If you haven’t been paying attention, or maybe you’ve forgotten since it’s been a slow march, “Around The Horn” is airing its final episode Friday, May 23, ending an era that transformed sports television and the discourse surrounding our favorite games, players and events.
More than that, though, it’s the disembarkation of a journey different for every fan who tuned in to the ESPN program.
“That was our childhood,” my brother replied last week when I told him that the show’s finale was approaching.
It’s true. For those of us who don’t have much (or any) memory of the 1990s, 5-6 p.m. ET on ESPN was holy hour, with “Around The Horn” leading right into “Pardon The Interruption” before the evening edition of ‘SportsCenter.’
Life gets busy. That hour becomes dedicated to after-school activities, then you go off to college, then you’re working or commuting or at happy hour (they probably have the show on at the bar without volume) or adulting in some other way. But oh how sweet are those times you tune in and catch a segment before your rotted brain’s attention shifts to something else during a commercial break.
“ATH” had to fight that natural progression of life. At some point last year, ESPN executives decided “Horn” needed an end date. In March, news broke that the Friday before Memorial Day was going to be the final air date.
No replacement for ‘ATH’ has been revealed. But we already know nothing can replicate a show that opened so many windows into different conversations we couldn’t have imagined had we not been watching that day.
It all starts with the host
Tony Reali took over the show from Max Kellerman, the original host, when he was 25. Overnight – literally, he accepted the job during the 2004 Patriots-Panthers Super Bowl (yes, the Janet Jackson halftime performance) and was in the host’s chair the next day – he became judge, jury and executioner (in the form of a mute button) to venerated columnists from across the country including Jackie MacMullan, Bob Ryan, Kevin Blackistone and Woody Paige.
“It was always going to be a great show because Tony was in charge,” MacMullan told USA TODAY Sports.
In the beginning, however, imposter syndrome was real.
“It took me a while, as a young host and as a young person in the industry, to really get past what was an enormous honor,” Reali said.
Over the past month, Reali wanted to honor the panelists, production team and crew. There was the fan who showed up outside the Seaport studios in New York, and Reali brought him inside for a selfie.
“I’ve had an opportunity to do that in ways I couldn’t script or imagine,” he said.
Countless technicians and camera operators worked on the show. But the five-person editorial crew sustained the show over its 4,953 episodes. Coordinating producer Aaron Solomon was the brain behind the show and had his hands in every episode. Josh Bard, another producer, was the “beating heart,” said Reali. Jeff Weiner (video producer), Caroline Willett (producer/researcher/stat keeper) and Tierney Corrigan rounded out the crew. The small circle responsible for the show “is the most under-said thing,” Reali said.
A couple of months ago, Reali was sad that he felt sad – that the show was being “sunset, or canceled, or whatever you want to call it.” He said he’s a realistic person and that no show lasts forever.
“But I was surprised that I was disappointed and sad because I thought the show still had more,” he admitted.
Now Reali feels pride and gratitude and hopes the show has demonstrated that in its closing episodes. The opportunity to say goodbye has been “amazing” because rarely in life do we actually have the chance. Having months to think about it and do something he believes in – showing and telling the people who mean a lot to him in life exactly how they’ve imprinted upon him.
“That’s the definition of gratitude,” he said.
The power of the ‘Horn’: Life-changing exposure, family atmosphere
Solomon could have been bitter about the show he worked on for 23 years ending. But he’s had time to digest and prepare, and as the finish line approached over the past couple of weeks, he had nothing but positive feelings. Hearing positive feedback and reading about the show’s impact in the news has helped put him at peace.
“It’s just been an amazing feeling of love and appreciation for not only the fans of the show but also the panelists,” Solomon told USA TODAY Sports. “I feel their love and gratitude and that has been really gratifying, just to feel everybody’s love in the closing weeks, and even months.”
The show’s legacy, of course, is the sheer number and variety of voices “Around The Horn” introduced sports fans to. There was beauty in the variety – the emotional writing and viewpoints of a Bill Plaschke, compared to the sports-obsessed vibe of a Ryan. What started as a consistent lineup for the first several years turned into a more frequent rotation.
The different cast members and Reali created a familial aspect of the program. Their interactions between takes or prior to shows, popularized on social media through “Between the Horn” segments, led to a “certain chemistry,” Solomon said.
“It was more than ‘OK, roll tape, let’s get out of here,’” he said.
Usually those discussions weren’t about sports. They revolved around family and daily, everyday life grievances.
“I think that was something that came off and I think that will be missed,” Solomon said.
What endured was a strange, lovable family that looked straight out of “Curb Your Enthusiasm” central casting, MacMullan said. It was a group that hardly ever saw each other in real life, and the bond was built through a box on a screen and nearly 2.5 decades.
“It gave us exposure that really changed our lives in many ways,” MacMullan said.
