WHEN I was a fresh-faced innocent, setting-out along the road to journalistic credibility (I might get there some day), the way to get ahead was to get out and meet people and make contacts. You learned more from speaking to people in their own homes and offices, or in their favourite pub; you spent time with them, got to know them and the stories came along in the course of the day.
Modern media methods are very different. Today's young journalists spend long hours in their offices, at their desks, in-thrall to the interweb - that's where they do their research, often find their stories and through which they communicate, via e-mail, facebook, twitter or whatever.
I don't think it makes them better journalists, and while the internet is a wonderful tool for research purposes and e-mail is a heck of a lot faster than posting letters, technology can be a bad master.
There is also, among the promoted journos who run the various desks, today a need to keep in touch, to have the troops on a tight rein, to not trust them when out of sight.
But, as I see it, being desk-bound, tightly micro-managed journalists has been bad for our trade. The best journos were always the mavericks, the guys who could operate independently of their desks.
The best local news hound I know worked for an Ayrshire local paper. He would turn-up at 9am on a Monday morning, to assure his editor he was still alive, but would be out of the office (having spent the time in there compiling his expenses) by 11am. He would spend the rest of Monday trawling the pubs of his town, meeting his contacts; he would attend the local council's Monday night meeting, which would often keep him out until past midnight as he discussed events with the councillors. Then, after a lie-in on Tuesday morning, he would arrive at the office after lunch time, to type-up that week's "splash" - the front page lead story - and the pages, three, four, five, six and seven lead stories.
Wednesday, press day, would see him checking his stories for late developments in the morning, then, as the paper went to press that afternoon, he would be on the telephone to the nationals, selling-on his best stories on a lineage basis and in the process significantly increasing his earnings.
On Thursday he would do some features, on Friday, after a morning in the office, he would disappear, not to be seen again until he re-surfaced on the Monday morning. Today, he'd never survive the close scrutiny of his line managers, and in the process, he wouldn't get half the stories he did - many of which greatly embarrassed the local council staff, and just occasionally a coonsilor. He'd be just like the rest, re-hashing press releases, being mostly bored stiff and longing for a way out of what used to be, but is rarely today, a great job.
Even as micro-management of news and newsroom staffs spread like wildfire across the nation, we lucky bar stewards in the comics section, the sports desk, still had a wee bit of leeway. Club managers still like to exit the dressing room to meet a knot of reporters; they like to see the odd journalist turn up at the training ground and, provided you don't see the punch-ups between the players, you're welcome.
The players also like to see a friendly face around the place, particularly if that reporter will listen to their thoughts on the game and knod sagely as the player explains why he really should be playing for Scotland, Manchester United, Barcelona or whoever, when he can barely trap a sack of cement.
But, every January, even the sports guys become desk bound, as they go through the annual charade of the transfer window. This, particularly in Scotland, is a joke, and for me, it is no longer funny.
Each club begins the season with the playing staff which either - they can barely afford (most cases) or, more probably, they are stuck with. They will never be happy with either the quantity or quality of player they have to work with, but will give it a go, knowing, if things don't work out, if the players are crap, it is they, the manager, who is dispensible, rather than the players.
They also know that in the SPL, they are playing for third place, unless they are managing You Know Who, while in the lower divisions, while the squad they have might be good enough to win that league, they will be crushed in the one above the following season. So, if the title or one of the two cups is success beyond their wildest dreams, real success is third place and a drubbing in Europe the next season, while fourth, fifth and sixth, and those two additional Old Firm games, should be enough to keep the directors off their backs.
Therefore, given that a maximum of seven of Scotland's 42 senior clubs can win a trophy (assuming things are spread around at a rate of one trophy per club), five-sixth of the clubs each year are doomed to failure.
They might, by New Year, accept this is inevitable, but, if they are in the mix at the top of their respective tables on 1 January, then prudent and successful dealing in the January transfer window just might make all the difference between success and failure.
These 31 days are a gambler's feast - do you stick or twist? Will than new arrival make or break you.
It's rubbish. Proper planning during the close season, hard work in pre-season, attention to detail, discipline and team-work and team spirit will do far more to bring success to a club than panic buying and selling in January.
The transfer window is a waste of time, the only people who benefit are today's idle, indolent journalists. For these 31 days they get even more shit flung at them, so they don't have to dig for it.
Does it make football or football journalism better? No way Jose - do away with it, say I.
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