#competition is good for the sport AND the team

[cr4yolaas]

WHIPLASH — THAT'S THE INDUSTRY, BABY!

she knows what the journalism industry entails — false rules, odd etiquette, perfect structures and guidelines enforced by those at the top rung of the ladder. she also knows that if she's going to get what she wants, she needs to abide by all of it. even if it means throwing herself away.

001. armageddon / masterlist / 003. look back

The condensation collecting on her glass creates a little ring on the wooden table, an indication of how long she's spent waiting and her dissipating patience. Her shirt — the one Nobara picked out for her a year ago, in the midst of a Black Friday sale — pricks at her skin, the fabric much too irritating for everyday wear even despite its cutesy style, and even with the indecency and the scandals it would spark, she wants nothing more than to rip it off right there and then, forgoing the time it took for her to steam and iron it alongside her dress pants.

She glances at the clock. 9:28.

Almost thirty minutes late.

Just as she all-but-gracefully swings her leg around the ledge of her chair in preparation to leave, the door creaks open and the little bell above it jingles a cheery tune. A tinge of heat rushes to her face when she sees his attire — sweatpants that practically engulf him and a Sweat Oversized Pullover Hoodie from Uniqlo, of all places (she only remembers this from her last article, in which the basketball player she interviewed went on and on about his extensive, multi-colored collection of Uniqlo basics, which he wore to every meeting). Far more casual than her.

But that detail is immediately cast aside when she takes a glance at the jewelry donning his hand and the baseball cap he dons. It's familiar. Too familiar.

When it clicks, he smiles at her — no, he smirks. As if he'd won some internal battle that she wasn't informed of.

"You didn't realize? You talk a lot of shit for—"

"Please don't." Her head falls into the valley she's created between her hands, even more heat rising to the surface of her skin. He's holding it above her head, his words clearly mocking her but sliding into one ear and falling out of the other. He doesn't admit that he'd looked up her profile when she first reached out, her picture pristine and on display on the first page of section editors for SM News. She can't quite hear him over the loud pounding in her head. "That was one time. I don't do that frequently— or at all, really."

He makes a noise that falls between a laugh and a scoff. "Sure didn't seem like it."

If not for the circumstances, she would've reached over and gouged his eyes out.

She slides her hands down her face, a heavy breath escaping her lips. She can't quite afford to slip up this early, not with how important this exclusive is for her company. Something about a competition with the two other largest publishers in Tokyo, all of which are rushing to get their grimy hands on the city's most prized baseball team and their secrets. So, with the last bit of composure she can muster, she offers a deal — in exchange for the exclusive, she'll promise to give him a good rep in the industry and keep anything important away from her competing journalists, the ones who would fight tooth and nail for even a smidge of controversy to stir up anything in the (only recently) all-too-peaceful sports scene.

He looks at her as if to question her sanity, his eyes boring into hers.

They both know it's beyond unequal. That any normal, sane person would decline such a ridiculous offer. But, unfortunately for both of them, they have things to protect — and neither can risk exposure.

He grits his teeth before agreeing with a rushed, "Sure." Her coffee is far too watered down now, and as soon as the word slips from his mouth, his own drink arrives at the pick-up counter. She tries not to watch as he leaves to get it, but it's hard, especially when there's so much — too much — to lose here.

She wants to laugh. All because of one night, and a supposedly random man who offered an ear.

When he returns, the air clears ever so slightly, as if reaching a telepathic agreement to brush aside whatever history, however minimal, they shared prior to this moment, despite how significantly it could impact both of their careers. He slides her his phone all too trustingly, and on screen is everything she needs — schedules, details, dates. Immediately, she gets to work, the cover of her MacBook (company provided, thankfully) almost flying open and her notepad already resting to her right. He pretends not to notice the Asahi Dry design on her pen, the details akin to something randomly handed out at a festival or convention. On the other hand, he does notice how crazed and frantic she looks, and makes a point to comment on it.

"Just so you know, you look insane," he mutters while leaning back in his seat, a juxtaposition to her hunched posture as she jots something down.

She scoffs under her breath, her hand still writing rapidly while the other hovers over the mousepad. "How else do you think I got here?"