The array of topics on one “Around The Horn” could make a viewer the most well-rounded and knowledgeable in the room. Most programs rely on the same topics and sometimes the same teams for content. That was never going to fly on “ATH.”
“I think that we try to give so many other sports, shed light on other sports, I think people are going to miss that,” Solomon said.
Panelists came from diverse backgrounds. And no topic was off-limits.
“You have to talk about the news of the day,” Reali said.
The show often tackled subjects that intersected with society, culture, race and politics – and didn’t receive the same attention on other rundowns.
“Some would say that might have been the downfall of ‘Around The Horn.’ But I’m not ashamed of it,” Solomon said. “And I’m actually kind of proud of the fact that we handled some topics that are difficult to handle.”
Now the craze in sports media leans into former athletes and personalities. Journalists were the priority on “Around The Horn.” It didn’t matter what you looked like or whom you loved. If you could talk about sports, “ATH” had a spot for you.
Rivalries emerged. Nobody took it personally. MacMullan naturally went toe-to-toe with the Los Angeles and New York representatives, Plaschke and Frank Isola, respectively.
Then there’s MacMullan’s famous Gary Sheffield story; the ex-MLB slugger would nary engage media members, but he liked that she said Sheffield had the most violent swing in baseball on a show.
“That’s the power of Around The Horn,” MacMullan said.
An hour of sports TV that will never be the same
I dispute the notion that “Around The Horn” wasn’t a great show. Was it flawless? Absolutely not. The undefined scoring system, Reali always making sure the finals went three rounds and other nuances could take a viewer out of the game.
But the game-fication of sports talk – different from what was on radio or highlight shows at the time – was also sports fandom candy. “ATH” was ahead of its time with personality-driven analysis that wasn’t fan- or team-specific. For sports-obsessed viewers, “ATH” displayed four people living the dream every single day. It made this profession and sports at large relatable. Every sports culture tastemaker of the 20th century is in some way affected by the show. It was the bridge from television to the Internet era.
“ESPN has canceled this show and yet they’ve stolen all the best parts of it for every single minute of every single day,” MacMullan said. “I don’t get it, but that’s OK.”
For some of us who made it into the business the panelists and Reali occupied, “ATH” was sort of like our first (only?) sports journalism class – lots of history, some ethics and a pinch of an introduction to reporting. MacMullen didn’t realize the influence on the industry during the early days of the show as it was still evolving. (Chaotic was how she described it in the beginning.)
“It was just odd to have print journalists on the air like that,” said MacMullan, who had some experience from “The Sports Reporters.” But nothing could prepare somebody for “ATH,” the first of its kind in the sports television space: fast-paced, with turns on a dime.
Something MacMullan didn’t realize until she retired was how difficult it was to be a consistent panelist because she had to be up to date on every sports topic if she wanted to perform positively.
“I think we all took that seriously,” she said.
Throughout the show’s run, Reali felt free and independent as a host. The only notes he ever received was “keep on doing what you’re doing” for 23 years, and he’s not complaining about that.
ESPN has yet to tip its hand about what will replace “ATH” for those 30 minutes every day. Solomon said it will be interesting to see if it does as well with the viewing audience. “ATH” pulls in considerably fewer viewers than “PTI,” but both Reali and Solomon said their recent ratings have been consistent with the show’s history.
‘ATH’ and “PTI” (hosted by Michael Wilbon and Tony Kornheiser, both of whom were also print journalists), are descendants of “The Sports Reporters.” Kornheiser and Wilbon are the pinnacle of sports television and nobody is touching that, Reali said.
“That’s a married couple you’re watching on TV,” Reali said.
The durability of the show – five days a week no matter what – made it ubiquitous. Reali nodded to his origin as “Stat Boy” on “PTI” as something every sports television show would benefit from: acknowledging any mistakes or oversights.
Words matter. What you say is more important than how you say it, and this show taught an entire generation that.
For a while, Reali didn’t want to think like that. But he’s come around to the effect.
“I intentionally wanted the show to not just be about having an opinion but proving why your opinion deserves to be heard and proving why your opinion is the best opinion in this moment,” said Reali, who relayed that philosophy to panelists during that welcome-to-the-show phone call.
Although Reali knew the verbiage was of the utmost importance, as a television creator-host-producer he subscribed to the idea that people will forget what was said, but they will remember how they felt.
“I work in feelings,” Reali said.
“Around The Horn” was a fuller conversation, more of a Sunday dinner or golf foursome or barroom.
“That is more what I was going for,” he said.
Both had similarities that gave the 5-6 p.m. ET hour a different flair: rundowns, clocks, scoring systems, mute buttons.
“Something felt different in the five o’clock hour than the rest of the viewing day,” Reali said.
And after Friday, even though ‘PTI’ will still be there, that hour will never feel the same again.