Guillen mess is result of culture seeking manufactured opinions

Ozzie Guillen is a man who says what's on his mind, except when he says what almost certainly isn't on his mind, as when he expressed his admiration for Fidel

Steve Rushin | Apr 11, 2012

Guillen mess is result of culture seeking manufactured opinions /

Ozzie Guillen is a man who says what's on his mind, except when he says what almost certainly isn't on his mind, as when he expressed his admiration for Fidel Castro, whom he couldn't possibly admire if he thought about it, which he didn't, because he's a man -- like a lot of men -- who says what's on his mind even when (spoiler alert) there is nothing there.

This is called having an opinion, and having an opinion is not just your right in a free country but increasingly your obligation. It is better to express an opinion that you don't have than to keep private an opinion that you do have because having a "take" -- one that's paradoxically sharp and pointless -- is what's important.

This is not entirely a bad thing. When so many of our manufacturing jobs have gone overseas, we can still manufacture opinions in America. Want a baseball manager's take on Fidel Castro? He might not have one in stock, but he'll be happy to make one for you on the spot.

Why you would want a baseball manager's take on world leaders -- Ron Washington on George Washington? Bobby V on Benedict XVI? -- is a question for another day. For now, it's enough to say that strong opinion is the coin of the realm in public life, regardless of who is expounding on what.

It is a guiding principle of most columns, presidential debates, political ads, bumper stickers, comment sections and cable news punditry that the only thing in the middle of the road is roadkill. So say what's on your mind, even if your mind has nothing to say. This makes your mouth a ventriloquist's dummy for your brain, but so what? It will also make your call-in radio show -- or your call to a call-in radio show -- sing.

When Time magazine did its Q and A with Guillen, Ozzie was just providing the A. And what an A he has proven to be in various interviews over the years. But when he said that he admired Castro, what Guillen actually believed was: "I don't admire Castro." And that's not just my opinion of his opinion, for "I don't admire Castro" is exactly what Guillen said Tuesday at a press conference in Miami, where his contrition appeared more genuine than his astonishing profession of affection for the dictator.

If you are the manager of the Miami Marlins, who play their games in Little Havana, praising Castro amounts to trolling your own fan base. Why someone would want to do this is not entirely clear, beyond craving attention, but neither is it evidence of a long-held love of Castro. On the contrary, it is evidence of never once having thought of Castro until -- or even while -- extolling Castro's instinct for survival.

It is, in other words, another contrived "take" in a world where the take sign is always on. In baseball history, only Shelley Duvall, swinging a Louisville Slugger while backing up the stairs in The Shining, has had more takes with a bat in hand than Guillen.

That bat scene in The Shining required 127 takes, according to legend and The Guinness Book of Records, a piece of movie trivia I throw in here for two reasons. First, I fear all of us -- Guillen, those of us commenting on Guillen, and those of you inevitably commenting on the people who comment on Guillen -- are unwittingly starring in a movie of our own. It's called Blowhard 2: Blow Harder.

The second reason to raise The Shining is this: I have space to fill and no more opinion with which to fill it. My opinion about Guillen's opinions has run its course. Or rather, failed to run its course, having hit the wall at the 700-word count, when this column typically limps through the break tape at 800 words.

This is the greatest failing of all -- failing to have an opinion -- and I really should manufacture two more paragraphs of outrage. Except there's a danger in expressing opinions you don't really hold. Almost every one of us is leaving a legacy on the Internet, where nothing ever goes away. And so we need to update the old anatomical analogy about opinions. Opinions are like bones. At any given moment, every one of us has at least 206 of them, and they're all that we'll leave behind when our time on Earth has passed.

Published Apr 11, 2012

STEVE RUSHIN

Special Contributor, Sports Illustrated Steve Rushin was born in Elmhurst, Ill. on September 22, 1966 and raised in Bloomington, Minn. After graduating from Bloomington Kennedy High School in 1984 and Marquette University in 1988, Rushin joined the staff of Sports Illustrated. He is a Special Contributor to the magazine, for which he writes columns and features. In 25 years at SI, he has filed stories from Greenland, India, Indonesia, Antarctica, the Arctic Circle and other farflung locales, as well as the usual locales to which sportswriters are routinely posted. His first novel, The Pint Man, was published by Doubleday in 2010. The Los Angeles Times called the book "Engaging, clever and often wipe-your-eyes funny." His next book, a work of nonfiction, The 34-Ton Bat, will be published by Little, Brown in 2013. Rushin gave the commencement address at Marquette in 2007 and was awarded an honorary Doctor of Letters for "his unique gift of documenting the human condition through his writing." In 2006 he was named the National Sportswriter of the Year by the National Sportswriters and Sportscasters Association. A collection of his sports and travel writing—The Caddie Was a Reindeer—was published by Grove Atlantic in 2005 and was a semifinalist for the Thurber Prize for American Humor. The Denver Post suggested, "If you don't end up dropping The Caddie Was a Reindeerduring fits of uncontrollable merriment, it is likely you need immediate medical attention." A four-time finalist for the National Magazine Award, Rushin has had his work anthologized in The Best American Sports Writing, The Best American Travel Writing and The Best American Magazine Writing collections. His essays have appeared in Time magazine andThe New York Times. He also writes a weekly column for SI.com. His first book, Road Swing, published in 1998, was named one of the "Best Books of the Year" by Publishers Weekly and one of the "Top 100 Sports Books of All Time" by SI. He and his wife, Rebecca Lobo, have four children and live in Connecticut.