He's pushed into silence with that, leaving him to observe more than he should. He catches on quickly to how often she brushes stray hands hair away from her face, sometimes snappily, and other times carefully. The collar of her shirt isn't centered, the result of her feverish efforts. Her foot keeps tapping against the bottom ring of her tall chair. Too much to notice. He tries not to, but it proves difficult when all he can do is quietly watch.

It takes ten minutes before she straightens up, excitedly packing her bag before explaining that she'll message him regarding their next interview and the information she'll need, a perfect script she'd memorized within her first year of writing. On the contrary, he's sluggish, almost as if he doesn't want to leave the comfort of the seat. Megumi glances at their drinks — hers isn't even halfway finished, and the ring at the bottom of her glass is more of a puddle now, whereas his is a sip away from meeting the trash can. "I'll pay," he mutters while just barely noticing that she got his order down to a tee prior to even meeting him. He can't mention it before she retorts almost instantly, her tongue laced with sass and minimal patience.

"Did you think you weren't paying at the start?" She's smiling at him.

"Dunno."

"Yikes," she laughs, and it's not forced or professional or scripted or any of the sort. He feigns annoyance at the noise.

The door jingles with the same joyous melody from before when they exit together, his hand holding the door open for her albeit begrudgingly. Something that sounds like a goodbye slips from her lips, and before they split paths, she waves (customarily). He ignores it for a moment — it irks him, her behavior and how desperate she is for this exclusive. But beneath the ire bubbling up, there's a hint of guilt, pushing him to wave back.

By the time he turns around, she's already gone.

★ nobara is the source of like 40% of yn's wardrobe

★ sometimes she'll come home with three bags of clothes and ask yn to try them all on and keep the ones she likes

★ its the golf course tips from old men that funds this behavior

★ the asahi dry pen is a real thing bc i have one that i got from the oc japan fair LOL. it's actually pretty cute and writes well

★ yn almost cried tears of joy when they gave her a new macbook once she got promoted to section editor ... hers was falling apart and had the nasty screen protector marks from when she peeled it off

★ megs was in a bad mood the rest of the day. like a little ipad kid throwing a silent tantrum

★ also sorry not sorry i’m projecting my social ineptitude onto yuuji for the rest of this fic </3

TAGLIST: @kameyyy @s777athv @solecitoszn @1l-ynn @valvoria @standcom @kissunday @hqnge @applepi25 @fushiguruuzzzz @reveurdoll @anotherwriternamedclara @sh0ot1ngst4r @starrysho @lizbix @diearama @cherryredribbons @asuritam @tiramizuloz @saltypuffin1040 @burnishingbagels @beepbopzlorp @reezerdotcom @tibibibi123 @carneries @gumims @chososcamgirl @anngelllla @fefesooli @anngelllla @tiramizuloz @reezerdotcom @vrxouei @s3ns4ti0n4l

divider creds @/animatedglittergraphics-n-more

[feddy-34]

i do not trust the opinions of rbr/max fans who got into the sport after 2021 simply bc they've never seen the team struggle before

like y'all have zero sense of proportion im sorry 😭 the team is not having a total scale meltdown just bc max quali'd sixth in monaco and red bull isn't a zillion points ahead in the constructors.

chill the fuck out!!!!!

[zeldasadork]

scott and joel are good rivals too because they both are sort of the catalysts of their own demises (particularly in secret life) but scott moreso in a tactical self-martyring way and joel in a “unlucky and with poor risk assessment” way

[batsplat]

pecco rant please please

*spins wheel on possible topics* absurdly underrated but in a dumb way. you'd think you can stumble your way into two premier class titles. I don't care he's on the best bike - let's be honest, how often this century have the title winners not been on the best bike? 2004 and to a lesser extent 2005 you can say clearly weaker bike, 2007 late 2010s 2021 there's a clear enough disparity with anyone else riding the bike that you can say clearly the rider is making the difference/it's an unrideable wreck one guy is making respectable, then there's a few seasons where it's at least very close whose machinery is best or they're fighting with people on equal equipment, which pecco has done! but generally speaking, good/promising riders end up on good bikes and then they win. that's how the game works!

