and libelously unfair

stereotyping. No American sportswriter would stand for it if, say, a European journalist

observed that the only way you can get 10 American sportswriters to cover a game is to

cater it. (Because it's not true. Food alone won't do it anymore. To get me to a soccer game

you have to send a limo for me, too.) So I have to be very careful not to slander anyone when

I point out that foreign sportswriters smoke cigarettes and drink beer all day and many of

them make up quotes. 



They do. They routinely make up quotes. I have seen it. An American journalist simply

wouldn't do that. We have much more integrity. Could you even imagine, for example, an

American journalist deliberately lying by, say, denying in print that he'd written a book he'd

actually written? 



The amazing thing about the quotes these foreign journalists make up is that they tend to be

stupid and innocuous. "With luck and God's will, I am confident the Botswanian field hockey

team will emerge victorious." Man, if I were allowed to make up quotes, they would be

nothing like that. "The Romanian team is a harem of swaybacked sluts," observed perky

American gymnast Dominique Dawes. 



But, no, we have to stay accurate. I'll go to the same event with foreign sportswriters. The

next day I'll read their accounts, and they won't sound anything like my account. For example,

here's an actual passage from a sports story in Hurriyet, a Turkish newspaper: "Turk futbol

takimiannin Almanya kamplan, bu ulkedeki yurttaslanmiz icin yeni bir heyecan kaynagi oldu.

Yaz izinierinin coktan balsamasina ragmenm hazirik maclanni cok sayida vatandasimiz izilyor."

Does that sound like anything I'd write? 



I have gone to four Olympics now, on three continents, and I've never seen a foreign

journalist actually writing a story. I always see them in the bar; I mean, morning, noon and

night. In Seoul, the Europeans would get in fistfights at the bar every night. The key was to get

out of the bar before the Germans and the Brits inevitably began arguing about World War II.

You could chart the progress of the Games by the number of fresh welts they had on their

faces. 



Another difference is cheering. Latin sportswriters break all the rules of press box decorum,

and will cheer wildly for their countrymen to win. American sportswriters cheer wildly, too --

but only for athletes they've bet on. 



Still another difference is clothing. American sportswriters aren't a very stylish lot; most of us

look as if we buy our clothes at a factory outlet in Burma. But when you see a guy coming

toward you in dark socks, cordovan shoes and baggy plaid shorts that appear to be made

out of couch upholstery, you can bet he's a foreigner. The exception to this rule are female

European sportswriters, who often wear no clothes at all and are available for sexual trysts on

a sign-up sheet. No, that's not true. I wrote it to see if anybody was still reading. 



Foreign sportswriters ask different questions than Americans do. Americans are consumed

with statistics, strategy and psychological motivation. A typical question from an American

sportswriter to a great basketball player, like Shaquille O'Neal, would be: "How many points,

rebounds and blocked shots do you personally have to get in the first half against Greece for

the Americans to feel comfortable about going to a half-court trap rotation and sending a

chaser out to the three-point line?" 



A typical question from a Greek sportswriter to Shaquille O'Neal would be: "Will you destroy

Greece?"



A Japanese sportswriter would be very deferential, beginning with a statement about how

much he admires Mr. O'Neal, and how honored he is to be able to watch him play. And then,

if he had to ask a question, he would ask something inoffensive, like, "What is your date of

birth?" 



A Brit would ask, "Do you have any bastard children?" British sportswriters are obsessed

with bastard children and sex scandals. (Some years back, at Wimbledon, Martina

Navratilova commented favorably on Wayne Gretzky's hockey ability, and the next day one

of the Brit tabs ran this headline: "MARTINA: I WANT GRETZKY'S BABY!")



The smaller a country is, the less likely one of its sportswriters is to ask any questions at all. I

had been at four Olympics without ever hearing a question from a Peruvian sportswriter until

the other day, when one man walked up to an open microphone and, through a translator,

asked the following question of Shaquille O'Neal: "What do you say to Peru?" 



Shaq thought for a second. And then said: "Hi, Peru." 



© Copyright 1996 The Washington Post Company