What passes for sports coverage is terribly sycophantic.

Hear, O seekers of truth, the words of Billy Crystal, the jester of our age whose wit often cloaks wisdom: “What passes for sports coverage is terribly sycophantic.” At first glance, these words strike as complaint, but in truth they are lament and warning. For he speaks not only of games and their chroniclers, but of the tendency of men to flatter power, to praise without measure, and to abandon the sacred duty of honesty. His cry is that of one who longs for truth in a world clouded by adulation.

The meaning is plain: much of what is called sports coverage is not true reporting, but sycophancy—a chorus of flattery, of blind praise, of endless exalting of the already exalted. Athletes are raised as gods, teams as empires, and every action, however small, is clothed in glory. Yet the role of the chronicler is not only to praise, but to question, to reveal, to balance triumph with truth. When coverage becomes mere adoration, it ceases to serve the people and instead becomes a servant of spectacle.

This problem is as old as history. In the courts of kings, there were always flatterers—men who told rulers not what they needed to hear, but what they wished to hear. The wise king sought truth, but the weak king delighted in sycophants and thus brought ruin upon his realm. Consider Emperor Nero, surrounded by poets and flatterers who sang of his genius while his empire burned. Their false words destroyed him, for they hid reality behind veils of praise. So too in sport, when journalists abandon honesty for idolatry, the public is misled, and the true story is lost.

Think also of the courage of Grantland Rice, one of the great sportswriters of the early 20th century. Though he gave poetic voice to the grandeur of games, he also did not shy from exposing faults, failures, and the deeper humanity of athletes. His pen was not enslaved to flattery but devoted to truth. This is what Crystal longs for—a journalism that honors the athlete but does not worship them, that reports with clarity rather than grovels with admiration.

The deeper lesson here is not limited to sport. For in every field of life—politics, art, even daily work—there are voices that flatter rather than challenge. Such sycophancy may win temporary favor, but it weakens both speaker and listener. The flattered become blind to their flaws; the flatterers lose integrity. But truth, though it may sting, is the foundation of growth. A society, like a man, must be nourished with honesty, not poisoned with praise.

Crystal’s words also carry a heroic challenge to the listeners of tomorrow: be wary of those who speak only honeyed words. Demand of your leaders, your champions, your journalists, and yourselves the discipline of truth. Celebrate greatness, yes, but do not close your eyes to failure. True respect for an athlete, or any man, lies not in blind worship but in the recognition of their humanity—their strengths and their flaws together.

Therefore, O children of the future, let this teaching be carved in your hearts: do not be seduced by sycophancy, whether in sport or in life. Seek truth in what you read, in what you speak, and in what you believe. Praise with honesty, not exaggeration. Criticize with fairness, not malice. In this balance lies the nobility of both journalist and citizen. For what is flattery but smoke, and what is truth but fire? The smoke vanishes, but the fire endures.

So let the words of Billy Crystal echo beyond the arena: beware of sycophancy, honor the truth. For only then will our stories—whether of sport, of life, or of history—be worthy of remembrance.