the thing about 2022 is that it had such a massive mid-season swing that overhauling a ninety something point margin cannot come down to any single factor. is it fair to say fabio lost that title? on balance, it's a bit harsh - yes, there were a few too many errors post-sachsenring, yes, some were driven by desperation, but also you can't really expect anyone to ride a flawless season. but pecco did win that title as much as yamaha lost it. I don't care if you're riding a literal rocketship with two wheels, you can't win four races in a row if you're not extremely good at what you do! if we're saying that title was worth less because the yamaha turned to shit in the second half of the season, then let's keep going. let's put an asterisk next to 2013 because jorge and dani both got injured (let's not even get into the 'if marc hadn't been injured' asterisks because that's where you get into truly silly territory). is 2006 not a legit title because of all the bad luck valentino faced that year? let's say all titles between 2007 to 2015 were worth less because at any one time only 4-6 bikes had a realistic chance of winning races. throw out any title before 2009 because they were constantly fucking about with the tyres and there wasn't a level playing field. if you're motivated enough, you can play this game with basically anything, but it's dumb and pointless because that's not how sports works! you can only win against whoever you're facing. it has always been thus and it will always be thus

it's narratively fun and juicy that pecco has these insecurities himself - but within the context of everyone else doing discourse over it, the whole thing is massively overblown! linked to some of the worst sports discourse about how much people love to disparage late bloomers, because they need every single successful athlete to fit the same mould of the ultra-talented wunderkind, apparently. it's more interesting when it's not always the most 'talented' (whatever tf that means), naturally gifted, *fast the second he touches a bike* bloke who wins. sometimes they have to work hard for it, sometimes they have to improve themselves year on year and be smart about how they do it, sometimes they have to be in the right place and right time, sometimes they have to be very lucky. sports is all about competition, and competition is all about contrast. it's a contrast that can be generated in a whole lot of ways, and in fairness to motogp they have come up with a bunch of interesting narratively tense contests that don't rely on a massive fundamental 'talent' differential - but at the end of the day, that's one of the best ones you can have! the more ways you can have to win in any given sport, the better, both in the literal sense of how you go about the actual process of winning and how you even become a winner. none of this means that pecco isn't very very good, it means he got there in a different way than every other multiple champ this century has. it fundamentally flattens the sport if you want every top-level competitor to be an alien-level talent... one of the best things about this current era is that it has given us something new and exciting in that regard, where you well and truly believe some very different blokes might have what it takes to eventually be champion

anyway, pecco is absurdly adept at digging himself into holes and absurdly adept at digging himself out of them. he's one of the worst frontrunners imaginable in every sense, biologically incapable of dominating without at least a perpetual hint of jeopardy, both in the context of a race and a season. but when his back is against the wall, somehow he keeps finding performances you never imagined he was capable of. his mixed up and slightly odd skillset, his strengths and weaknesses, how he's better and worse than he has any right to be... all of it lends itself to perpetual momentum shifts and thrilling seasons - because you never quite know what you're going to get. love him or hate him, he's a gift to the overall competitive landscape! god knows the racing hasn't been much to write home about these last few years (though, yes, we did have a good little run this season), but somehow he's managed to get himself involved in two out of the six title deciders this century back-to-back. is that not the dream for the viewer, to have a bloke at the top of the sport with a little self-combust chip in his head every time he builds too much of an advantage? build a hundred of those guys! throw a marc marquez at him and see what he does! I can't wait to see what he'll come up with next

[idkimtiredanddumb]

Surely like, I mean the Mafia doesn’t care how they get their money right? Like so long as they’re getting the 80% of how much an exy player would make why would they care. So I present to u : Jean Moreau fucking off and becoming a really famous artist instead

[innanzituttoticalmi]

i'm sorry if you genuinely think bozzi and leclerc "copied the other driver/engineer's strategy" i canttttttt take you seriously

[freebooter4ever]

Lol grandma mailed me more old photos so here's proof that i was clearly always a hipster with my terribly 80s patterned red dress and leggings (also the caption written on the back of this photo is 'laura with curled hair' because my stick straight hair being curled was a big deal). And on the right a shot of me in yellow with the white headband to hold back said straight hair looking taller than everyone else at that age in basketball. My dad's in the back probably looking on disapprovingly because I have the ball and am probably about to pass it instead of shoot it (the other girls liked shooting much more than me so i let them).

