For example, listen to Mina Kimes, a sharp and often hilarious personality at ESPN and one of my favorites. Casually, and in the spirit of authentic yet rigorous fun, like a particularly charismatic management consultant, she always offers sparkling insights into the subtle workings of football technology. In a recent episode of her podcast, “The Mina Kimes Show Featuring Lenny,” while talking about the Kansas City Chiefs’ hot start to the season, she featured quarterback Patrick Mahomes’ newfound running game — a fake run that usually results in a successful pass. Historically, she says, “that’s not Patrick Mahomes.” She’s probably wearing a lab coat and goggles, excited about the discovery of some new genetic mutation:
There’s something exciting about this short, informative monologue—perhaps Kimes never considered explaining (as I sheepishly did a paragraph ago) what exactly the game move is, or why it’s so difficult to complete without “under center.” The slang for using and explaining jargon like Kimes does is “ball knowledge.” The media has an inspiring respect for the intelligence of its audience. After all, if you don’t know, you’ll probably look it up. If you’re looking for an organic, largely unquestioning, even aspirational intellectualism in American public life, here it is. The public intellectuals of the future won’t wear tweeds or button-downs—the new uniforms include coaches’ headphones or pancake makeup from some sports network’s lounge.
Pete Hegseth, who insists on being called secretary of war, recently delivered a swipe in his first “State of the Forces” speech. He purportedly provided an update on the health of the U.S. military, but really just strung together this statement: “We are no longer a woke department or a weak department. A simple translation is: no fat people. No transsexuals. No beards. No weirdos. No wimps. No radicals.” In keeping with his downwardly mobile, pre-high school bullying vibe, he might as well have added “no nerds” to the list.
But humanity’s strange and extraordinarily strong thirst for understanding—the desire to collect and share knowledge, wherever it may be—is difficult to quell. You can play the tough guy if you want, but right under your nose, some radical stupidity is creeping up.
Here’s one such example: Former Pittsburgh Steelers coach Mike Tomlin recently became a football commentator. He’s good at the job — he’s fluent in soccer lingo that might one day become the true national language of the United States and the territories it conquers in an international tournament. He’s also brutally candid — he recently criticized the Dallas Cowboys’ coaching late in games, though former coaches typically maintain a respectful silence about inappropriate behavior by colleagues still in the trenches.