On Monday night, in the moments after Atlanta doubled Phillies first baseman Bryce Harper off first base to win Game 2 of the National League Division Series, reporters entered the Atlanta clubhouse. Amid the post-win jubilation, shortstop Orlando Arcia loudly and repeatedly yelled, “Attaboy, Harper!” and cackled. Fox Sports’s Jake Mintz first reported the scene; Washington Post writer Chelsea Janes also reported the comment, but did not identify who made it.
Atlanta players, after being blown out in Game 3, contended that Arcia’s taunt had been off the record. Many fans—and even some members of the media—have exhibited a similar misunderstanding of how “the record” works, so it seems like a good time for an explainer of this concept as it relates to the coverage of Major League Baseball.
As a reporter, I am the record. When the clubhouse opens to media, as the collective bargaining agreement stipulates that it must before and after each regular-season game, and in the postseason only after games, every interaction I see, hear or take part in is on the record unless I have specifically come to an agreement otherwise with someone beforehand. Players and coaches are welcome to ask after the fact if they can take something they said or did off the record; at that point, the decision is mine. Most players understand this, which is why most players don’t whine when we print what they say and do.
Brett Davis/USA TODAY Sports
These moments we witness inform our reporting and help us tell fans the stories of their favorite teams and the games they play. Our access is why you understand the agony that Dodgers ace Clayton Kershaw endured every time he fell short in the postseason, and the jubilation and relief he felt when Los Angeles won it all in 2020. It’s why know that Cardinals first baseman Mark McGwire had androstenedione in his locker. It’s why you know that Reds manager Lou Piniella got into a fistfight with reliever Rob Dibble. It’s why you know that in ’19, after the Astros won the American League Championship Series, their assistant general manager taunted female reporters by invoking the name of a player who had been suspended for domestic violence. (I wrote that one. The Astros initially claimed I made it up. Fortunately, there were other reporters there who corroborated my reporting.)
Not everything we find out in there is earth-shattering. Our access is also why you know that the reason Yankees righty Chan Ho Park got torched in his first outing of the 2010 season was because he had “a lot of diarrhea” and that, in ’17, the Mets put a dildo in catcher Kevin Plawecki’s locker. Really, Arcia’s chirping was pretty tame. We would not still be talking about it if he and his teammates had not allowed it to become a distraction.
A player who wants to make sure something he says does not appear in the news has two options: He can come to an agreement with reporters that his words are off the record. Or he can wait to say it until we leave.
