What we know about Spieth and life

I’m a golf fan, and last week’s Masters is as much a moment as ever to turn on my couch-potato button. Well, and also “The Walking Dead.”

But, the media-content guy in me is always on.

There are many story lines from last Sunday’s Masters – which is surely a finalist for “Best Sports Event of the Year.” Maybe even “of the Decade” – at least for pro golf.

But there is one story that I think exists that we will likely never hear about but it will linger within the refined shrubbery of Augusta.

We will never again see, I believe, a cameraman in the epic Masters moment that caught a brief but pivotal post-event meltdown from almost-winner Jordan Spieth.

To me as a golf fan, the final two hours were painful to watch as Spieth snatched defeat from victory. Several misplayed shots converted his overwhelming lead with the finish line in sight into an epic fail.

Spieth even said as much afterward.

A reporter asked him how painful was it out there. He answered, unflinchingly, that it felt as bad as it likely did for most people watching at home. I thought he was talking about me.

It was great to hear an athlete bridge the gap that we all know is there, but unsure how athletes perceive it.

When they play, are they playing that sport just for them as they have for their whole lives? Or do they know when they reach the pinnacle, that there are millions playing with them at any given moment?

That’s what makes me as the journalist interested in that cameraman moment, and kind of how that relates to what we see in life overall.

Upon finishing the 18th hole and the collapse complete, Spieth had 100 or so yards to walk to the seclusion of just tourney officials and no spectators – to sum up the scores and his fail.

But that 100 yards was through an adoring and consoling crowd of hundreds lined shoulder to shoulder.

And the camera caught the fan support: “Next time, Jordan.” “Hang in there, pal.” “It was still a great week.” Things like that.

Originally a stride behind Spieth, the cameraman raced to get in front to get his reaction as we seemingly all made the painful but poignant walk with him.

But it was really just Spieth making the walk. Spotting the approaching camera, he exclaimed, “Just not in the face. Please. Not right now in the face, please, OK?”

It was a moment you would see involving Hollywood paparazzi. Had it been Sean Penn or Alec Baldwin, they would have swung a punch or shoved the photographic interloper.

No such thing happened with Spieth. But you will likely not see it again – even if you agreed with the cameraman’s pursuit.

The cameraman did what a journalist would do in such an epic moment.

But in that moment, he was not a journalist. He was an employee of the sports network, which is tied to the hip with the sports event host.

In short, those two groups in any sports event work hard to show you what they want to show you.

In some ways, live sporting events can be the most-scripted reality shows on television.

There’s a reason NASCAR drivers refer to their own driving awkwardly like: “The No. 20 Home Depot car rode well today.”

Fighting in NHL games – accepted and traditional but not celebrated – is seldom revisited by the lead broadcasters during highlights packages, even though fans clamor for it. Fans have to find it online on independent fan websites.

Last Sunday, fans may have wanted to see Spieth’s face as the reality sunk in just after the event. Journalists would have wanted to show both sides of the story.

He was surely the news, not winner Danny Willett of England, who was anonymous to many U.S. golf fans.

While we wanted to see the emotion, and so, too, did the broadcast team, Spieth did not. And what the athletes want, especially elite ones like Spieth, is what the sports broadcasters and event owners aim to provide in as many situations as possible.

Mind you – this is not a crime. We’re not owed the right to see it. And in fairness, how much is enough to see? For two hours, Spieth had nowhere to hide as millions watched.

Clearly, Spieth thought enough was enough.

I imagine that Augusta, when it reviews the 2016 Masters, will ponder how much is enough and err on the side of the golfers.

If another golfer is to collapse the way Spieth did, I expect the cameraman will not hunt him down ever again.

News in our community is not getting hunted down as much anymore, either, as news organizations shrink due to scattered advertising.

Facebook does not create news for you, despite what too many people mistakenly believe.

In that gap, newsmakers, such as companies and governments, will let the community see only what is best for the organization.

This is fine in many occasions.

But consider injection wells, tax spending, product safety and more.

I’m not worried about seeing Spieth react to a collapse.

But I am worried about what I will know about my town.

Todd Franko is editor of The Vindicator. He likes emails about stories and our newspaper. Email him at tfranko@vindy.com. He blogs, too, on Vindy.com. Tweet him, too, at @tfranko.