So let me try to play the friendly referee here. The reason I wanted to name these series of posts "What makes this piece good?" instead of "What makes this piece great?" is because I'm not putting them forth as examples of the perfect gamer, or topical feature, or column, or feature. At least for now, I'm specifically trying to pick pieces:
1. Written by people who I'm not friends or colleagues with (hopefully eliminating some of the stuff that bogged down previous threads).
2. That serve as examples of work a writer might be able to learn something from quickly and easily.
3. That contain realistic examples of the kind of writing/reporting a journalist, still learning his/her way, might be able to emulate.
Are game stories easier to write when you have more time? Sure, most of the time. And we'll get to ones where the degree of difficulty is much higher. In fact, I posted one earlier in this thread, written by Joe Strauss, on what was likely a hellacious deadline. But bringing up, say, Gammons story from 1975 and saying "Well, that one seems like it was way better and way harder, because she probably had a few hours to write..." seems to me to miss the point. Maybe we'll get to Gammons and Reilly at the Masters in 86 and Jenkins on Oklahoma/Nebraska in these discussions, but I guess right now I'm not sure how any of them are relevant to this piece. I think it's important, and inspirational, to read pieces considered some of the best pieces of all time, but I'm not sure how helpful it is trying to apply that stuff to your own work. Let's start with the foundation, build toward the heavens from there. Honestly, I would love to message Selena and say "Would you mind talking about how you approached this game story, and your beat, and how long you had to write it, etc." but that's not going to happen.
As to YankeeFan's point, I'm going to address it this way: I wish someone had said those things to me when I was 24 and reading this site and dreaming of bigger things.
I'm being entirely sincere. Because, in the prison of my own mind, I made excuses about access, about space, about opportunity, about time. It took me a long time to get over it, to realize I'd never get what I wanted, or do things I was proud of, if I didn't risk more of myself and find ways to get around the obstacles in front of me.
Those obstacles are real, and I'm not dismissing them, but what you realize eventually is, while luck plays a role for a tiny few, for the most part, people who are really good in this profession (any most professions, really) create their own opportunities.
- An editor keeps killing all your lines like "stripes on a candy cane?" Go to the editor a talk about how you can reach a compromise about when you can try certain similes. (Probably not on a deadline night gamer. But features maybe?)
- You can't get enough space to write a piece like Buster wrote about Rivera? Try to write it anyway, exactly the length you think it deserves, then it show it to an editor you think might be receptive to the idea, and ask if there is any chance you can run the full version on-line.
- Can't get the kind of access that Sally Jenkins got with Kwame Brown because you don't work for the Washington Post? Keep trying to cultivate relationships with other athletes, agents, coaches, GMs. Eventually, someone will give you a window into their world, and that's when you use that access to write a great piece. Use that piece as an example the next time you're trying to convince an athlete to open up. "Here is what I wrote about XXXXX. As you can see, I didn't burn him or try to make him look bad. How would you feel if I did the same kind of thing with you?"
- Frustrated that you can't take the kind of approach that Bianchi took with Earnhardt's funeral because your editor wants it as a straight news story? Write the piece the editor wants, then write the piece you want, ask if the publication can run yours as a follow the next day. Or maybe there is another section of the paper, or a regional magazine, that would be interested in your different approach.
Times have changed, and yes, journalism is way different, and some of the things we talk about here probably won't apply to you if you're starting out and shooting video and firing off tweets and already weary of making $19,500 a year in Havre, Montana. But, all things being equal, good work is the result of hard work.