[showyoumyfavoriteobsession]

Roughly once every four years I ponder the alternate timeline where I didn't get scared and quit college rugby after a single practice

[lesbiansanemi]

Watching trivia game shows with my roommate on the couch and absolutely demolishing. Annihilating. I could beat ALL these people and telling him I need to go on these shows. Knowing damn well as soon as I was surrounded by strangers and bright lights and unfamiliar sounds my sensory issues would kick in and I would become the stupidest person on the face of the planet

[almost-correct-quotes]

how can you even name a hof basketball player i have literlally never hesrd of that kan in my entite life

i just knew the name sounded familiar so i looked it up and. apparently he's a basketball player

[justaboutsnapped]

Since that sports rpf breaking the containment post is making the rounds… does a fencing fandom exist on tumblr I REALLY need to know because every time I search it up here it’s either picturesque houses with wooden fencing or fanart of fence the comic…

I fenced recreationally for about 5 years, and because that was done rather unwillingly, I never actually got into the sport (as in I didn’t watch it whatsoever which is bad I know). However now that I’ll never be the one on the piste again it’s becoming increasingly compelling to me…

[say-duhnelle]

I'm not sure that naming gymnastics as the antithesis to sports with "ghettoized leagues for the frail and delicate" where traits more common in cis men give you an inherent advantage is quite the W you think it is, mate

crazy that in the 1970s they were like, "fine, women can play sports. but because they're innately less athletic than men, only in a special ghettoized League For The Frail And Delicate where they get paid less 😊". And not only is that still the system in 2023, but viciously lashing out at the smallest challenges to that system gets framed as Feminist Praxis

[narryffdreaming]

i honestly can't tell how many times ive been on a bench hoping judges wont see when an athlete steps on a line or makes a mistake lmao

[lovevalley45]

i realize a flaw in establishing bright city as having a hockey team like vegas might imply they also have the raiders and for that i say no <3… i do not claim them

[fereldancore]

I don’t blog about sports, but early this morning my favourite athlete Johnny ‘Hockey’ Gaudreau was knocked off his bicycle and killed along with his younger brother the night before their sister’s wedding. He had just turned 31 years old, married his next door neighbour and had a toddler daughter and a 6 month old son (who were planned to be flower girl and ring bearer at the wedding).

I adored Johnny because he was a such a small streak of lightning in a game full of huge dudes who were regularly a whole foot taller than him. His skills were just fucking phenomenal and he was so exciting to watch. I screamed with joy and cheered him on so loudly I lost my voice on many occasions. He represented his country for International Competitions and is the highest US point scorer.

I could get technical and talk about my favourite goals of his, his stickhandling, dangles, on ice spatial awareness etc but it is all on film for anyone to see, just too much to choose from. Nobody moved like Johnny Hockey.

As a person he was a sweet, kind guy who was universally liked in the sport and beyond. I do not follow celebrities on social media, but on hockey forums there are endless stories of his voracious love of mac and cheese (so much so Kraft put him in a TV ad) and skittles candies that he had a hockey stick covered in them and auctioned for charity.

In interviews he always talked hockey and his family. Whenever asked about new contracts and paycheques he would just shrug and say ‘yeah I bought my dad a boat so we can go fishing’ or ‘I just got a cool new wheelchair lift installed in my holiday home so my cousin can come and spend time with me’, or change the subject and talk about his dog, his wife and kids or The Birds. He was a real gem of a gentleman, modest and always ready to give credit to his team and dad (legendary NJ coach Guy Gaudreau) who motivated Johnny to skate as a toddler by placing skittles candies on the ice for him to fetch.

I’m am so sad for him, his family. This is just a blurb of feels about someone I counted down the days for until I could see them make magic on ice. I wish I could write a good tribute, dammit. Thank you Johnny Hockey.