NSSA: Bob Ryan would rather tell a story than be one

If Bob Ryan had his way, you probably would not be reading this sentence.

That’s because the 2001 NSSA Sportswriter of the Year would rather tell a story than be one.

“Sportswriting,” says the longtime Boston Globe columnist, “is a two-part word. I don’t see how people go through their lives without sports. Think about this: you’re in a building, the score is tied with 10 seconds to go and here comes a guy up court. What’s gonna happen? Are they gonna win? Are they gonna lose? The crowd’s going wild, you’re getting the sweaty palms. That’s a great feeling. You’re so alive. That’s what sports can do for you.

“The other part of that is writing about it,” Ryan continues. “I just love putting words together, trying to make this thing into some literate piece of journalism. And doing it on deadline is another challenge. The whole package — it’s perfect for me.”

All this comes from a man who knows, having spent the better part of three decades covering the Celtics and Red Sox for one of the nation’s most-esteemed dailies. Perhaps Ryan shouldn’t be, but he’s more than a little bit humbled by his inclusion among America’s greatest scribes.

“You look at the honor roll, at all the names that have come before you,” he smiles. “And it’s amazing that I’m part of that group. It means somebody thought I did something right over the past 32 years.”

Ryan owns a glistening list of achievements, including membership in the College Basketball Writers Hall of Fame. His travels has taken him to Super Bowls, the NBA finals, the World Series and the Olympics. He’s authored 10 books, among them collaborations with basketball greats Bob Cousy, Larry Bird and John Havlicek.

But it’s writing his column, and the opportunity to spin an insightful or humorous tale, that truly floats Ryan’s boat. He uses language the way Stan Musial used a baseball bat — with precision, distinction, economy and impact. And he does it with flair.

“I want my columns to be breezy,” he says. “I want them to float along and be fun to read.”

Nobody does it quite the way Ryan does. Last week he treated Beantown readers to this nugget about seldom-needed Minnesota Twins’ relief pitcher Eddie Guardado: “Eddie feels like the Maytag repair man. He’s ready to file for workman’s comp.”

Kidding aside, Ryan believes it’s important to be a multi-faceted writer.

“I pride myself on being able to write with different voices, and even different styles,” he says. “I admire writers who can do that. Mark Whicker (of the Orange County Register) is the columnist I want to be. He has great breadth of knowledge, he’s quick and he always seems to get through the clutter and right to the point. He’s also got great historical recall and he can turn a phrase.”

So can Ryan. The first-place Red Sox are there largely because of their pitching and infield defense, but there’s this guy in right-field named Ramirez who is playing like a man possessed. “If you can’t say he’s worth every penny of a $20-million-a-year contract,” Ryan quips, “you can say he’s worth every $10,000 bill of it. He’s an RBI machine.”

Two-time Cy Young Award winner Pedro Martinez has exceptionally long fingers “that bend backwards to an almost sickening degree,” Ryan reports. “It enables him to manipulate such a spin on his curveball. He’s the best pitcher I’ve ever seen in a Red Sox unifom, and that includes Clemens and Tiant and everyone else.”

There’s no hesitation when Ryan reveals his favorite all-time athlete — former Celtics center Dave Cowens. “Dave was not a fan, only a player,” he says. “He never watched television. The first time he ever saw Willis Reed play was when he lined up against him. He only did things. He never watched. He wasn’t a voyeur like the rest of us.”

Ryan provided his take on a few other Boston greats:

Bill Russell — “A highly intelligent and very interesting man, but he always had to be in control. When you interviewed him, he controlled that relationship. If he was playing today, with the same talent he had years ago, he’d be the best center in basketball. People that don’t understand that don’t understand basketball. Or else they’ve forgotten how incredibly athletic Bill Russell was.”

John Havlicek — “There hasn’t been a player like him since he left. People talk about Pippen being versatile. Scottie Pippen, with the heart of an amoeba, could not compare to John Havlicek. He was the greatest two-position, two-way player in the history of basketball. And he’s starting to fall through the cracks, historically, which is a crime. Some of us better do something to restore his reputation.”

Larry Bird — “Here’s my standard answer on Larry Bird: It was as if I were an art student and in 1979 into the class walks Professor Michelangelo. He was the individual embodiment of everything I was ever taught about how to play basketball properly. I became very good friends with him and wound up doing his book.”

Tony Conigliaro — “One of the most tragic figures in American sports. Had he not gotten hit in the head in 1967, he would have hit 600 home runs in a ballpark made for him. He was 22 years old and already had a hundred — the youngest ever to reach 100. He was just getting started. That one pitch set off all the forces that eventually resulted in his premature death.”

Carl Yastrzemski — “At 5-foot-11 and 180 pounds, he was not that big and not that athletic. But he was a tremendous grinder, made for baseball. Right to the end, even at 44-years old, he would still take batting practice and could still turn on a fastball. You couldn’t throw a fastball by him. Strangely, I’m not sure if baseball was fun for him. There was never any release, never any outlet. I can still see him grinding his teeth.”

Bobby Orr — “He invented the idea of an offensive defenseman. You can talk about Gretzky. You can talk about Lemeiux. I would take Orr, in his prime, over any of them. He was a hockey player. HE HIT YOU! Gretzky never hit or was hit. It was a joke. And Mario was a big guy, but he wasn’t there to hit anybody. The tragedy of Bobby Orr is that if he had today’s modern medical techniques, his career would have been saved. He was done by 30. It was a brief but incredibly productive career.”

And so it goes in the life of Ryan, for whom sports is a life sentence. Like many of us, he’ll never watch enough games, interview enough players or compose enough paragraphs to feel completely satisfied. “If I wasn’t a sportswriter?” he responds to a what-if query. “I don’t know. That’s a scary thought.”

The world of sports will always covet storytellers, men and women with vision, curiosity and enthusiasm — sprinkled with a dash of comedic sarcasm. Thankfully, Boston has Bob Ryan. And now, so does Salisbury’s NSSA.