
© Robert Gauthier / Los Angeles Times via Getty ImagesNew Yorker cover pages
The New Yorker made quite a splash with its uber long read on 'Trump, Putin and the New Cold War.' What a shame then the actual product is sloppy, misinformed tosh masquerading as something of highbrow distinction.
When I was a 'cub' reporter in Ireland, juggling study with coverage of anything from Barn Dances to Basketball, payment came from lineage. A hideous measure which promoted loquaciousness at the expense of brevity. The compensation was dreadful, set at the measly sum of twenty pence a line. Thus, making a carefully crafted Rugby report worth about the price of a few beers, a pack of Marlboro and a small pizza. That said, if you padded it out, it might extend to a large one, with extra anchovies.
One day my impressionable young self met an American journalist in Dublin, who told me of a magazine called
The New Yorker where the generous publishers paid one dollar a WORD. Meaning its sports writers, if it had any, probably eschewed lager, chips and bus journeys for oysters, champagne, and travel by Concorde.
Comment: Further reading: Russia hopes Trump can revive Syrian proposals discussed with Obama's office