When I was at the 'Philadelphia Inquirer,' I was promoted nine

In the words of Stephen A. Smith, “When I was at the Philadelphia Inquirer, I was promoted nine times in my first 13 years. I ultimately went from general assignment to beats on St. Joe’s and Temple, to backup writer, to NBA writer, to NBA columnist, to, ultimately, in 2003, to general sports columns.” At first, this sounds like a mere recounting of career steps, a professional journey from one rung to another. Yet within these words lies the essence of persistence, discipline, and the sacred truth that mastery is built not in leaps but in steady, unyielding climbs.

The Philadelphia Inquirer, like the great city it represents, was a furnace of competition and rigor. In those halls, voices fought for space on the page, for the right to tell the stories of athletes and teams. To be promoted nine times in thirteen years is not luck—it is the fruit of sweat, of showing up again and again, of delivering words that carried weight, clarity, and fire. Smith’s story is not merely one of writing, but of endurance: of embracing the long road without bitterness, and of seizing every opportunity as though it were the proving ground of destiny.

The stages of his rise—from general assignment to the heights of sports columns—teach us that no station is too small for greatness. The young reporter covering St. Joe’s or Temple, universities that did not command the glare of the NBA, could have dismissed the task as unworthy. Yet Smith poured his craft into those assignments, and by doing so, sharpened his pen for the greater battles to come. The ancients would say, he who cannot rule a village cannot rule a kingdom. So it is with work: those who are faithful in small duties prepare themselves for the vast ones.

History offers us many who walked this same path of incremental ascent. Consider Abraham Lincoln, who began with humble speeches in town halls, often dismissed as a lanky lawyer with rough edges. Yet each debate, each trial, each moment of public speaking was a stepping stone. Like Smith, Lincoln did not leap directly into greatness but rose through steady perseverance, until at last the destiny of a nation rested upon his voice. In both tales we see the same pattern: greatness is forged not in a single moment, but in the accumulation of faithful labors.

The NBA writer and then the NBA columnist represent not merely job titles, but transformations. For each role demanded a new level of mastery, a deeper voice, a broader vision. To write about games is one thing; to craft columns that shape the very way fans perceive the sport is another. In reaching that pinnacle, Smith was no longer just a recorder of events, but a shaper of narrative, a voice that resonated with authority. By 2003, when he became a general sports columnist, he had ascended into the realm of influence, where words themselves carried the power to inspire, to provoke, and to endure.

The meaning of his words lies in this truth: that the climb is long, but every rung matters. Too many grow weary at the first stages, dreaming only of the summit. But Smith’s story reminds us that the summit is built of those very stages, that no step can be skipped without weakening the whole. In his humility, he does not boast of sudden fame, but recounts the slow, steady march through every station of the craft.

So, O listener, let this be your teaching: embrace your journey. Do not despise the early assignments, the hidden labor, the small platforms. Pour yourself into them, for they are the training ground of destiny. Be relentless in your pursuit, as Stephen A. Smith was relentless in writing column after column, assignment after assignment. Honor each step, and in time, you too may look back and see not a collection of tasks, but a staircase that carried you from obscurity into purpose.

Therefore, the lesson is clear: rise by labor, endure by patience, and triumph by faithfulness. Whatever your craft—writing, teaching, building, or creating—do not demand greatness in a single stroke. Instead, sharpen your tools daily, trust the slow fire of growth, and in due season, the world will recognize the weight of your work. For destiny belongs not to the one who begins in glory, but to the one who endures the climb.