From the Sidelines: The Lakers, Vegas, and now the 'Herald'

By Aaron Zamost

NEWSMAKERS Carmen Electra loves this guy from the top of his head to the tip of his toes.

From the start of this semester, there was definitely something different about production of the Yale Herald. Editors seemed young, writers seemed younger, and a hipper "Late Night" attitude had clearly succeeded the "Showtime" era of earlier years. But the initial issues were published in an atmosphere of controversy and disappointment. The issues yielded mixed results: approximately half of those printed were winners, the other half losers. I'd say the record was 6-6. That's when management fired the grey-haired editor and brought me in. It was clear that writers were desperate for an editorial "rebound," and they were adamant in inserting me into their lineup. They even offered me a $1 million salary-cap exception.

For the first few days, I refused to report to the Herald, opting instead to lounge around in an expensive Las Vegas penthouse suite, playing craps, and making love to my supermodel wife. The editor-in-chief believed that the Herald needed a tough free-lancer to help overtake ESPN, The Magazine in quality sports journalism. I finally answered their pleas, signed a one-year deal, cried at the press conference, changed my hair color, and went straight to work.

Initially, things were going quite well. I was five minutes late to the first meeting (there was traffic), and the Yale Daily News blew the incident way out of proportion. The head of my organization, a really dorky-looking guy, didn't seem to mind when I pierced my scrotum, and the next few editions turned out to be huge successes. I told the editors, "People have to understand, this is me. Just let me do what I've got to do and everything will be all right."

Suddenly, nine straight issues were winners, everything was going well, and there was clear evidence of a major seasonal turnaround. Then, just as abruptly, my attitude changed. I left the Herald on Sat., Mar. 13, telling the editor that I needed time to resolve personal problems. Leaving the newspaper had nothing to do with drinking, gambling or marital troubles. Instead, I was sorting out whether or not I wanted to continue writing. That's me. I'm different. I do it my way. And whenever I need to keep my head and my life together, I go to the one place that's free of all risk--Vegas. I mean, seriously: drugs, marital difficulties, and weirdos getting you down? Go to Vegas; it has none of these things.

I missed the first four issues of a six-part miniseries, and three of those, especially the one about Sacramento, really sucked. But I haven't apologized for my actions, and won't-- publicly or to my fellow writers. As I told NBC, "I won't do that. People have to understand this is me. Just let me do what I've got to do and everything will be all right." And seriously, why should I apologize? So I let down my fans and my organization. So I traded in my teammates for a case of Meister Braü and a new hat. I don't care, because I'm Aaron Zamost and I'm above it all. I just figure that people have to accept what I do. If they don't accept it, I don't need to be here or anywhere else.

Nevertheless, I eventually returned and wrote a great comeback column. My associates seemed to understand. "He had personal problems, and our organization was gracious enough to let him go to Vegas and do some gambling and clear his head," one colleague said. Makes perfect sense, doesn't it?

My problems are resolved for now, but nothing's ever ironed out. Things just kind of subside for a while. I'll be here the rest of the season. There's clearly no evidence to support the idea that I might just get up and walk out on the Herald again. I mean, why would anyone suspect that might happen? The Herald has my word--isn't that enough? Does anyone really think I can't be trusted?

Basically, I've got the Herald by the basketballs, and there's nothing they can do about it. Like I said before: "This game ain't worth that much for me to lose who I am...I would have stayed out. They can easily say, "Aaron, we don't need you anymore." They can tear up the contract and say goodbye. But we know that's not going to happen. They know I'll do what I want to do, and I'll be "as bad as I want to be." Winning comes at a price, and if I'm going to write again, they have to let me be my own Aaron Zamost.

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